Saturday into Sunday, NY and NJ

(Cross-posted to LiveJournal)

On Saturday, Rodney and I left John to his grating (how he refers to grading), and took the train into New York City for the purpose of photographing urban over-development in what is technically historic Harlem. It was a little difficult to capture the right angles to make his point, and, in some cases, just impossible--but we wouldn't have known if he hadn't tried.

I think my favourite of the ones I snapped off on my iPhone was this one, which we entitled "Our Lady of the Condos":

More about finger buildings.

More about Saturday & Sunday:

There were only two subway rides over the course of Saturday, and mostly we just walked everywhere (woe to my flip-flopped feet), because the weather was gorgeous and Rodney is very familiar with the area. We went to a vegetarian dim sum restaurant for lunch, and then walked to the shopping strip, because--

In addition to my inappropriate footwear, the strap on Rodney's bag fell apart halfway through the day. Thus, we were looking for comfier shoes and a new bag. Of course, nothing we saw gave us any compulsion to buy. Sad feet. Sad bag.

When we returned to Rahway, all three of us went over to Little India for dinner and window-shopping. Dinner was delicious. Shopping was awkward, but then we didn't stick to simple window-shopping; we actually went inside three places. You could tell it made the clerks confused and anxious--which, in turn, made me feel anxious and guilty. It's a shame, really, because the fabric selections and the artistry involved in creating these clothes--it's amazing. Yet I feel undeserving and somewhat voyeuristic, a dull interloper.

As I told Kat, I was having poor luck with shop-keepers, in general. Later, we were at the mall (where I continued to feel awkward and wrong), and I laughed too loudly in the Game Stop at something or other that Rodney had said. I'm pretty sure the clerk wished me miles away.

~*~

Sunday was a quieter affair. We all went to New Brunswick so that John and Rodney could get some school work done. Rodney went to the computer lab, while John and I hung out in Au Bon Pain, taking advantage of their wireless access and air conditioning.

For dinner there were stromboli from Stuff Yer Face, followed by bubble tea at I's Cafe. I'd never had bubble tea before, and I can say that I really enjoyed the kind I tried (coconut milk tea) and can't wait to try others.

Turn the page ...

Close the book ...

lulling minds

Netflix sent me The Man Who Laughs, Persepolis, and disc two of Season One of Hustle (which was cracked along its radius, alas).

Within fifteen minutes of getting home, the Peapod truck arrived with my groceries, and then I spent the next hour and a half talking on the phone with the parents while making dinner.

The sweet potato rice idea came from a book of bento recipes (though I didn't use the prescribed sake and replaced the salt with a little soy). Asparagus came in the delivery, and the beef cubes were left around from the Market Basket shopping spree. I now have an abundance of sweet potato rice. It's good; but there's a lot of it.

On the food note, I think I might visit Super 88 during tomorrow's lunch break and see what I can find in dried mushrooms (or even their fresh mushrooms, since they might have a decent selection) and other dried food stuffs that would be easy to carry home.

Anyway, I didn't actually sit down to dinner-and-a-movie until eight o'clock. Movie choice? Persepolis. I really, really, really like this movie. It's funny and sad and amazing.

I think my favourite part might be when a young Marjane Satrapi is wandering through the purveyors of contraband goods (Western music, cosmetics, alcohol), and the dealers are muttering their wares as she passes by: "Bee Gees" - "ABBA" - "Pink Floyd" - "nail polish" - "Jichael Mackson" (yes, just like that).

After it was over, I was browsing through the special features and realised there was an English audio function. I'd been watching it in its original French audio with English subtitles. Oh, well. Nothing against Iggy (because I love Iggy), but the French Uncle Anoosh was probably better. Originals usually are.

Seeing the movie makes me want to read the graphic novels more than ever.

Turn the page ...

Close the book ...

quiet time

Friday included cleaning, bank-visiting, mail-box-hunting, Essex-outdoor-stalls-perusing, and Batman-and-fireworks-watching (because, I was right, you can see the fireworks from the deck).

Saturday morning, I waited for my furniture to arrive.

The Jordan's delivery guys were a lot better at their job than my movers (and with a far more difficult piece of furniture).

The sofa felt a bit tall, so I unscrewed the 5" legs from the corners and stood back for another look. It's better this way, really. With the legs, my feet can't touch the floor, and I don't think that's good for circulation.

The counter stools in the kitchen ... I think it's the upholstery, but it smells odd. In a "eating here makes me feel queasy" kind of way. I'm hoping it just needs to air out; otherwise, I ought to get some fabric deodorant.

After lunch, I went to the Peabody Essex Museum, the ticket and special exhibits of which are free for Salem residents. Fine by me.

I had an absurd epiphany while I was there. It's been many a time that I've been walking down the street between Derby and Essex and wondered, What the hell were they thinking when they decided to imitate Chinese architecture for just that one building? And what is that? Somebody's house? A business? What? So yesterday I was excited to visit because the PEM has the Yin Yu Tang exhibit--a Chinese house. I thought this might be similar to the Japanese house exhibit at the Children's Museum by South Station, a life-size model of the real thing, but still just a model.

No. They moved a Chinese house from China to Salem, bit by bit over the past seven years, and reconstructed it in its original form and with original decorations from between 300 and 50 years ago. And now I know what I should have known before. Hooray for disconnect.

Also very cool there right now--the Maori ta moko exhibit, a gallery of photos and quotes from tribe members who have received these tattoos since the government ban was lifted in the 1960s. And it was pretty awesome to read the anecdotes and see the variety of designs ... Except for the stupid people walking around and commenting (or mining for earwax and examining your findings in public--ARGH). I was furiously texting Rodney while I was in there, because it kept me from snapping at somebody. "What kind of jobs can they get?! Teeheehee!!" (And this, after passing directly by the photograph of the young businessman with facial ta moko.)

DiaF.

I also went to the gift shop (of course), and found an addition for my rice bowl collection:



Which inspired me to go home and make sticky rice for dinner (with broccoli, mushroom, and onion mixed in, to be healthy and stuff). And because I'm trying to use up the milk I have before it goes bad (because there were two gallons from the previous week), I also made clam chowder--which was poured over the rice in a very rice-casserole kind of deal. Surprisingly good, though veering from the original inspiration.

And then there was Doctor Who's finale. I enjoyed it, even though I didn't really enjoy the ending. I'm trying to think of it in a positive light though, like--"it's the journey that matters, not the destination," or something to that effect.

Blah. Time for a shower.

Turn the page ...

Close the book ...

telling me a story

My parents picked me up at the train station yesterday afternoon (the first sunny and non-torrentially-raining day in the week is the day they're there to give me a ride--of course). They're back from the Berkshires for a bit, as A Prairie Home Companion isn't until Saturday. Due to the thunderstorms that have been rolling through, they've been doing outlet shopping and scouting for furniture, and picked up a safe beige curtain for the door to the deck. The room is no longer on display--huzzah!

We went out to dinner at the Lyceum Bar and Grill, which was excellent and in walking distance of the apartment. Did an after-dinner walk around the Common, and then went back home again.

It was an afternoon for people telling me stories, by the way. My dad, who, on the way home, confessed to removing the door to the deck and hanging up a shower curtain to keep the rain out ... NO. And then the host at the restaurant. Big ol' story-tellers.

On a television note, The Riches can be embarrassing to watch with one's parents. I don't recommend it.



Commuting is coming easily. I always manage to get a seat, and I'm starting to recognise the usual suspects who share my schedule.

There is something weird though. Standing in North Station, one might suddenly see a herd of people rush out to a platform that hasn't been announced. I can't figure out how they know it's their train. Because the rest of us stand and watch the line-up for the track announcement, and by the time we get out there, there are already a hundred people on board. And there's no apparent rhyme or reason to the thing, as the track is almost never the same one as the day before.

Is there a secret society with a decoder watch that announces the track number ten minutes before it appears on the board?

Chalk it up on the list of things to find out, I suppose.



Hooray! My internet is being installed tomorrow! Time to get a wireless router.


For the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, visit: masquedbunny.livejournal.com.

Turn the page ...

Close the book ...

and kicking

My downstairs neighbors (at least, I think it was my downstairs neighbors, since I don't imagine anybody else could've come in the front door, and wandered upstairs) left me a welcoming present from their favourite neighborhood bakery--croissants and danishes and bread. I think they must have dropped it off some time on Sunday, but I didn't notice until I walked out the door this morning. I feel kind of bad about that for a few reasons. One, I don't know how well the goodies will be now when they're not fresh. Two, I still haven't seen my neighbors. And now three, I really ought to thank them, and wish I had done yesterday ...

Anyway, I put the box of baked goods in the fridge before I left, so I hope I didn't spoil them by letting them sit out there on the landing overnight. I'm putting my faith in the preservative properties of sugar.

Damn it. I'm already a bad neighbor, and I haven't even talked to anybody yet.

I was trying to get everything out of the cardboard boxes, and didn't leave the house at all. On one hand, good for productivity. On the other hand, it would've been nice to wander my new stomping grounds. Oh, well. There will certainly be time for that.


Saturday night discovery--the cable is still hooked up. On a whim, I plugged in the television just to see, and now I'm wishing I already owned a modem. Still... That will be installed on Friday.

Turned on AMC for a background--The Last Samurai and Alexander being heralded as "Future Classics," with which I take some umbrage--while unpacking and then having dinner.

I had intended to sleep in yesterday, and I had left my iPod in the Sound Dock overnight for a sense of familiarity. And then, at around 0830, I awoke to a strange blend of Lunasa coming from the speakers, and swinging big band music--coming from outside. Think more casual New Orleans big band, rather than rigid marching band, and you'll have a good idea of the sound. And it would've been irritating, except that it was actually quite good. So I opened more of the windows and the deck door to let the music breeze in and through the house.


Timed the walk from my door to the station. It's a little under ten minutes at a very leisurely pace. I left about fifteen minutes sooner than necessary for my 0627 train. I think I'm going to pick up a 12-trip pass for the remainder of the month this afternoon, just to save time.


It's raining now. I hope my leaving the windows open a few inches wasn't a mistake. Guess I'll find out when I get home ...

Turn the page ...

Close the book ...

For Saturday, I had written an entry that was a rather cryptic return from my ten-day hiatus. My mind is in a [somewhat] better place now, so maybe I can get through a rational explanation of the weekend's events.

Easter. Yeah. Great.

... Or maybe not. I just explained the situation to Lindsay--or ranted about it--Michelle and Ian have also sort of heard about it.

My mother's family is certifiable, I'm convinced.

My grandmother had an aneurysm on Thursday.

My mother has six siblings, and none of them knows the value of leaving a message on an answering machine apparently. My parents said they had a dozen calls on Thursday night, all of them resulting in dead air on the answering machine--after which they unplugged the phone because they thought it was over-zealous marketers or kids pulling pranks--because, surely, if the matter were that important, the caller might leave even a sparse message. No.

Since the robbery, my parents have had one dinosaur of a computer in their home. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn't. And for this reason, it's not very useful for checking email. My father finally received his new desk-top in the mail on Thursday, but he hadn't set it up yet, because he gets home late most nights and is too tired to mess with it.

On Friday night, my mother had managed to make "the dinosaur" log on to the internet. In her inbox, there's an email from my uncle J asking her to get in touch with one of them. Uncle F is angry at my parents for not responding sooner--he doesn't quite believe they were robbed and have one old computer that doesn't quite work all the time. Aunt J is convinced that she could have done something to prevent Nana's aneurysm. Uncle C is now living by himself, but occasionally being looked in on by my uncle S. Aunt K is ... well, she's a bossy bitch.

The family is imploding, basically, and nobody is communicating very well; and my mother can't get a straight story about Nana's condition from any of them. So she messages me on AIM on Friday night (when I'm out at the Publick House with Lindsay, Ahmer, Bob, Kathy, and a silent young man whose name I couldn't catch in the din). When I get home at midnight, this is the message:

"Nana had an aneurysm. She's at Beth Israel, and maybe you can visit for us. Call me."

Midnight seemed an inappropriate time to respond to this message, so I went to bed.

I called in the morning, trying to find out where exactly Nana is at Beth Israel (it's a sprawling hospital), but Mum didn't know that. She knew when visiting hours began, but that was about it. It didn't help that my phone was uncharged, because she wanted me to go there, find out Nana's condition, and call them back immediately. So I let the phone charge for a while, got ready, and walked down to the D line.

My first guess at the buildings was wrong. I went into the East Campus building, because that's the official address for the whole hospital, and was informed that Nana was actually in the West Campus building. And when I got there, the front desk person told me that she was in room 675--but there really isn't a room 675, at least not labeled as such. I wouldn't have known where to go at all if aunt J hadn't spotted me first.

A (aunt J's husband) had taken C to get food, so we were the only ones there to begin with. We stood outside the ICU for a while, because they were in the process of doing something with Nana, and I tried to get J to say something of her condition so that I'd know what to expect. But J doesn't really know what's what.

J: "Well, an aneurysm is like a stroke that happens in the brain."
Me: "Really? I thought that strokes also happened in the brain."
J: "No, strokes happen in the heart... blahblahblah... "
Uhhhh ... I didn't have the patience to argue with her on that front. And I really wanted to hear something from an actual doctor.

Talking to J [inappropriately] reminds me of this commercial:





I really wasn't prepared to see Nana this way. There's a tube that goes through her groin, all the way up into her skull and out to drain the excess fluid from the aneurysm. An orderly--or maybe she was a nurse--came in and re-adjusted the oxygen tube to her nose. She was in an out of consciousness during the time that Jean and I were in the room. For thirty seconds at the most her eyes would be open, and then she'd go back into fitful rest. She talks, but sometimes there's no sound, and when there is sound, it's a gruff lower version of her voice.

She didn't know me at first. J said she recognises people, but she didn't seem to know me. I told her who I was. She smiled and asked me, "What do you have on the docket today?" I had to get her to repeat it before I understood what she'd asked. And then I felt guilty for making her repeat anything. And guilty for feeling and allowing myself to look upset, because I didn't want to upset her. She lapsed back into what J referred to as "her restful state," and I stood there for a while and watched her breathe. J told me to keep talking to her, but I had no idea what to say, and I was fully engrossed in trying to hear anything that she might say in her sleep. "I'm tired" and "it's not working." And I think hypoglycemia was kicking in, because my vision was getting spotty.

I heard a man's voice asking for room 675, and when I turned around uncle J and his girlfriend G were talking to one of the staff--a woman informing them that only two people could see Nana at one time. I vacated, and aunt J was close behind me. F was in the hallway outside the ICU doors, and he asked J if we'd been to see Nana and who was there now? The two of them made faces about uncle J's girlfriend being there, and then aunt J led the way back to the waiting room. F and N had brought their sons, though F didn't seem very happy about it. They asked me about the robbery, where I'm living, and then seemed to be done with me. So I plugged my cell phone into an outlet and called my mother.

I told her who was there, and what I knew, which wasn't--and still isn't--much. C and A came back into the room, but didn't notice me for a while. Then C did, and I motioned that I was still on the phone with my mother--and, regardless, I didn't want to talk to him anyway. And when I was done talking to her, I slipped away to the bathroom. From the bathroom, I made a beeline for the elevators, and out to the Longwood food-court to assuage my hunger and avoid my relatives.

--------------------

Something completely different: some things that make me laugh ...

"The Return of Mr. Gosh" - I was inspired to look this up by an LJ friend's recent post.




"Magic Muffin" - whenever I see muffins, I think of the comic, and the following animated version ...

Turn the page ...

Close the book ...

a Christmas meme

Everyone else is doing it.

1. Wrapping paper or gift bags? I will say wrapping paper, though I've been known to use gift bags in a pinch. Really, if I have the time and opportunity, I will wrap every present. College and life in an apartment turned me lazy for several reasons--one, "I can't find the paper;" two, "I'm all out of scotch tape;" three, "hey, look, here's this bag I've been keeping around for no particular reason." And so it goes.

2. Real tree or artificial? Real. I understand the aggravation of prickly trees, having had a few in the past, but that's why you don't choose the prickly kind and go for a Blue Douglas or something with the short and blunt needles.

3. When do you put up the tree? It was very touch and go with my parents. Sometimes it's right after Thanksgiving. Sometimes it's the weekend before Christmas.

4. When do you take the tree down? Whenever it starts to look peaky. Mid- to late-January?

5. Do you like eggnog? Yes, and all the available flavours, too.

6. Favourite gift received as a child? My parents like to tell me that I was most excited about the 3-foot high Big Bird when I was three years old. In recent years, my Mac and my first iPod.

7. Do you have a nativity scene? My parents have a wee one that my father picked up in Germany during Weihnachten. It was made by wood craftsmen there, features dowel-people and trees with leaves made from wood shavings. It's actually very interesting. Maybe I'll take a picture when I visit.

8. Hardest person to buy for? My mom. Because the things she wants are very general, but she's very fussy about the specifics of these general items.

9. Easiest person to buy for? My friends, generally. They appreciate the notion of "wish lists."

10. Worst Christmas gift you ever received? I don't know. There have been things I wasn't wild about, but nothing noteworthy. It's corny, but it's the thought that counts.

11. Mail or email Christmas cards? I'm not one to judge. I'm HORRIBLE about casual correspondence, period.

12. Favourite Christmas Movie? Like my friend Nicole, I love Home Alone. I also love the second Home Alone, Lost in New York (mostly due to Tim Curry -- "We love you!"). Lately, I've had the urge to watch The Santa Clause, and today we were talking about it at our staff meeting (because I work with a bunch of parents, holy crap). OOH! Other favourite Christmas movie? The Ref:

Mary Chasseur: Maybe they'll catch him, and then let him go in the spirit of Christmas ...

Connie Chasseur: That is not the spirit of Christmas --The spirit of Christmas is either you're good -- or you're punished and you burn in hell.
Who would catch a criminal, and then let him go free?

Mary Chasseur: Republicans?

13. When do you start shopping for Christmas? December, usually. This year, I will be shopping this weekend.

14. Have you ever recycled a Christmas present? I don't think so, and that sounds pretty gauche to me.

15. Favourite thing to eat at Christmas? Of the non-baked-good variety? Lasagna. And clam dip. Mmmmmm. Clam dip. And mashed 'taters, if they're around. I heart mashed 'taters (as the inches on my waist can attest).

16. Clear lights or coloured on the tree? Coloured. Blinking or not, it's all good. If they're blinking, though, I might stare at the tree for a long long time. Because I am easily-distracted by shinies.

17. Favourite Christmas song? "Greensleeves," which, honestly, if you read the lyrics, hasn't got much to do with Christmas. I also have a slew of records that I like to keep in rotation at my parents' house. Elvis, The Nutcracker, Rainbow Brite Christmas, Cabbage Patch Christmas, Sinatra, and the list goes on. Mostly, I become addicted to The Nutcracker, though. ... And not just any rendition of The Nutcracker, either. It has to be this version:



18. Stay home or travel for Christmas? Traveling to my parents' home.

19. Can you name all of Santa's reindeer? You know Dasher and Dancer and Prancer and Vixen; Comet and Cupid and Donner and Blitzen, but do you recall the most famous reindeer of all? Rudolph, the red-nosed reindeer ... etc. So, yes.

20. Angel on the tree top or a star? We have both. It looks dumb.

21. Open the presents Christmas Eve or morning? One the night before. The rest in the morning.

22. Most annoying thing about this time of year? People. Everywhere.


Yay for wasting time.

Turn the page ...

Close the book ...

NaNoWriMo means:

Alcohol and caffeine.

The afternoon before yesterday I went to TJ's as promised. Merlot, Cabernet Sauvignon, Muscat, and Mead ... bitter chocolate ... and chocolate-covered espresso beans.

Had an amusing conversation with the guy at the check-out about the joys of warmed alcohol after I had "informed" him about the fact that they stock mead (and by "informed," his word and not mine, bought a bottle of the stuff, so clearly it must exist somewhere--next to the muscat, port, and sake, specifically). He was quite amazed with the sachets of mulling spice that come conveniently attached the bottle.

I had some of the Cab last night, but noticed that I hadn't finished the glass when I woke up this morning; and, against my experience and better judgment, I swigged what was left (not a lot, thankfully, ugh--wine, it doth a body good, when it's not been sitting around all night).



I wrote a couple decent paragraph prompts on the T this morning, so I'm cutting it short here to go do that instead.

Lay back. Think of Torchwood.

Turn the page ...

Close the book ...

weekend in a bottle

John and Rodney came up to Boston from New Jersey for the long weekend; I hadn't seen either of them since ... October (ouch), and it was good to catch up and hang out.

On Friday night, we (Rohnia, Michelle, and Ian) piled into Ian's car and drove to the Atrium mall. Our original intention was to go to dinner at the Cheesecake Factory, because it's awesome and Michelle has never been there before, but when we arrived they were very busy. 75-minute-wait busy.

So we went back downstairs to Bertucci's instead--not a bad second choice for food, and no waiting line to speak of.

On Saturday morning I woke up early, as I usually do when company is around--not because the company wakes up early, but really just because I get excited about the possibilities for the day. And it was also sunny, and I don't sleep well in a well-lit room.

...

I checked my e-mail and found that Arkaidy had updated a fifteenth chapter to her "Across Time" work. So I went there and started reading...

And then did a little dance at my desk, because my blog and I were mentioned in the Author's Note. I'm a motivator! (Well, after telling him about the Author's Note over coffee a little while later, Rodney said that I am, in fact, an "enabler" because he couldn't leave the positive spin on the situation alone.)

Still, I am so happy that--in spite of the pains of life, family, and school--she didn't drop the plot. I really would've sat around forever waiting for a continuation, no matter where that happened to go.

That being said, I really do like where the plot has been going and how it's been narrated. If you put yourself into the main character's shoes, at the beginning of this fifteenth chapter, you're quite certain that she's not crazy, that she really did travel through time. But as the chapter goes along, you start to doubt. And you feel that she starts to doubt herself too.

And right up until the point where Zeus shows up out of nowhere, I was starting to be afraid that it was going to go that way. A silly fear, in retrospect, considering the Interlude of the fourteenth chapter.

"I watched enough cheesy YTV kid's programs to know that a person could be physically in one place and mentally in another."

That particular line made me think of The Odyssey--a show from Canada about a boy in a coma who goes to another reality, and the events in the alternate reality sort of mirror the events of the reality wherein his body is in a coma.

Though, I had also considered the possibility that the main character was bodily in the past, and, when thrown back to the present, fell into a coma that happened to be the same amount of time. Maybe. The time paradox can be so interesting to think about--even when impossibly infuriating.

And the fact that Strife is still godly in the present, but is unaware of it through his amnesia, also helps the case for Vega's being unaware of godliness up to this point. It stands to reason that the gods (in this telling, at least), don't feel anything particular about their godhood--or don't know that they're feeling anything out of the ordinary, at least.

Vega and Strife are both told that they're normal people, and because they don't know to expect anything else, they don't--and have no way of finding out without another god's intervention. Enter Zeus.

... But I do wonder about Strife; his reaction to Vega is complete disbelief in the fifteenth chapter, but I imagine him with that personality type where he'd try to test the limits. Poof something. Then again, if people have been visiting him and lying to his face, it would probably be very easy to dismiss an apparently crazy girl.

Mmm. Can't wait for the next chapter.

...

Saturday night, we went to India Quality and Cornwall's in Kenmore Square for Michelle's birthday. I'd never been to either one, but they're both pretty fantastic. The food at India Quality is top notch and the staff is very attentive. Cornwall's is pretty low-key; mid scale decor like T's Pub, and a quiet atmosphere like the Dugout (well, when it's not baseball season, at least). I love that they have so many board games available.

Becca, Rodney, and I played Scrabble while the rest of our tables played Chutes and Ladders and Clue. We tried to make it "Adult" Scrabble, but the minute you decide you're going to try to be dirty, the letters aren't going to cooperate with you at all.

Sunday night continued the theme of drinking--but at home. The five of us ordered pizza and played a very long drinking game. Well, the game itself didn't take that long, but we played quite a few rounds. Fun, but very bad for my liver, I feel.

On Monday, we went to First Degree in the band room and then out to lunch with the chapter at Sunset. We also would've gone to Trader Joe's afterward, but the traffic around the market was horrendous, so we just went home instead.

Then, after an afternoon of Stargate and the first episode of Torchwood, the boys gave their farewells and drove back to Highland Park, New Jersey.

I miss them already. Really, I missed them two minutes after they'd gone.

Turn the page ...

Close the book ...

pure morning

Oh, this past weekend ... ~_~

And now for a more-detailed account of the weekend's events, adventures in Providence, and terrorists on skis.

Friday afternoon I left work and headed inbound, stopping at Park Street to browse through the Borders at Downtown Crossing (and apparently there's another Borders on Boylston St. now, too?). I was looking for books on doll-making (big surprise, that is) and drawing super-deformed characters (chibi!), since the human dolls I'm interested in making are of the chibi/SD variety. All around, that was a very discouraging stop, since there was really nothing I could use in stock.

Art dolls are ... interesting, but they give me the creeps. I'm not talking about sock creatures or weird animals or patch-work creations--but rather dolls like this. I recognize their art value; I can even understand why some people would want to collect and create them; but I wouldn't deal well with having one in my room. I would have Puppet Master nightmares (except that the nightmares would actually be scary rather than stupidly funny, like those movies).

From Park Street, I went to Harvard Square to visit Tokyo Kid, looking to see if they had any plushies in a discount bin; because, at a cheap enough price, I wouldn't mind buying one just to take it apart. Yes, I should've known better, really. Nothing is ever cheap at that store. Plushies of the type I was interested in were starting at $14. Yeah. No. Not for a UFO-catcher doll. Not when I've seen them on eBay for $6.

They did have how-to guides for drawing manga characters, but they weren't really what I wanted (and $20 besides); so I left without buying anything and continued on to The Coop. They were also a no-go for doll-making books, but they did have a very nice selection of manga-drawing books on the lowest shelf in their Art section. I might've bought one, but when I looked at the neverending line for the cashier, I lost my verve and opted to just go home. It was easy to do, really, since I knew I'd be spending money on Saturday. And since I went to Amazon.com, and ordered this.

And, check, spent money on Saturday. Melissa picked me up at the train station and we drove 'round to The Fabric Place and A.C. Moore. At The Fabric Place (where my head spun around and exploded upon entering--no, not really, but yikes, it's overwhelming) I bought velour in white and light gray, an evergreen suede, and a book on the basics of making soft toys. A.C. Moore had beanie babies for $4 ... yes, ashamed to say it, but I bought two: a skunk and an owl who have joined Jiji on the top of my television set. Oh! and some fat quarters in red, black, purple, and blue with different and interesting patterns.

Really, I wasn't as bad as I'd expected. The grand total could've been much worse.

After that, we went back to Melissa's to pick up Erich so we could all go to lunch. We went to The Texas Roadhouse. It's awesome. Yeah, the music is country-western, and we could all live without that, but the food ... The food is really just to-die-for. I haven't had steak in ... forever; and this was the perfect reunion for me and steak. And I ate alllll my food--and didn't really notice how full I was until it was time to get up and leave. And Mel very graciously spotted me the money for dinner again, so I really must buy her and Erich dinner next time around. I feel like a free-loader! TT_TT

Then we went back to the house for stitching and season two of Doctor Who. The six-minute segue between the end of season one and "The Christmas Invasion" (that I'd never seen before) really helps the Christmas special make more sense (so far as Rose accepting the Doctor's body-change, and how they crash). And holy crap, I love the outtakes so much. It makes me want to dress up as a cyberman and run around the Common, chasing squirrels and pigeons. Mmm. David Tennant.

And I was being productive too! I cut new arms (as I was less than pleased with my first attempt), hand-stitched them, and hand-sewed them into the torso seam, all ready to be stuffed when I got home. That doesn't seem like very much when typed out, but it took me a while to do all that. I think the biggest headache was in figuring out the placement of the arms in seams; because I wanted the seams to be perpendicular, not lined up (I like making life difficult for myself). But after they were pinned into place, it wasn't too bad.

After the Doctor Who outtakes, Mel drove me home--which was super-nice of her. And I, of course, stayed awake to stuff the doll's arms and torso, and attach the head. This was all while half-heartedly watching Icebreaker. I didn't know what the hell was happening in that movie by the time I'd finished crafting and was actually paying attention ... so I started the DVD over again from the beginning. And promptly fell asleep.

I tried to watch it again on Sunday morning. It's a really bad movie, Bruce Campbell and Sean Astin notwithstanding. A concise description of the plot idea would be "Die Hard with skis." If you think that sounds dumb, you don't know the half of it. I swear it was written by somebody (probably a former member of ski patrol) who was working at a ski resort and got bored. I can just see it:

"Oh, what if terrorists showed up?" [for no bloody reason at all] "Hmm. Yes. They need a reason to be here, don't they? ... Uhh, they've lost their nuclear weapons from Russia in a plane crash on the mountain! And the only way to get them back is to take the ski lodge hostage!" [never mind that Russia is small beans anymore, but they can't just sneak up there and get their nuclear stuff back without anybody noticing?] "No! We want this to be like Die Hard! And, instead of a cop, what if a member of the ski patrol had to save the day?" [because, you never know, it could happen] "And we can have terrorists on skis, chasing the hero down the black diamond trail!" [the terrorists know how to ski?] "Yes." [and snowboard?] "Yes!" [and shoot guns at the same time?] "YES!" [how do all the terrorists know how to ski?] "Because they do!" [and, yes, losing me ...]

You know that's how it went. Sean Astin should've known to stay away from terrorist movies after Toy Soldiers. Oh, well. In spite of its being a really dumb movie (actually, maybe because it's a really dumb movie), I did kind of enjoy it. But then I enjoyed Toy Soldiers too, and that's equally absurd.

Oh, yeah. A little after ten o'clock the doorbell rang. It was the USPS carrier. On Sunday. My package from Aranzi Aronzo had arrived--less than a week after ordering it. From Japan. And on a Sunday. The EMS packaging boasts: "fastest International delivery." I think they've earned that boast. I really didn't expect it to arrive that fast.

The book is beautiful and chock full of visual instructions that make it really easy to follow along. And the fact that I can read katakana helps a bit too.

On the invoice somebody wrote a small note in very neat (and somewhat broken) English. But it was just so nice. And personalized. And it definitely made me go: "Awwwwww!"

It might be a generalization of their culture, but it's a good one--and so, hopefully, forgiveable--but ... Japanese people are so damn nice.

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tableware you know you want to use

The title, you'll soon understand, is sarcastic.

I was browsing Aranzi.net, a Japanese store featuring products with different animal characters (and some that aren't animals at all), and found these in the Tableware category:

"Poisoned drink" and "poisoned food" (respectively). It's like Hello Kitty from Hell. Awesome.

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more presents

In which I give a catalog of my haul and the food made and consumed thus far.

No, not really, but close enough.

PREZZIES


I also received $40 from my Grammy, a $50 iTunes gift card, a pair of black pjs from Gap Body, and a navy blue hoodie from AEO (the last two of which I am presently wearing).

On Saturday, we went out to lunch at an Asian bistro down by the ballpark.

In the afternoon I made chocolate-chip cookies. Then, my mom was having issues with the baci and the cookie press, and enlisted my assistance with those as well. We ended up removing the shaper at the end, and (in my opinion) they looked more like what they were supposed to be in the first place.

If you've never had--or made--them before, baci are rather work-intensive cookies; but the product is well worth the effort. We made "Romeo" baci (versus "Juliet" baci). "Romeo" baci have chocolate in the batter, whereas "Juliet" baci do not and are a plain almond or hazelnut flavor. They're baked in halves; then, you paint melted chocolate on the underside of one and stick it to another underside; then, you put them on a plate or sheet and stick them in the fridge until the chocolate sets again. It's a sandwich cookie, but it looks like ball--and more than a little naughty when it's in its halves.

Before baking the baci, we had to let them sit on the sheets for a few hours to set up. So we went to Costco and Kroger during the interim. At Costco we bought 5 lbs. of Australian lamb, two bottles of wine, and a few different kinds of cheese.

Some religious nut had left a fake $20 on a pile of journals with a "call to Jesus" on the inside: "Disappointed? Jesus won't let you down." It was followed by a church address and a number for a hotline. I borrowed my mother's red pen, wrote my own little message on the inside, and put it back where I'd found it. Shit-heels.

My dad wandered off, and my mom and I continued on to Kroger looking for bread and Ballatore. There was wine-tasting going on in the alcohol section, and I tried a merlot while my mom had a shiraz. They were good, but not tempting enough to make us change our planned course. All the bread was pathetic and embarrassing, so my mom said, "Screw this! Let's make our own!" Our cart was conspicuously food-free; we bought two bottles of Ballatore (the regular spumante and the rosso), a six-pack of the peach Bacardi, a six-pack of Mike's hard lemonade, and Dayquil for my eversick father.

When we got home, my mom sent me out to the yard to collect oregano and rosemary, and we proceeded to make garlic and herb baguettes. While they were rising, we finished the baci.

Saturday night dinner consisted of spiced wine, a few kinds of cheese, baguette, and cured ham--with baci, chocolate-chip cookies, and chocolate-covered almonds (because we had to do something with the leftover melted chocolate) for dessert.

Sunday continued the madness of food. Lunch was another simple sit-down with more homemade bread, cheese, and ham. Then, we went out to the Grand Asia Market and Trader Joe's in Cary. And, you know, bought more food. Because we had to.

After getting home again, my mom and I got started on Christmas Eve dinner: a riesling, roasted lamb marinated in too many things for me to list, herbed mashed potatoes, and a vegetable stir-fry. The lamb took nearly three hours to complete, but it was so worth it. I hadn't had lamb in nearly three years, and this was a happy reintroduction.

Today, following the morning's present craziness, we began Christmas dinner: a rose wine, still more bread, shrimp in marinara sauce, and Italian sausage lasagna. I am so damn full; I think I'll be rolling back to Boston after the holiday is over.

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could live with(out)

Today's Holidaily subject is food that makes the season for you.

For me it's egg-nog and candy canes--and maybe gingerbread, though that's really not mandatory, just pleasant.

I know plenty of people who can't stomach egg-nog, but I've been drinking it since I was a kid (alcohol-free when I was younger, of course--but I enjoy it both ways now), so I guess it grew on me. Last year, John and Rodney came up from New Jersey a few weeks before Christmas, and we made the Martha Stewart recipe for egg-nog.

I had never actually made egg-nog before, having always had it purchased from the market or the closest quick-mart. I had rather doubted I could, or that it must be very difficult. There is actually a segment in the movie The Ref where some woman is complaining to the owner of a small grocery store that they're all out of egg-nog, and the owner suggests that she go home and make some. And the woman is completely flabbergasted and cannot even imagine doing so. I think that scene led me to believe that it must be near-impossible to make one's own egg-nog from basic ingredients. But it actually didn't take very long, and it turned out quite well. Well, quite strong, anyway.

It was over 20 servings and chock full of some different kinds of alcohol. And our apartment managed to drink ALL of it in one evening. Our final judgment on this recipe and its creator was that it mainly tasted of hard liquor, and "Martha Stewart is a boozer."

Candy-canes are a basic mainstay of every Christmas I've ever had. I didn't like mint or peppermint or spearmint, etc. when I was younger, but the other flavours of candy-cane appealed to me very much. I remember being particularly fond of raspberry candy-canes for a really long time. These days I buy a box of the Hershey chocolate-mint candy-canes right after Thanksgiving. And, since I don't eat one every day, those will last me until Christmas. They're awesome. I sometimes dunk them in my coffee and have chocolaty-minty coffee.

Aside from those things, no particular food is expected at my house for the season. We never have a specific dinner that we must have at Christmas--unlike Thanksgiving, which is always turkey at my house. Usually it's cured ham, but even that was never a rule; and I think this year Mum is cooking lasagna with Italian sausage. I'm very much looking forward to it.

Holiday food I would be happier without? Fruitcake. It's horrifying. I don't know anyone who likes the stuff, so I really don't understand why it's such a mainstay at the grocer's this time of year.

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Happy Hallowe'en!

And, of course, tomorrow is All Saints' (or, if you reside in Mexico, el Día de los Muertos).

Whatever the reasoning, it's a time to celebrate and eat things that are really bad for you. so go nuts.

I'd say I'm going to give out candy tonight; but we never get callers, so it's unlikely.

It might be just as well, however, since I think I might be coming down with something. I've been having congestion since the weekend, and it's making me dead on my feet (fitting, ne?). It or the NyQuil (big fucking Q) I had last night, though I think that should've worn off by now.

I'll be going to Shaws on my break to buy Airborne and vitamins. BU employees are lined up for flu vaccines this week, but I'm not sure it would be a good idea if I'm already coming down with something else. And there's that tricky egg allergy--I can eat egg under certain preparation, but I've had bad experiences (and flu vaccine is contrived with the use of eggs, so they typically warn those who may be allergic). I don't know. I'll see how I feel on Thursday.

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Lined up for this evening? An odd bundle of movies from Netflix (if they arrive)--Before Night Falls, Brigadoon, and Chinatown. I still have six discs of The Twelve Kingdoms at the top of my queue, but there's a "short wait" on the first one, which apparently leads them to skip the rest and go on to what's after. It's not that I don't appreciate that (I wouldn't want to watch them out of order anyway); I just wish the wait would end.

Last Friday I received Alfie (the Jude Law version), An Awfully Big Adventure, and Bend It Like Beckham. Boo to Alfie, lukewarm reaction to AABA (in spite of my love for Mr. Rickman and Mr. Grant), and a generally good reaction to BILB (though that was a near thing too).

Why didn't I like Alfie? Because there's no redemption for him. At all. Okay, so Jude Law is hot, and that's a redeeming quality, but the character has no redemption. He's a sleaze who sleeps around A LOT, loses friends because of it, and learns nothing by the end. He just goes on. And again, if not for the fact that Jude Law is so damn good-looking, the film would be a complete wash-out. **

An Awfully Big Adventure was the first movie I watched from the lot--and it's horrifying, but a really good story with excellent acting. If that sounds like a mixed reaction, there's a reason for that--and a good reason too.

One can recognize the genius behind something while still admitting it's more than a little cock-eyed. Good story. Good twist. But still horrifying. It's like "Oedipus" but reversed, and there's no way it could've ended well at all. ***

I watched Bend It Like Beckham last, because I guessed that it would be the most uplifting of the bunch, and I was right about that. In spite of all the family fighting and strange relatives, our protagonists are (of course) successful in the end. They become football stars and get to go to the States on a soccer scholarship.

But I was almost angry at this film. Why? Because Jonathan Rhys Meyer's character has a relationship with Jesminder (Parminder Nagra), but--in spite of the fact that she's going far far away, he just gives her a hug. A HUG?! THE FUCK IS THIS?! was my reaction ... until the very end, when he shows up at the airport. And they kiss. Thank you. This hugging nonsense is bollocks. ****

And if you've noticed a certain amount of alphabetized movie-watching ... ? Yes. Not by full title, just by the first letter (the rest keeps it random). The next movies (I'm not doing this with television series) on the queue are Career Opportunities and Caligula.

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'tis the season

I believe in going for seasonal food; it's not always around, so you should get and enjoy it when you can (shamrock shakes, the odd Starbucks flavours, and certain kinds of fruit). So I tried the pumpkin muffin at Dunkin' Donuts today. And, yes, it was good, like pumpkin bread. Mmm.

Makes me want to carve a pumpkin. Except not really, because it's a big mess and then you can't leave it outside without some jackass from Boston College smashing it to bits. Sad, but we live in a high-population area. Somebody would be a douche.

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Got three discs from Netflix yesterday, two of which actually worked. The last disc of Angel came with two cracks at the center, and was therefore sadly unreadable. Customer service assures me that I'm being sent a replacement today.

That left me with Young Hercules, which I know I've seen before, but couldn't recall at all. So I watched it again. And was plagued by the questions, "Why does Ares want to be king of Ithica? What can he possibly achieve from being a king that he can't get from being the GoW?" And there was no Joel Tobeck as Strife. Just Meighan Desmond as Discord (and she serves the same purpose, really, but I prefer Joel-sama ... and Strife). I'm also still puzzling over the giant Ares head swinging from ropes. Were they in the middle of building a giant statue of him? And why didn't he just snap his fingers and kill everyone? ... It's shoddy. But Kevin Smith is (... er, was) awesome, so I guess I don't care.

And I also watched a 1985 made-for-TV version of Anne of Green Gables. I've never read the book(s?), never watched any version on film. I was just curious about what I was missing, since I know a few people for whom this was one of their favourites as a child.

I'm sorry. I just don't see it. She's too bloody perfect and winsome for me. I'm not a big fan of the winsome orphan-heroine of young adult fiction (this includes Anne Shirley, Sara Crewe, and even Mary Lennox to a certain extent--though she's kind of a bitch to everyone).

Actually, I just wasn't much of a fan of young adult fiction. I think i went from Berenstain Bears to Stephen King and Ray Bradbury without a big transition in the middle. I seem to recall somebody trying to introduce me to The Babysitter's Club, and being BORED OUT OF MY MIND. I did, however, enjoy Madeleine L'Engle and some R.L. Stine (not Goosebumps, anything but Goosebumps).

The redemption of Anne of Green Gables (over three hours long, by the way) was the rest of the cast. The side characters are much more real to me than Anne; their behavior, their reactions, their speech--all of it is more believable than Anne's anything.

And, of course, ...

All new tonight at 9, only on ABC (but, also, later at 2 AM on abc.com):

Lost - "Further Instructions"
The fates of Locke, Eko and Desmond are revealed after the implosion of the hatch, and Hurley returns to the beach camp and explains what happened when he, Jack, Kate and Sawyer encountered the Others. Meanwhile, Claire is shocked to find Nikki and Paulo (Kiele Sanchez, Rodrigo Santoro) in Jack's tent. Boone: Ian Somerhalder. Eddie: Justin Chatwin. Mike: Chris Mulkey. Jan: Virginia Morris. Sheriff: Joel Himelhoch. Kim: Dion Donahue.

But I'll probably end up watching it tomorrow morning if I fall asleep before it comes on tonight.

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ganking DVDs

I had nothing new to watch last night, so I opened the two Blockbuster DVDs that Chris still had sent to our apartment after he moved out.

Either way, we'd have had to open them in order to return them to Blockbuster, so opening and watching seemed to make as much sense as not. It was rather like a grab bag, since I had no idea what would be in them. So what was there? Poseidon and Akeelah and the Bee.

Poseidon: Battling the elements once again, Wolfgang Petersen (The Perfect Storm) re-creates Ronald Neame's 1972 action classic with help from an ensemble cast that includes Kurt Russell, Richard Dreyfuss, Josh Lucas, Emmy Rossum and Stacy Ferguson (aka "Fergie" of The Black Eyed Peas). A tidal wave spells disaster for a boatload of New Year's Eve revelers when it capsizes the mammoth vessel, pitching the passengers into a desperate battle for survival.

Yeah, I was not impressed. The characters are pretty two-dimensional, and I wasn't drawn to feel anything for any of them--not even the cute little kid who nearly drowns. Mostly I just sat back thinking that "rogue waves" were the dumbest idea of any disaster movie ever. There are so many real elements of disaster to deal with--Why make one up? Message: If the common laws of Earth science go kaplooie, you're probably screwed--especially if you're an asshole who makes lame jokes, or you're in a racial minority. **

Akeelah and the Bee: With an aptitude for words, 11-year-old Akeelah Anderson (Keke Palmer) is determined to spell her way out of South Los Angeles, entering scores of local contests and eventually landing a chance to win the Scripps National Spelling Bee in Washington, D.C. Despite discouragement from her mother (Angela Bassett), Akeelah gets support from her bookish tutor (Laurence Fishburne), her principal (Curtis Armstrong) and proud members of her community.

I enjoyed it, but then I always did enjoy movies about intelligent kids--Little Man Tate, Searching for Bobby Fischer, and so on. The plot is predictable, but the drama is good and the neighbors and family interaction make it interesting. Message: Laurence Fishburne is still Morpheus, even when he's not Morpheus. ****

Then, I spiced some mead, took a shower, and fell asleep watching Mononoke-hime.

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Match Point, etc.

Fittingly (or not, I don't know), I went out to the movies on the night of the Golden Globes ... to see Match Point.

Happily, this is not a tennis movie. All the plot summaries I found online set it up to seem like tennis was a big part of the film. And, metaphorically, I suppose it is; but it's primarily a backdrop and a motif for other things that are happening, rather than a major part of the film (it's not Wimbledon is what I'm trying to say--and while that is a good movie, it's not what I was looking for this time).

It's a fairly grim plot with some absolutely brilliant dialog, and for my limited experience with Woody Allen (The Front, remember?), this did not surprise me. For others more acquainted with his comedy (I am not one of those), it might go over badly. But I loved it. It's grim and gritty and beautiful.

And yes, it helps that Jonathan Rhys Meyers is in every scene. Some reviews I've read have described his character as being less emotional than he should be. I think he's just right; he's sick, torn, brutal, guilty, and falling apart. And it's just fantastic.

And for reasons that would be more evident if you've seen the film, this got my mind going on the issue of legitimacy--especially in regards to Shakespearean villain, Edmund. I think it would be wonderful to write and/or read an adaptation of the Edgar/Edmund/Gloucester relationship in a modern or alternate universe context and see what could be done with it. With or without the connection to Lear, I don't care; but I think Edmund is interesting enough without pulling in the main plot of King Lear.

... I know, I know. One project at a time, right?

Yesterday I also went to CVS (for pre-show goodies, which are cheaper than in-house goodies), and they had a BOGO on any Coke product with Diet Black Cherry Vanilla Coke as the free-b. The flavour reminded me of a rum-n-coke, to be honest; and I'm still debating whether that's good or bad ...

Other reflections I keep having: I don't often wear my contacts, once or twice a week, which is not nearly as often as I should. Every time I do wear them, however, I find myself staring at things. And I think this is what gaining "vampiric sight" would feel like (if such a thing actually existed, mind you)--suddenly seeing things that you never see otherwise. A little squirrel running across a power-line; sitting on the T, watching people sitting inside their apartments through un-curtained windows; every twig and branch of a tree on Beacon St. in sharp relief against the sky; or tiny separate pin-points of Christmas lights that usually seem like a continuous bright white blur. And it makes me think I ought to wear my contacts more often--except for this awful habit of staring at everything with near-foolish wonderment when I do.

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