Newportastic

First off, let's just ignore that on-going Sabres vs Bruins debacle. I'm too ticked to write about it.

However, I don't have enough good things to say about Newport! Here's my Vacay Weekend Getaway To Rhode Island Extravagance Recap, also known as VWGRIER. Er, maybe not. Moving on...


The spring air on Friday had made my office kind of giddy and though we're crazy busy we usually have a darn good time working our butts off. My excitement for the three-day weekend (Happy belated Patriot's Day everybody!) was topped off by an awesome surprise: the wonderful Sig O sent roses to my office. Getting a flower delivery is a guaranteed way to make me blush and giggle like a schoolgirl. Everyone oohs and aahs and I pretend that I'm not beet red.


Once we packed up the magical Sonata and started motoring off toward Newport I kept saying to myself "I'm in vacation mode, I'm in vacation mode..." I have this annoying habit where I have to tell myself to relax and I think I actually may have succeeded for a good portion of the weekend. Meaning probably about 30%, which I consider a win.

That night we checked into the Mill Street Inn and had a fantastic late dinner at 22 Bowen looking out over the water (sort of). The night was cold and blustery and raining sideways, but we had a great time and the Dinner Partner Who Never Wants Dessert ordered a creme brulee for us to share. YUM.

The next day we took a look at our surroundings in the daylight. Gorgeous colonial houses everywhere, cobblestone streets, and of course the harbor. (I posted pictures on facebook - if we aren't friended WHO ARE YOU AND OMG A STRANGER IS READING MY BLOG SWEET! Hm maybe I should get a flickr account).

Over the next three days, we ate a lot, walked a lot, and slept a lot. My favorite part? Splitting a bottle of champagne in the middle of the afternoon. My kind of weekend. The Sig O even let me do a little shopping (window, mostly).

We also did got tickets to do tours of the mansions. They are all jaw dropping in sheer scale and extravagance, and I already can't wait to go back and see more some day. We made it to three - the Elms, Marble House, and the Breakers - all of which had Vanderbilt connections. The mansions are part of a preservation society and, for a fee, can be explored with a self-guided audio tour.

After wandering through those three "homes" I'm fascinated by Gilded Age society more than ever, and got a book on Alva and Consuelo Vanderbilt. Alva was a champion of women's suffrage which was startling news to me. It seems at odds with her reputation as a social tyrant - and certainly employing around several dozen full time servants to run her summer "cottage" (Marble House, appropriately modeled after the infamous Petite Trianon at Versailles) makes her an interesting study. This was around the time Ellis Island opened up so many of her staff were likely immigrants. Also, she adhered to the domestic etiquette of the day - that no female staff were to be seen in public (to be served by exclusively male staff was considered to be a grander luxury).

Clearly I found the mansions just a wee bit interesting.

Now its back to work, playing catch-up and doing laundry. And blogging. Is it Friday yet?

Sporty Spice

A few days ago I mentioned that I've found a bunch of Western New Yorkers at work - or rather, they found me. I think there must be a homing beacon or something, someone says "Wegmans" and it's like Buffalonians and Rochesterites come skidding around corners and hurtling down staircases to holler a Braveheart-esque: "WEGMANS!!!" and share in their love of the best grocery store on the planet. We also all share a secret shame in our pasts: zubaz in Bills colors, worn almost daily in the weeks preceding Super Bowl XXV. That fashion travesty - along with seven foot snowstorms - is enough to bring anyone together.

We've decided to get together and watch the Sabres square off with the Bruins in Game 1 tonight, and I'm psyched. It's Miller time.

In other news, I have a big anniversary with the Sig O coming up. Bet you can't guess where we met over five years ago! Here's a hint: though our mutual friend Foote Steppes likes to say he was the one who introduced us, we really owe it to "John."

To celebrate, we're heading to Newport for some much needed R&R and of course some champagne toasts. I hear those mansions are pretty swank, so maybe we'll check out some listings and see if we can't get ourselves a nice summer home.

Argh. Wherein I Harumph at Hump Day

I owe you a post!

However, I am having trouble finding inspiration. Thus, I present to you another blog, hosted by The Brookline Booksmith, that finds inspiration in unlikely places: The Used Book Cellar.

Who: Cranky McGrumpalot
What: Baba ganoush and salad dressing on...
Where: ....my tshirt. Great.

Thinkin' Thoughts; Wherein I try Not to Hurt My Brainz

Feelin' smaht?

I strongly recommend checking out this article:
The Next Big Thing In English: Knowing They Know That You Know

I loved reading about this foray into neuroscience via English, but I feel like it isn't as novel a concept as the author thinks (Ha! I'm trying to mind read!). Certainly this "cross pollination" of fields offers some new developments to inject some energy into English literature studies. Whether that energy is sorely needed as the article implies... well, you'd be hard-pressed to find a bigger English nut than this lady so just be glad this blog isn't about my indignation over that claim.

Ultimately, this hybridized field could definitely take off. But the way its framed in the Times' article seems a clever repackaging of the process of literary analysis. I can't really blame the author: searching for empirical evidence about what makes literature tick is much sexier than a subjective debate about tone and mood and allegory. It was a good introduction though and I want to read up more.

The best English professors I studied under were always careful to take a step back from literary criticism and look at the underlying factors that contribute to our pathos, or lack thereof, for the characters in our texts. Usually, these factors were framed as historical context - why was this writer compelled to tell this story, and why should readers at that point in time care? Why, for that matter, should we care 25 years later? How about four centuries later? An MRI can't tell us that.

The inherent subjectivity of that search for pathos is what makes fiction worth reading - every reader's experience is as unique and different as the human experience. And the human experience is what drives us to create that literature.

I think the quote from a Brandeis English professor sums it up nicely.

“It’s not that evolution gives us insight into fiction,” [Professor William] Flesch said, “but that fiction gives us insight into evolution.”

And I don't think he means "Inherit the Wind."


Who... is today's blogger? Bleary-eyed, slightly hungover former English major who fancies herself a Sunday morning intellectual
What... is she eating? Tea and toast over the laptop, to get that nice crunchy typing sensation
Wear... ing pajamas and glasses that are smudged with butter from the toast

Inertia

A blog is a broadcast, not a publication. If it stops moving, it
dies.

- Andrew Sullivan

Hey guys, look at my zombie blog!

I'm gonna start a little writing exercise. I'm gonna blog three or more times a week. For realz, k? Hold me to it. My first task? Free association. All stream of consciousness like Joyce but super 2010!

Ok - resurrecting my blog... resurrection - Easter! See Mom, I did pick up something in Sunday school after all. I took a weekend trip to WNY for Easter which had the usual hallmarks of all things Buffalonian and Polish: pierogies, kielbasa, sugar-high children, and Dyngus Day. Seriously, google Dyngus Day now. Look, I did it for you. Once you get over the regret of not having celebrated it for the past however many years of your life immediately remedy that situation by stocking up on your pussywillows and water guns for next year.

I love having this kind of kooky heritage stuff. My wonderful Significant Other (the Sig O) and his family celebrate their Scottish heritage, with kickass music and sheep entrail delicacies, and that's certainly lots of fun. But Scottish (often hybridized with Celtic) heritage has infiltrated a lot of pop culture (see Dropkick Murphys, Ewan McGregor).

The Polish stuff is generally pocketed in Northeastern areas of the States, like Chicago and New York, and so is still kind of obscure to lots of people. It's kind of like a secret handshake to know the words to "Who Stole the Kishka?" or to lay claim to the best pierogi recipe. There are 7 of us Western New Yorkers here at my not-so-new job and 4 of us have Polish families. Pretty cool, huh?

Hooray for rambling! Zombie blog arises! Let's see how long I can keep it going until, uh... I'm searching for a zombie-killing analogy but a lifetime of shunning horror films has left me with a serious dearth of references. All I can think of is Woody Harrelson and Twinkies. So ... have a good weekend!

All Apologies

Apologies to all three of my readers for being MIA these past two months.


I would love to blog every day and write about the wildly fascinating stuff I've been up to (hm, that would probably mean doing wildly fascinating stuff...) but I just can't find my writing groove.


I've been thinking about one aspect of blogging a lot lately: all of my favorite blogs are pretty personal. The writers talk with their audiences and in doing so they describe intimate details about their lives. One part of me REALLY loves how blogs function to share such intensely personal experiences in ways that engage and delight readers. There's some brilliant writing out there and a lot of fascinating dialog thanks to bold bloggers who speak to their own human experiences.


But sometimes I just can't stand the idea of publishing personal stuff. Do I invite the rest of the world into my life? Or do I share a limited version of myself, highly edited to maximize my own privacy? The former option seems terrifying, the latter dishonest.


I'm looking for the happy medium. Obviously an online web log cannot be a completely accurate account of any writer's life, no matter how heavily committed the writer is, and nor does it have to be (Second Life, anyone?). And it's not like I would share my bank account number and PIN.


But just as I'm about to post something personal, for example some thoughts on my deepest darkest childhood fear (Teddy Ruxpin Evil Bear of DOOM, fyi) I think, do I really want this to live in Interwebz Eternity tied to my name? I get the whole nom de plume thing. I really do.


I know I need to get over that in order to churn out some posts that are worth sharing. And frankly, I have no desire to run for public office anytime soon so who cares what comes up when I google myself.


Which I haven't done in a while.


Hm... fodder for my next post (in three months)?

"My new movie is called Baby Bridesmaids. Women will love it."

I should go to a club or something but it goes against my philosophy "why stand in line for booze and dancing when I have booze and dancing in my very own living room?" I hate lines. And I never have the right clothes to go to cool places and if I try to dress like I do I look like a lady of the evening.

Sarah Haskins, I heart you.

get your tartan on

Short week - things are really picking up at work and I'm glad for it!

This weekend we're off to an evening of Scottish festivities. Burns Night 2010! Bring on the haggis!

Also, one of these days I'll post about the ballroom classes we've been taking lately... (Best Christmas Gift EVARRR)

For now, here's what made me chuckle today:



see more funny facebook stuff!

it's a world of laughter

When I graduated and joined the "real world" (remember all that adulthood nonsense?) my sister gave me an awesome gift: An Overheard in the Office book. Fortunately my job is not nor has it ever been a nightmare where I'm surrounded by incompetence, but on days when I'm wishing I could just win the lottery and call it a day it's a nice lift.

Last night I came across this passage and have been giggling about it all morning. Yeah, I know. I'm sick. Oddly enough, I always figured my dream job would be working for Disney.

3PM Local Sports Editor Arrested by Karma Police; Sentenced to Ride 'It's a Small World' in Perpetuity
City editor: Do you think they give you your money back if your kid dies at Disney World?
Editor-in-Chief: No, but Mickey Mouse volunteers to be a pallbearer at the funeral.
Sports editor, in a Mickey Mouse falsetto: Hey guys, what's in the box?

7 North Jefferson Street
Huntington, Indiana

Overheard by: tricky nikki
via Overheard in the Office, Jul 11, 2006

Where is my flying car?

The end of the first full year out of school and the "rigors" of academia. The end of the decade in which I completed middle school, graduated from a new high school, collected a bachelor's degree, and lived in a mere seven locations (West Seneca, Medford 1, 2, & 3, Prague, Somerville, Brighton). It was the decade in which I voted for the first time, got myself a bank account, collected my first paycheck from a full-time job, learned to drive a car, file my own taxes, cook for myself, and pay bills on time - though not in that order.

If I had to pick a meme for all of this stuff, it would be Adulthood. Gross. While the last decade has yet to garner a popular moniker, I'm going to need to refer to the period of time society considers my formative years, and I'm going with The Noughties.

The Noughties were pretty good to me - I'm thankful I had a supportive family to secure me a lot of those milestones. And like a lot of Gen Y in my shoes (done with undergrad, feeling out the real world) I feel the siren song of grad school - especially with a lot of baby boomer mentors in academia who are proponents of their fields. But then I go and read something like this. Argh. One part of me notes that the author is an associate professor of English at a Midwestern school I've never heard of and scoffs that he's out of touch. The other part of me shivers a little and slides the GRE practice test under a pile of junk mail.

Hmph. Anyhow, at least I get to enjoy a few adult perks, like traveling. We took a roadtrip to Montreal this weekend and had a blast. Tim Horton's was involved. I forgot my camera, but will hopefully steal some pictures elsewhere. We toasted to the New Year on a Blue Moon - though no one told me about this, I only learned after the fact. But now I know that a blue moon is the 13th full moon in a year - not the second full moon in a month. And that's the real key to adulthood, right? To keep on learning...

Kids these days

Soon, I will have the option to drive to work. My new route will be easier by car than by MBTA, and the parking is free. But I'm not sure I can stomach the rush hour traffic, and now that the snow has started (over 4 inches this week!) I'm wary of winter driving.

I know, I know, driving is MUCH more luxurious and clean (for an individual, not the environment obvi) and free parking is seriously awesome. But I get a lot of reading done on the T and love love love an aboveground trip.

Plus, if I was in my own little car bubble, listening to Bob Oakes, I'd also miss the awesome people watching.

Earlier this week, I wedged myself into a crowded D line train to ride home. There was NO ROOM to move. That same day on my trip into the city a little gray haired lady had rested her head on my back (leaning her forehead on my coat) while we were standing, so even though I could see the pores on the person's face in front of me at least I didn't have someone napping on my nice wool jacket. A 30-something guy wheeled his little toddler onto the car in a stroller at Longwood, and the people who had been throwing elbows, knees, and computer bags to eke out an extra square foot of personal space all sighed and sacrificed their hard earned breathing room to make room for The Kid in his carriage.

Props to the parent for providing his charge with an activity for the duration of the ride - instead of waxing cranky the kid was busy furiously scribbling away in a coloring book. Actually, it wasn't just a coloring book, but the super fancy schmancy 21st century version of a paint-with-water coloring book - you know, the type where you used to dip a brush in water to activate the paint pigments in a bunch of Disney princesses. They got muddy-looking and the paper was really thin, so of course they dried out in weird ways and Ariel would look more like Flotsam or Jetsam. This book was much cooler, themed "Mickey's Clubhouse" with crisp images that would be revealed as they were "painted" over, and a little brush complete with its own reservoir for water.

So this kid is going to town on his coloring book, pausing every once in a while to bat away a bag overhanging his stroller space. I noticed he was putting a lot of pressure on the "paint brush" and not getting much water out of it. The line between frustrated toddler and Epic Tantrum Situation is super fine, so I considered saying something to the father to help his kid out.

But I didn't have to worry.

The kid glared at his ineffective paint brush. Then he gave the half colored image a good hard look, stuck out his tongue, and did a face plant on the page. He used his own spit to color in Mickey's face.

I looked around the train - everyone was either in a smart phone coma or was lost in a "whatamigonnamakefordinner" stare, and no one else seemed to have witnessed Little Picasso in action.

See? I might actually miss the T after all.

Little Monsters

Oh Gaga.

The show last night was phenomenal. I was on cloud nine. I sometimes have a hard time getting excited about live shows, probably because crowds can make me anxious, but last night was the major exception. Whoever they are, the Haus of Gaga put on an incredible show and I'm so glad I had the chance to go (with an equally ecstatic date, of course).

The respect I have for Lady Gaga as a performer is probably the closest I'll ever get to fanaticism. She's a machine! She was a powerhouse on stage and the thought and attention to detail that went into the show was remarkable. Her outfits - especially the one with the armored gold bikini-esque piece paired with an Egyptian headdress (complete with Anubis ears) and the body suit made out of dissembled machine guns - aren't just revealing. They're cheeky deconstructions of the pop star as a sex symbol. Gaga was carried aloft by her hunky dancers as often as she "fought" them off in her choreography.

Gaga, apparently euphoric to hear about her 5 Grammy noms, declared her love for her fans - but she affectionately calls us her Little Monsters, and spent a lot of the show bating the audience. Her curtain call was part bow/part slouch, during which she bared her teeth at the crowd. And there was no encore, just an odd video close-up of her receiving a tattoo - the word "Dad" inside a heart - while some mournful sounding opera played. She kept the fans - many of whom dressed that night to pay her aesthetic homage - at arm's length.

The contant running of her defenses works for her, and enables the "risktaking" that makes her so fascinating as a pop artist. I'm so intrigued - and it doesn't hurt that her music is like a best-of-the-best amalgamation of pop from the past 20 years and she's got the chops to pull it off. I'm hooked.

Just Dance

Guess who has a new job that starts in two weeks?

And tickets to see Lady Gaga tomorrow?

THIS GIRL.

Yup! These things, career and Gaga, they rate very highly for me.

And alas, Thanksgiving vacation is over already. It was wonderful to be at home, stuffed with turkey and trying out Zumba at the Y with my mom (and an intrepid journalist as you'll see by the link). We saw The Fantastic Mr. Fox (I highly recommend it) and my mom gave me her ticket to see the Sabres beat the helmets off the Hurricanes Saturday night. With the frenzy that's to come with this new job (new position new coworkers new dress code new commute new everything it's so exciting!) and the holiday hustle and bustle... I need another break just thinking about it.

Alright, off to see if I can download some Zumba classes online...

goodness gracious

Sun is shining, it's a bee-you-tee-full day.

Guess what I saw on Friday? A trash can on fire. To be more specific, a Metro News recycling bin on fire. Bet you've never seen one of those before. Yup, I was just standing waiting for the T, minding my own business, thinking about camp and s'mores... Well anyway this lady in a striped scarf walked up to me and said, "Hi, this is weird, but, I have a question."

She broke the code! She acknowledged a fellow T commuter! But no worries, being the friendly, charming person I am I said something witty and intelligent like, "What?"

She gestures behind her and says, "Um, do you think I should call that in?" And I notice the bin with the bag with a little fire inside, crackling away.

My Girl Scout training kicked in and I said "Definitely! You should!" and then I told her she was a good citizen or whatever. And next thing we know there are fire trucks pulling up to put out the fire that has now expanded and engulfed the whole plastic bag in the bin, sending out huge clouds of black smoke. Weird, no? What kind of idiot would set a fire like that? And even if it was an "accident" what kind of idiot would put a cigarette out in a BAG FULL OF PAPER? Hoo boy that was the highlight of my day, I can tell you that.

Then on Saturday, the highlight of my day was seeing a lady put her butt on her head. Bet you've never seen that before, either. This, of course, was at an awesome Cirque Mechanics show in Providence, with amazing clowning, juggling, and contortionists.

Tonight is Glee, which is very appropriate because I am in a fantastic mood and could with for nothing better than to see some campy teenage comedy with musical interludes.

On another note, who wants to do all my Christmas shopping for me?

How-to how-to's

When it came time to make our Halloween costumes, I knew what I wanted but I wasn't sure how I'd get there. Mr. Clean was pretty straightforward- bald cap, white clothes, a dab of white paint on the eyebrows (and don't forget a hunky man to pull it off) ... ta da! But a dust bunny? Not so easy.

I knew I wanted gray - and had the dress and tights to take care of that. I also wore silver heels - they are the most amazing shoes I own, so I can't resist working them into a costume (omg they come in purple suede HONEY ARE YOU READING THIS I'M AN 8.5). The bunny part wasn't hard either - I just attacked a set of ears and a tail from a Spirit Halloween store with a can of gray spray paint. FYI Spray paint is kept locked up in art supplies stores these days as a deterrence to a) abusing the substance and b) defacing public property. What a world we live in...

The hardest part was getting the fuzzy look of an actual dust bunny, but thankfully I stumbled across some help on one of my favorite do-it-yourself sites (fashion and crafting advice, if you will) P.S. I Made This. This girl is amazing, and coincidentally she provided a template for a faux fur vest. Easily modified to create a fuzzy bunny, I thought! Alas, a trip to Joann Fabrics did not yield any well-priced gray faux fur. So I ended up with cotton batting (and another chance to use the gray spray paint). I still used the vest template, though, and was pleased with the results.

The crowning touch, haaa, was definitely my Bump-it. Don't judge me, you're just jealous. I had to give a subtle nod to the most ubiquitous of Bunny get-ups, and big hair seemed a tasteful way to achieve that. Their fabulous site, BigHappieHair.com, features hilarious how-to videos and loads of suggestions for adorning your head with the spiky piece of plastic (available in three sizes).

So there you have it: how to create a unique, one of a kind costume pairing that no one will get and leaves you with loads of leftover cotton batting. Quilting bee, anyone?

Advice Advisor

Another crazy week ahead.

One of my obsessions is the ever-entertaining Advice Column. Relationship advice, business advice, crafting advice, cooking advice, etiquette advice... I LOVES IT ALL. Sure, many columns offer reductive rulings on dilemmas that are really subjective, but I adore nothing more than a witty, hardline take on a divisive issue!

One of the best writing assignments I ever had was in high school, writing the faux-advice column for the paper. Not only did I get to dish out advice, I got to write my own questions too! (give me a break, readership was probably only twice that of this blog) Ah the potential for searing social satire! For subtle, yet pointed digs at my vacuous classmates! Actually I was quite tame but I like to pretend I was very daring.

Anywho. Perhaps this is my not-so-subconscious desire to bring order to my hectic life, which is, as usual, in limbo. So one of the things I'd like to do in my blog writing is sharing the stuff I find most helpful. Advice for advice seekers. This will involve a lot of link love, and I'll try to stick to sharing from "qualified" professionals. As in, career advice givers.

Here are two tidbits (one practical, one pragmatic) that I culled from my latest stroll through Slate, my e-life coach. They are exceedingly useful as they are things I commonly fret about.

How to Charge Your Laptop
Apparently my system of running out the battery adhering to a theory of "cycles" just ain't true!

The Happiness Project: How to forgive an accident
Sounds odd, but very helpful to people (like me) who always sweat the small stuff.

delish

Hiho loyal readers - all three of you! This weekend was a delight - live theater, hockey (an admittedly DISMAL Sabres defeat), and home-cooking galore!

My wonderful gastronomically-inclined boyfriend has requested that I detail his kitchen successes because I allegedly have insinuated an imbalance in our cooking skills:

• A fabulous rendition of Mark Bittman's No-Knead Bread plus all sorts of whole grain goodness
• Turkey stock from scratch which turned into...
• Churkey Noodle Stew

For those of you who don't know what churkey is, it is the word one uses to describe a medley of turkey and chicken. Like turducken minus the duck. And I made apple crisp.

My prayers have been answered

I know what everyone's getting for Christmas this year. Chocolate Chip Cheese Balls. Ms. Sedaris would be proud.

Squeaky Clean

Ever wondered what a Dust Bunny would look like if it came to life, and then started an irony-filled relationship with Mr. Clean?



Hm, me neither.

Artist's rendering

This man is amazing. He is an autistic artist that draws massive panoramic drawings - such as the Manhattan skyline - from memory.