sent from my dell desktop

Something else is now cooking

2010-08-16T15:59:00.001-05:00

Sent From My Dell Desktop is currently on an indefinite hiatus. I wrote on here for several amazing years and the archives will stay up permanently. (And you never know...I may be back!) For now, you can follow my other adventures on my other blog, www.alwaysorderdessert.com.

xoxo

Alejandra

P.S. If this is your first time here, these are some of my favorite posts from my Sent From My Dell Desktop Days:

In 2010 I will...

2010-01-04T12:30:00.001-05:00

Last week I started a resolution post of things I’d like to accomplish this year: goals I’d like to reach, places I’d like to go or see myself, etc. Unfortunately, once I hit about 36 on the list, I decided to save it and go to bed (it was nearing 2am). So I did, and the next morning Tumblr did something odd and would not recover the post! So they were gone. Before the year even started and my resolutions were lost in the wind.

It doesn’t change the fact that there are things I’d like for myself this year, and so I’m starting again. A new list, a few days late, but no less resolved. (this was cross-posted on Tumblr, too)

In 2010 I Will…

Professional

Professionally I want 2010 to be all about my platform: evolving my blog to become a well-rounded lifestyle guide and resource with great writing, amazing recipes, and party/home advice; networking and meeting people who will inspire me, guide me, and help me get closer to reaching my goals; building a strong relationship with my audience and readers; promoting myself through all branches of mainstream, online, and alternative media; establishing myself as a lifestyle and homecooking expert. To achieve this I will…

1. Finish writing and editing my narrative cookbook proposal so that it is agent-ready by St. Patrick’s Day.

2. Sign with a literary agent.

3. Get and sign a book deal.

4. Make concrete strides toward working from home full-time in my own employment (saving money, develop freelancing contacts, come up with ideas for other options…dessert catering? party planning? monetizing website?)

5. Double AlwaysOrderDessert.com visits & page views by April 30, then again by August 31, and again by December 31

6. Continue with publicity efforts and secure at least 5 mentions/appearances in 5 major glossy magazines. (So far: Saveur Jan/Feb 2010, Real Simple profile in May, what next?!)

7. Make at least 5 television appearances for lifestyle/food/blogging stories (Possibilities Fox, NBC LX, etc.)

7. Secure at least 15 mentions in 15 major newspapers.

8. Secure at least 20 mentions in 20 major websites/blogs.

9. Develop AlwaysOrderDessert.com to include more lifestyle guide content (party planning advice and ideas, checklists, playlists, resources). Make myself available to answer questions on party planning, recipes, etc. Contribute to more lifestyle stories as expert on this platform.

10. Update AlwaysOrderDessert.com at least 3 times a week.

11. Research midcentury housekeeping and cooking for possible 2nd book project.

12. Answer all blog mail immediately and respond to all Tweets.

13. Treat other bloggers as I like to be treated: Always leave a comment if I read a blog post on another site that I enjoy, that teaches me something new, or that makes me think in some way. Also send emails or leave comments if I try recipes and they come out well or if I have a question. Link back to more bloggers that I enjoy reading. Update my blogroll regularly. It’s a community; remember to be a part of it.

Money

Two of my long-term goals are to create a career for myself that will allow me to work full-time from home and on my own hours and to have a home with a big kitchen and big dining/entertaining areas in a neighborhood I truly love. To do this, I need to take steps towards becoming more frugal so that I waste less money on things I don’t really need and instead invest them in obtaining the things I really want. Therefore I will…

14. Continue to save at least $500 a month (preferably $500 from each paycheck)

15. Bring lunch & breakfast to work at least 3 days a week

16. Spend no more than $12 total on days I buy lunch (including breakfast) [excluding farmer’s market purchases in summer]

17. Buy only used books (also bookswap.com)

18. Buy baking supplies in bulk (flour, chocolate, butter, etc)

19. Participate in Project Hunger

20. Attempt a 1950s Housewife Food Budget for 1 month to inspire creativity and awareness about how much I spend on food and how to be frugal

21. Get in the habit of cutting and using coupons. Write to companies I like for coupons. Buy things on sale.

Home

I want to continue to make my home a place that pleases and comforts me at all times. I want everything in it to be beautiful and meaningful. Therefore I will…

22. Fix couch by restuffing cushions and getting (or making?!) a custom slipcover that doesn’t slide around all over the place.

23. Hang art in bedroom, bathroom, and living room.

24. Replace current bed with a new queen-sized bed and mattress that is comfortable for Eugene and Me

25. Replace big, giant television with slimmer LCD that is more aesthetically pleasing and which frees up a few extra feet of space

26. Fix the kitchen floors or find a creative way to cover them

Creative Endeavors

Continue to grow and nurture the many creative projects and endeavors that capture my attention. Complete projects that I start. Seek the accountability and support of other around me who have similar interests.

27. Learn to use a sewing machine so that I can make my own curtains, clothing, etc.

28. Participate in Project 365 (taking 1 photo of something every single day; at least 1 self portrait a month)

29. Take up canning and create homemade jams and marmalades

30. Continue to develop food photography skills. Take a related class or workshop.

31. Take one writing related class at least every 3 months via local universities, writing schools, or Mediabistro.

32. Join a writer’s group like Morningside Writers

33. Create video podcasts for the blog with how-to videos

Health

Make feeling good the priority for 2010. I’m already aware of the things that make me feel good and energetic, and the things that make me feel sluggish, tired, or bloated. I will incorporate this awareness into my daily life and into the meals that I prepare for myself and my family.

34. Use gym at work at least 8 times a month (ideally twice a week)

35. Find a coach or therapist to work with on ADD issues

36. Order long-term prescriptions online through Medco for larger discounts and more regular schedule

37. Develop habit of drinking green juice for breakfast at 1-3 times a week. (Homemade or from Westerley). Suggest juice bar option at work.

38. Try at least one new vegetable or fruit on every grocery store trip.

39. Minimize refined sugars and flours. Incorporate more whole grains. If whole grain is not an option; then bake/make something that is or choose fruit or protein instead.

Interpersonal Relationships

In 2010 I want to expand my social network to include more women who are out there already doing the things that I want to do and achieve. I want to learn from older women who have years more experience than I do. I want to record history. I want to surround myself with people who can inspire and teach me. Not lose sight of the amazing and brilliant people who already surround me at work, in my family, and in my various social networks.

40. Accept more invitations. Extend more invitations.

41. Reach out to and develop relationships with women who are doing the things I’d like to one day do or who have similar sensibilities and interests.

42. Build relationships with other couples who have similar interests.

43. Meet the neighbors and help create more of a community within in our apartment building.

44. Send thank you notes and letters whenever I receive a gift or gesture from someone.

45. Send letters or emails to the writers of any books I read and enjoy (if they are still living, of course)

An actual e-mail I sent Eugene while he was touring through Prague with a molding wheel of Dutch cheese in his backpack

2009-09-25T22:26:00.004-05:00

To: Eugene
From: Alejandra
Subject: Saving moldy cheese

There are a couple things to consider. First, is it a hard or semisoft cheese? (like Parmesan, Aged Cheddar, Swiss, Pecorino, Colby, Asiago, etc.)? If it's a hard or semisoft cheese, it will be ok to eat but you have to cut the moldy part as soon as possible. Get a knife and cut it off so that there is at least an extra 1/2 inch between the moldy part and the good cheese. Be careful not to let the knife touch the mold. You need to get your hands on some plastic wrap asap and tightly (tightly!) wrap it after you cut the mold off. If you still have any of those plastic baggies from the care package, use one of them to place the wrapped cheese in.

If you can't get plastic wrap, Use generous amounts of paper towel or thick napkins and then place in a baggie. Air is the enemy here. You need to store it in a cool, dry place. If you have A/C or a fan, keep it in an area near that. If it's cold out, then put it on a windowsill (but out of the sun). Just figure out the coolest place and always keep it there. If you can tell me the name of it (the cheese) I can give you better advice.

OH and also, don't touch the cheese with your hands. Bacteria on our hands is what causes cheese mold. Always handle it through a napkin or plastic wrap.

If it's a soft cheese (like brie or camembert) then it will need to be thrown out.

That's probably more than you wanted to know about cheese mold... ;)

Love,

Alejandra

Love This Site Awards :: Always Order Dessert - DivineCaroline

2009-09-22T00:23:00.001-05:00

No pressure or anything, but I think this site deserves to win a Love! This Site Award from DivineCaroline, so please, vote soon! You can also still nominate your favorite sites.

View >>

Books I Once Loved: From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler

2009-08-21T06:00:00.000-05:00

From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler, by E. L. Konigsburg -- This incredible tale about Claudia Kincaid and her brother Jamie,who run away from home and hide out in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, was a favorite when I was in 5th grade. Our teacher at the time made us work on a project that described what we would do if we were going to run away from home. We had to plan out every single detail of it, the lesson being that we would learn how difficult it was and never attempt it in real life. Unfortunately, some of us were ridiculously good planners and our parents called the teacher to complain about the dangerous project.

My idea, in case you're wondering, was to get our parents to take us to Six Flags Great Adventure, where we would purposely get lost in the crowd and while our parents were busy looking for us in the theme park, we would have already headed for the nearby train station and jumped onto a train bound for Florida (with tickets purchased using saved allowance money). Our final destination was going to be an island in the Florida Keys that I had seen on television and which appealed to me because the host had described it as very "remote."

About this project: A few days ago, I went to the bookstore to buy a few books on writing book proposals. While looking for the reference section, I wandered into the pre-teen aisle and took a look at the books on offer. I was actually a little turned off by all the Twilight and Gossip Girl books on the shelves. It got me thinking about some of the novels I loved when I was that age, and so I've decided to record them here with comments on a completely irregular schedule. I hope that you enjoy.

Books I Once Loved: The Dollhouse Murders

2009-08-18T13:20:00.006-05:00

The Dollhouse Murders, by Betty Ren Wright -- This book grabbed my attention and scared the heck out of me when I was 11. It tells the story of Amy, a 12-year-old girl who is frustrated about having to spend the summer looking out for her mentally-challenged sister Luanne. The girls are sent to their Aunt's house and discover and miniature replica of the family home in the attic. They soon discover that the dolls in the house move on their own, and it seems that they are trying to tell Amy something. You'll have to read it to find out what, but I promise you that it's a great story, and is probably a great first mystery for a child in 4th - 6th grade.

About this project: A few days ago, I went to the bookstore to buy a few books on writing book proposals. While looking for the reference section, I wandered into the pre-teen aisle and took a look at the books on offer. I was actually a little turned off by all the Twilight and Gossip Girl books on the shelves. It got me thinking about some of the novels I loved when I was that age, and so I've decided to record them here with comments on a completely irregular schedule. I hope that you enjoy.

My Plant

2009-08-12T22:46:00.001-05:00

My Plant in my garden., originally uploaded by Alejandra of Always Order Dessert.

This is my garden. It only has one plant. MY plant.

My plant was born 5 months ago from a little seed packet that I got as a baby shower favor. The other seedlings (my plant's brothers and sisters) perished quickly a few weeks after birth, but my plant lives on.

This photo was shot in Macro. My plant is only about an inch tall, and seems to have stopped growing, although she is still strong and bright green.

I have no idea what kind of plant my plant is, but I still love her. (My plant is a girl.)

Sometimes I secretly think that my plant is actually a baby tree. Like all mothers, I have high hopes for my little girl.

Saffron / Azafran

2009-08-12T18:17:00.001-05:00

Saffron / Azafran, originally uploaded by Alejandra of Always Order Dessert.

I finally Mad Men'd myself

2009-08-02T21:53:00.002-05:00

I finally Mad Men'd myself, originally uploaded by Alejandra of Always Order Dessert.

It looks absolutely nothing like me. Except for the donut. And maybe the boobs.

Fifteen Books

2009-07-24T11:44:00.002-05:00

15 books which have influenced me in one way or another.

1. Life Among the Savages by Shirley Jackson: You might know her for her horrifying short story, "The Lottery," but her memoir, which is really a collection of short stories about her wacky family, is absolutely brilliant and hysterical. I bought it for a dollar at a used bookstore when I was in 7th grade and impressed the heck out of my English teacher with my quirky choice of reading. (She actually asked to borrow it.)

2. A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man by James Joyce: Anyone that knew me in high school or college is aware of my obsession with this book. I have multiple copies if you want to borrow one. And if you'll let me, I'll happily talk your ear off with my theory about language and keys and Berlitz and Joyce and babies. It's a good one.

3. Tender at the Bone by Ruth Reichl: A delicious and inspiring memoir of the former NY Times food editor/current EIC of Gourmet Magazine.

4. Rosie by Anne Lamott: Something about the way Lamott writes makes me want to write. I have the worst time getting through her books, because I keep putting them down to go dash off my pages. It's the best way to get through a block. Also, I always see myself in her characters.

5. My Sister's Bones by Cathi Hanauer: I read the first chapter of this in Seventeen magazine when I was about 14 and then waited 10 years to finish it because I kept forgetting to buy the book. It was worth the wait.

6. Underworld by Don DeLillo: Huge book, but absolutely incredible. I love the detail. Bought it when I lived in Italy and read most of it sitting (under the Tuscan) sun in the Piazza Republica.

7. The Good Life by Jay McInerney: McInerney once again manages to make tortured rich New Yorkers sympathetic

8. A Farewell to Arms by Ernest Hemingway: sad and lovely. I think it's the first book that actually made me cry.

9. The Map of Love by Ahdaf Souif: heartbreaking and incredibly sensual romance by the Middle Eastern journalist/writer. I read it for my Middle Eastern Lit class in college.

10. Crescent by Diana Abu Jaber: I have a hard time describing this book because I just loved it so much. It's at time poetic, sexy, romantic, political, and delicious. Yes, delicious, because the main character is a chef and it discusses the intersection of food and life and culture. Oh, and it has recipes too. Wonderful ones!

11. A Literate Passion: Anais Nin & Henry Miller: An erotic and erudite collection of letters between the two lovers/friends/writers.

12. The Importance of Being Earnest by Oscar Wilde: Most. Hysterical. Play. Ever!!

13. The Awakening by Kate Chopin: Another writer whose use of language I adore. Also check out her short story "Ripe Figs" (http://classiclit.about.com/library/bl-etexts/kchopin/bl-kchop-ripefigs.htm"

14. Striped Ice Cream by Joan Lexau: The first book I ever loved! And one that still pops in my head all the time. Particularly when eating striped (Neapolitan) ice cream...

15. The Boxcar Children by Gertrude Chandler Warren: Technically a series, but I can't think of any other book(s) that tickled my imagination (and desire to run away and live in the woods) more than this.

Restless Artists

2009-07-16T22:25:00.001-05:00

“Had they paints or clay or knew the discipline of dance, or strings; had they anything to engage their tremendous curiosity and their gift for metaphor, they might have exchanged their restlessness and preoccupation with whim for an activity that provided them with all they yearned for. And like any artist with no artform, they became dangerous.”

-Toni Morrison

And the winner is...

2009-07-05T11:48:00.002-05:00

Thank you to all who entered the book giveaway. I got some great book recommendations and I'm excited to announce the winner of the four books. The lucky reader (as chosen by a randomly selected number) is:

Comment #2 or Upper West Side Writer of the blog Falling Into Words. Congratulations! I'll pop the books in the mail as soon as I get your mailing info!

Thanks again to all who entered. Be sure to follow me on Twitter at @nandita to find out about other fun contests and giveaways.

My own parade of shoes

2009-07-03T22:08:00.004-05:00

For nearly two years, I have been meaning to get all these shoes repaired. I've traipsed allover the East Coast dragging the bag from Washington, DC, to New Jersey to my apartment here in New York City. For a while I even brought them all into work, thinking that I'd drop them off at the shoe repair place near my office and so for over a year (!!!) that bag of shoes sat under my desk getting crushed by my feet and the vacuum and stacks of magazines.

Until last week! As one of my 101 goals for the next 1001 days, I decided to finally repair ALL of these gorgeous, comfortable, and expensive shoes that had just been wasting away because of worn down heel tips, torn leather, or ripped slingbacks. I gathered them all in a big reusable shopping tote and marched them straight down to Dino's repair shop during my lunch hour. Three days (and $165) later, I had a brand new shoe wardrobe. Six pairs of fantastic and oh-so-comfortable shoes just waiting to be worn.

Now I just need to figure out what to wear with them...

The repair shop, for any of you in the city and looking for a great place, is called Dino's and it's located in Columbus Circle. It's a great little "mom and pop shop" that is run by an Italian family. (Like real Italy-Italians, not Housewives-of-NJ-Italians.) They also clean and repair leather (purses, jackets, etc) and adjust belts. If you go, tell them that Alejandra with the 6 pairs of shoes sent you. Maybe I'll get a discount when I bring them another half-dozen!

What's the opposite of logorrhea?

2009-06-30T00:07:00.003-05:00

I've had a hell of a time putting words down lately. Well, that's not true actually. I feel like I'm constantly putting words down--making lists, jotting, starting sentences that never quite reach punctuation. Lots of bits, but not much to show for it. It's starting to exhaust me. It's not even a block...more like writer's constipation.

Ugh. I know. I apologize, but really, really, really...it's how I feel right now.

I spend all day long, constantly and constantly, thinking and forming paragraphs in my head. Things that sound great, but which disappear on screen. I write and write and write and write and when I'm through I've said nothing.

I'm grasping for a minute, a moment, a something of quiet. Just enough quiet so I can hear past the static and figure out what it is that I've been trying to say for God knows how long.

Every night I go to bed dreaming of Joan Didion's peach and hoping that maybe tomorrow it will be quiet enough to taste it.

Book Giveaway!

2009-06-27T11:31:00.004-05:00

My Book Rainbow Collage, originally uploaded by nanda2483.

Something you may not know about me is that I organize the books in my library by color according to the rainbow. It's a beautiful, albeit totally illogical, way to do it, but it suits me just fine. The problem is that occasionally I'll find that I need to do away with a few books that don't quite fit into the rainbow, or which I already have too many (usually white and black). Lately I've been donating a lot of books or swapping them with strangers via paperbackswap.com, but I also thought it might be fun to do a little giveaway on my blogs.

So here is how it's going to work. I picked out four books that I really enjoyed, but with which I'm ready to part by giving to YOU!

The books are:

I Think of You, by Ahdaf Souif (Fiction. An incredible collection of short stories by the Cairo-born writer. All the stories tell about the experience of the Middle Eastern woman.)

Little Altars Everywhere, by Rebecca Wells (Fiction. A delicious southern tale by the writer of the Ya Ya Sisterhood.)

Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert (Memoir, A sensual journey through Italy, India, and Indonesia.)

The Archivist, by Martha Cooley (Fiction. An erudite and multi-layered novel about the relationship between a cool library archivist and a fiery grad student that weaves in themes from T.S. Elliot's life and the Holocaust.)

To enter to win them, all you have to do is one (or all 3!) of the following:

1.) Leave a comment telling me either what book you're reading now or what you like to do when it's time to organize your shelves. That will get you one entry.

2.) Follow me on twitter (@nandita) and tweet a link about this contest then come back here to say you did it (with a link so I can see it). If you're already following me, just tweet about the contest and then leave another comment telling me you did. That will get you a second entry.

3.) Post about this contest on your blog, website, or Facebook page (and then let me know you did). That will get you a third entry.

The winner will be chosen randomly using a random number generator. You must include your email or twitter name with your entry so that I can contact you. If I can't find a way to contact the winner, then a second entry will be chosen. Contest is open to everyone who is not related to me. It's OK if you live outside the US--we'll find a way to get the books to you if you win. Maximum 3 entries per person. All entries must be in by July 4th, 11:59 PM EST.

Good Luck!!

Goals, so far

2009-06-26T12:18:00.003-05:00

My goals list is going along swimmingly so far! Since my 1001 days started last Saturday, I've cleaned out and organized the kitchen cabinets, seen a Mets game at the new Citi Field (in Johan Santana's private box, no less), purchased a vegetable and fruit juicer to start making my own green juices, and brought my iPod back into service by buying new (good!) headphones and updating the music on it. Not bad for the first week!

My plan for this weekend is to tackle a few more of the goals I'd been putting off until now. I'm going to gather and collect all those shoes that need to be repaired so that I can drop them off at the shop on Monday. I also want to order new stationery and business cards so if anyone has a good tip for those, please leave it in the comments. I'd love something a little offbeat!

My boyfriend, Eugene, has also started his own list. You can check his list out here: http://unluddite.blogspot.com/2009/06/101-goals-in-1001-days.html. Fortunately, all of our mutual goals match up so that's promising! ;)

Will continue to keep you posted on the list progress!

101 Goals in 1001 Days

2009-06-17T23:27:00.028-05:00

This is a list of the 101 goals that will complete within a time period of 1001 days. My proposed start date for this is June 20th, which means that I have until March 17, 2012 to complete my list. My list of goals is complete, although I may refine the goals as time passes in an effort to make them more concrete (for example, adding specific dates or locations).

I'm going to be keeping track of the goals I complete right here so you can check back to see how my progress is. I would love your feedback and support as I work through my list. If you ever have any ideas or advice that could help me accomplish any of the things on this list, please let me know in the comments box!

By the way, I admit the project was not my idea. I got it from my friend Vanessa, who recently posted a similar list on her own blog. The original idea actually came from another blogger a few years ago, and there are people all over the world trying to complete their own lists. If you decide to start your own, come back and leave me the link so that I can check it out and support you too!

Here are the basic details of the challenge:

The Mission:
Complete 101 preset tasks in a period of 1001 days.

The Criteria:
Tasks must be specific (ie. no ambiguity in the wording) with a result that is either measurable or clearly defined. Tasks must also be realistic and stretching (ie. represent some amount of work on my part).

Progress Tracking:
Items in bold: Completed
Items in italics: In progress

My 101 Goals for 1001 Days (June 20, 2009 - March 17, 2012)

1. Complete proposal for food-related nonfiction book.
2. Publish at least 25 articles.
3. Make a successful batch of French macarons.
4. Set up an attractive shelf with file boxes solely for the organization and display of magazines.
5. Send one handwritten letter or charming note a month to someone I admire
6. Complete my professional website with a design that I love and updated content--completed April 2011

7. Buy a new queen-sized (or larger) bed that is comfortable for both Eugene and me--completed February 2011

8. Replace all four pillows on our bed with new fresh ones that are slightly more ergonomic.
9. Bring all my broken (expensive!) shoes to a cobbler and get the heel tips replaced and other repairs made.--completed 6/29
10. Learn how to take full advantage of my Nikon D60 SLR
11. Grow my own tomatoes
12. Figure out how to keep hydroponic herbs alive after I bring them home from the store
13. Transition into buying only organic apples, spinach, and strawberries
14. Make homemade mozzarella--completed 6/2011

15. Go on a volunteering trip to somewhere in South America or Africa
16. Find a local church home and attend at least once a month
17. Pay off all my debt including student loan (approx $6000)
18. Raise credit score (+30 points as of 12/2009)
19. Buy a house with Eugene
20. Get a dog
21. Take at least one writing or otherwise enriching course every 6 months (1. Mediabistro Food Writing Bootcamp in May 2009, 2. Mediabistro Nonfiction Book Proposal November 2009, 3. Social Media course at Columbia April 2010, Cookbook proposal course September 2010, )
22. Visit at least three (3) places in the US where I have never been before (1. Ocean Grove, NJ, 2. San Francisco/Sonoma/Napa, 3. Buffalo, 4. Vieques, 5. Baltimore, 6. Chicago, 7. Vermont)
23. Visit at least three (3) countries where I have never been before--1. Aruba 2. Canada 3. Scotland
24. [Private]
25. Buy nice welcome mats for all the neighbors on our floor that have old, dirty, or no mats
26. Donate 2 boxes of books to the prison library or other worthy cause--12/2009 (to Housing Works)
27. Arrange for the shell lamp from West Elm to be hung up--I hung it up myself!

28. Get my signed Audrey Kawasaki print framed
29. Hire someone to hang the ceiling fan
30. Use the gym at work at least twice a week for one month (Completed 10/2010 NYSC instead of work gym, but same idea.)

31. Schedule some regular bonding time with Mama
32. Schedule some regular bonding time with Papa
33. Try to build better relationship with Gabriel
34. Find 3 new couples to socialize with
35. Throw a sit-down dinner party--completed 10/2009
36. Deep clean and organize the kitchen cabinets/pantry--completed 6/20
37. Bring lunch in to work at least 2x a week for 6 months straight
38. Go on a double date with Gabriel and Caroline
39. Visit Titi Gladys and ask her to teach me how to make pasteles
40. Learn Abu’s recipes for red beans
41. Go berry picking in the summer and/or apple picking in the fall
42. Visit Roosevelt Island
43. Bake a batch of delicious, flaky, buttery croissants
44. Visit Moe in Philadelphia--completed May 2010
45. Visit Sara and Lindsay in Washington, DC--completed August 2009
46. Find a local volunteer opportunity that has to do with food/cooking
47. Save at least $300 from each paycheck
48. Buy fresh produce, eggs, and dairy products from the farmer’s market at least once a month
49. Introduce myself to and build a relationship with the farmers at the market.
50. Walk all the way from our apartment down to the West Village (preferably with Eugene)
51. Plant shrubs, flowers, and trees that attract butterflies in the garden when we buy a house
52. Visit the eye doctor and get new contacts and glasses--completed 7/31/2009
53. Start and complete a Mederma treatment on the scar on my right leg
54. Get my driver’s license
55. Register to vote in NYC and then in NJ if/when we move there
56. Successfully complete NaBloPoMo (blogging every day in the month of November) in 2009--completed 11/30/2009, ~~2010~~, and 2011.
57. Start collecting a list of contacts for future book publicity purposes
58. Buy a juicer to make my own green juices--completed 6/24/2009
59. Visit each of the new NY baseball stadiums (new Yankee & Citi Field) at least once
60. Back-up my hard drive
61. Have a picnic in Central Park--completed 7/25/2009
62. Sing in public
63. Get out of bed at 7AM when Eugene wakes up, and use extra hour to write. Do this at least 3x each week for one month.
64. Buy feathers and tulle and make myself a fascinator
65. At least 1x a week during the pleasant weather months, walk up Central Park West or Columbus to 96th Street before getting on train (2 miles).
66. Buy a pair of good headphones and update songs on iPod so that I can start using it again.--completed 6/24
67. Start every morning for the course of one month with a glass of water with lemon juice
68. Maintain my routine of getting a manicure and pedicure at least every two weeks to keep my nails neat. Remember to go early in the week to get the $25 deals.
69. Get a real professional (as opposed to chair or Eugene) massage once every 3 months.
70. Clear all the “clutter corners” in our apartment (clear bins in bedroom, laundry basket, boxes)--completed 6/28/2009
71. Go to Bra Smyth or other specialized lingerie store in NY and get a proper bra fitting.--completed 12/2009 (Orchard Corset Shop--best store ever!)
72. Go to at least one outdoor summer concert.--completed 7/16/2010 Dave Matthews Band at Citi Field
73. Go to at least one play (Broadway or otherwise, per year)--Come Fly Away on Broadway
74. Give my requested recipes to the people who have requested them (Marion, Brandy, Carmen)
75. Get married-completed 1/8/2011

76. Bake my own wedding cake--completed 1/8/2011
77. Take one photo a day of something that interests me for one month
78. Subscribe to The New York Times Sunday Edition
79. Have dinner by myself at a nice restaurant (meal must include appetizer, entree, and dessert).
80. Have dinner by myself at a nice restaurant WITHOUT reading material or playing on BlackBerry
81. Go to a taping of a show with a live studio audience--completed 1/2010 (Martha Stewart show)

82. ~~Meet and talk to Opera Lady~~ (the opera singer who lives below us) (canceled because she moved out of the building soon after I wrote this.)

83. Eliminate all refined flours and sugars from my diet for at least 1 month
84. Bring my lunch into work every day for one month
85. Order new personal business cards with my web/blog/twitter info--completed 8/7/2009
86. Get my white Bulgari sunglasses repaired
87. Become proficient in Photoshop
88. Order personalized stationary
89. Go on a walking tour of Harlem
90. Take a course at Columbia University--completed 4/2010

91. Take a dance class at Alvin Ailey
92. Lose 20 lbs
93. Apply and be accepted into the Morningside Writers Memoir & Essay Group
94. Go to bed by 11pm every single day for one week (7 days)
95. Get into work before 9AM every single day for one week (5 days)
96. Develop habit of taking Concerta every morning at same time
97. Eat breakfast every day for one month straight
98. Complete one entire month of not buying anything that is not absolutely essential. (no fun purchases, no clothing, no food that is not groceries, etc.)
99. No eating after 8PM for one entire month
100. Talk to 5 people I normally would not talk to
101. Read over this 101 Goals list every day

Girl with Dog

2009-06-15T19:01:00.001-05:00

DSC_0621, originally uploaded by nanda2483.

And a little girl, running with her dog.

(Sol)o

2009-06-15T19:00:00.001-05:00

DSC_0619, originally uploaded by nanda2483.

Just a little boy, walking along the water at sunset...

Holiday Feet

2009-06-15T18:57:00.001-05:00

Holiday Feet, originally uploaded by nanda2483.

Even feet look pretty on this beach. At least at sunset...

Casa Vieja

2009-06-15T18:55:00.001-05:00

Casa Vieja, originally uploaded by nanda2483.

When you leave the airport, take the road heading north, just past the Texas and the big lot store. Make a left at the end of the road and you'll find this little restaurant right next to a tire shop. Park your car, grab a table and order the chuleta colombiana or the bandeja paisa. For less than 10 bucks each, you'll have yourself a plate overflowing with authentic (and delicious) Colombian food. Eat as much as you can, then take the rest to go--you can finish them on the beach tomorrow. If you can, this is the place to use your high school Spanish. If you can't, just point at the menu. You'll do just fine...

Sunny & Squinty

2009-06-15T18:51:00.001-05:00

, originally uploaded by nanda2483.

This one's so bright I can almost still feel it.

See?

2009-06-15T18:49:00.001-05:00

, originally uploaded by nanda2483.

Unbelievably beautiful. Those colors, man!

Just a rusty dock and a boat named Maggy

2009-06-15T18:45:00.001-05:00

DSC_0592, originally uploaded by nanda2483.

On our way back from San Nicolaas, we pulled over in Savaneta to take pictures by the water. It was probably one of the most gorgeous spots on the island.

World's Coolest Lawn Statue

2009-06-15T18:43:00.001-05:00

Man Statue, originally uploaded by nanda2483.

I just needed to post this one more time. Oh...just your average giant man statue on someone's front lawn.

Man Lawn Statue

2009-06-15T18:41:00.002-05:00

Man Lawn Statue, originally uploaded by nanda2483.

This was probably one of my favorite things we spotted in Aruba. It was a giant statue placed on the front lawn of a house in the quiet town of Savaneta (a suburb located next to the refinery town of San Nicolaas). Having grown up in New Jersey, I've seen some pretty gaudy lawn decoration, but this definitely beats all those Mary-on-the-halfshells...

The Movie Palace & The Women of Ill Repute

2009-06-15T18:23:00.002-05:00

The Movie Palace, originally uploaded by nanda2483.

This is the Movie Palace in San Nicolaas, a small city on the south-eastern most tip of the island where the one of the largest Valero oil refineries is located. It's not a pretty city, although it does have it's charm. Brightly-colored (though rundown) buildings line tiny narrow streets shaded with divi-divi trees.

The thing to note about San Nicolaas is that, besides oil, the city also has one particularly interesting industry--prostitution. The area in San Nicolaas is known as the "Zone of Tolerance," and it is here that regulated prostitution is permitted (although the island now has control over its own internal affairs, it is still considered part of the Kingdom of the Netherlands where prostitution is also legal). Each of the bars is permitted 4 prostitutes on staff. The vast majority of the girls come from nearby-Columbia, and are brought there by agencies who specialize in recruiting pretty--but poor--girls to come and "work" in the island. The girls are granted 3-month visas and their passage is paid by the bars where they will spend their tenure. The first few weeks or so is spent working to pay back what they owe (airline tickets, visas, and rent), and only once their debt is covered are they permitted to keep what they earn. Every couple weeks, the girls are taken to see a gynecologist who examines them and pronounces them safe for duty. When their 3 months are up, the girls have to return to their native countries and are not permitted back to the island for a full year.

Eugene and I drove down to San Nicolaas just to take a look at this part of the island, which differs so drastically from the shiny tourist-central of the west. Though it was early--only about 11AM--the girls were easy to spot. Many were hanging around in groups of 3 or 4 by the doors of the bars where they worked. The bars were all closed, but some of the girls take advantage and work the streets during the day in order to make a little extra money. They were all young--probably around my age or younger--and Latina. Even though it was early in the day, they were already scantily clad. One girl wore a tight mesh dress that just barely covered her bottom. Another wore a pair of skimpy hot-pants with an unbuttoned midriff top that was spilling out with her enormous (and fake) bosom. On one corner we noticed one girl in a tight t-shirt and panties hugging a man good-bye. Before he walked away, he handed her a wad of the local currency.

Driftwood

2009-06-15T17:59:00.001-05:00

DSC_0578, originally uploaded by nanda2483.

The following night we went to a much less awesome seafood restaurant called Driftwood. If you're headed to Aruba, I would recommend skipping it. Eugene's former-friend, Jan, recommended it. I say former because after our dinner there, he was forced to un-friend him. (OK, not really)

The food wasn't awful. It was just on par with...oh let's say...The Olive Garden or maybe a Friday's on an especially bad night. The problems? Well, Eugene's freshly caught and filleted Yellowtail wasn't properly cleaned: he had a little pile of bones by the time he finished. My lobster tail was over cooked--it was dry and gummy. Really disappointing, considering I've had better lobster at at least 3 NJ diners.

Dessert, interestingly enough, was delicious (despite the fact that it was ordered off a menu with pictures on it). i had a truly spectacular chocolate cake that I was tempted to take home when I couldn't finish it. If you walk past the place and are risky enough, I'd suggest going in just for a drink and this cake. Eugene liked his Peach Melba, although the fruit was obviously canned and the syrup was--for some reason--strawberry, not raspberry.

Papiamento House

2009-06-15T17:41:00.002-05:00

Papiamento House I, originally uploaded by nanda2483.

Dinner that night was at Papiamento House, a delicious Arubian restaurant located inside a 150-year-old mansion. We were seated in the back patio, which was lush with palms and flowers surrounding a large pool. The food was lovely, although my favorite part was the Pan Bollo with rum sauce--a local bread pudding dessert.

The host took out picture a few time, although I have to admit that as sweet as he was, he wasn't much of a photographer. This is the only one of the pictures that didn't come out completely blurry. Of course, it may be our complicated Nikon DSLR that's to blame.

Papiamento, by the way, is the name of the local language. It's an interesting one--a blend of Spanish, Dutch, French, and a few other languages. It sounds a bit like Portuguese with that gutteral rasp of the Dutch. I spent most of the time feeling like I could "sort-of" understand it.

Snorkeling on the South Side

2009-06-15T17:34:00.001-05:00

DSC_0503, originally uploaded by nanda2483.

The Tranquilo sailed over to this tiny little pier, which was located on a small island in the south side of Aruba. There is a natural pool just beyond this, filled with coral and a variety of fish. We did a bit of waist-deep snorkeling in this area.

Later on, the stronger swimmers (Eugene) went out past the rocks for some drift snorkeling, while the rest of us went back to the boat for an unexpectedly-perfect lunch of Dutch Pea Soup and salmon sandwiches.

Divi Divi Trees

2009-06-15T17:27:00.001-05:00

DSC_0482, originally uploaded by nanda2483.

The day after we arrived, Eugene and I signed up for an all-day boat trip to the south side of the island for a bit of snorkeling and sailing. The boat was called the Tranquilo, and it was sailed by Captain Anthony and his first mate, Greg. All the other passengers on the boat were from Holland and spoke mainly Dutch, so E and I kept mainly to ourselves, taking pictures enjoying the incredible scenery--translucent turquoise water, passing boats, and the spooky-looking Divi Divi trees that dotted the shoreline (and, really, most of the island).

The Divi Divi is one of the few trees that can grow on this mostly desert island and the tops seem to grow almost horizontally. They say that the shape is determined by the constantly blowing wind on the breezy island.

Adorable bathroom lizard

2009-06-15T17:18:00.001-05:00

Adorable bathroom lizard, originally uploaded by nanda2483.

This adorable little lizard slipped into our bathroom on our first night in Aruba. Both Eugene and I have a "thing" for little lizards (we kept trying to capture them when we were in Puerto Rico back in February), so we spent about ten minutes chasing it around the bathroom with the camera. I got this shot by standing on my tippy-toes on the toilet seat, while using Eugene's head as a balance.

The coolest part was how it kept changing colors based on the surface it crawled onto. It's practically translucent here, but when it was on the blue tiles, it had more of a greenish hue. He escaped soon after this was taken, and we learned to leave the window shut at night.

Sun setting on Eagle Beach, Aruba

2009-06-11T15:36:00.001-05:00

Sun setting on Eagle Beach, originally uploaded by nanda2483.

One of my favorite photos from the trip. Will share more soon!

Roses & Limes

2009-05-11T21:29:00.001-05:00

DSC_0308, originally uploaded by nanda2483.

One of the flower arrangements I made for the Mother's Day dinner we hosted at our place. I used fresh limes and roses from the bodega.

Konami Easter Egg on Facebook

2009-05-08T12:37:00.003-05:00

A friend of mine on Twitter posted a message that the Konami code (arguably the most famous gaming cheat code ever) now worked on Facebook. I tried it out and got a spray of multi-colored bubbles that popped up on my screen whenever I scrolled or clicked on anything.

I was trying to figure out if this was some kind of marketing ploy that was about to come out, or if it was just a fun little Easter Egg, when I saw another friend post a link of other Konami coded sites available on the web. The list itself requires you to enter the Konami code to view it (use your arrow keys to type: up up down down left right left right, then the letter b, the letter a). For Facebook you need to hit Enter (or Return, if you're on a Mac) and scroll up or down.

I get pure delight from Easter Eggs like this. My favorite ever still being the little taxicab that would drive across the screen of my (now defunct) Palm Treo.

Log into your Facebook account and check the nerdiness out. And follow me on Twitter @nandita for more inane updates.

Good Read

2009-04-15T11:45:00.000-05:00

You know what's a good blog? This is a good blog: http://pacingthepanicroom.blogspot.com/
Seriously.

Persimmon

2009-04-15T10:52:00.001-05:00

Persimmon, originally uploaded by Katka S..

"Persimmons"
by Li-Young Lee

In sixth grade Mrs. Walker
slapped the back of my head
and made me stand in the corner
for not knowing the difference
between persimmon and precision.
How to choose

persimmons. This is precision.
Ripe ones are soft and brown-spotted.
Sniff the bottoms. The sweet one
will be fragrant. How to eat:
put the knife away, lay down the newspaper.
Peel the skin tenderly, not to tear the meat.
Chew on the skin, suck it,
and swallow. Now, eat
the meat of the fruit,
so sweet
all of it, to the heart.

Donna undresses, her stomach is white.
In the yard, dewy and shivering
with crickets, we lie naked,
face-up, face-down,
I teach her Chinese. Crickets: chiu chiu. Dew: I've forgotten.
Naked: I've forgotten.
Ni, wo: you me.
I part her legs,
remember to tell her
she is beautiful as the moon.

Other words
that got me into trouble were
fight and fright, wren and yarn.
Fight was what I did when I was frightened,
fright was what I felt when I was fighting.
Wrens are small, plain birds,
yarn is what one knits with.
Wrens are soft as yarn.
My mother made birds out of yarn.
I loved to watch her tie the stuff;
a bird, a rabbit, a wee man.

Mrs. Walker brought a persimmon to class
and cut it up
so everyone could taste
a Chinese apple. Knowing
it wasn't ripe or sweet, I didn't eat
but watched the other faces.

My mother said every persimmon has a sun
inside, something golden, glowing,
warm as my face.

Once, in the cellar, I found two wrapped in newspaper
forgotten and not yet ripe.
I took them and set them both on my bedroom windowsill,
where each morning a cardinal
sang. The sun, the sun.

Finally understanding
he was going blind,
my father would stay up all one night
waiting for a song, a ghost.
I gave him the persimmons, swelled, heavy as sadness,
and sweet as love.

This year, in the muddy lighting
of my parents' cellar, I rummage, looking
for something I lost.
My father sits on the tired, wooden stairs,
black cane between his knees,
hand over hand, gripping the handle.

He's so happy that I've come home.
I ask how his eyes are, a stupid question.
All gone, he answers.

Under some blankets, I find three scrolls.
I sit beside him and untie
three paintings by my father:
Hibiscus leaf and a white flower.
Two cats preening.
Two persimmons, so full they want to drop from the cloth.

He raises both hands to touch the cloth,
asks, Which is this?

This is persimmons, Father.

Oh, the feel of the wolftail on the silk,
the strength, the tense
precision in the wrist.
I painted them hundreds of times
eyes closed. These I painted blind.
Some things never leave a person:
scent of the hair of one you love,
the texture of persimmons,
in your palm, the ripe weight.

Turtle Burger

2009-04-10T15:44:00.001-05:00

Turtle Burger, originally uploaded by flaunted.

Om nom nom nom?

Weak Days

2009-04-09T23:23:00.004-05:00

The exhaustion is setting in earlier and earlier lately. Sometime around Wednesday or Thursday or, perhaps, it's just that it never goes away.

In the mornings I daydream about not getting off the train. I'd let the doors shut and stay seated, riding all the way downtown and back. Back and forth, all day long. I imagine what would happen once 10 rolls around and someone notices that I'm not just late. I wonder if they'd call or anxiously check messages to see something was overlooked--a forgotten vacation day or doctor's appointment. There's a thrill in that wish. I wish, I wish... Instead I walk off and up and down the long corridor, dodging slow-moving tourists, idling shoppers. Up the stairs again, through the doors, a fumble with my pass, the escalator, the elevator, the pass again. Just getting through the door is an obstacle.

I'm usually not ready to say "good morning." I prefer to walk in quietly, slip into my chair and type out my various logins. The first hello breaks into the silence of my train thoughts and I realize that it has already started; for the next nine hours the day is no longer mine.

In the evening I take the local train. I like how it stretches out the journey, breaking it up into a dozen equal 10-block parts. I ignore the book on my lap and spend the time thinking. It's there that I realize how angry I am. It comes in waves that make my eyes burn and my throat scratch. I want to lash out at the stolen minutes, the car alarms, the part of my brain that's unable to calm itself down.

Plans make me tired. Dinners, parties, visiting friends; they carry the same weight as those hours at work. More things that I have to do...more time spent not doing what I want to do.

The weekend is gone long before it even begins.

Sign of the Times

2009-04-07T23:04:00.001-05:00

Sign of the Times, originally uploaded by nanda2483.

The part at the top--the part that you can't really see--says, “the world is a strange, serious, and wonderful place.” I tend to agree.

(I kind of wish I'd ripped off that last remaining tag.)

Springing Through

2009-04-06T13:41:00.002-05:00

Tree in Union Square, originally uploaded by nanda2483.

I stopped by the farmer's market in Union Square on Saturday. I picked up some fantastic dairy products (homemade quark, whole milk buttermilk, goat's milk yogurt) and salad greens. I also bought a little jar of black raspberry jam that I wanted simply because it was sitting next to a sign that said: "Made by hand in small batches by my wife Claire and our daughter Sara," which just warmed my heart in all kinds of ways. It was quite good, too. I think I'll get a bigger jar next week.

And then as we were leaving, I saw this tree, and I took a picture of it because I love the way the pink blossoms were all bright and pretty despite the fact that it was otherwise quite cold and gray. As if they were just going by a schedule that said "time for spring" and so they followed, even if none of the other flowers did.

My Dreamboard

2009-03-25T23:40:00.003-05:00

I recently put together a "dreamboard" full of pictures that inspire me and that represent all the things I want to achieve both in the short and long term. I keep this posted on the bulletin board in my kitchen (where I spend QUITE a bit of time) and it's a great reminder to keep a focus on the things I want for myself. My mother has always been a huge believer in the effectiveness of dreamboards and I **swear** that everything she puts on her board comes true in one way or another.

What would you put on your dreamboard?

On skiing and other insanities

2009-03-19T08:53:00.003-05:00

I've been finding the news about Natasha Richardson's death awfully upsetting. It always does when it's an accident like that. Something that would perhaps had never happened had she stayed home that day or gone shopping or to the beach or done anything else instead. Not that one can't have an accident or die in one's home or the beach or the mall, but I think you understand my point. It's one of those "If only if..." kind of situations.

It also hasn't done much to diminish my fear/distaste of skiing and other related cold mountain activities. I've just never really caught on to the appeal of hurling oneself down a slippery mountain. I find curling up with hot cocoa with marshmallows and a book in the lodge to seem like a much more appealing activity. A crackling fire, a soft blanket, solid ground--all undeniably delicious.

When I was in high school, my mother had a dream where I was paralyzed in a skiing accident. The odd thing about it is that I'd never expressed any interest whatsoever in skiing; nobody in my family had, but it just so happened that the next day my school announced that they were organizing a ski trip. My mom is one of those moms who tends to have semi-prophetic dreams, so when I told her about the trip and she told me about the dream she'd JUST had, it cemented my vow to never partake. My interest in the whole thing was really quite low, and I had no desire to test out my mother's intuition. So I stayed home while my friends went, and I read and didn't break anything (while at least two of my friends came back broken or sprained or otherwise injured).

My family is more of a warm weather family anyway. We prefer the pool to the snow and a cozy living room to the snowy backyard. We're an indoor family, and I'm quite happy with that.

On another (only semi-related) note, am I the only one who ever confused Natasha Richardson with Blythe Danner? I realize it's ridiculous as Blythe is a couple decades older, but they are all (were all, I suppose) part of that group of actresses that's all collarbones and elegance. Not exactly the most high-brow of films, but I really adored her performance as the insecure (and insufferable) wealthy hotel guest in Maid in Manhattan.

A fresh coat of a paint

2009-03-17T12:37:00.003-05:00

It's occurred to me that I need to do something with this site. I don't want it to die; in fact, I actually want to bring it back to life. Shake it up a bit, you know? I wonder if I should maybe get a new design for it. Even just a new color...something to make it seem a little different and new and more fitting to now-me than pre-now-me (they're different, I assure you).

When I was still in high school, my parents decided that they wanted to finally hire someone to paint the inside of our house. We had the house built when I was about 15. It was one of those big, modern McMansion types with brick facing, big columns out front, and siding all down the sides. Trees separated our backyard from the next house (identical to ours except for the brick color) and there was a big porch out back. Just your typical North Jersey upper-middle class house. When they built it, they had to choose from a list of pre-set options for tiles, counters, and wood stains, but they never had the inside painted. For years, it remained stark white, with the exception of my bedroom. My room was periwinkle; a blue-ish purple not unlike the one in my blog header that I chose for no reason other than the fact I loved the Crayola crayon by the same name. The irony is that the color I chose didn't even match the crayon correctly (it was far too purple), but I was stubborn and told myself that I loved it until I finally believed that I did.

So one day my parents decided that it was time to do something about the sanitary white walls and brought in a man from our church who was a professional house painter. He came early on a Saturday morning while I was still in bed, and the three of them (mom, dad, painter) walked around the house discussing possible treatments and washes and glazes. When they came to my room, my dad knocked on my door and I swooped under my covers where I remained while they peeked into the room to inspect the wall color. Mr. Vandersteen (the painter), shook his head at the sight of the periwinkle walls and said to my parents, "Doesn't this room make you feel depressed?"

I don't actually remember my parents answer, only that I was horrified by his suggestion that my walls were depressing. I spent the rest of that morning planning my defense in case my parents agreed that the color needed to go.

Fortunately, the anxiety was all for naught since the price the painter quoted ended up being ridiculously high. My parents found a friend of a friend who did the whole job for about the third, conveniently staying out of my periwinkle room.

I wish I could say that the color is still there. When I left for my stint in Italy, my mom surprised me by redecorating it and having three of the four walls painted a deep wine color that contrasted quite nicely with the blue. A few years after that (once I had completely lost all sentimental attachment to the room), they redecorated it again, painting the walls a neutral cream and turning it into a proper guest bedroom.

I guess the point of all this is that I'm no longer attached to these (blog) walls. I think it may be time for a makeover so that I can feel a bit more at home here.

Just a note to say...

2008-11-30T22:07:00.002-05:00

Just got a comment on an old post of mine and realized how long it's been since I've written here. I spent a bit of time reading some of the archives and just wanted to drop in and say that it's not over yet. I'll be back soon. I promise.

Sunday Brunch

2008-06-02T05:54:00.002-05:00

“We are all doing spectacularly well,” I declare with a raise of the icy glass.

We’d gone for coffee after brunch, but stopped at a bar instead of a café and ordered cocktails instead of espresso. I was deep into my third at this point, the early afternoon pouring hot over us as we sat and stared at passing strangers and reflected on how simultaneously odd and natural it was that school had ended a few years ago and that we were still all kind of together despite the jobs and break-ups and graduate programs that have been pulling us back and forth through time zones.

And yet here we sat in this nexus of a city, sipping and talking, as casually and comfortably as we’d had so many times in the past. We examined each other, commenting and complimenting on weight lost, new freckles, longer hair. We made fun of our quirky constants: Looney’s accent, my tardiness, Jeremy’s nose. We repeated jokes. Jeff did his Kramer impression. The ever-absent Elijah was summoned, as well as the other old friends: brisket and sickly-sweet Manishevitz and Jorge Ramos and strange roommates and Looney’s bourbon-soaked accent (yes, worth mentioning again).

“We’re 25 going on 50,” Jeff jokes; a fact effortlessly confirmed moments later when Looney mentions The Atlantic, William Jennings Bryan, and Bill Buckley all within one sentence and is met with a hearty laugh from the rest.

It didn’t matter that it had been so long or perhaps more since we’d seen each other. There was no need for catch up, really.

And Jeff noted that it felt like he’d been away for only a long weekend, and Looney and I murmur something about how we are happy and I think to myself how the little tricky months here and there just kind of seemed to have disappeared, melted away like the glistening drops of condensation slipping down the side of my glass.

Something smells funny

2008-05-15T21:08:00.003-05:00

I'm worried that there might be a meth lab in one of my neighbor's apartments. I came home and it smelled like paint thinner or glue in my apartment. I realize that it probably has to do with the renovation going on in the building, but my excessive Law & Order watching has me thinking "Meth lab. Definitely a meth lab."

Shudder...

Office Morale

2008-05-13T21:53:00.002-05:00

I ain't freakin. I ain't fakin this

2008-05-05T22:41:00.003-05:00

Sometimes I like to share my G-Chat convos. This is one of those times:

Scene: Discussing music playlist for my upcoming dinner party

me: I'm on isoHunt
searching for torrents
and always giggle when I come across these albums called things like
"Electro House you NEED 2007"
cuz let me tell ya...
I don't need no electro house

Monica: haha
what kind of music for Friday? the old standards (dean, frank)

me: I'm going to play **exclusively** only music from commercials--you know iPod ads and Mitsubishi commercials. Bands like the Ting Tings and Cat Power...maybe even that new Madonna song from the Sunsilk ad

Monica: haha
Feist?

me: I don't know what it's called. I just call it "that shampoo commercial song"

Monica: Why don't you throw in Of Montreal for their song that runs in the Outback Steakhouse ads (even though the lyrics were completely changed for the ad)? What lead you to this decision?
me: Well, there is just so much good music in advertising these days...

Monica: no kidding

me: i may even throw in a few of the old standards. You know, like:
"A dollop of Daisy...A dollop of DAAAAY-Sy"

Monica: haha
awesome

me: and 30 seconds of the aardvaark song

Monica: I know you love that damned aardvaark song

me: I do!

Monica: is it two double-as?

me: I do love it

Monica: or just one: "aardvark"?

me: Ahh...I just added it for good measure

Monica: one

me: It's "aardvaaark," actually.

Monica: thankfully, google chat has a spell checker

me: It's three and one double-A actually. Five total.

Monica: and ironically enough, google comes up as a misspelled word

me: no. firefox has a spell checker
not google

Monica: well, whatever

me: haha
i do love that itunes song

Monica: and it doesn't have 5 As...

me: "i ain't freakin I ain't fakin this"

Monica: haha

me: mmmmm that hasn't been proven yet, Moe

Monica: yeah - it's catchy
Uh, yeah it has

me: I should just play all Frank and Dean
and then slip that in randomly
and be like
"what? what's the problem? it's a classic!"

Monica: haha
go for it - it's your party
all right
have to get to work

me: ok ok
you go work

Monica: it's gonna be a loooong night

me: I'm going to blog this.

On fear and sadness

2008-04-19T18:50:00.003-05:00

I slept on and off last night, something pulling me from sleep seconds before the message appeared. Someone else's tears landing on my nightstand. I'm awkward at these moments. My words fail miserably as, I suppose, they are expected. All I can do is ache, too.

The thoughts remain after I say good-bye; shaking me, twisting my dreams into something ugly and full of smoke. I wake to the sound of a knock at the door, heavy and loud, followed by what I am convinced is a turn of a key. I snap up quickly; frantic and sweaty, certain that someone has entered my home and waiting for this intruder to appear at my bed.

There is no one.

I listen to the silence and peer through the french door panes, debating whether or not it had been a dream. I know it already, actually, but still can't help the chills that have spread out over my skin.

The sun is up, and birds and children laughed impertinently on the street. I settle back into my bed, finally, my body clenched around the damp pillow.

I am suddenly and intensely frightened by our fragility.

Google's April Fools Joke

2008-04-01T09:00:00.004-05:00

"Custom Time"

Man how I wish this one was for real... ;)

I have to say that this year's joke is way better than last year's "Gmail Paper" gag.

Some choice quotes from the description and "testimonials" section:

"I just got two tickets to Radiohead by being the 'first' to respond to a co-worker's 'first-come, first-serve' email. Someone else had already won them, but I told everyone to check their inboxes again. Everyone sort of knows I used Custom Time on this one, but I'm denying it."

Robby S., Paralegal"

"Is there a limit to how far back I can send email?

Yes. You'll only be able to send email back until April 1, 2004, the day we launched Gmail. If we were to let you send an email from Gmail before Gmail existed, well, that would be like hanging out with your parents before you were born -- crazy talk."

Rhymes with Bitch

2008-03-31T09:21:00.000-05:00

I have a friend. Well...an acquaintance really, whose Facebook photo makes her look like a witch.

Literally...it looks like she's wearing a cape and pointy hat. It's not even a costume; just a weird outfit + bad angle, but she loves it.

She seems to think she looks good in this photo, though. I keep waiting for her to change it, but it's the only photo she's posted and I suspect it won't be coming down any time soon. The odd thing is that the more I look at the photo (I can't look away!), the more I remember that I never really liked her that much in the first place. I only accepted her "friendship" because I remembered her and wanted to see what she was up to, but now my curiosity has been satisfied and I wish there was a way to stop the photo from popping up all the time.

I'm seriously considering de-friending her. Anything so long as I don't have to look at the creepy witch photo on my "feed" ever again...

Reunited

2008-03-29T21:47:00.001-05:00

For the past few months, I’ve been spending more and more time with an old friend of mine from high school. We’d been close back then, he being a prominent part of our nerdy, wonderful little group. College pulled us apart, though, and save for one or two dinners in the interim years, we really hadn’t seen each other since graduation.

It was Friday evening after a particularly boring week, when I was surprised to see the familiar name on my cell caller ID.

“So it seems that your blog has requested my friendship on MySpace,” he told me with a bit of a laugh in his voice.

“I didn’t even know that inanimate objects could create profiles!”

I cracked up and after chatting for a while, we made those tentative usually never actually happen “let’s grab drinks soon” kind of plans and hung up. Minutes later, the phone rang and it was him again.

“Actually,” he asked. “What are you doing now?”

Somehow, he convinced me out of my pajamas and into the shower, and two hours later we were sitting in a coffee shop downtown, enthusiastically catching each other up on the last several years of our lives. We spent a lot of time marveling over the way the hobbies and extra-curricular activities we had each been obsessed with at age 16 had now, nearly ten years later, become our careers. It was hours before I got home, coffee having turned into a movie followed by drinks and then a couple hours of just wandering around West Village side streets. Morning light was just starting to creep into the sky when I finally crawled into my bed, feeling happy at having found my old friend and still relishing in that familiar comfort of being around someone who knew you when your hair was always frizzy and your stupid knee socks would never stay up.

We found ourselves telling bits of that story again this past weekend as we dined and drank and dined and drank again with some of his friends and coworkers—a vibrant circle of clever, intelligent people that I’ve been openly coveting as my own for the past couple months. I was chatting with a girl sitting across from me when I heard him mention going to a concert I would have loved.

“Wait…wait…and you went without me?!” I exclaimed, a bit offended at the thought.

“No, no,” he said quickly. “This was a couple years ago. It was after/before!”

“After/before?” I asked, the sangria/blueberry stoli/wine combination I’d been imbibing all night lending obvious fuel to my confusion.

“Yeah,” he said with a smile, “after we met but before we met again.” My smile broke through then as I understood. “Ohhh…” I said with a boozy whisper. “I call those dark ages…”

Win Delicious Cookies!

2008-03-10T07:11:00.001-05:00

Need I say more?

Minding my own business

2008-03-09T14:30:00.004-05:00

I've started a little online business. It's something I've been working on for the past couple week and finally I'm ready to go live. It's a little virtual bakeshop (with very real, non-virtual cakes) on Etsy.com.

To start, I'm specializing in Italian Rainbow Cookies and my super cool Italian Rainbow Cake (basically a giant, slightly lighter version of the original). I'm playing around with colors and jams, but for now am offering the classic versions. I'm also going to be selling financiers and madeleines pretty soon, so stay tuned!

I ship all over the US via USPS priority mail and the cookies are sold in batches of 24 or 40 generously-sized portions. I'm planning a fun little contest soon; details of which will be posted shortly! For now, all my blog readers will receive a 10% discount on your orders (just mention one of my blog names in your buyer's note).

I'm really excited about this and can't wait to see what you think about my cookies (and the shop)!

To check it out for yourself, visit: http://alwaysorderdessert.etsy.com/

Sacred Ground

2008-03-05T00:13:00.005-05:00

I rushed past that spot again today on my way home from work. It was probably about the 10th or 11th time since, but it was only today that I realized it as I walked by, heels clicking quickly where they once were content to stand perfectly still.

It felt like fallout; space imbued with so much weight. The rush of dizziness and heat as intense as the moment rising, then disappearing just as suddenly.

It didn't even look the same. A mass of people: police officers, officeworkers, shouting prophets, highschool kids with low-slung backpacks. A little boy tried to jump the turnstile--his dad stopped him.

That night felt silent, but this seems more familiar--less terrifying. This I understand. I swipe my card. I lift my purse to pass.

The dizziness comes and goes, and (as the facts fade into memory) I wonder if perhaps it wasn't ever really even that strong to begin with.

The ABCs of Alejandra

2008-02-24T03:20:00.003-05:00

A - Age: 25

B - Band listening to right now: Rolling Stones (current tune: Lady Jane)

C - Career future: I’m going to be quite famous. It’s only a matter of time…

D - Dad’s name: Jorge

E - Easiest person to talk to: J. My mom.

F - Favorite type of shoe: heels! The higher the better, and like Zen, I also find them much more comfortable than sneakers. I trip all over myself in sneakers but am incredibly graceful in heels. Unless I’m drunk, and then I’m just wobbly in general.

G – Grapes or Grapefruit: I’m not really supposed to eat either, but I love grapefruit. I also love frozen grapes.

H – Hometown: a little town in North Jersey

I – Instrumental talent: I sing, so voice. Although I can also play “Hot Cross Buns” on the recorder. Along with the rest of America.

J – Juice of choice: almond juice (sometimes called milk) since I can’t drink fruit juice.

K – Koala Bear or Panda Bear: Koalas, because they’re cute but oh-so-evil.

L- Longest car ride ever: Relatively speaking, driving up to NJ from DC with my mom when I moved back up about a year and a half ago. It was only about 5 hours, but we had Anais (my former cat) in the car with us and it was unbearable. We couldn’t breathe and had to keep the windows open even though it was freezing and raining and had to stop a few times because our allergies were so bad that neither one of us could stop sneezing/crying.

M – Middle name: It starts with the letter J

N - Number of jobs you’ve had: 18 jobs since age 13: (babysitter, jewelry store salesgirl, window designer at a vintage clothing store, concierge, administrative assistant, researcher, catering assistant, personal chef, PR intern at NEA, marketing intern at Bloomberg, publicity intern at a big book publisher, freelance translator, web and media relations associate, web editor, communications associate, web/computer instructor, freelance writer, women’s magazine editor). Mind you, I’m only 25…

O - OCD traits: I’m ADD; it’s like the EXACT opposite of OCD. So none.

P - Phobia[s]: Spores.

Q - Quote: "I put my arms around him yes and drew him down to me so he could feel my breasts all perfume yes and his heart was going like mad and yes I said yes I will Yes"-From Ulysses, by James Joyce

R - Reason to smile: There are SO many!

S - Song you sang last: Earlier, I was dancing around my kitchen while cleaning it and singing the song “Breakin’ Dishes” by Rihanna. During this performance I somehow managed to drop not just one, but TWO glasses and break them. Incidentally, just one week ago I was getting a little frisky with my wok while singing “Burning Down the House” and somehow managed to set my stir-fry on fire. This second incident should—but likely will NOT—keep me from future kitchen dance parties. Perhaps next time I’ll sing “I Want Candy” and see if caramel truffles start dropping out of the cabinets... ooh, or better yet, “Diamonds are a Girl’s Best Friend.”

T - Time you wake up: Ostensibly 7:30 on weekdays, but usually more like 7:57. Occasionally as late as 8:12. Leaving me just enough time to brush my teeth while yanking up jeans with one hand all the while running around looking for my “other shoe.” I always seem to be missing my “other shoe.” Thank god for publishing where it’s cool to show up in jeans and a tank top as long as you’ve got stilettos on your feet. Weekends depend…I tend to go to bed around 3, 4, or sometimes 5 AM because I like to write late into the night…er..morning, which means that I get up around 2 or 3 PM.

U - Unknown fact about me: unknown to whom?

V - Vegetable you hate: there isn’t one. I even love things that most people hate like beets, Brussels sprouts, and lima beans. I don’t like canned vegetables though.

W - Worst habit: Staying up until 3 every single night and oversleeping every subsequent morning (see “T” above). Also, nail biting.

X - X-rays you’ve had: teeth, legs, and head.

Y - Yummiest food my belly likes: Almond-flavored or filled things, Almond-milk, Almonds, arrabiata sauce, bacon, bagels with veggie cream cheese, Balsamic vinegar on strawberries, béchamel, berries and cream, beurre blanc, beurre noisette, beurre in general, black cherry soda, blood oranges, brie, buttered grits with sugar, challah, Chèvre chaud, Chuckles and other assorted gummy candy, coconut, corn spoon bread, Croquettes, dark chocolate, egg salad, empanadas, foie gras, French crullers, fried fiori di zucca, Garlic frites and aioli, gelato, ginger, guava, Half-sour pickles, heavy cream, Italian canned tuna, lemonade, lox, marshmallow Fluff, marshmallows, mayonnaise, meyer lemons, mint chocolate ice cream, moules mariniere, other kinds of pate, oysters, pannacotta, passion fruit, pork in general, proscuitto, queso fresco, raspberries, Rhubarb, rice pudding, risotto, Roasted cauliflower,roasted red peppers, salt cod, sausages and peppers at baseball games, seared scallops, Spanish jarred tuna, stewed and/or braised things like ossobuco and beef bourguignon, the amazing bread rolls at Bertucci’s, things made with sweet cheese like Danish or croissants but not cheesecake, Turkish almond pudding, Vanilla milkshakes, Veal Milanese with arugula and lemon wedges.

Z - Zodiac sign: Aquarius

Contemplating a Bob

2008-02-23T23:10:00.007-05:00

This afternoon I decided that I might want to cut my hair into an asymmetrical bob. I wore my hair like that all throughout high school and it was pretty hot, but since then I've been wearing it fairly long. Right now it hangs about halfway down my back and looks great but I find that I've been wearing it pinned up and in high ponytails a lot lately. So perhaps it's time for a change...?

What I look like normally...

What I'm thinking about doing...

(with hair strategically pinned up--obviously the end result would be more polished. Maybe even slightly longer than this...)

What do you guys think...?

Getting Personal

2008-02-19T22:33:00.010-05:00

I secretly like being tagged. I do, because it gives me an excuse to tell you random things about myself. Obviously, I like telling stories about myself. I mean, I have two blogs, I'm working on a memoir, and I like to talk. Sometimes, when I see that my friends post a meme, I check to see that they've tagged me. They rarely do. Except for Ryan. Ryan always tags me. And also Jaime. And so, for your voyeuristic pleasure, here are five absurdly candid anecdotes about me. The real meme calls for ten, but these are so juicy, I'm allowing myself five. I’m serious—you’re about to get the goods here…

(You can thank Ryan and Jaime later.)

1.) I brush my teeth in the shower. I've done this my entire life because it's the way my mom taught my brother and me. I always assumed that everyone did this and that teeth brushing, like hair washing, was just something you did in the shower (usually after applying, but before rinsing, hair conditioner). I later learned that most people brush at the sink, and that the only reason my mom taught us this way was because she hated when my dad, brother, and I left toothpaste all over the basin. Before you ask, please note that said anal mom also trained brother and me to shower twice a day--sometimes more in the summer. Not quite as anal dad long-ago gave up complaining about water bills.

Over the years, my shower brushing habit has confused overnight guests who can't ever seem to locate my toothpaste. "It's in the shower!" I always shout, followed by a pause while I wait for them to ask me why. In college, when BFF Matt and I were dating and I would occasionally surprise him by poking my head in the shower curtain (‘cause I'm fun like that), I discovered that he also brushed in the shower. He explained to me, however, that his motives had nothing to do with messy toothpaste spots on the mirror; his motives were entirely environmental.

2.) I hate my psychiatrist. I have a separate therapist who is brilliant, but who can’t prescribe the medicine I take to manage my adult ADD (with which I was diagnosed about a year ago). So in comes Dr. X. I chose him from a list provided by my HMO because his specialties listed attention and learning disabilities and because his office is literally around the corner from mine. He’s basically a grumpy pill pusher who lets me make my own diagnosis and does little more than write me a scrip once a month. Were I a different type of person I could very likely get him to prescribe me anything that I wanted—fortunately for both of us, I am not. I’m the daughter of a (scrupulous) psychologist and have researched enough to know how to use the medicine as a tool (only on weekdays, and only during working hours unless I have a lot of writing to catch up on at night), combined with modified (high protein, slow carbs, no refined wheat or sugar) diet and other tricks (labels, alarms, little morning chants: “keys, iPod, Treo, wallet”) meant to kickstart my slightly sluggish frontal lobe into working like everybody else's. Dr. X has no idea about any of this, of course. Nor does he seem to care.

The appointments with Dr. X rarely last longer than eleven minutes, the first five of which are spent with me recapping who I am, what I have, and what medicine he has me on. He occasionally makes snarky, inappropriate comments, such as last week when a stalled subway car caused me to be 10 minutes late for my appointment. “You’re cutting it close,” he said gruffly as I ran into his office located in the back of a swank condominium on Central Park South. I apologized, explaining that I was stuck underground on the A for 15 minutes and he brushed it off with a scoff about how “pretty girls always think they can get away with everything.” I smiled when he said that, my eyes bright with the realization that Dr. X will someday make for a spectacular chapter in my future bestselling roman à clef.

But I kept my mouth shut for another reason: Around minute seven of each appointment, Dr. X asks me to “rate the effectiveness of the medicine” on my “condition” using a completely arbitrary percentage scale that he never even bothered to define. I usually say something random like “it’s about 77% effective.” He’ll then note this in his scrawly legal pad and follow it up with that look that means he’s ready for me to hand him my $35 co-pay. And this is it. This is when I take my silent revenge. Every month I hand Dr. X two crisp twenty dollar bills, and every month Dr. X hands me back $15 dollars change. I tried saying something about it the first time, but he didn't understand me so I gave up. I figure that when you prorate the eleven minutes from the full hour I should be getting, it works out more than fairly.

3) I’ve lost nearly thirty pounds since Thanksgiving following a sort of modified Atkins plan. I’m probably the only person in the world who can start (and stick to) a diet during the holidays, but it’s actually quite easy when you’re the one that does all the cooking. My dad actually raved about my Thanksgiving mashed “potatoes” (actually cauliflower) and nobody at work has noticed that I replace sugar with Splenda in 90 percent of the treats I bring in to share.

4) The diet wasn’t supposed to be a weight loss thing; it started out as a means of dealing with the aforementioned ADD, based on the research and writings of Dr. Edward Hallowell http://www.adhdnewyork.com/), who recommends a high-protein, low carb diet rich in whole foods and absent of refined sugar and flour. My focus has in fact gotten a lot better and I have a great deal more energy than I used to. I’m basically bouncing off the walls these days, sometimes spontaneously throwing on a pair of sneakers and running around the block a few times (much to the entertainment of the local bums; this is Harlem after all. It’s not really a jogging part of town). It seems kind of ironic given the fact that I keep my carb intake at under 30 grams a day, but I swear that it’s the truth.

The loose clothing and positive reactions I’ve received from everyone from my boss to the cleaning lady who cornered me in the bathroom to aske me “what my secret is” have really kept me going, though. The strangest part of it all is that I’m just not really used to it. This has resulted mostly in confusion in the dressing room, where I’m often forced to send clothing back two or three times for a smaller size. My brain is so used to immediately grabbing the large or the size 12/14, that suddenly I’m weirded out by the fact that an 8 fits comfortably on me. Also, it’s expensive to lose weight. None of my jeans fit me, my formerly tailored winter coats have taken on a kind of saggy appearance, and I have entered what I affectionately like to call the “Bermuda Triangle of Bra Sizes,” meaning that while my cup has stayed at the ever so impressive triple D (it’s less ridiculous to write it out), my band is now a 30/32. I challenge you to try and find a 30DDD bra in an actual store that is actually attractive and doesn’t cost a week’s worth of groceries. Most have to be purchased online, usually imported from the UK, the land of busty women.

(For real, look it up, it’s not just fish & chips over there…)

5.) Blogging might be dorky, but it can also be a great way to meet boys.

Case in point: A couple weeks ago I wrote a post on my other blog about my budding crush on a sexy French sommelier named Olivier who runs a private tasting company in Paris and keeps a video blog about wine. On a whim, I sent him the link, along with a completely ridiculous line or two about how “adorable” I think he is and how it’s a shame he’s “so far away in Paris” as I’d love to attend a “private tasting” at his loft. I know…I know…I’m cringing even as I type this. I’m blaming the brazenness on the wine I’d been drinking and my belief that I would never see this man in real life.

Or so I thought!

Guess who happened to be landing in New York that very same day? That’s right… I met him and a few of his friends at a tapas bar downtown for dinner a couple nights later and I was incredibly pleased to discover that he was even more attractive in person. We entered into a lively conversation about American vs. France in terms of food, women, sex, politics, just about everything, really. It reminded me a lot of the debates my roommates and I would have with the Italian boys we brought home in Florence. Dinner (which really just consisted of olives and several pitchers of sangria) was followed by copious glasses of wine at a nearby bar as the friends gradually excused themselves until it was just us.

The rules of this game demand that I tag five others and so I choose Amy of Tales from the Higby Gang, Moe of Garden State of Euphoria, Erin of One Thousand Words or Less, Alaina of Laina Down Under, and DC, who never ever updates his blog.

Tag! You're it!

Still a Volcano

2008-02-07T01:36:00.001-05:00

"Hey gorgeous," the e-mail read. "I was thinking about you the other day. How's it all going?"

It had been nearly six months since I'd heard from him, and I hesitated before answering.

"Pretty great," I said. "Actually, it's my birthday today! I'm 25. How are you doing?"

I hit send and then waited for his response, wondering if perhaps time had finally made it possible for us to be friends on even terms.

A few minutes passed before his name popped on screen again. When I read his words I smiled.

"It's my birthday on April 1st. I'm more fantastic than ever, if you can believe that."

I thought for a second, and then wrote.

"So it's still all about you, eh?"

Shameless Request

2008-02-04T17:02:00.000-05:00

Hey Chickadees...

Yes, I mean you. So I need a little help.

"A little help from US," You say. "After you've all but ignored us in favor of that *other* blog...humph. The nerve!"

I know, I know. But this could be BIG. And you might get something out of it too...

"Well...if there is something in it for US...whaddaya want?"

So you know that *other* blog... The food one?

"Ugh...yes. What about it?"

So I wrote this recipe, for a pretty incredible chocolate hazelnut torte. I mean, incredible! Simultaneously rich and airy, and completely flourless although nobody believes it when they try it. I mean...it's like PERFECT. Anyway, I wrote this recipe and posted about it, and next thing you know, someone nominated it for a prize!

A chocolatey prize. A trip, to a chocolate festival, in Napa...where I get to drink wine and taste chocolate and spend the entire day doing decadent chocalatey things...How great is that?!

"Pretty great, but what's it have to do with us?"

Well...you could come too. Maybe. Wouldn't that be nice?

"Hmmm...keep talking..."

Well this contest that I told you about. It's run by this website called Culinate, and for me to win, I first have to be voted into the top ten by my blog readers. (That's you). The cool thing is, just by entering and voting, you automatically get two chances to win TOO. See, they're not just sending a blogger. They're sendinga blogger AND a reader. And you can bring a date! So you and your date and me and my date and we all get to eat chocolate and drink wine and roam around Napa for three days and two nights on someone else's dime. Are you up for it?

"Maaaybe...what do I have to do?"

It's easy! You just click on this link and register. It takes two minutes. Then vote for my blog (Always Order Dessert). And that's it.

Then cross your fingers... If you want to help more, you can tell all your friend and their friends and your hairdresser and that cute guy across the hall that you've been trying get the courage to talk to. Him too. Tell him, and if you're lucky, maybe he can be your date.

Are you in?

"No promises...but why don't you give me that link again?"

OK, it's: http://www.culinate.com/chocolate/standings?blogURL=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.alwaysorderdessert.com%2F Or just click on this:

City Battles Blob

2008-01-25T20:08:00.000-05:00

I came across this story earlier today and it made me laugh. I realize that it's a serious and expensive problem, but the way the entire city is so completely bewildered by the "blob" is just fantastic.

The best part is the handy little map they've created to pinpoint the exact location of the blob.

I'm not sure how this thing could have just been discovered now. 90-foot blobs don't appear overnight. The story reports that the blob is made mostly out of flour and grease. Basically, it's a giant blob of dough. I guarantee you that somewhere in Lewiston, there is an Italian guy scrambling to hide the evidence of his foiled plan to make the world's largest pizza.

Mystery Buzz

2008-01-17T00:08:00.000-05:00

My Treo buzzes every single day at either 12:03 AM or 12:07 AM. Without fail. Every day.

I have absolutely no idea why it does this. I've tried resetting it. I've removed the battery. I've called Verizon. I've checked for hidden alarms. I've downloaded Palm software updates (I have a 700p). I've spent hours and hours pouring through various Treo forums and Treo fan sites, all to no avail! (Yes. There are Treo fan sites.)

I'm not usually flustered by technology, but this thing really puzzles me. It doesn't really bother me or affect anything; it's just a question that I can't answer. And I hate those.

So I'm turning to you: have any of you ever experienced anything like this with either Treo (or other Palm) or Verizon?

Time for a new look?

2008-01-13T20:43:00.000-05:00

As many of you already know, I recently started a second blog that deals solely with food, cooking, and my experiences at culinary school. I just finished the design of the new blog and I'm completely crazy about it. In fact, I'm so crazy about it that when I link back here, I kind of feel a little bored with the look of this site.

I made a couple tweaks over the weekend (widened the posting area and increased the header size), but I'm wondering if perhaps it's time for a more complete makeover.

This is where you come in. I would love for you to weigh in on the decision. Please let me know what you think of this site design, the header, the colors, layout, etc. Tell me if there is anything you find complicated when you visit or that you would like to see. If you love it as is and don't want any changes, well then tell me that too.

Your feedback is greatly appreciated!

Some things you just have to share

2008-01-10T23:59:00.000-05:00

I live downstairs from an opera singer with a powerful voice. During the day, she practices her arias in her apartment. At night, she and her husband make love. Loudly.

I've grown oddly familiar with their most intimate sounds and habits. I could tune them out, I suppose, but quite frankly I'm fascinated.

I can tell you, for example, that when she finishes, she squeals and giggles, and then gets up and runs down the hall in the direction of the bathroom (our floorplans are the same).

I know his name is David. And that he's quieter during the act--only the occasional groan--but afterwards can't seem to stop talking, telling her things that I can't discern, but which invariably produce peals of hysterical laughter. It only takes him about 15 minutes to recharge. They're usually up long past my own 2 AM bedtime.

I guess when one works from home, sleep is not really that important...

I'm not sure why this took me so long...

2008-01-09T02:04:00.000-05:00

Those who know me will agree that this is long overdue. Those who don't, will soon understand why.

My new blog:

Always Order Dessert
Devoted to all things edible...

(Don't worry! I'm not shutting down sent from--Now you just get twice the Alejandra fun!)

Elsewhere on the web...

2008-01-08T12:51:00.000-05:00

The always awesome writing website Indie Bloggers has featured my recent post, "Hindsight" on their site.

If you haven't had a chance to check out Indie Bloggers yet, stop whatever you're doing and head over there now. It's an amazing collection of great writing from around the web, with a new awesome post featured every day. Their goal (as I understand it) is to feature, encourage, and inspire great writing on all kinds of topics.

So far, I think they've done a damn good job of it...

Not even the rain has such small hands, Part II

2008-01-03T23:12:00.000-05:00

“No. Don’t go yet,” I say when he reaches for his shoes.

“Babe, I have to…” His voice and face are tired, but I ignore it.

“No you don’t. Not yet.”

I feel and sound like a petulant child, but I can’t seem to help it. I’m not ready for him to leave yet.

He sighs and sits back with the remote in hand, flipping through the previews on the OnDemand channel. He laughs at something and I smile, but nothing on the screen makes sense to me and for some reason seems only to make me feel more upset. I wordlessly take the remote from him and turn it off, replacing the cheery sounds with the crackle of the parts as they cool.

He takes my hands in his, commenting on their size. I line them across his palm like puzzle pieces, noting the way two of mine together barely make one of his.

“Not even the rain has such small hands,” I say. I explain before he has the chance to ask. “It’s from this E.E. Cummings poem—‘Nobody, not even the rain has such small hands.’”

That last line has always been a favorite, but as I say it, I understand why this is so difficult. I might be the one with the small hands, but it’s really him who has the ability to naturally unclose me, petal by petal, effortlessly slipping into those tiny spaces no one else can seem to find. And when he's gone? They close up again--empty and quiet until the next time he makes the trip over from his half of the world.

Another minute ticks by and I watch him shift. He doesn’t say it, but I know he’s got his eye on the clock. My stomach suddenly starts to cramp—sharp pains that shoot up like knives and make it hard to breathe. I wince and tell him this.

“Is it from the wine?” he asks.

“No…I don’t think so. I don’t know what it is.” I’m lying, though. I know exactly what it is: my body is rejecting his departure.

I take a sip of water and lay down on the couch next to him. He’s allowed me a few more minutes and I take them hungrily. Lifting his arm, I slip my body under it, right ear pressed against his chest, within which a beat pounds steadily. I know that thump, having fallen asleep to its rhythm many times—nights, mornings, even one cloudy afternoon on the middle of a carpeted floor just inches away from a brownish wine stain.

I’m straining right now, wishing I could stop time or at least figure out a way to bottle this feeling of quiet contentment I feel only when he's around. Instead, I shut my eyes and lie still, breathing in the familiar soapy scent of his sweater. For a few more seconds, everything is in place. I’m afraid to move, knowing that once I do I’ll have to get used to missing him again. The task feels exhausting, unbearable, even. I want to say things, convinced that maybe if I just express this thing inside me just right, it'll make the moment easier.

I give myself a deadline. 30 more seconds, I think. In 30 seconds and I’ll get up and say good-bye…

I count them out slowly in my head, measured in time with the heartbeat in my ear. 28…29…30...

I wait one more beat before I tear myself away.

"OK," I say.

Mistress of My Domain

2008-01-01T15:45:00.000-05:00

I finally scrubbed that (blog) spot out of my address...

Now with a new, (slightly) shorter URL: http://www.sentfrommydelldesktop.com/

*Please update your bookmarks & links!

The Things She Said Last Year

2007-12-31T11:11:00.000-05:00

I was reluctant to do a year-end wrap thinking that I really hadn't been a very good blogger over the past several months. I was surprised when going through the entries of the past year to realize that, in fact, there were a few posts that were really quite good and which I really did love. Here, in collected goodness for your first day back at work reading pleasure, are six of my favorite posts of 2007:

"Just Five More Minutes"
To put it most ineloquently, saying goodbye to someone you care about, but will not see for a long time, sucks. It sucked last year, and (as I learned just a few days ago) it sucked this year. I understand now that it will continue to suck for another year or so until the good-byes are no longer necessary (at least not the kind that wrench you apart for months at a time).

"Eternity in an Hour"
I daydream on subway rides.

"Volcanoes"
Explosively dangerous personalities sometimes only seem so in hindsight.

"Kissing the Blarney Stone"
Sometimes I make up stories. At bars. For unsuspecting strangers.

"Just Another Day in Union Square"
I still have trouble walking by here without thinking about this day. A few months after I wrote this post, I received a comment from someone with the username "Zibblez." He said he had been best friends with the boy who died and his continued pain was still evident. It jarred me a little bit to realize that the things you write can sometimes touch people so directly.

"Forty-First Street Riffs"
Since moving into the city, I don't really miss the commute, but I do miss the inspiring stillness of this one-block stretch.

And finally...

I know you all love those giant motorized pink bunny slippers!!

Ladies & Gentlemen, Meet Pleo!

2007-12-28T23:30:00.000-05:00

Some of you might remember back in June when I first mentioned my intention to get the incredible little robot dinosaur, Pleo.

Well...he's finally mine!

Here, for your viewing pleasure, is a video of Pleo demonstrating his "holiday personality." (Which is a temporary personality that I downloaded from the Pleo website and installed using a Mini SD. The download is just a fun little feature that temporarily overrides his actual personality.) I'll probably post another video of "normal" Pleo pretty soon, but I thought this was too ridiculous not to share. Enjoy!

Not even the rain has such small hands...

2007-12-27T12:49:00.000-05:00

I found myself quoting a line from this last night to a friend and haven't been able to get it out of my head since... I might have more to say about this later, but for now...

somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience, your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully, mysteriously) her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands

e.e. cummings

Hindsight

2007-12-24T13:17:00.000-05:00

I ask him to join me outside for a cigarette and he obliges gallantly, unenthusiastically. We stand outside the rope and watch the cars and our breath mingling seductively with the smoke.

I note the slight step back he takes when I move closer, the way his muscles tense when I lay fingertips lightly on his chest. But he laughs at my stories and looks at me in that way... searchingly. (Quizzically?) I match his glance with my own, wondering if he can see the screams streaming out of my eyes. In my head they're like lightning bolts, razor-edged and fiery. In my head they knock him down hard. In reality, I'm the one that is falling.

In an hour or so he'll press me against a wall at the next bar; hands searching familiar territory, mouths pulling and devouring. We'll lose our friends and make our escape into the cold night, conspiratorial laughter and whispers echoing into the near-empty street. We'll sleep soundly, after, and in the morning will fall into each other once again without question.

In a few hours, this moment will seem irrelevant. This panic, unnecessary. But for now, I continue to talk too quickly. I bite my lip. I ash nervously. Because for now, he hesitates.

Past Tense Verbs

2007-12-23T16:31:00.000-05:00

I've been writing a lot of drafts lately. Half-finished thoughts, bits and pieces jotted down randomly, then forgotten. I've been finding these notes everywhere lately. Sometimes it's just a subject line. A few weeks ago I sent my friend a message I'd found in my Gmail drafts box. It was empty except for the subject line, which only said "Moo."

"I have no idea what this was going to be about..." I told him.

This post is another one of these. Past Tense Verbs. I got the title down, but I have no idea what I meant to write next. I like the title though...maybe one of these days I'll figure out what I meant to say.

Published

2007-12-21T07:50:00.000-05:00

I had a little piece I wrote published on an amazing website called Six Sentences. The site features little six-sentence vignettes from some pretty incredible writers. I'm proud to be featured among them.

My piece is called "Thirst" and it's taken from a longer story I wrote about a year ago, but which I've been tweaking ever since. I hope you enjoy it!

"Thirst," Six Sentences

Dread

2007-12-18T08:04:00.000-05:00

Drowsiness hits me like a brick at thirty thousand feet and for the next four hours I drift in and out of consciousness, half suspended in reality while half-suspended somewhere above the Atlantic. I like this feeling. Thrust at the mercy of physics and a pilot named Evan who ends each of his updates with the word “Aloha.”

We are not flying to Hawaii.

I got the window seat that I asked for and am happy for the empty seat between me and the woman in 21D. Her friend is across the aisle in 21C and it seems like they’re on some kind of girls’ trip, doughy and giggly in stretchy velvet pants and zip-up hoodies. I look at them and my mind fast-forwards one week; I see their pink peeling noses, five extra pounds, a hickey from an almost-divorced businessman. D pulls a familiar magazine out of her carry-on. I look away but listen as she turns the pages too quickly, and continues to chats with her friend. I resist a strong urge to lean over and point my name out on the masthead.

The flight attendant is demanding our attention now. She does a half-hearted Macarena while her partner narrates in English and then again in heavily-accented Spanish. I know the dance by heart, but watch anyway, all the while trying to imagine scenarios in which a Delta leather-like seat cushion could actually save my life.

Safety instructions are followed by a special announcement; it seems they have mixed cocktails onboard now, specially designed by a celebrity “mixologist” (her word, not mine) whose name I sort-of recognize but can’t quite place. The special this month, our flight attendant announces, is a pink martini “in honor of breast cancer.” A pleased murmur spreads throughout the cabin and it seems that no one else has noticed she’s left off the word "awareness." The girls next to me are particularly excited and eagerly fork over five dollars each for the makings of the special drink: a can of Minute Maid Pink Lemonade and a very tiny bottle of Finlandia.

“Cindy Crawford’s husband,” I say to myself, finally remembering where I’d heard the name Gerber. The girl looks at me warily; I can tell she doesn’t like me. Right now, I don’t really like her.

I think that if I were flying with a friend maybe I, too, would be giggly and up for a drink at 9 AM. But I’m not with a friend; I’m alone and cranky because I was up all night packing and am not entirely looking forward to this weekend. This weekend, when my youngest cousin will marry and the rest of my family will ask me over and over again when I plan to do something about my perpetual state of singleness.

Perhaps I should order a cocktail...

Giggle

2007-12-11T10:51:00.000-05:00

I've never really been one to embed videos, but this commercial makes me laugh so much that I couldn't resist. After much searching, I finally found a version of it online and so here, for your holiday viewing pleasure, is the best commercial of Christmas 2007 (lofty statement, I know...):

Find more videos like this on AdGabber

This picture always makes me feel good...

2007-11-22T01:06:00.001-05:00

The Year of the Tiger

2007-10-08T19:39:00.000-05:00

We got there just a few minutes before closing time. The men in the fish market pointed us towards the back, barely looking up from the hoses they were using to clean the concrete floor. Smelly water splashed at our feet as we made our way through a low door into a dusty storeroom cluttered with teas and jars filled with alien gels and liquids.

A plump, diminutive woman with a frizzy black bob and flappy doughy arms, waved at us from behind a desk in the far left corner. This, I supposed, was Lucy—the woman we’d come to see.

She was with another customer and shouted at us “One minat! One minat!” Her voice was gruff and accent risible, and had it not been followed it with a raspy peal of laughter, I would have misinterpreted her commanding tone as anger.

Lucy is an herbologist. Trained in the ancient Chinese art of combining medicinal herbs, she uses a blend of herbal knowledge, Chinese Astrology, and intuition to “prescribe” remedies of carefully selected herb and root teas. The herbs are meant to help the patients achieve balance of the yin and yang by purifying the system and eliminating toxins that can otherwise manifest as various ailments.

My dad’s yin was off. A routine physical had revealed uncomfortably high PSA levels that had his doctor concerned and my mom, little brother, and me carefully dancing around that word that we were all thinking, but much too frightened to say.

He was scared too. As evidenced by the odd, strangely clinical tone he adopted when explaining the results to me over the phone one afternoon. His voice has always had a way of changing when discussing things that make him uncomfortable. He switches from his native, casual Spanish, to a formal and laborious English. His classical theater training shining through in his purposeful and measured words, carefully punctuated with the requisite beats and pauses. As if the thing he has most control of—his voice and language—could serve as a barrier between him and that which he feared he could not.

We’d come to Lucy on the recommendation of his friend Sam, who swore she saved his life. Sam, a large brute of a man, with too much of a tan and arms like tree trunks, would shed tears when recounting the moment she spotted him at the market and—without introduction—ordered him to the emergency room pointing frantically at a spot inches away from his heart. Frightened by her earnest cries, Sam drove directly to the hospital complaining of chest pains. He was admitted and it was there that the doctors discovered a clot that would have surely resulted in his death had it gone untreated just a few hours longer.

I was curious to meet this woman who’d saved Sam’s life with her keen sixth sense. She was short, and barely visible from where we stood, but every so often her arms would flap up and a cackle of laughter would fill the room. After a few minutes, she called us in. Her office was basically a desk, the old banged-up metal kind my elementary school teachers used. It was littered with papers and strange wooden boxes. In the center she placed a marble composition notebook and a gold-tipped fountain pen and well. Behind her, the wall was lined entirely with old-fashioned apothecary drawers, each labeled in fading hanzi characters.

“What’s in those?” I asked, pointing at the wooden drawers.

“Is Tea! Is Herbs and Teas!!” She shouted at me in the tone I quickly realized was her normal speaking voice.

She began examining my dad, first asking him to write down his name and birthday. She looked up his time of birth in a guide and giggled to herself as she jotted some notes down in her book.

“Take off watch!!” She commanded, grabbing his wrist with her thumb and forefinger to count his pulse.

“Too fast!!” She shouted, again writing something in her book.

She then sketched the crude outline of a man into the notebook and began drawing strange scribbles in the area near his kidneys. “You have too much poison!”

My dad shifted uncomfortably and tried to explain what the doctor had said. “NO! Stop!” She shouted again, not letting him continue. “I know how to fix.”

She stood up, setting up several brown paper bags into which she tossed large handfuls of mixed herbs from the cabinets. Occasionally she would explain what she was putting in and why:

“Dry Yam—for kidney! Dandelion—for heart!”

The woman spoke entirely in exclamation points.

While she continued her mixing, I got up and wandered back into the storeroom where I realized many of the products were labeled with price tags. I found a bottle of Japanese sesame oil on sale for two dollars and walked back in to my dad.

“Can I buy this?” I asked him, not really sure if it was for sale or not.

“Yeah, get what you want,” he said with a wave, his eyes focused on Lucy who was rummaging through a giant box of what looked to me like hay. I started collecting things and bringing them back into the office where I piled them on a chair: a tin of Chinese white tea and another of jasmine green, a bottle of chili oil, a jar of chili paste, a gigantic bag of panko, dried seaweed, a box of something called “Woo-Man Tea,” which featured a Baywatch-esque lifeguard on the package and a translation explaining that it was “Tea for Woman.”

When I finished, I came back into the room. My dad looked exhausted and Lucy was writing out a list of things for him to avoid. “No meat!” She said, jabbing her finger at him.

“Not even chicken?” My dad asked, slightly defeated.

“You want chicken? You eat chicken! You eat chicken but you die!!” She shouted back, throwing her head back into a laugh.

“DIE?!” My dad cried with a cough. “That’s not funny! Why are you laughing!”

She ignored his question, continuing to tick things off as she wrote them down: “No. No meat. No bread. No ice cream. No sugar. No spicy. No tofu. No soy milk. No candy.”

I was having a hard time controlling my own laughter while my dad continued to protest as each of his favorite items was added to the list.

“What do I eat? I can’t lose weight…I have to look healthy. On camera,” He explained.

“Sweet potato! And Rice. You eat sweet potato with rice you get fat and good. No meat!”

My dad grimaced at the thought of a diet of sweet potato and rice and continued to offer suggestions in a syntax that was quickly mirroring hers. “What about fish? Fish OK right?”

She shook her head and sighed. Looking at me she shouted: “Tell him!”

I put my hand on his shoulder as I replied with my best straight face:

“No fish.”

Lucy burst into laughter again while my dad sat stubbornly reluctant. She came out from behind her desk and took his hands. Her voice was soft for the first time as she looked into his face:

“We fix problem first. Then you eat what you like. OK?”

My dad understood. Shaking his head in quiet agreement and collecting his teas. We bid Lucy goodbye and took our bags through the fish market. The lights were out now and the vendors had all gone home. In the vegetable market next door, we passed by a stand full of sweet potatoes.

"Here Papa!" I showed him, selecting two of the largest yams. "Eat! You get fat!"

My dad laughed for the first time since we'd arrived and gave me a hug as I put the potatoes down.

"Thanks for coming with me," he said, with a bit of a crack in his voice.

I nodded, making sure to keep my slowly dampening eyes away from his face.

Brief indefinite intervals of time

2007-10-03T16:08:00.001-05:00

I have a friend who lives on an island on what sometimes feels like the opposite side of the universe. Last night he sent me this link and told me that he thought that I would love it.

I do. And I think that you will too:

Hitotoki

Meant to serve as a literary map of a city (currently Tokyo and New York, but more are on the way), it's a way of experiencing a city the way people really do--through collected moments.

Blogs, beer, and conversation

2007-09-26T13:54:00.000-05:00

The NY Bloggers Meetup group meets tonight for our 7th meeting. If you're in the NY area and want to attend, there is still time!

Click HERE for more details.

See you all tonight!

A place to lay my head

2007-09-25T19:41:00.000-05:00

Yesterday morning, for the first time since college, I woke up in my own bed. My own, real, actual bed--as opposed to the mattress and boxspring combination I've been using in the interim. A bed made of wood and iron that I picked out, paid for, and eagerly anticipated throughout six weeks of backorder until it finally arrived in two boxes and even more pieces courtesy of the super who had actually received it several days earlier (but who had neglected to inform me).

"What is that?" My cousin asked, walking out of the bathroom wrapped in a navy towel and dripping water all over the floor. She was visiting for the weekend and was a little surprised to find me contemplating giant boxes when I should have been getting ready to go out.

"It's my bed," I replied. "I ordered it forever ago and it just arrived." With the help of a paring knife, I sliced into the first box to show her the gold-brushed iron scrolling of the headboard

"It's beautiful!" She agreed, but she looked doubtful. "Is your dad coming to help you put it together?"

I laughed. My dad is the least handy man I know. His version of “fixing something” involves taking the day off to oversee while Jose, the housekeeper’s husband, paints, installs or repairs whatever current project my dad has decided needs paint or installation or repair. On the rare occasions when something must be done right away, it’s usually either my mom or I who does it. It's been this way for as long as I can remember—the earliest example being that Christmas morning when an impatient seven-year-old me pulled a fresh-out-of-the-box NES away from my puzzled dad and quickly figured out which wire went where.

"No," I replied, pushing the boxes through the living room into my library. "I can do it."

The next day, my parents drove into the city to join us for lunch, after which we returned to my apartment.

"Look," I told my dad excitedly, pulling him into the library. "It's my new bed!"

I'd taken the pieces out of the box to get a better look and they now lay on the floor in a bed of Styrofoam chunks and cellophane. My dad admired the ironwork, noting the way that it matched my dining set and the accents on my dresser.

"Are you going to ask Looney to build it?" He asked me, referring to my friend Looney's upcoming visit.

"No," I said. "I'm going to do it alone." My dad sighed and made that face he sometimes makes, "O-kay, if you insist..."

"I insist," I replied with a smile.

After they left, I poured myself a glass of water and sat down on the floor to gauge the task at hand. The instructions were a bit blurry, but they looked easy enough. A screw here. A bolt there. Tighten, et voila! I got to work on the headboard, which I managed to put together. It was fairly straightforward, but took a little bit longer than I expected.

One piece complete, I, in true Alejandra fashion, decided to take a break and stretched out on the couch to watch Brokedown Palace on Oxygen. Two hours later, moved to tears by the film, I went back into the library for phase two of the bed assembly.

As I tightened and sobbed, I wondered whether or not I would be self-less enough to accept life imprisonment in a Bangkok jail so that one of my best friends could go free. The question made my stomach turn a bit so, upon completion of the footboard, I decided to distract myself with something a bit more amusing. Two episodes of Hotel Babylon later (fabulous BBC America show available On Demand), I realized that the sun had set and that I really needed to get a move-on with this bed situation. With only a modicum of difficulty, I next carried the two completed pieces into my bedroom and stripped the mattress of the layers of down and pillows I nestle into each night. I worked the mattress and box spring up onto their sides and then used my pink measuring tape to determine where the bed should be placed.

Now came the hard part, attaching the rails to the bed resulted in multiple bruises and one nasty scratch where an ill-conceived plan to balance the rail on my thigh went awry. Once I got the first rail done, I decided to make myself some dinner while watching yet another episode of Hotel Babylon (I’m telling you, it’s fantastic!).

It was another hour or so before I finished and got everything back into place, but once it was done, the feeling of accomplishment that seemed to flow over me was great. I giggled and jumped up onto my perfectly made bed, reveling in the delicious feeling of having completed it all by myself.

I called my dad and shared the news. “I just finished my bed!” I told him proudly.

He laughed, “really? Alone? Are you sure it’s...safe?”

“Shut up,” I said, laughing.

I looked around the apartment—the painted walls, the restuffed couch, the furniture that I’ve been slowly collecting and purchasing. Everything has bits of me in it. I realized recently that it was right around this time last year that I made the decision to move here. It was a difficult time for me—losing my job, leaving my apartment, saying good-bye to the people that I loved. I felt uncertain and untethered and really rather unhappy with just about everything. But there was one thing that I was sure of, and that was that coming to NY was the right decision.

It’s been one year, two cities, two jobs, and two moves later, but I know that for the first time in a VERY long time, I am exactly where I need to be.

That bed took me hours to build and it wasn’t anywhere near as easy as I thought it would be. I got knocked around a little and distracted a few times (ok, maybe more than a few times). And yes, there are still little bits of Styrofoam floating around the apartment that I have to clean up.

But I did it. And it was all worth it.

Vanilla, Chocolate, and now...MySpace!

2007-09-23T15:32:00.000-05:00

Because last night I asked myself, "what could I possibly do on the Internet to waste even more time?"

Sent from My Dell Desktop now has her very own MySpace page!! The profile is still a work in progress (it's a little too dark and brooding right now), but it's ready to be revealed. Now all I need is a few friends...

A virtual profile for my virtual blog--you all knew it was just a matter of time...

Mission Accomplished...

2007-09-20T12:50:00.000-05:00

So I didn't get a bottle of Bertolli olive oil, but I did get him to sign this book (Ahem...please note the XO...yeah, you know what that means...):

The man is, in the words of a friend of mine, a good-looking guy. A VERY good-looking guy. Much better in person than I could have ever imagined. So much so that when I got back to my office I forced the other women who had decided to skip it to go down and see him in real life.

"I don't care if you don't know who he is. You know what sexy is and it is downstairs signing autographs right now!"

So they went. And they swooned.

The best part? He's sweet, too! The line to meet him was long, but he patiently shook hands and chatted with everyone that came by. While he signed and chatted, a group of assistants handed out free samples of Bertolli pasta (surprisingly tasty). When my turn came, I shook his hand and told him what a fan I was. I asked him to sign the book and spelled my name out for him. "It's a tricky one, I know," I said somewhat apologetically. "Nah," he replied. "Rocco isn't so easy either." In my head I thought "Actually Rocco is five letters and fairly simple," but what came out of my mouth was a lot closer to: "ha ha mmmmm ha..." Eloquence at her best...

At least it wasn't a recap of the Tucker Carlson freakout of 2001.

And as a special (and equally exciting note): Welcome Gawker readers!

It has been quite the lunch hour...

A quick note about Gossip Girl

2007-09-20T11:28:00.000-05:00

Am I the only one who noticed that this show is basically Cruel Intentions with lots of text messaging? Lots and lots of text messaging...

My favorite scene in the premiere was when the young freshman, about to get date-raped by the striped scarf-wearing senior (played by some creepy Jimmy Fallon clone), actually text messaged for help.

I'm going to say that again. She text messaged for help. Twice! Instead of, oh, I don't know...running?

A Tasty Meatball

2007-09-19T16:20:00.000-05:00

During lunch today, I was thrilled to see a sign announcing that the very sexy chef Rocco Dispirito will be guest appearing in our office cafeteria tomorrow at noon.

Besides sexiness, Rocco is best known for his short-lived reality tv show, The Restaurant, in which he ran around experiencing creative differences with just about anyone who crossed his path (except for his Mama, Nicolina, who makes awesome meatballs). Rocco then moved to radio, where he hosted a pretty popular talk show for a year. His contract wasn't renewed, however, due to (you guessed it!) creative differences with the show's producers.

Say what you will about him, I think he's great. If you've ever eaten at Union Pacific, the Gramercy Park restaurant he helmed for several years (until he left over what I can only assume were creative differences), you'll appreciate his brilliant take on Italian-American cuisine. Also, I kinda have a soft-spot for feisty NY boys who love their Mamas...

Rocco, who has been bopping around making guest appearances on assorted food-related reality shows has recently landed a gig as the Bertolli ~~whore~~ spokesman. Sell-out, you say? Possibly, but the truth is that Bertolli makes good olive oil. And Rocco is hot. If he wants to hawk Bertolli pastas and oils, then that's fine with me.

My plan is to get him to sign a bottle of Bertolli olive oil for me... At the very least, I'm going to try and touch the hem of his Bertolli logo polo shirt.

I'll be sure to provide you all with a full report... (and maybe pictures!!)

About freaking time...

2007-09-18T11:31:00.000-05:00

NY Times finally catches on...

(Now I have two years worth of archives to catch up on.)

Putting it Down

2007-09-16T18:06:00.000-05:00

I'm not quite sure why I've had such a hard time putting the words down lately. A friend asked me this over drinks one night not long ago. We'd finally managed, after weeks of conflicting schedules, to meet in the cool September evening on a street corner in Chelsea--a location chosen for no reason other than its equidistant proximity from her apartment and my office. Wine poured, cigarette lit, we launched eagerly into that scattered kind of catch-up people do when it's been much too long. Racing from my new job to her new-old boyfriend to the mutual friend in absentia and, of course, the book club that only lasted a couple weeks but which brought us together (in person) for the first time.

"I expected there to be something good like the last time," she told me when the conversation drifted (inevitably) to the blogs which we both had admittedly been neglecting as of late. A touch of disappointment was audible in her voice--or perhaps it was merely my self-imposed guilt. I knew what she was referring to and she wasn't the only one of my friends surprised to not have found anything "good" in the previous days.

"I know, I know, I know..." I said, nodding my head and taking a sip of wine. "Well my laptop isn't working..." I started with the usual explanation, but then stopped, my eyes fixed on the couples passing down the street--shirts tight, arms linked, oblivious to the world...details logged for some future composition. She's a writer too, and if not her then whom else to tell the truth?

"Really, it's just not ready to come out yet, I think. It's all there kind of building up, but I'm not quite sure how to write it..."

And I guess that's really what it boils down to. I've never been very good about writing every day. I'll try, working in spurts, but really preferring the haphazard midnight moments of inspiration. The funny thing is that I have the stories...I write them all out in my head, laying on my bed, watching the sunlit patterns on my bedroom wall. I work out the dialogue, the colors, the reflections, and shadows...all of it. I laugh or cry or simply revel in how raw it feels, but it's that final step--translating it all to paper (or the screen, in my case) that seems to evade me lately.

I've been here before, in this space between daydreams and storytelling, and I know that soon enough it will all come tumbling out and it will be good and I will read it and tweak it over and over again in that perpetual search for the perfect phrase.

"It'll show up in a couple weeks, I'm sure," I told her. A promise more to myself than anyone else.

A Lucid Spoonful

2007-09-15T13:19:00.000-05:00

Back in the spring, I took an incredible writing workshop that helped me figure out a few things about what I wanted (and needed) to be doing. I ended up taking some pretty bold steps soon after and I know that much of the clarity that I needed to do so came from the conversations and realizations that I made that day.

Classes are really only as good as the students in them make them out to be, and this class was no different. There were six of us, all women at different stages of our life, but with one very important thing in common--we all wanted to write.

One of the girls that I met that day is Paula. A brilliant writer and raw food chef, Paula has started a blog chronicling her research, experiences, books, and other things having to do with the intersection of food and culture--specifically the culture of France and America. I particularly love her reminisces about her time spent living at the bookstore Shakespeare & Co. in Paris. Woven throughout all these experiences is her interaction with the other key figure in her life--her omnivorous French husband.

You can read her artfully crafted words at: http://alucidspoonful.blogspot.com/

Sent from my Treo Wireless Handheld

2007-09-14T22:29:00.000-05:00

My computer has failed me once again. It's the adaptor this time; it'll be the third one I've been forced to replace and I'm really not pleased about it. I counted the number of parts I've had to replace since getting this laptop a couple years ago. In two and a half years time I've gone through three adaptors, three motherboards, two hard drives, and two batteries. It's basically a franken-laptop at this point...merely a refurbished shadow of its former self. I've never been so disappointed with a product in my entire life--and I'm including the defective BabyTalk doll I got for Christmas in 1987 in this list.

I'm still catching up on moving expenses, so I'm not really in a place to buy the computer that I really want (and no, it is most definitely not a Dell) so I'm evaluating my options. I'm getting another adaptor, of course, because I need a computer as soon as possible, but I think that I might also invest in a used Mac Mini. I found a few on craigslist and am kind of excited about the prospect. I don't know... It's incredibly frustrating not having a working computer at home. Even when it comes to writing--there's so much that I want to put down but it seems that I have much more fluidity with pixels than with ink...

And, to answer the obvious question, I'm blogging from my phone. This Treo being the brilliant little gadget that has made the past computer-less week tolerable.

Kids, We Need Your Help...

2007-09-04T09:11:00.000-05:00

Not long ago, blog rockstar I-66 and I met for the very first time in real life. A spectacular lunch (complete with deadly white chocolate martinis) was complicated only by a very strange, very confusing, possibly coded message. A message that we need your help with...

Earlier in the afternoon, I heard a great song playing in the restaurant. It was loungy and jazzy and had a sexy female vocalist. I asked our waitress if she could get me the name of the song and then promptly forgot about my request. A deadly martini later, she wordlessly slipped a folded message next to my plate. I-66 and I looked at it a bit nervously completely perplexed about what it contained. Once we opened it, we were even more confused. The note said this:

Zo MCDE

ONE SELF

"What the...?!" It took us a few seconds to realize that the code was supposed to be the song and artist. It looked weird, but assuming that our beverages were adding to the confusion, I tucked it into my purse for later googling.

The problem. It's been over a week and neither one of us has been able to find this song. The puzzle is compounded by the fact that we can't really tell if "One Self" is the band or the song name. After various tricks and tries (including, apparently, a few spins through an anagram solver), we've decided to open the mystery up to our reading public.

So, your mission (should you choose to accept it): find me this song...

The winner gets a magazine subscription of his/her choice (to be selected from a list of the ones my company publishes). If the winner is in DC, then he/she will also get an added bonus courtesy of block rockstar....

Shark Week

2007-07-30T13:25:00.000-05:00

My college friend Peter is ridiculously into sharks. Every year he flips out when Shark Week rolls along. He sends us little Shark Week countdowns that are really amusing. Once it starts he gives us rundowns of the programming with his picks for the week. I found his enthusiam incredibly entertaining and thought that I should share:

From: Peter Sharkfan
Date: Jul 30, 2007 2:04 PM
Subject: SHARK WEEK
To: The Gang

To all of you who may be currently living under a slowly disappearing coral reef, I email to inform you that yesterday marked the beginning the Discovery Channel's lauded "Shark Week" programming. The occasion was marked by an electrifying 2-hour special entitled "Ocean of Fear: Worst Shark Attack Ever." It airs again on 8/4 at 11:00am EST, and I HIGHLY recommend it.

You may consider tuning in to "Shark Roulette" tonight at 6 and then again at 7. The blurb sounds amazing - something about the statistics of being bitten/killed in a shark attack and risk assessment.

"Great White Shark - Uncaged" also looks good. Evidently the viewer has the pleasure of taking a journey with several Einsteins who have decided it would be a good idea to swim with hungry Great White sharks without the protection of cages. This airs at 9pm tonight.

If anyone wants to watch any Shark Week stuff over the phone and discuss it, definitely let me know and we'll set something up. I have cleared my calendar tonight and Wednesday night.

-P

Travel Diaries

2007-07-08T22:22:00.000-05:00

I was going through some old notebooks from college this weekend and came across this journal entry that I wrote after a trip that a group of friends and I took to Guatemala during the spring of my sophomore year. It's another unpolished piece and a few of the cliche descriptions make me want to cringe, but I was taken by the underlying sentiment of indignant idealism that could only come from the pen of 19-year-old.

For more than two hundred years, the walled city of Antigua served as the military seat of the Spanish colony of Guatemala, which encompassed most of present-day Central America. Situated in a narrow valley at the base of the volcano Agua, the original city was destroyed twice before someone realized that walls or no walls, a capital city at the base of a volcano is, strategically speaking, never a good idea. In 1773 it was moved to what is now Guatemala City, but the missions and many of the Spanish style buildings still stand. For Agua, more than 250 years have passed in silence, and the volcano is believed to be dormant, but constant rumblings and daily bursts of steam from the menacing cone-shaped mountain seem to threaten otherwise.

But for now, the only strategy in Antigua is tourism. The streets are crowded with accents. Well-to-do Europeans, red like cooked lobsters, mix in with dread-locked college students in their natural fibers and Birkenstocks. And of course, Americans, heaving their weight around the bins of the marketplace, knocking over piles of coffee grounds with their nylon fanny packs. On my second day there, my friend Toby and I try to use a public phone to call home, only to realize that we've forgotten the US country code.

"Quick," I joke. "Find a fanny pack!" Spotting one around the corner I wave to the woman and ask, "Are you American? Do you know the country code?"

Turns out that it's "one."

"Well I wonder who decided that," snickers Toby.

__________

I'm in the town center and I'm alone today. The rest of the group left around five in the morning for a day trip to Panahatchetel, a village on Lake Atitlan, an impossibly beautiful body of water occupying the crater of an extinct volcano. Being one of the only students fluent in Spanish, I volunteered to stay behind to serve as a translator for the two students whose stomach's didn't agree with the Guatemalan food and who were now spending the day retching in an Antiguan clinic.

Around noon I walked them back to their hotel rooms and left them with water and strict instructions to take the Cipro I'd acquired from a nearby pharmacy where, interestingly enough, a smile seemed to serve just as effectively as an actual doctor's prescription. I wander in the direction of the town center, where the locals gather daily to pawn their wares on the tourists that fill the streets. The city also serves as the market center for the surrounding villages and so each morning families ride in on bright green and red buses, packed to the nines with piles of textiles, coffee, and crates full of live chickens.

Male and female, hovering around five feet, the natives quickly run amongst the clusters of foreigners proffering their goods. "Senor, senor! Solo Cien Quetzales!" The men carry bundles of hand-woven blankets strapped onto their backs. The women balance large baskets of coffee beans on their heads. Even the children, no older than ten, walk around with plastic bags filled with sliced mangoes, popcorn or coconut candy tied to sticks carried on their shoulders. It's the "15 cents a day" kids from the commercials. The ones that look at you while flies buzz around their faces and John Lennon imagines in the background.

A little boy gazes up at me with his giant eyes and even though I know he's been pulled out of school and sent here precisely to make me feel this way, I hand him a coin and take a bag of mango slices. There's history in these round almond eyes, the cafe con leche skin, the silver-capped teeth that reflect the sun--smiles that literally beam, I note.

I continue to wander around the market, touching blankets and smelling bags of coffee. I come across a display of large wooden salad bowls complete with eight small salad plates and serving utensils. I think about how back home the set would probably only come with four plates and wonder if that really means anything.

A woman walks over to me and smiles. She's missing a tooth in front and long black hair is wrapped in a woven scarf. "They are all carved by hand," she tells me in Spanish. I smile back at her and tell her that I think they're beautiful. Her smile widens when she realizes that I speak her language. She comes closer and asks me where I'm from. I tell her that I'm Puerto Rican but that I was born and live in the US. She nods her head and says, "I thought so, you are too pretty to be from Guatemala. The best-looking Latinas are from the Caribbean." When she says this, she touches her own face and I'm not quite sure what to say. Instead I look down at the bowl and ask her how much for the set.

"300 Quetzales," about 30 dollars. "But for you, since you are Latina, only 250." I know that I can get it down to 200, but I don't try. I tell her that I'll take it and she starts wrapping it in newspaper.

While she wraps she asks me questions about what I do and where I live. I tell her that I'm a student and that I live in Washington, DC. She asks me if I've ever been to the White House and gets excited when I tell her that yes, I have. She raises one of the sheets she's using to wrap the bowls. We declared war on Iraq yesterday and President Bush's face is on the page. "Have you met him?"

"I shook his hand once."

She looks down at the page and sighs, "I think he looks like a good man."

This catches me by surprise. Most of my friends hate the President and many are angry about the war. "Why do you say this?"

"His eyes. He has the eyes of a good person. Here the politicians don't look like that..."

From the little I've read about the country's political history I think I know what she means, but I know that I don't really understand--and I'm thankful for that. As I take my bag and turn to leave I remember what she'd said earlier. "You know," I start. "The Guatemaltecos have the most beautiful eyes that I have ever seen." I bend down to give her a kiss good-bye and she says, "Es el dolor de la gente." It's the pain of the people.

I feel like I'm bridging something, or maybe it's more like a scale and I'm somewhere in between the cooked lobsters and the cafe con leche. I feel it every time I talk to someone. This morning, the man at the bakery asked me where I'm from and I told him. Just like the woman in the market he told me that Puerto Ricans are more beautiful than the Guatemalans. I protested and told him that I'd seen many beautiful women during my time in the country. "Muy India," too native, he said, wrinkling his own Mayan nose. Again, I don't know how to respond.

__________

A few days pass and we're back in Guatemala City. The group is together and we're in the van heading for the airport. On the main highway we pass a billboard advertising a local newscast. The team of anchors smile broadly in coordinated suits. They look strangely American. Their fair skin and Anglo features contrast starkly with the faces I saw in the marketplace. I point this out to the friend sitting next to me.

"What does 'La Voz' mean?" He asks, referring to the slogan printed in bright yellow letters across the billboard.

"The Voice," I say. It says, 'The Voice of Guatemala."

He looks at it and rolls his eyes. "Doesn't really look like it..."

My Robot Dinosaur is Cooler than Your Cat

2007-06-22T15:07:00.000-05:00

I am giddy with anticipation over my most recent purchase. I've been waiting for this for months--and I still have a few more as they don't ship until October 15th--but I am very happy to announce that I am officially the proud owner of a first, limited edition one of these.

Now I just need to think of a name...

A Special Birthday Message

2007-05-23T15:03:00.000-05:00

His friendship has provided me with oodles of good blog fodder, and so, on this day of his birth, I dedicate this post to BFF Matt.

Happy Birthday, Muffin!

I want one of these

2007-05-21T10:00:00.000-05:00

I want one of these very, very badly...

From Gizmodo...

Departure

2007-05-18T23:27:00.000-05:00

from a window at the Lower East Side Tenement Museum

Act by which individuals leave a piece of their shadow behind. When departures are sudden, there is usually a delay of the soul. The physical site where a departure has taken place acquires a slight weight that is usually imperceptible to those who have never experienced loss. Departures are two-sided, like joints between past and present worlds. They serve as the diaphanous bridges of our memory. Sometimes departures are temporary, but those who return can never become the same person. Those who seek to escape from themselves often depart to never return.

Language Lessons

2007-05-17T00:06:00.000-05:00

I recently started taking a fantastic writing class that meets downtown once a week. As part of our training, we are required to do 5 to 10 minutes of unedited, uncensored, freestyle writing practice every day. We are given (or give ourselves) prompts to get us going and then encouraged to just take it from there. The following is a bit from today's writing practice. Please note that it's not meant to be polished--it's just what came out during that moment. The prompt was "a color" (I chose red.):

The burnt clay rooftops blur into an expanse of red as we race along the highway. I recognized them from movies and the guidebooks, which warned would-be travelers to resist climbing out onto the inviting, but dangerously fragile tiles.

I was sharing the cab with a girl named Laura that I'd met less than an hour earlier as we deplaned on the rustic Florentine runway. Her ears had picked up my American accent and brief pleasantries had revealed that we were both headed towards the same rental agency. It was a happy accident that had allayed my worries about managing my five large suitcases on my own and hers about communicating with an Italian cab driver. Together we collected our luggage, piled it onto a cart, and engaged a deceptively tiny vehicle manned by a long-haired driver who introduced himself as Bruno.

And so I found myself racing along the Tuscan countryside in the company of two strangers: a casually handsome Italian driver and Laura, who was blond, sweet, and quickly getting on my nerves.

Bruno stared at me in the mirror. His dark eyes lingered along my cleavage and traced an invisible line up to where our eyes met. He saw that I was watching him and winked in an unabashed way that I instinctively understood to be very, very Italian. "Complimenti," he said, marking the first of several hundred times that I would hear the familiar bit of local flattery. I pulled my sweater up a bit and smiled as he shook his head in mock sadness.

My own eyes trailed out the window again, taking in this place that seemed familiar in a dreamlike way. " Che bello..." I murmured, savoring the roundness of these unfamiliar words in my mouth. "Mi piace tanto..." Bruno smiled again, "bell-a."

"Gum?" Laura asked, unaware of the cat and mouse game transpiring around her. I took a piece and turned to Bruno, who was still doing a magnificent job of navigating the cab while keeping his eyes off the road.

"Come se dice 'gum' in Italiano?" I asked him with the enthusiasm of a straight-A tourist.

"Scusi?"

"Gum," I said again, this time holding up the stick at chest level (where I was sure to grab his attention). "Come se dice?"

"Oh, oh, oh...," he said, suddenly understanding that I was asking for a translation.

"Choo-ing Gum."

"Chewing gum?!" I repeated, suddenly feeling a bit foolish. "But that's English!"

"Eh," he replied with a carefree shrug that all at once seemed to foreshadow the next several months of my life.

Kids and drunks never lie

2007-05-16T22:11:00.000-05:00

BFF Matt (shown here at his most Patrick Dempsey-like) is a fourth grade teacher in Las Vegas for Teach for America. I'm constantly encouraging him to start his own blog as the stories he has to tell are hysterical.

Unfortunately, as teachers only get approximately 17 minutes of free time a week, he doesn't really have the luxury to start and keep a blog. For a while now he's been collecting and sharing completely true quotes said by his students.

These are a few of my recent favorites:

Girl: "Mr. O'Keefe, my mom told me that i shouldn't trust a man who doesn't match his belt and shoes, and I was thinking that you always match yours, except for when you wear that one thats kind of blue and white, but anyways, you know i am just glad to know i can trust you"
_____
(At the end of a lesson that he thought went really well)
Matt: "Ok, any questions about nonfiction text structure?"
Boy: "Mr. O'Keefe, why don't we have a class bunny?"
_____
Matt: "Seriously, you need to stop talking and get to work. I have already moved you down the behavior chart three times"
Girl: "I am sorry, Mr. O'Keefe, but I can't help it. My mom says that talking too much is genetic and that I am not lucky because I am my father's daughter."
_____
(Overheard)
Girl 1: "He has to be older than 65. Look how much gray hair he has!"
Girl 2: "That's not what he told me. Mr. O'Keefe told me he was 120 years old!"
Boy 1: "No way, my mom says he doesn't look a day over 35!"
[Editor's note: Matt is 23 and slightly prematurely gray.]
_____
Matt: "Ok class, we are going to illustrate similes related to weather today."
5 minutes later, while walking around the classroom -"Victor, why does that man in the middle of your drawing have such a red face and appear to be screaming?"
Boy: "Oh, well my simile is 'the thunder is as loud as when Mr. O'Keefe yells at me for being bad.' So, that's you."
_____
And my personal favorite:
Boy: "Mr. O'Keefe, was I a crack baby?"

Eavesdropping

2007-05-14T22:36:00.000-05:00

Sometimes I like to listen in on other people's conversations and then post it on the Internet.