Blue Blood, Blue Steel

Dear New York Times:
  Sometimes, I think you write incendiary articles for kicks and giggles.  I understand that I'm not your demographic, but seriously?  Seriously?  (Making me talk as if I'm in Grey's Anatomy circa 2006, that's another sin to add to your long list.)  The piece today started with a fair disclaimer, "Although we didn't work with a budget, we were strict with our choices; each piece had to be worth the money, as well as be age-appropriate."  Sensible enough.  This is, after all, the Fashion & Styles column.  Too bad it soon disintegrated, with one shopper confiding "To be honest, even though I say I would buy a T-shirt from Topshop, I'd prefer to buy one from James Perse" for about $80.  One boutique yielded "surprisingly affordable" pieces, like a $450 silk jumpsuit (WTH on all counts).  And finally, piece de resistance, the characterization of a store where most pieces they chose (except for a couple) were under $1500 as "reasonably kind to the purse."  If I spent $1500 on a shirt I'd have to eat it.  Then throw it up so I can eat it again and again for the next three months.  You're lucky that I only get my news from the liberal media (especially since that article in The Nation told me that the WSJ has lost its soul) or I'd leave you.  I would, too, but come September, I'll start my tenure as a member of the liberal elite, what else am I supposed to do?

Sincerely,

Derelicte

My Constants

Wednesday night at 9pm is a sacred time.  I've had my share of absences, but I generally trek south into Dorchester on Wednesday nights to watch Lost with my local BP affiliates.  Lost is currently my favorite show to hate.  It's pure donkey kong ridonculous.  But watching it with the BP affiliates, as we shout our allegiances and gasp over the latest twist, is as comforting and relaxing as drinking soup, because it's the best thing to be doing, best place to be setting, during cold, hectic weeks.  It's also a really funny bowl of soup.  Spicy, too, thanks to Jax's many ethnic flavors.  And then there are the real, non-soup snacks that Sarah provides.  Like the stupendous chicken nuggets last month (which also coincided with ice cream and Desmond beating Benjamin Linus into a fine pulp.  Best Wednesday ever).  My heart still expands with ecstasy when I think upon those nuggets.  I don't know when you last ate yours, but it had been too long since I had mine.  And now I want chicken nuggets for dinner every night.  Every. Single. Night.  This is why people shouldn't feed their children junk food.

Another Liz highlight from last night-- "I wish I had swine flu so I can take a week off of work."  The girl is precious.

Rule of Halves

After a long drought, someone has finally come back from somewhere and brought in chocolates to the office to share.  Someone else has left a half-eaten piece of chocolate on the counter.  Has swine flu hygiene taught us nothing, people?

I Do Declare

I guess I should come out and officially say this for the few of you out there who I never see. Come this fall, I'm leaving the little people behind and going back to school. That's right. Educated liberal elite? That's going to be me. (or starving grad student subsisting on Ramen, we'll see) This means that I'll be staying in town for a couple more years, with the folks I love, and yet completely out of my element at school. I'll be among the youngest and least experienced, with no idea what I'm going to do with my Master's when I'm done. In other words: funsies!

Watching Lost tonight...

Sarah: Do you know where you're going yet?

Moi: Yup, I'll be staying in Boston. Being snotty pants. Looking down on you guys.

Liz: (a suddenly very defensive Liz, mind you) Psssh. Not me. You'll be joining my ranks in the Ivy Leagues. That's how you have to say it- Ivy Leagues. And push your nose up, like this.

I've already started practicing in front of the mirror.

Shock Jock

For the past week, a sports trivia question has been the subject of our RA white board:

How many (sets of) professional athletes can you name who share the same nickname but play different sports?

I know.  Sports trivia from me?  (Though I did venture a couple of half correct guesses)  No, it was Sister Claire's idea.  Young Bo' and I haven't even contributed answers.  In fact, Doc Fisher has been having a hard time just discussing this with me.  But for Doc Fisher, Doc Query, and Sister Claire, this question has provided endless hours of entertainment and head scratching.  They discuss it, they mull, they love to hear about how the others are doing, and when the lightbulb flashes, they come by and write their answers down.  It's too bad that only three of them are enjoying this.  The rest of the office has been walking by, asking "WTF?"

Also, Dusty, every song in your mix CD (for Dwighters at least) sounds the same.  They all made me sleepy. 

Box Seat

Finding this toilet alone would have been worth the trip to New York, but this was only half of it. There was also hanging out with Karina and Jenny, lying in parks, browsing boutiques, sketchy art opening, and oh, food, wonderful food. We had donuts for breakfast, empanadas for dinner, and frozen yogurt in between. We also discovered that the three of us had surprisingly much in common, like having antiquated, non-text friendly phones, and never having smoked. Try finding three other Bo' grads like that. I dare you. (OK, I don't think it was any stretch of the imagination that I've never smoked, but the other two were surprising.) And now, all three of us are sun burnt, with right shoulders that are pink and tender, wishing for another weekend like the last.

Sound Judgment

In today's segment of "Are You Serious, World?"  (And by 'world' I mean self-righteous lawyers)

The lawyer for Carlos's adoptive parents, Joseph L. Hensley, said his clients had waited more than a year for Ms. Bail to demonstrate her commitment to Carlos, but the judge found that she had made no attempt to contact the baby or send financial support for him while she was incarcerated.

The full Times article here: http://www.nytimes.com/2009/04/23/us/23children.html

All the Children Above Average

We're in the midst of interviewing new RAs to replace me (sorry, have I not mentioned that I'm going to school in Boston in a few months? I am) and discovered yesterday that Whitecastle, perhaps because he cannot live outside the confines of academics (just as I cannot operate without kingdom points), grades every candidate he interviews. Naturally, we were curious for our grades when we interviewed...

Moi: So we heard that you grade everyone-

Whitecastle: Yes, I give each person a grade.

Moi: So all the RAs...?

Whitecastle: A pluses all around.

Moi: OK, I'll buy that lie.

Whitecastle: You think I'm stupid enough to answer that question?

Do you think I'm stupid enough to answer that?

Traveling Orange

This is not my traveling orange. My traveling orange perished somewhere outside of London, before I had a chance to take a picture. But before it gave itself for my nourishment, it traveled far with me. First from the store to the apartment. Then to New York City. I had intended it for the bus ride, but ended up sleeping the whole way through. And when I got to the City, I was too busy having amazing falafel and cupcake. So it went away with me to Jersey for Katie's wedding. Like I was going to pull out an orange then. So it patiently traveled to Pennsylvania, to Jackie's. Then back to Boston, via New York and Connecticut. Only to have me pack it the next morning and head off to London (I thought I'd have it at the airport). Where I still did not eat the stubborn orange. It was headed to Edinburgh, having arrived at the airport, made it through the checks, and onto the plane, when I decided finally, that I was thirsty, starved, and not about to spend three pounds on a bottle of water. And there on the runway, before we even took off, I finished my little travel orange.

For Gak

Portland Lighthouse.

Pin Points of Wonder

I noticed yesterday that the church got new pens in the pews, which was a terribly exciting discovery. Then I noticed that these new pens had erasers on the other end and I was terribly confused.

On the Eddie Bert Agenda

1. Mosque Curry.
Three pound fifty. Heaping plate. Mosque. Pigeons. Nothing better.

2. Arthur's Seat
I don't know why I subject myself to the climb each time. The wind was maddening.

3. Fried Snickers Bar.
We had to nix the fried pizza, but the walking into a chippy and getting a deep fried candy bar then eating its melted turd-looking goodness experience- that makes me happy every time.

PS. Turns out 'chippy' can also mean prostitute. Who knew?

Queen's English

I was under the impression that toilets were gender neutral, inanimate objects, but that's not how they roll in the UK. Male and female, He created them.

Quality You Can Count On

Moi: How are the sick people?

Whitecastle: Good, good. Sick as usual. Though no one has died in awhile.

(JenP and I look shocked and break out laughing)

Moi: Why are you surprised at this?

Whitecastle: Well, these things happen.

Our Mutual Friend

The Brits are the classiest of people. And of them, I count the classiest of them as friends. They begged me to take this picture. And I, with my American sense of propriety and duty, obediently complied.

At last, I have returned from my journey. I am simply exhausted and counting down the minutes until I can finally crash on my bed with my pillows. Perhaps stories and photos will come later. There's a small album on fbook at present. But other than that, all I can muster is fatigue.

Beggars and Choosers

I went to the beach this morning.  Smooth sand.  Quiet village.  Idyllic fishing boats.  Colorful houses.  All that good jazz plus pastries on the beach and sun beaming down on me.  What more could I ask for?  Warmth, perhaps.  Apparently the Atlantic Ocean is just as cold in Portugal as it is back home.  I was all ready to complain about the weather being in the 60s (instead of the 70s last week, I knew I shouldn't have checked the weather before I got here) but I just checked what it's like back home and well, there are worse things to be than a swinger of birches.  Like research assistants.

Universal Language

Greetings from Lisboa.  That's Portuguese for Lisbon, and one of the few words that I know in the language.  It's too bad that the Americans and Brits aren't doing as great a job of cultural imperialism as we'd like to believe and we're bumping into plenty of people who don't speak English.  Like our nice cab driver today.

 

Moi: Did he say that the buses were there? 

 

Emily: I don't know, I didn't really catch what he said.

 

Moi: But you kept nodding and saying 'Yes'!

 

Emily: That´s just because he´s an adorable old man.

 

-----

One thing we do understand, however, is how to navigate the streets. 

 

Moi: Perhaps we should wait a couple of hours in country before we start jaywalking.

 

Emily: Good idea.

 

(watch incredibly slow car row by as people stand idly at the crosswalk)

 

Moi: On second thought, it´s been two minutes.  Let´s jaywalk.

 

Emily: Sounds about right.

Gloating Glory

Yesterday, got up much later than expected (the watch mess that we've already discussed, which Hannah found inordinately amusing), and had breakfast of toast and tea with Emily, the sun shining on our backs as we looked into the garden.  Then we headed to Greenwich where I took pictures of the prime meridien.  And now, I'm in Edinburgh- sitting in Fiona's kitchen, a pile of toffee on my left (for the Paula Deen gooey toffee cake later), waiting for her to finish wrapping up her shampoo bar creations (I don't understand it either) so we can make chocolate truffles for dinner.  Oh, how has your day been? 

Earth Stood Still

Greetings from London, the capital of the world.  (By the by- British flush system, I do not miss thee.)

It appears that in my travels, I have lost the ability to do simple math.  Set all my alarms five hours behind instead of ahead (do you have any idea how hard it was to figure all this out last night, after barely any sleep?).  Now it is another day, still sleep deprived, but it's a vacation day, so who cares.  Not saving any lives today.  But I am anxious for my three watch alarms to go off in three and a half hours. 

Another Fortune

All right, kids, I'm peacing out for awhile, heading to the Motherland.

Tonight, had dinner with the parents, who dropped me off at the condo. We passed a trash heap outside the building...

Mother: Whoa, it's true what they say, rich people's trash don't even smell bad.

Moi: Please, Ma, rich people don't take their trash out. That belongs to the tapas bar [on the first floor]. Rich people use garbage chutes.

Dangerously Delicious

This morning, doc Binks gave an awesome talk to the RAs on propensity score. We really were honestly glad to learn and enjoyed his teaching style. It was amazing. Especially the part where he perfectly profiled me...

Doc Binks: Say for the exposure, you're a cheetos eater (pointing to Uzi) and you're not a cheetos eater (pointing to me)

(brief pause as he looks at us and considers the statement)

Doc Binks: Actually, nevermind, it'd be more likely that she's the cheetos eater (pointing to me) and you would be the unexposed non-eater.

I could go for some hot cheetos right now.

Sandwich Savant

  It's time to get rhapsodic about Savant sandwiches.  Very recently, the Savant Project's El Cubano has become synonymous with comfort food in my mind.  The sandwich is far from traditional (roast pork between bread is really where the similarities end, the meat isn't even cut the 'right' way), but it's delicious.  I was a late convert to the Savant Project, mostly because its tapas left me hungry after many, many bites, and its price is still a little steep for my taste (damn you, hipsters, how do you afford your lifestyle?).  But it has gradually grown from "likable enough" to a decent place I like to go with the Bo' crew.  The staff is wicked friendly and I'll be honest, their "economic crisis" lunch deals helped win me over.  (Lunch, fries, table service, and tip all for $6?  You can't beat that… and they couldn't either.  The deal has been subtly removed.)  But this isn't a restaurant review, so let's get back to the sandwich.
  Its allure lies in how simple it is.  Sliced roast pork.  Bacon.  Cheese.  Avocados.  Pressed between two pieces of toasty white bread.  Served with a side of nicely seasoned fries.  There's not a single flaw there.  How could you go wrong with those ingredients?  Warm, soft, crusty, meaty… comfort.  That's why it's one of my favorite sandwiches.  I'm not even willing to try other things on the menu anymore.  That fish taco looks fascinating and all, but what El Cubano and I have is a sure thing.  A savory and sure thing.  I'll be loyal and tied down to it as long as it stays as beautiful as it was the last time I had it. 

--
That I'm always eating this with Bo' kids during the work day doesn't hurt, either.  B*tching makes everything taste better.  We were in there last week and there was some confusion over their discount as we settled the check.  Laura tried her best, but they would only give us free drinks.  No more recession discounts…

Moi: If [Young Bo'] was here, I bet we'd get the discount.

Zvi: Please, if she was here, we could kill and get away with it.