December 2009
29 posts
One of the first things I did in 2009 was go on a date. He was a nice Jewish boy I’d met at a party at the end of first semester; we’d both been dragged there by friends who, as it turned out, really just wanted an excuse to see each other. We got on, as it happened, we wingmen, and exchanged information and then cute emails over the break. We went on one of those picturebook first...
Mackey, for years a media and stock-market... →
Oh boy oh boy oh boy. I’m always a fan of pieces about crazy, wealthy narcissists (see: anything written about Bikram Choudhury) & lord knows I have some opinions about food. This includes fewer gems concerning Mackey’s personal eccentricites than I’d want but, for a profile ostensibly about a particular character, manages to give a sense of the issues surrounding him &...
I totally did a summer program at Columbia with... →
Even then, she was flamboyant and ridiculous and self-mythologizing. She talked a lot about this older music producer she was sleeping with (we had a 10pm curfew, so there must have been precious little actual sleeping involved) and wore cowboy boots everywhere and once ditched me in order to hang out with a very mediocre band whose name I can’t even remember after their free show. Somehow...
YES YES YES →
“I know the shibboleth of true fandom, the secret signal of devoted, which to others means little: possession of, and obsession with, their Christmas album, Snowed In. I play it compulsively every December. With my doors closed. On headphones.”
That is no less true than when I wrote it for the Herald a couple of years ago. Tonight, in honor of the season & having the house to...
“But the dance-off, and the subsequent respective revenge/apology songs...”
– via The Awl
facing forwards
Hannukah is really over, Christmas looms, New Years & my birthday come shortly after that. I can barely distinguish between wish list and resolutions anymore; I’d like to learn to bake bread and to make more money and to have minor disaster stop befalling me & those I love.*
If you’re hellbent on buying me something, though, I could really use a haircut.
*The past 24 hours...
Lay in bed for far too long this morning, paralyzed by dread of the hangover I felt I deserved after last night’s bravado-induced “who gives a shit about hangovers” whiskey swilling. Finally rousted myself just now to discover that it had failed to materialize; was puzzled until I went through my bag and found failed faux-roids* of my 2.30am fried egg sandwich with bacon &...
placebo bourbon may in fact be the saddest phrase →
BUT MORE IMPORTANTLY, I didn’t start having really bad hangovers until the summer after sophomore year, which is when I switched from vodka to bourbon.* I always assumed this was just because my system had dealt gracefully with as much alcohol as it could tolerate and was slowly falling apart, but apparently not! This should probably make me re-think my allegiances but let’s be real...
“Martina, an obvious free spirit — she wears a smudge of bright red makeup under...”
– From an NYT piece on quadruplets who were just admitted to Yale. This is totally something i would have done when I was eleven or twelve and really into expressing myself by like, wearing silver lipstick and putting gold stars on my forehead. (Yes, those are real examples.)
Also, Wesleyan &...
I relate to this maybe a little too much. →
In reverse chronological order, here are some sad things I have tried to get drunk on:
1. The official drink of Rosspack ‘09: sambuca & Redbull.
2. Straight shots of Dubra, which are gross enough to necessitate a slap as a chaser.
3. The “whiskey sours” Dave & I tried to make once by melting otter pops into whiskey. (Extra points if it was, as I seem to recall,...
I have a major soft spot for this song because it...
Am now curled up in a motel room in Coalinga, California, about halfway between Los Angeles and Sacramento. This place is surprisingly charming for a roadside stopover, replete with palm trees and dudes with questionable facial hair who want me to play cards with them. Sadly, a lone girl can’t get into those kinds of shenanigans and my wakeup call is for 5.30am tomorrow, so late night cable...
Last night I dropped my phone in a puddle; this morning I picked it up from where I’d left it sitting innocently on the dining room table to discover that it had decided to buy me a copy of Mariah Carey’s “Silent Night.” I was charmed by the lovely holiday gift but it was not enough to overcome the fact that I also can’t send or see texts most of the time, and so...
Revelation: what I always took to be the thick stupidity of Tim Riggins’ voice is actually just Taylor Kitsch attempting to cover his Canadian accent with a southern one.
Not a revelation: I love Tim Riggins just so much.
Yesterday I took my car in for a routine checkup; turned out it needed upwards of $300 of work done on it like, yesterday. Then, as I was pulling out of the Jiffy Lube, one of my hubcaps fell off. This morning I tried to leave the house & broke the lock on my front door. It’s probably a good thing I didn’t attempt the planned 6 hour drive north to a farm I might intern at in the...
Chez Panisse Is Not the Answer to the Egg McMuffin...
had a big conversation with my co-workers at slow food usa a couple of summers ago about alice waters & carlo petrini, what inspiring, visionary leaders they had been and how totally incapable they were of seeing anything other than sweeping vistas and grand moral imperatives. they’ve done good work in creating & coalescing a movement (whatever that means*) but they’ve failed...
