June 17, 2009
New York City
So after my upset at Sotheby's yesterday, I called the Monégasque consulate to see if they had any more of the auction catalogs, and they had a couple. When they offered to send it to me I said, "I'm in town, I can come by and pick it up." The woman responded with something like, "ok, but we don't have an office you can come up to, so when you get here, tell the concierge, and I'll bring it down to you." She gave me the address, and so I headed down.
As I was about two blocks away, Jooj called because she was off of work early, and she was nearby too. We would meet at the consulate. I went to the wrong building at first, one who had a a most confusing address, one that said 564-6 -- this does not mean that 565 is in this building, by the way. But I don't really care that a room full of middle-aged Arabic men were laughing at me. Then, I found Jooj, and we went to the right building, but we weren't without doubts. When we got inside there was no indication of anything that went on inside the building. Everything floor to ceiling was marble with no art work, no personality, just something that seemed straight out of a spy movie. (I am not joking, what came to my mind was the Bourne movies, and Jooj went straight to Mission Impossible.) Oh, how to articulate how awkward it was in that lobby? I don't think it is possible. I went to the concierge who at first seemed to have no idea what I was talking about, then after asking again, he called up, and we waited. Whilst we were waiting, there was the most random group of people coming in and out of the building. I'm sure it is a situation where people live in the building and there are offices, but this was a truly random group of people. A young woman, a young gay couple, an elderly woman, and several people in business dress. The people who weren't in business attire didn't look like they could even remotely afford an apartment in that building, unless they are pulling a Jemaine and living in the utility closets. So strange. But, I got what I came for, and am so excited to bust it out and look at it.
June 20, 2009
Sevilla, Spain
My brother told me that Sevilla was the warmest place in Europe, I would argue that it is the warmest place ever. It was 40 degrees today, I don't even want to know what that translates to. I think it was especially warm because we were outside all day walking around Sevilla. We watched some flamenco, got accosted by some gypsies, and went to the cathedral, which supposedly houses Columbus' grave, but I'm not going to lie, other than the excellent exercise the hike up to the tower was, it was pretty much a bust. The best part of the day was the Alcazar, which is exceptionally beautiful. There were peacocks and ducks running around, and glorious gardens. ... We decided on some lunch, and found a place with a picture of a very tempting, ice cold smoothie on a placard outside, so that was our winner. Ashley and I ordered smoothies, Ashley banana, and I lemon. The waitress looked at us like we were crazy when we ordered that, but those were the only fruits she had that we wanted in a smoothie. The food was awful, just heated up pre-made stuff with no flavor, but we held out hope for our smoothies, that is until they were delivered to our table. Unlike smoothies in the states, dare I say, how smoothies should be, there was no medium for the fruit other than water. She literally juiced a lemon added water and two whole ice cubes, same with banana. Had there been shaved ice or yogurt or sherbet or anything, my lemon choice would not have been so crazy, but as it was, stupidest lunch choices ever.
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Travel Journal Excerpts 1
June 17, 2009
en route from NYC to DC
I always try to pick my seat with great care. I try to choose someone who looks as though they have things to occupy themselves with, and who consequently won't talk to me that much. I also like to sit near doors so that I have a short wait to exit. With these two motivators in mind, I chose my seat. The vamoose was fairly full, there were no empty rows, but a few empty seats, and I asked a woman "can I sit here?" to which she replied, "sure." Before we had even left the train station, she was on the phone to either her mother or her husband saying, "Thanks to your sound advice, I am the only person on the bus who has someone sitting next to them. You told me to sit in the front and I did, and everyone in the back has two seats to themselves." When she said this, I was so sad that my cell phone's battery was dead and I couldn't call someone and say, "Guess what this passive aggressive woman who is prone to hyperbole and very keen on displacing blame said about me when I was sitting right next to her!"
June 18, 2009
Washington DC
I was on the metro on my way to meet up with Britt for lunch, (after a somewhat unsuccessful walk to Ballston from Ashley's house) sitting down behind a man in business attire and across the aisle from a man in business attire. Nothing about this ride was seeming at all unusual until the guy across the aisle retrieved a pile of recycled paper towels from his briefcase, and started pulling them up the leg of his pants, then the other. I was watching out of my periphery--so as to not raise his awareness--to try to figure out what on earth he was doing. After he pulled the paper towels all the way up his trousers, he took a bundle of paper towels and shoved it down the front of his pants. At this point, the man in front of him looked over at him squarely, and then paper towel man picked up his things and went to the other end of the car. I wouldn't say that I am not used to crazy things on public transportation, the max has shown me a lot, but mostly its things I don't want to see like bare butts or genitalia, not things that leave me completely flummoxed like paper towels down your pants.
en route from NYC to DC
I always try to pick my seat with great care. I try to choose someone who looks as though they have things to occupy themselves with, and who consequently won't talk to me that much. I also like to sit near doors so that I have a short wait to exit. With these two motivators in mind, I chose my seat. The vamoose was fairly full, there were no empty rows, but a few empty seats, and I asked a woman "can I sit here?" to which she replied, "sure." Before we had even left the train station, she was on the phone to either her mother or her husband saying, "Thanks to your sound advice, I am the only person on the bus who has someone sitting next to them. You told me to sit in the front and I did, and everyone in the back has two seats to themselves." When she said this, I was so sad that my cell phone's battery was dead and I couldn't call someone and say, "Guess what this passive aggressive woman who is prone to hyperbole and very keen on displacing blame said about me when I was sitting right next to her!"
June 18, 2009
Washington DC
I was on the metro on my way to meet up with Britt for lunch, (after a somewhat unsuccessful walk to Ballston from Ashley's house) sitting down behind a man in business attire and across the aisle from a man in business attire. Nothing about this ride was seeming at all unusual until the guy across the aisle retrieved a pile of recycled paper towels from his briefcase, and started pulling them up the leg of his pants, then the other. I was watching out of my periphery--so as to not raise his awareness--to try to figure out what on earth he was doing. After he pulled the paper towels all the way up his trousers, he took a bundle of paper towels and shoved it down the front of his pants. At this point, the man in front of him looked over at him squarely, and then paper towel man picked up his things and went to the other end of the car. I wouldn't say that I am not used to crazy things on public transportation, the max has shown me a lot, but mostly its things I don't want to see like bare butts or genitalia, not things that leave me completely flummoxed like paper towels down your pants.
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Later Skaters!
I'm off to NYC, then Spain, then DC, and will be intentionally off-line. See you when I get back!
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
The case for men in white sweaters.
While this scene is probably the worst scene in what is otherwise a fabulous movie, Gene Kelly has the greatest wardrobe.
From a couple of years ago, Dolce & Gabbana.
Pretty much the only photo I could find of Gossip Girl's white party. Nate rocked the winter white cardi so well, not quite as well as Chuck's white suit, but who can dress as well as Chuck? No one. (Also, Serena's hair was amazing in this episode, no?)
My buddy Austin's favorite sweater, even when it is hot outside, he grabs it and puts it on. And yes, we were playing the "cymbals."
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Tapas.
"Unlike the jolly, obese American Santa, Saint Nicholas is painfully
thin and dresses not unlike the pope, topping his robes with a tall
hat resembling an embroidered tea cozy. The outfit, I was told, is
a carryover from his former career, when he served as a bishop in
Turkey.
One doesn't want to be too much of a cultural chauvinist, but this
seemed completely wrong to me. For starters, Santa didn't use to
do anything. He's not retired, and, more important, he has
nothing to do with Turkey. The climate's all wrong, and people
wouldn't appreciate him. When asked how he got from Turkey to the
North Pole, Oscar told me with complete conviction that Saint
Nicholas currently resides in Spain, which again is simply not
true. While he could probably live wherever he wanted, Santa chose
the North Pole specifically because it is harsh and isolated. No
one can spy on him, and he doesn't have to worry about people
coming to the door. Anyone can come to the door in Spain, and in
that outfit, he'd most certainly be recognized. On top of that,
aside from a few pleasantries, Santa doesn't speak Spanish. He
knows enough to get by, but he's not fluent, and he certainly
doesn't eat tapas." -- David Sedaris' Six To Eight Black Men
This excessively long quote has nothing to do with what I'm going to tell you about, but I thought of it the other day, and knew that if I were to bring up tapas, David Sedaris should be referenced.
In gearing up for my trip to Spain with the wonderful Miss Ashley, I've been watching "Spain...On The Road Again" -- and while I wouldn't recommend this show to everyone, if you're a foodie who doesn't find Gwyneth Paltrow annoying, add this to your queue. I absolutely am in love with this show. It follows GP, Mario Batali, Mark Bittman (who was recently on Colbert touting his new book that I almost bought at Powells the other day) and the oh so delightful Claudia Bassols (can we say girl crush?) around Spain on a culinary road trip. I bring this up because when the gang was in Barcelona they went to Inopia, and sampled pineapple with lime zest and molasses. I went out, got an impossibly perfect pineapple, which I cut up, put the zest of one lime on and drizzled 3 Tablespoons of molasses over. OH MY GOSH! Try it. Right now. Go get a pineapple - if you don't know how to pick a ripe pineapple, call me and I'll tell you what to look and smell for - and make this and serve it to someone you love.
Oh, and I am so trying to get into Inopia when I'm in Barcelona. ¡Buen provecho!
thin and dresses not unlike the pope, topping his robes with a tall
hat resembling an embroidered tea cozy. The outfit, I was told, is
a carryover from his former career, when he served as a bishop in
Turkey.
One doesn't want to be too much of a cultural chauvinist, but this
seemed completely wrong to me. For starters, Santa didn't use to
do anything. He's not retired, and, more important, he has
nothing to do with Turkey. The climate's all wrong, and people
wouldn't appreciate him. When asked how he got from Turkey to the
North Pole, Oscar told me with complete conviction that Saint
Nicholas currently resides in Spain, which again is simply not
true. While he could probably live wherever he wanted, Santa chose
the North Pole specifically because it is harsh and isolated. No
one can spy on him, and he doesn't have to worry about people
coming to the door. Anyone can come to the door in Spain, and in
that outfit, he'd most certainly be recognized. On top of that,
aside from a few pleasantries, Santa doesn't speak Spanish. He
knows enough to get by, but he's not fluent, and he certainly
doesn't eat tapas." -- David Sedaris' Six To Eight Black Men
This excessively long quote has nothing to do with what I'm going to tell you about, but I thought of it the other day, and knew that if I were to bring up tapas, David Sedaris should be referenced.
In gearing up for my trip to Spain with the wonderful Miss Ashley, I've been watching "Spain...On The Road Again" -- and while I wouldn't recommend this show to everyone, if you're a foodie who doesn't find Gwyneth Paltrow annoying, add this to your queue. I absolutely am in love with this show. It follows GP, Mario Batali, Mark Bittman (who was recently on Colbert touting his new book that I almost bought at Powells the other day) and the oh so delightful Claudia Bassols (can we say girl crush?) around Spain on a culinary road trip. I bring this up because when the gang was in Barcelona they went to Inopia, and sampled pineapple with lime zest and molasses. I went out, got an impossibly perfect pineapple, which I cut up, put the zest of one lime on and drizzled 3 Tablespoons of molasses over. OH MY GOSH! Try it. Right now. Go get a pineapple - if you don't know how to pick a ripe pineapple, call me and I'll tell you what to look and smell for - and make this and serve it to someone you love.
Oh, and I am so trying to get into Inopia when I'm in Barcelona. ¡Buen provecho!
Saturday, June 6, 2009
Hollywood Crush
I've been getting a lot of flack about saying that Brenden Fraser is my secret celebrity crush, which is I think primarily because these people have not seen "George of the Jungle," but I am not ashamed. I watched "With Honors" about eight hundred times in fifth and sixth grade. And unfortunately for me, I've seen Mrs. Winterbourne more times than I'd care to mention (but know that four of these times were thanks to United Airlines not changing their in-flight movie between trips one summer). Although, my "crush" on Brenden Fraser is not impregnable enough to ever pay to see one of the mummy movies, or that journey to the center of the earth movie, or to really seek him out in any capacity, he is just so goofy.
But I feel like I should mention that my real celebrity crush is Ryan Gosling, and I am all pins and needles about the Dead Man's Bones album coming out. But to tide me over, I'm so glad to hear and see this:
But I feel like I should mention that my real celebrity crush is Ryan Gosling, and I am all pins and needles about the Dead Man's Bones album coming out. But to tide me over, I'm so glad to hear and see this:
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