How genius are these little guys? No matter how bad you are to your body, one of these packs a day and you can at least rest assured that you are also sticking some nuts in there, too. After all, almonds are super good for you: containing calcium, magnesium, protein, doing your homework, taxes, and solving assorted missle crises.
Hi, sometimes I notice Art! It’s funny – writing is a form of art, sure, but visual art is oftentimes so foreign to me, and sometimes even makes me feel dumb or left out. But then also, sometimes, it’s truly beautiful to behold, and there really is nothing to do but just – look at it. And marvel in its details.
As a city, Philly works with artists to turn bland public spaces and walls into beautiful murals that reflect the community. They are everywhere you look, and they are incredible!
And then also, the Magic Garden: A home turned into a haven of found objects and tile murals that literally cover every inch of the space. Bottles, plates, Peruvian figures, scales and cups and dolls from the 50s, etchings and plaster. As opposed to me rambling around the incredible story of this place, just read here!
Mandy was kind enough to lend Steve and I the Mandywagon to take to Maryland and Philly. While the Mandy Wagon was a great ride and very good to us – we still hold firm to our beliefs that ‘Cars are stupid’ and ‘Why would you ever want to have a car?’ and ‘Screw you, cars!’ Why, you must put gas in them!
And wash them!
And tape up their windows when dumb Philly thieves bust into them with Degenerate Fervor!
Oh, the ennui. I’m sticking to public transit and all of its splendor*!
*(Except for when I’m stuck underground inbetween stations for 45 minutes)
(Which I will talk loudly about for days after)
(so that you will know that it happened, and so that you will feel thoroughly sorry for me.)
Really. I mean, Really. Is there anything better than Thanksgiving? I was so happy this year to get to go to my Grandparent’s house in Maryland – where we used to go every year until about 10 years ago. So I was thrilled to get to smell and touch and see things in the Bray Museum of my Youth.
As I had hoped – everything was exactly as I had left it (save the new flat screen – way to go, the Grandparents) ! Beautiful old furniture, boxes of old pictures, bible stories on VHS, a game closet stuffed with new and old games, jars of cheezits and cookies, walks to the lake through the green and gray neighborhood. Yes.
The turkey was deep-fried by my uncle Dan, and we thanksgiving-ed at his Cheasapeake Bay-side pad, with cousins and new spouses and children and significant others.
Said turkey was forced to mingle with stuffing, mashed potatoes, garlicky green beans and hot rolls, because some things never change – because they shouldn’t.
One of the best parts about visiting the G’parents is sifting through old pictures of your parents and getting this creepy wonderful sense of the passage of time. Also, my parents were super cute in their youth. See also, my Mom:
Steve and I are taking a baby road trip! From NYC to Maryland, then to Philly, then back to Brooklyn. There is no way it can compare to the epic antics of the 2003 cross-country Trinity Road Trip, or the Dirty South trip of 2004, but I have a feeling it is going to be great. We are going to do road trip-esque things like consume absurd amounts of jolly ranchers, attempt to car-chair dance to Tupac and stop and look at the things, and I don’t know, eat waffle fries? What else is that people do, in these ‘cars?’ Also, I will be forcing us to stop at nearly abandoned goodwills. We will be putting our trust in the map GPS of the iphone. Wish us road-related luck!
Hi, I’m fat. I hate to brag, but our office thanksgiving potluck lunch was pretty impressive. What, with our apricot stuffing, warm goat cheese / beet / walnut salad, brandied cranberry sauce, green bean casserole (made by the president of the company himself!,) succulent* turkey and cheesecake. Now, you can sit there and stew in your jealous turkey juices.
* I hate this word.
Ladies and Gentlemen, beholdeth the Trailer Park bar, located conveniently on 23rd just off eighth, caddy corner to a large GAP where you can black out and emerge with 700 fleece lined hoodies. Were you so inclined.
The bar! There are so, so many bars in NYC. They kind of tend to blur into one boring, blurry blob of beer, plaid, words and wobbly stools. But some bars emerge above the others with their clever themes or shticks. Trailer Park bar is filled with ‘trash’ and tater tots and a heavenly smell that I could only describe as ‘wait, is that fried chicken? And cinnamon? Is that chicken fried in cinnamon toast crunch??’ The walls are littered with stuff, the High Life is super cold, and the mannequins are well posed; trashy.