It's already dark here on Strawberry Street, and the lights of the restaurants across the parking lot are glowing warmly at Cafe Spice and Cuba Libre. I love Old City in the evenings, people all around relaxing and enjoying the neighborhood. I've only got one more hour to kill here at work in the studio before I'll be able to join them.
I was out there last night as well, dining at Cuba Libre with the Advanced Intermediate Spanish tutorial, headed by the uber-enthusiastic EMJ. Dinner was, um, interesting. I wasn't blown away by the food, and my damn salmon was overcooked from sitting under a heat lamp/plate warmer too long (major faux pas). I also thought that the freshmen were going to try and order alcoholic beverages and get carded, thoroughly embarrassing us all. But they did not (sigh of relief), and behaved themselves rather well. Dinner parties with more than 5 are just asking for trouble, in my opinion, unless everyone knows each other. Alas, Cuba Libre is indeed more about the atmosphere than the food, but a beautiful atmosphere it was.
The company was delightful, the mojitos minty, and the cafe cubano hot, sweet, and strong: just the way it should be. That qualifies the evening as a success in my book. Plus, as an added bonus, I got to wear the cool t-strap shoes in my 1950's outfit. Leaving the apartment I asked Kaitlyn if I was "schoolteacher stuffy" or "swinger hip." She laughed and told me that I just want to be Heather Graham from Swingers. Although the character is quite cute, appealing, I don't think that I'll EVER want to be Heather Graham.
And so I'm back in Philly again tonight, on more culinary adventures. The company this evening, while smaller in number, should be just as good. Let's hope so [fingers crossed].
If, on a winter's night a traveler outside the town of Malbork, leaning from a steep slope without fear of wind or vertigo, looks down into the gathering shadow...on the carpet of leaves illuminated by the moon around an empty grave, what story there awaits its end? -italo calvino
Friday, October 31, 2003
Wednesday, October 29, 2003
The marvels of chlorophyll
Everyone, and I mean everyone should have a basil plant in their kitchen. I don't care if you can't cook with it, if you kill it after 2 weeks; get a new one! I got mine at Genuardi's (the haven of all things vegetable...reasonably priced) for 99 cents. Every human being should be able to brush by those delicately soft matte leaves and have this sweet, savory odor make you want to bury your face in the branches. I'm glad that my baby is back from being watched over in the arboretum greenhouse over fall break.
It's been a long week. Longer, when you take into account that it's not over yet, but *hopefully* there are über-fun things in store for the next two days. Two outings to philly in one weekend again? I'm going to have to find a way to financially support my Old City restaurant addiction. So tonight, in celebration of getting through yet another painfully long CompLit senior seminar, I decided that a proper dining experience was in order. The possibility of another cereal dinner depressed me slightly, but as we haven't been grocery shopping in about 2 weeks, my choices were slim. I'm talking like painfully bare cupboards...I couldn't even find an onion, let alone the shallots I wanted. That said, tonight's meal was proof that you can indeed make something out of nothing, and a very good something at that.
Tomato Vodka Penne with toasted pine nuts was just what I needed tonight, and the generous chiffonade of fresh basil that got tossed in at the end made me appreciate the little extra touch that good, true, ingredients can have on an otherwise blah dish. Something about bubbling salted pasta water and the smell of sauteeing garlic just makes you forget about everything but your immediate sensory perception. That puff of steam that comes off a saucepan when you throw al dente pasta onto sauce is invaluable; it makes the basil smell like it should be worth its weight in gold, or at least some other sort of valuable metal, not 99¢.
It's not that I made the most fantastic dinner ever, and I ate it alone at my desk with a glass of shiraz ($8 a bottle, I love my sister the wine conoisseur for the rec.), still in my workout clothes, unabashedly procrastinating on the 5 pages of thesis that are due in less than 48 hours. But I'm glad that I took the extra 45 minutes or so out of my evening to try and make something nice, something delicious, out of what seemed like hopeless options.
If I were a little more prone to allegorical thinking, I might project my own advice from the kitchen on to my more amarga pensamientos which while they have declined from a dangerously bakers' chocolate-esqe 80% last week to a more palatable 66% at present, could use some work. But that's a rather weighty task for tonight, and I've got several other more important weighty tasks in store before the weekend arrives.
As a sagacious old Englishman once said
Serenely full, the epicure would say
Fate cannot harm me, I have dined today
And so the epicurious Thea has staved off the ravages of Fate for one more day, although she might have fallen victim to melodrama =).
It's been a long week. Longer, when you take into account that it's not over yet, but *hopefully* there are über-fun things in store for the next two days. Two outings to philly in one weekend again? I'm going to have to find a way to financially support my Old City restaurant addiction. So tonight, in celebration of getting through yet another painfully long CompLit senior seminar, I decided that a proper dining experience was in order. The possibility of another cereal dinner depressed me slightly, but as we haven't been grocery shopping in about 2 weeks, my choices were slim. I'm talking like painfully bare cupboards...I couldn't even find an onion, let alone the shallots I wanted. That said, tonight's meal was proof that you can indeed make something out of nothing, and a very good something at that.
Tomato Vodka Penne with toasted pine nuts was just what I needed tonight, and the generous chiffonade of fresh basil that got tossed in at the end made me appreciate the little extra touch that good, true, ingredients can have on an otherwise blah dish. Something about bubbling salted pasta water and the smell of sauteeing garlic just makes you forget about everything but your immediate sensory perception. That puff of steam that comes off a saucepan when you throw al dente pasta onto sauce is invaluable; it makes the basil smell like it should be worth its weight in gold, or at least some other sort of valuable metal, not 99¢.
It's not that I made the most fantastic dinner ever, and I ate it alone at my desk with a glass of shiraz ($8 a bottle, I love my sister the wine conoisseur for the rec.), still in my workout clothes, unabashedly procrastinating on the 5 pages of thesis that are due in less than 48 hours. But I'm glad that I took the extra 45 minutes or so out of my evening to try and make something nice, something delicious, out of what seemed like hopeless options.
If I were a little more prone to allegorical thinking, I might project my own advice from the kitchen on to my more amarga pensamientos which while they have declined from a dangerously bakers' chocolate-esqe 80% last week to a more palatable 66% at present, could use some work. But that's a rather weighty task for tonight, and I've got several other more important weighty tasks in store before the weekend arrives.
As a sagacious old Englishman once said
Serenely full, the epicure would say
Fate cannot harm me, I have dined today
And so the epicurious Thea has staved off the ravages of Fate for one more day, although she might have fallen victim to melodrama =).
Tuesday, October 28, 2003
En un lugar de la Mancha, de cuyo nombre no quiero recordar...
Has nothing to do with anything, other than the fact that I love Cervantes. Well, I suppose I have been feeling slightly quixotic as of late, what with the bizarreness of gaining an extra hour of sleep, then spending 48 hours not knowing which clocks had the correct time or not. Despite various portents of craziness, this weekend was fun, action-packed, and vitamin-enriched. I spent half of it running to catch trains, the other half knitting in the studio, half pretending to do work on theses, and the rest of it sleeping.
yay for weekends, and...
* Danish glassblowers
* Kaitlyn's mysterious dream-inducing bed
* wine and cheese receptions in the D.C. with the Spanish Department faculty; awkward much? I think so
* hot, hot, Friday nights with Sarah: white chocolate martinis whilst melting dark chocolate for walnut brownies
* "gallery openings" and a successful end to photography! yay for va beach pics
* a *fun* Haverford party (gasp!)
* 3, yes count them, threee outings to Philly in one weekend.
* Rittenhouse Square in the fall, urban activity, cannolis at Reading Terminal (as usual)
* daylight savings time, even if it does get dark at like 4:00 now
* finally getting package from parents with dictionaries, halloween costume, and new skirt; strange priorities? yes.
* FINALLY acquiring some direction, c/o visiting literary theorist, for Spanish thesis
* the online Zagat guide for Philly, and udon noodles, of course.
yay for weekends, and...
* Danish glassblowers
* Kaitlyn's mysterious dream-inducing bed
* wine and cheese receptions in the D.C. with the Spanish Department faculty; awkward much? I think so
* hot, hot, Friday nights with Sarah: white chocolate martinis whilst melting dark chocolate for walnut brownies
* "gallery openings" and a successful end to photography! yay for va beach pics
* a *fun* Haverford party (gasp!)
* 3, yes count them, threee outings to Philly in one weekend.
* Rittenhouse Square in the fall, urban activity, cannolis at Reading Terminal (as usual)
* daylight savings time, even if it does get dark at like 4:00 now
* finally getting package from parents with dictionaries, halloween costume, and new skirt; strange priorities? yes.
* FINALLY acquiring some direction, c/o visiting literary theorist, for Spanish thesis
* the online Zagat guide for Philly, and udon noodles, of course.
Wednesday, October 22, 2003
An Abundance of Conundrums
It's become apparent to me that I have problems thinking in a linear fashion when I get stressed. Therefore, in lieu of having anything logical to say, I present, for your viewing and/or contemplative pleasure: a symphony of rhetorical questions
-I have run out of clean socks, yet lack the necessary 9 quarters to do a load of whites. How to procede? I know not.
-My room is frigid, and there are no windows open. The kitchen, with both windows wide open, dangerously vulnerable to squirrel invasion, is a veritable sauna. How is this possible?
-Regardless of the amount of reading that I do for classes, I am always behind. Am I really all that much worse off if I stopped reading altogether?
-If I have to do Wednesdays' CompLit reading for Monday afternoons on Sunday, Mondays' Spanish reading on Saturdays and Sundays, the past Thursdays' film reading(which I have invariably not finished) on Friday evenings, and teach tutorial on the two nights when I don't have class, when is there time for thesis reading?
-What the fuck is Dadaism?
-It was 60 degrees this afternoon, and dropped to about 44 degrees over a period of less than three hours. Why does it feel like freaking winter all of a sudden?
-How much caffeine is too much caffeine?
-the pre-punched hole in my ID card has just broken, the cheap ass thing only lasted through half a semester. Who can I call about this? Someone needs to be bitched at.
Thank you, this concludes your random thoughts for the day. Have a pleasant evening.
Tuesday, October 21, 2003
better?
I suppose that imminent cataclysm might be a bit of a hyperbole for life at the 'ford. Thanks to toasting oats and cinnamon raisin scones filling the apartment's newly cleaned kitchen this afternoon (instead of me writing my photo critique), I'm not quite so angry at well, everything, anymore. But the fact remains that there is work to be done, and I should be doing that =).
I suppose that imminent cataclysm might be a bit of a hyperbole for life at the 'ford. Thanks to toasting oats and cinnamon raisin scones filling the apartment's newly cleaned kitchen this afternoon (instead of me writing my photo critique), I'm not quite so angry at well, everything, anymore. But the fact remains that there is work to be done, and I should be doing that =).
Grr.
Reasons why being back at Haverford could be dangerous to my health
1. Am overcome with desire to wear nothing but the Red sweatshirt and jeans, every day.
2. Feel compelled to listen to old school depressed Shakira
3. Feel compelled to blast old school angry Ani until my weakling iMac speakers threaten to break
4. Have selected masochistically difficult theses topics requiring knowledge of semiotic philosopy
4a. Am not semiotic philosopher.
5. Remarked only half jokingly to roommate this afternoon that her playing songs which include the lyrics I'm gonna be lonely for the rest of my life... repeated several times in a row was not exactly beneficial to current psychological state.
6. There are still 7 weeks of school left until Winter Break.
6a. Roommate astutely obeserved that within those 7 weeks are 15-20 pages of theses each (4 total, in apartment 2C. We like to feel sorry for ourselves), two federal holidays, and exams.
7. Have given up the use of extraneous subject pronouns and helping verbs.
8. Need to sleep more.
1. Am overcome with desire to wear nothing but the Red sweatshirt and jeans, every day.
2. Feel compelled to listen to old school depressed Shakira
3. Feel compelled to blast old school angry Ani until my weakling iMac speakers threaten to break
4. Have selected masochistically difficult theses topics requiring knowledge of semiotic philosopy
4a. Am not semiotic philosopher.
5. Remarked only half jokingly to roommate this afternoon that her playing songs which include the lyrics I'm gonna be lonely for the rest of my life... repeated several times in a row was not exactly beneficial to current psychological state.
6. There are still 7 weeks of school left until Winter Break.
6a. Roommate astutely obeserved that within those 7 weeks are 15-20 pages of theses each (4 total, in apartment 2C. We like to feel sorry for ourselves), two federal holidays, and exams.
7. Have given up the use of extraneous subject pronouns and helping verbs.
8. Need to sleep more.
Saturday, October 18, 2003
Shocking.
Apart from the title of the fashion exhibit that I want to see at the PMA, shocking has been my experience today. I was absolutely astounded to find myself having such a good time.
In the midst of bitterness at Haverford, preoccupation with the present and my future situation (as in its lack of direction), I had forgotten that there are some really great people in my past. I was dumbfounded (shocked, some would say) to remember that I do have some great friends. I spent the day in Harvard Square, shopping with Rachael in the morning, meeting up with Elizabeth, whom I haven't seen in about a year and a half, and then spent some quality time with another Sevilla bud, catching up over the best hot chocolate that I've had in ages and kick-ass thrift store shopping. Urban Outfitters officially irritates me, but that's another story entirely.
As Teal left to catch the T, I headed back through the windy streets of Cambridge towards the Quad, and my home away from Haverford for the weekend; I couldn't keep myself from smiling at the 5 or so hours I'd just spent with three girls (nearly women, we are) that I can honestly call my good friends. People who I know well enough to be sarcastic, irreverent, and not feel on my guard or inferior. People who know me well enough to put up with my sarcasm, my slightly wacky ways. I think that it's funny that I felt more at ease here in Boston than I have in many situations back at the 'ford. Maybe it's that I just needed a change of scenery: needed a bright sunny sandy beach and a bit of brightly colored New England foliage to rejuvinate my perspective on the world. Or maybe it's that it feels so good to see old friends, and to have the time that you've spent apart melt away in seconds.
It's good to know that Teal will always leave dinner with chocolate indelicately smudged somewhere on her impeccable clothing, Rachael will smile indulgently at my loud, flowered vintage dress, Elizabeth will laugh at my crush stories and listen to bullshit about Spain.
I have also spent a fantastic evening clubbing with Cabot House suite 102 in Boston, dancing to spanish pop, merengue, and hip-hop in a borderline euro-trash bar, whilst being hit on by a 17 year old prospective student from L.A.. Why is do all the young guys find me attractive now? Where were they in high school? Alas, if I could only find someone my own age. In any case, my flight leaves in about 9 hours, and I'd love it if some of those were somnambulent ones. Yay for fall break. Así es la vida.
Apart from the title of the fashion exhibit that I want to see at the PMA, shocking has been my experience today. I was absolutely astounded to find myself having such a good time.
In the midst of bitterness at Haverford, preoccupation with the present and my future situation (as in its lack of direction), I had forgotten that there are some really great people in my past. I was dumbfounded (shocked, some would say) to remember that I do have some great friends. I spent the day in Harvard Square, shopping with Rachael in the morning, meeting up with Elizabeth, whom I haven't seen in about a year and a half, and then spent some quality time with another Sevilla bud, catching up over the best hot chocolate that I've had in ages and kick-ass thrift store shopping. Urban Outfitters officially irritates me, but that's another story entirely.
As Teal left to catch the T, I headed back through the windy streets of Cambridge towards the Quad, and my home away from Haverford for the weekend; I couldn't keep myself from smiling at the 5 or so hours I'd just spent with three girls (nearly women, we are) that I can honestly call my good friends. People who I know well enough to be sarcastic, irreverent, and not feel on my guard or inferior. People who know me well enough to put up with my sarcasm, my slightly wacky ways. I think that it's funny that I felt more at ease here in Boston than I have in many situations back at the 'ford. Maybe it's that I just needed a change of scenery: needed a bright sunny sandy beach and a bit of brightly colored New England foliage to rejuvinate my perspective on the world. Or maybe it's that it feels so good to see old friends, and to have the time that you've spent apart melt away in seconds.
It's good to know that Teal will always leave dinner with chocolate indelicately smudged somewhere on her impeccable clothing, Rachael will smile indulgently at my loud, flowered vintage dress, Elizabeth will laugh at my crush stories and listen to bullshit about Spain.
I have also spent a fantastic evening clubbing with Cabot House suite 102 in Boston, dancing to spanish pop, merengue, and hip-hop in a borderline euro-trash bar, whilst being hit on by a 17 year old prospective student from L.A.. Why is do all the young guys find me attractive now? Where were they in high school? Alas, if I could only find someone my own age. In any case, my flight leaves in about 9 hours, and I'd love it if some of those were somnambulent ones. Yay for fall break. Así es la vida.
Thursday, October 16, 2003
Boston
So here I am, sitting in 'the Quad' at Cambridge, having breakfasted c/o Harvard's dining services, and this morning while eating my waffle and coffee, I realized that I hadn't been in a cafeteria in nearly a year. Hell yeah. Isn't it funny to anyone else that I have to travel several hundred miles to get the college experience? Yes, yes it is.
I arrived in Boston last night, just after the Red Sox beat the Yankees, which they announced on the intercom of the commuter rail on which I rode. Spent a good portion of the decidedly gusty evening negotiating stairs with my mostrosity of a bag filled with books and winter clothes; Rachael remarked "you're usually such an efficient packer." Yeah, I know, but it's tough to get shit from Virginia to Pennsylvania if it's not in your luggage. So after a blustery reunion at Harvard Square, we headed off to Finale, the famous dessert place, for a pick-me-up. The molten chocolate cake was divine, so much so that I had to "have a moment" as they say. The whole meal was hilarious because I got an after-dinner sherry (having dined already in Providence, with Molly, mi niña sevillana) to go with, and was carded.
Reaching into my huge wheely suitcase, I dug out my green courderoy wallet a la 7th grade, and felt a little sheepish as the sound of velcro ripped across the restaurant. Whatever, man, it was like a Wednesday night and it wasn't busy. Have decided that this weekend's project, among other things, is to find a reasonably priced grown-up wallet.
I felt like such a business traveler yesterday, getting up and going for a quick run before catching my flight up the east coast. It gave me the illusion of maturity: a dangerous drug. From Baltimore to Providence, I saw the entire Eastern Seaboard from the air: Philadelphia, Manhattan, Long Island, and I think I even recognized New Haven. The trees are just starting to turn up here, which means that Haverford won't be far behind as fall creeps down the coast. I'm ready for the maples to be set on fire, and for clear crisp evenings in the city. Change is good, is necessary.
Except of course, when it involves me making important life decisions. Spent too much time with Rachael pondering post-graduation prospects last night over chocolatey goodness. Hmm, why don't I watch an Alias episode instead, and pretend like I'm going to be a secret double agent, because I'm so qualified? Klu was right, there is NO work getting done now that I've got Season 1 on DVD. This bodes poorly for next week... =)
So here I am, sitting in 'the Quad' at Cambridge, having breakfasted c/o Harvard's dining services, and this morning while eating my waffle and coffee, I realized that I hadn't been in a cafeteria in nearly a year. Hell yeah. Isn't it funny to anyone else that I have to travel several hundred miles to get the college experience? Yes, yes it is.
I arrived in Boston last night, just after the Red Sox beat the Yankees, which they announced on the intercom of the commuter rail on which I rode. Spent a good portion of the decidedly gusty evening negotiating stairs with my mostrosity of a bag filled with books and winter clothes; Rachael remarked "you're usually such an efficient packer." Yeah, I know, but it's tough to get shit from Virginia to Pennsylvania if it's not in your luggage. So after a blustery reunion at Harvard Square, we headed off to Finale, the famous dessert place, for a pick-me-up. The molten chocolate cake was divine, so much so that I had to "have a moment" as they say. The whole meal was hilarious because I got an after-dinner sherry (having dined already in Providence, with Molly, mi niña sevillana) to go with, and was carded.
Reaching into my huge wheely suitcase, I dug out my green courderoy wallet a la 7th grade, and felt a little sheepish as the sound of velcro ripped across the restaurant. Whatever, man, it was like a Wednesday night and it wasn't busy. Have decided that this weekend's project, among other things, is to find a reasonably priced grown-up wallet.
I felt like such a business traveler yesterday, getting up and going for a quick run before catching my flight up the east coast. It gave me the illusion of maturity: a dangerous drug. From Baltimore to Providence, I saw the entire Eastern Seaboard from the air: Philadelphia, Manhattan, Long Island, and I think I even recognized New Haven. The trees are just starting to turn up here, which means that Haverford won't be far behind as fall creeps down the coast. I'm ready for the maples to be set on fire, and for clear crisp evenings in the city. Change is good, is necessary.
Except of course, when it involves me making important life decisions. Spent too much time with Rachael pondering post-graduation prospects last night over chocolatey goodness. Hmm, why don't I watch an Alias episode instead, and pretend like I'm going to be a secret double agent, because I'm so qualified? Klu was right, there is NO work getting done now that I've got Season 1 on DVD. This bodes poorly for next week... =)
Sunday, October 12, 2003
Sometimes a girl just needs to paint her toenails "Blackberry"
Well, Thea's "Hot Hot Friday Nights" continue to impress; yesterdayn here in Va Beach, it was almost 75 degrees. Literally "hot." I arrived in Newport News at 6:45 pm and started my drive home, after sitting next to bad-smelling sketchy guy on train from DC onward. I forget how freaking humid it is around here, but if I have to put up with that so that I can come up from the Hampton Roads Bridge-Tunnel's last leg to find myself driving on two piling-supported lanes just above the water. It was high tide, so the windy evening chopped up the water quite a bit, and swirled the seagulls around in gusts through the pools of yellow streelight on the water. No meetings, no responsibilities, and late for nothing.
The best thing about my urban comsumer-driven day was its complete frivolity. I spent 30 min at Reading Terminal Market having frisbee sized hotcakes at the mennonite diner, contemplated buying a $14.50 set of 1950's parody magnets. There was one set called "bitter women" and another one called "shoe fetish." My willpower to resist was significant. I then blew half my cash on cannolis for mom's birthday, which was worth it. The rest of my green went towards a pair of t-strap heels that I found in a discount store, just like the ones Kaitlyn and I were lusting after on the 9 West website (and which froze my computer...how does that happen to a Mac? I mean, honestly, they were only brown leather pumps), except I got mine for $17, not $71. Too bad they have absolutely no natural materials and will probably fall apart by the end of the winter =).
I'd never been to the market on a weekday, which was a totally different experience than I'm used to. The people that own the stores were all eating breakfast in the food area around the cash machine, and vegetable trucks unloaded Lancaster's finest produce into the stalls as the market quitetly bustled. Instead of aisles clogged with convention center groups with nametags or high school field trips, everyone in search of the fastest to go lunch that they can find, there were people who work in the city with time enough to hang around and gossip, bitch about the Eagles' season, or talk with the waitstaff about their golf game. The atmosphere in the diner and the other breakfast places was one of efficiency, a comfortable early morning routine. The warm air hovering around the chrome stools and brushed steel countertop was their comfort zone, filled with local customers and clinking coffee spoons in coffee cups. Sure, there were a few travelers like myself, and a scattering of tourists that probably rose about the same time the bread did that moring, but for the most part it was a space for Philadelphians, and I felt priveleged to be there. With a smiled greeting and an extra-large tip, I paid for my admission to this metropolitan show, and then I was on my way.
All the way home, I was on a bit of a high from a productive and entertaining morning, and I couldn't believe my good fortune to be given a relaxing, pleasure-filled day over fall break, which for the past three years has been filled with stressful trips to faraway soccer games, trying to remember why I love the sport enough to give up all my free time. This year, I got to come *home* during first semester (an unprecedented occurrence), kick back in the recliner with my cat on my lap and a cardboard cup of starbucks coffee on the table beside me, guiltily enjoying the wonders of cable television. You know there's something seriously wrong when Julia Stiles' performance in "Save the Last Dance" makes you weepy. I'm writing it off to lack of sleep, and we'll leave it at that. 9 days left, and I intend to savor every one.
Well, Thea's "Hot Hot Friday Nights" continue to impress; yesterdayn here in Va Beach, it was almost 75 degrees. Literally "hot." I arrived in Newport News at 6:45 pm and started my drive home, after sitting next to bad-smelling sketchy guy on train from DC onward. I forget how freaking humid it is around here, but if I have to put up with that so that I can come up from the Hampton Roads Bridge-Tunnel's last leg to find myself driving on two piling-supported lanes just above the water. It was high tide, so the windy evening chopped up the water quite a bit, and swirled the seagulls around in gusts through the pools of yellow streelight on the water. No meetings, no responsibilities, and late for nothing.
The best thing about my urban comsumer-driven day was its complete frivolity. I spent 30 min at Reading Terminal Market having frisbee sized hotcakes at the mennonite diner, contemplated buying a $14.50 set of 1950's parody magnets. There was one set called "bitter women" and another one called "shoe fetish." My willpower to resist was significant. I then blew half my cash on cannolis for mom's birthday, which was worth it. The rest of my green went towards a pair of t-strap heels that I found in a discount store, just like the ones Kaitlyn and I were lusting after on the 9 West website (and which froze my computer...how does that happen to a Mac? I mean, honestly, they were only brown leather pumps), except I got mine for $17, not $71. Too bad they have absolutely no natural materials and will probably fall apart by the end of the winter =).
I'd never been to the market on a weekday, which was a totally different experience than I'm used to. The people that own the stores were all eating breakfast in the food area around the cash machine, and vegetable trucks unloaded Lancaster's finest produce into the stalls as the market quitetly bustled. Instead of aisles clogged with convention center groups with nametags or high school field trips, everyone in search of the fastest to go lunch that they can find, there were people who work in the city with time enough to hang around and gossip, bitch about the Eagles' season, or talk with the waitstaff about their golf game. The atmosphere in the diner and the other breakfast places was one of efficiency, a comfortable early morning routine. The warm air hovering around the chrome stools and brushed steel countertop was their comfort zone, filled with local customers and clinking coffee spoons in coffee cups. Sure, there were a few travelers like myself, and a scattering of tourists that probably rose about the same time the bread did that moring, but for the most part it was a space for Philadelphians, and I felt priveleged to be there. With a smiled greeting and an extra-large tip, I paid for my admission to this metropolitan show, and then I was on my way.
All the way home, I was on a bit of a high from a productive and entertaining morning, and I couldn't believe my good fortune to be given a relaxing, pleasure-filled day over fall break, which for the past three years has been filled with stressful trips to faraway soccer games, trying to remember why I love the sport enough to give up all my free time. This year, I got to come *home* during first semester (an unprecedented occurrence), kick back in the recliner with my cat on my lap and a cardboard cup of starbucks coffee on the table beside me, guiltily enjoying the wonders of cable television. You know there's something seriously wrong when Julia Stiles' performance in "Save the Last Dance" makes you weepy. I'm writing it off to lack of sleep, and we'll leave it at that. 9 days left, and I intend to savor every one.
Wednesday, October 08, 2003
a Feline Day
Life at Haverford is no utopia, I think I've been quite explicit about that in the past; perhaps excessively so. Yet in spite of all that, when I leave Hall at 6:45 after talking about Bartleby and Borges for three hours, walk down the hill to the apartments with a smile on my face, mind whirring gently with thesis questions, it can't be all bad. The master of the uncanny makes my experience here "unheimlich" a lot: familiar, home-like, and uncomfortably unsettling all at the same time.
I've developed a rather cat-like sleep pattern lately, and I think it's been invading other aspects of my life as well. This afternoon, when I came back from a decent stint in the Science Library working on a paper, I had just enough time on this uncannily warm afternoon to snatch a few winks. A cat nap, as they say. Some soothing tunes in the background, I curled up on my westward facing bed, windows on 2 sides, took off my dangly silver earrings so that I could properly snooze, and let the 3-4:25 pm sun melt me into my leopard-spotted pillows. I think I might have actually woken up to my alarm purring. Maybe not. It's so easy to empathize with the tendencies of my furry friends to sleep during the afternoon hours to compensate for nocturnal activities, although mine might be slightly more intellectually demanding than, say, mouse hunting.
Also, in true feline fashion, I noticed the V's of Canada geese flying over the fieldhouse through a salmon colored sunset this evening. The birds are going south, as am I. Both of us headed down the coast to the Beach, which makes me happy. I like the beach in the fall, and it will be nice to have some time to get work done in a different setting, watch some cable TV, and see the flaming blue van again. I might even spend some time working on my baby, if I get overly ambitious =).
In 48 hours I'll be able to regroup, get some sleep, and bond with the cat, of whom I seem to be resembling of late, especially with regards to my fur-bristling nature. Retract those claws, Thea. I've had to add the caveat "or that could just be me being bitchy" to far too many statements this week, and have been nearing the cacao quotient of unsweetened baking chocolate (super-híper-amarga, como dicen), so I need a little time to temper myself back into a more agreeable state.
But at the moment, one more paper, a trip to the gym, and an early morning trip to the PMA are what are in store. Almost there...
I've developed a rather cat-like sleep pattern lately, and I think it's been invading other aspects of my life as well. This afternoon, when I came back from a decent stint in the Science Library working on a paper, I had just enough time on this uncannily warm afternoon to snatch a few winks. A cat nap, as they say. Some soothing tunes in the background, I curled up on my westward facing bed, windows on 2 sides, took off my dangly silver earrings so that I could properly snooze, and let the 3-4:25 pm sun melt me into my leopard-spotted pillows. I think I might have actually woken up to my alarm purring. Maybe not. It's so easy to empathize with the tendencies of my furry friends to sleep during the afternoon hours to compensate for nocturnal activities, although mine might be slightly more intellectually demanding than, say, mouse hunting.
Also, in true feline fashion, I noticed the V's of Canada geese flying over the fieldhouse through a salmon colored sunset this evening. The birds are going south, as am I. Both of us headed down the coast to the Beach, which makes me happy. I like the beach in the fall, and it will be nice to have some time to get work done in a different setting, watch some cable TV, and see the flaming blue van again. I might even spend some time working on my baby, if I get overly ambitious =).
In 48 hours I'll be able to regroup, get some sleep, and bond with the cat, of whom I seem to be resembling of late, especially with regards to my fur-bristling nature. Retract those claws, Thea. I've had to add the caveat "or that could just be me being bitchy" to far too many statements this week, and have been nearing the cacao quotient of unsweetened baking chocolate (super-híper-amarga, como dicen), so I need a little time to temper myself back into a more agreeable state.
But at the moment, one more paper, a trip to the gym, and an early morning trip to the PMA are what are in store. Almost there...
Tuesday, October 07, 2003
Darkroom Comedy
You've got to be joking. Maybe if it weren't all happening at once and to me I'd think it was funny.
Last night, after sitting in the library freezing my ass off, watching the senior librarian explain to me for the second time how to use the online book catalog for THREE HOURS (keep in mind, these would be hours 4, 5, and 6 for me, as opposed to the rest of my Spanish Senior Seminar), I trudged back to the darkroom to finish my project. Said project, aka "An exercise in Futility" by Thea Williamson, salvaging photos from ruined negatives with nonexistent photo paper to print on, didn't start until 1:00 am, due to an excess of students in the darkroom.
Also loitering among the toxic, funeral parlor-esque chemicals was another hanger-on of indeterminate origin. Some cute blonde artsy chick that clearly didn't have a purpose. It was beautiful: she was consummately supurfluous, and always right in my path on the way from the enlarger to the developer. Hanging on to some guy in our class, the paragon of the 'hipster' aesthetic. Short choppy blonde hair pinned back in an oh-so-deliberatey mussed fashion by bobby pins, one highlighted chunk of bangs a shade more platinum than her natural color; a dubiously "handmade" courderoy skirt with brightly colored stitching over baggy jeans, topped off with paint-spattered shoes and yes, legwarmers. Cable knitted olive green FRAYED legwarmers.
Why is it that every guy I've seen lately is irresistably drawn to vapidity? She actually said at one point: "Oops! oh, my God!, I'm *so* sorry I bumped you! Did I ruin the picture." And she used the asterisks. Her friend graciously replied "Uh, yeah. I can just reprint it, it's no big deal." Why must people like this exist in my immediate vicinity, let alone within my 6 feet of personal space?
It's time to get off campus. Out of the state, preferrably.
Last night, after sitting in the library freezing my ass off, watching the senior librarian explain to me for the second time how to use the online book catalog for THREE HOURS (keep in mind, these would be hours 4, 5, and 6 for me, as opposed to the rest of my Spanish Senior Seminar), I trudged back to the darkroom to finish my project. Said project, aka "An exercise in Futility" by Thea Williamson, salvaging photos from ruined negatives with nonexistent photo paper to print on, didn't start until 1:00 am, due to an excess of students in the darkroom.
Also loitering among the toxic, funeral parlor-esque chemicals was another hanger-on of indeterminate origin. Some cute blonde artsy chick that clearly didn't have a purpose. It was beautiful: she was consummately supurfluous, and always right in my path on the way from the enlarger to the developer. Hanging on to some guy in our class, the paragon of the 'hipster' aesthetic. Short choppy blonde hair pinned back in an oh-so-deliberatey mussed fashion by bobby pins, one highlighted chunk of bangs a shade more platinum than her natural color; a dubiously "handmade" courderoy skirt with brightly colored stitching over baggy jeans, topped off with paint-spattered shoes and yes, legwarmers. Cable knitted olive green FRAYED legwarmers.
Why is it that every guy I've seen lately is irresistably drawn to vapidity? She actually said at one point: "Oops! oh, my God!, I'm *so* sorry I bumped you! Did I ruin the picture." And she used the asterisks. Her friend graciously replied "Uh, yeah. I can just reprint it, it's no big deal." Why must people like this exist in my immediate vicinity, let alone within my 6 feet of personal space?
It's time to get off campus. Out of the state, preferrably.
Sunday, October 05, 2003
INSC
Mmm, internet connection in the Science Library carrells (how exactly does one spell that?) is a good thing. I love my iBook. I also made myself Sunday brunch today, at 10:30--grits and scrambled eggs. Warm, steamy breafasts are always a good way to start the day.
Blue skies and cool weather on this Sunday early afternoon should be conducive to productivity, and there's another intramural game this afternoon to take my mind off of less agreeable activities. Six days till fall break, and all I've got to do is write a paper about pre-1918 film, along with various and asundry thesis projects. Vacation, here I come...
Mmm, internet connection in the Science Library carrells (how exactly does one spell that?) is a good thing. I love my iBook. I also made myself Sunday brunch today, at 10:30--grits and scrambled eggs. Warm, steamy breafasts are always a good way to start the day.
Blue skies and cool weather on this Sunday early afternoon should be conducive to productivity, and there's another intramural game this afternoon to take my mind off of less agreeable activities. Six days till fall break, and all I've got to do is write a paper about pre-1918 film, along with various and asundry thesis projects. Vacation, here I come...
Amarga.
Amarga, in Spanish, means bitter. It's the name of a García Lorca character, and it's also the designation for dark chocolate. In Barcelona last year, walking around with my sister, we ran across a bakery/confectionary that made its own chocolate. They also sold t-shirts to match the designs on their specialty bars: coffee, pistachio, milk, white, and yes, bittersweet. 66% amarga, the shirt said. It was royal blue with a great minimalistic sans-serif font on the front, and it came with hot chocolate mix and a bar of the specified chocolatey goodness. Too bad they only had extra large in stock. I would have been proud to say that I'm only 66% bitter, like the Valrhona bar. Alex said that was too generous of an estimate, and that I haven't been 66% since sometime in the height of my secondary education, circa junior year of high school. Now, I'm not so sure, but I think I'm fast approaching the 66% mark.
I've always loved dark, bittersweet chocolate, and if I were a little cheesier, I would say that I fancied myself to resemble it: something not everyone wants to eat, but a little sweet...you know: really great in small bites, and fantastically delicious, but if consumed in mass quantities just kind of makes you sick. Never been one to gravitate towards large group settings, and it does take a certain quality to really appreciate the more uh, euphemistically "ecclectic" aspects of me. But I'm not cheesy, and have never been given to speaking allegorically, so just ignore all of that.
Tried to go out tonight, shouldn't have. I hate what Haverford does to me. Oh well, at least I have all of Sunday to get work done.
I've always loved dark, bittersweet chocolate, and if I were a little cheesier, I would say that I fancied myself to resemble it: something not everyone wants to eat, but a little sweet...you know: really great in small bites, and fantastically delicious, but if consumed in mass quantities just kind of makes you sick. Never been one to gravitate towards large group settings, and it does take a certain quality to really appreciate the more uh, euphemistically "ecclectic" aspects of me. But I'm not cheesy, and have never been given to speaking allegorically, so just ignore all of that.
Tried to go out tonight, shouldn't have. I hate what Haverford does to me. Oh well, at least I have all of Sunday to get work done.
Saturday, October 04, 2003
amarga?
Some people have mentioned in the past year or so that I don't really merit the moniker of "bitter" any more. Lately I'm not so sure. Perhaps it's Haverford that does it to me. Perhaps it's being in a static social scene. Perhaps it's my incessant desire for change and movement in my life, that is completely unsatisfied at the moment. Quizás, Quizás, Quizás.
Procrastinating tomorrow (as with this evening, when fell asleep while reading Borges...in English...for CompLit) shall include rationalization of title. I know you're all enthralled.
Procrastinating tomorrow (as with this evening, when fell asleep while reading Borges...in English...for CompLit) shall include rationalization of title. I know you're all enthralled.
Thursday, October 02, 2003
Bzzzzzz,
just a little.
When I left the fieldhouse this evening, on a tight schedule to get cleaned up before the first Spanish Film Series presentation of the semester, I walked out into brisk air. It made me slow down mid-stride and look up at the sky, to see if I could find what I'd been waiting for. I'd been waiting for a night like those I remember from autumns past in Pennsylvania; those nights coming home from the library, a practice that ran late, a looping suburban run. A night when all of the divergent jumbles of thoughts in my head get frozen for a moment, and I realize the power that something purely aesthetic can have over me.
Tonight was one of those evenings when the sky, cloudles and stardusted, seems to go on forever, infinitely deep and smooth. Tall pines and maples cut out backlit silouettes that frame my walk home across the quad, the lead overlay on my glassy sky: un cielo infinito so clear and bright, that starts off cerulean, passes imperceptibly into shades of royal blue, and on into a cobalt so dark and pure that you'd swear if you dropped it on kitchen tiles, it would shatter. As my gaze travels upwards, I can't help but shut up, tell myself to stop jabbering on inside my head about whatever trivial stress is bothering me, and look for that first star. Yadda yadda, puny feeling in relation to celestial universe, blah, blah, berate self for not looking up at sky more often. You know the drill.
My ghetto digital watch kept flashing the seconds, and I had to book it home in order to shower, feed myself something on the run, and be present to kick off the 'Serie.'
"Duh, I knew about that shit all along, no biggie." said the omniscient, infallible narrator with an artfully haughty raised eyebrow. And she went back to studying chemistry.
When I left the fieldhouse this evening, on a tight schedule to get cleaned up before the first Spanish Film Series presentation of the semester, I walked out into brisk air. It made me slow down mid-stride and look up at the sky, to see if I could find what I'd been waiting for. I'd been waiting for a night like those I remember from autumns past in Pennsylvania; those nights coming home from the library, a practice that ran late, a looping suburban run. A night when all of the divergent jumbles of thoughts in my head get frozen for a moment, and I realize the power that something purely aesthetic can have over me.
Tonight was one of those evenings when the sky, cloudles and stardusted, seems to go on forever, infinitely deep and smooth. Tall pines and maples cut out backlit silouettes that frame my walk home across the quad, the lead overlay on my glassy sky: un cielo infinito so clear and bright, that starts off cerulean, passes imperceptibly into shades of royal blue, and on into a cobalt so dark and pure that you'd swear if you dropped it on kitchen tiles, it would shatter. As my gaze travels upwards, I can't help but shut up, tell myself to stop jabbering on inside my head about whatever trivial stress is bothering me, and look for that first star. Yadda yadda, puny feeling in relation to celestial universe, blah, blah, berate self for not looking up at sky more often. You know the drill.
My ghetto digital watch kept flashing the seconds, and I had to book it home in order to shower, feed myself something on the run, and be present to kick off the 'Serie.'
"Duh, I knew about that shit all along, no biggie." said the omniscient, infallible narrator with an artfully haughty raised eyebrow. And she went back to studying chemistry.
Buzzkill
So I'm not sure what it is about October that just wants to piss me off so badly...it's only been two days. Maybe it's the weather. I feel like I'm trapped in that Shakira song:
Si es la lluvia de todos los dias que ha aumentado su nivel
ya la musica no tiene el mismo efecto que solia tener
que no se ni que idoma hablo...
Y por mas que yo lo intente,
no me escucho ni mi propio voz.
Ya no sé si he vivido diez mil días
o un día diez mil veces....
Maybe its that it's been raining more,
because music doesn't have the same effect
as it's supposed to.
I don't even know what language to speak in...
And as much as I've tried,
I don't even listen to my own voice.
And I don't know if I've lived a thousand days
or just one day a thousand times.
Only problem is that the Spanish pop goddess is talking about love (the song's called "I Need You" for christ's sake), and all that's getting me down is life in general. I feel that "oh-shit-i'm-overinvolved" vibe coming on, like I've been blowing off schoolwork to deal with ostensibly 'real life' stuff, and eventually that's going to be a problem.
Part of the problem is that I hate looking like a slacker. I'm a procrastinator, to be sure, and I may not be the most organized person in the entire world, but I do my work. Having my Spanish prof. think that I just don't care enough to find a thesis topic kind of blows, because that's very much not the case.
Having my photo prof. think that I just have "sloppy" composition only because I can't afford a tripod also, as they say, blows. Especially since I spent an inordinate amount of time taking what I thought were really cool pictures of coffee, and worked really hard on the assignment; too bad the class thought that i 'failed to execute' what I was attempting; usually the teacher says "Okay ____, thanks for showing us your pictures. Let's move on." With me this morning, all that I got was her looking at the grade sheet, tilting her head with a sort of quizzical "hmm...." and some arched eyebrows. Give me a fucking break. They weren't that horrible, were they? Other people in the class just did theirs the night before!
Having the Watson committee eat pizza on the dean's couch in his cluttered office didn't really impart the seriousness I had hoped for in the interview, and I just want to go in and shake them all, yelling "look, you stupid people, I put a lot of work into this, and I know half of the other applicants just threw their shit together the week before!"
And of course, having to objectively look at all that shit and realize that none of it's really that important, and that if I'd been just a little more organized, a little more observant, and a little more aware of the fact that I'm not going to get by on just my *charming* personality, I could have remedied all of the aforementioned situations before they squashed me down a bit. What's that, Thea having problems with overconfidence? That's a new one. It has not been a good week for my interactions with authority figures, which worries me. Usually, I have difficulties enough dealing with my peers, and I can handle adults just fine, but when that falls apart too, it's a bit of a downer.
Fortunately, I have in the cupboard what I discovered in Sevilla is the remedy for any and all bad moods or buzzkills: Nutella. Crusty, slightly warmed french bread and sweet chocolate hazelnut spread tempers bitterness quite effectively. I am a little perplexed as to why professional basketball players are advertsing it; apparently I should "TRY KOBE'S FAVORITE." Whatever, man. I don't ask questions as long as it keeps tasting good.
Hopefully this weekend will be fun; big plans for First Friday in Old City, and much productivity with regards to work.
Si es la lluvia de todos los dias que ha aumentado su nivel
ya la musica no tiene el mismo efecto que solia tener
que no se ni que idoma hablo...
Y por mas que yo lo intente,
no me escucho ni mi propio voz.
Ya no sé si he vivido diez mil días
o un día diez mil veces....
Maybe its that it's been raining more,
because music doesn't have the same effect
as it's supposed to.
I don't even know what language to speak in...
And as much as I've tried,
I don't even listen to my own voice.
And I don't know if I've lived a thousand days
or just one day a thousand times.
Only problem is that the Spanish pop goddess is talking about love (the song's called "I Need You" for christ's sake), and all that's getting me down is life in general. I feel that "oh-shit-i'm-overinvolved" vibe coming on, like I've been blowing off schoolwork to deal with ostensibly 'real life' stuff, and eventually that's going to be a problem.
Part of the problem is that I hate looking like a slacker. I'm a procrastinator, to be sure, and I may not be the most organized person in the entire world, but I do my work. Having my Spanish prof. think that I just don't care enough to find a thesis topic kind of blows, because that's very much not the case.
Having my photo prof. think that I just have "sloppy" composition only because I can't afford a tripod also, as they say, blows. Especially since I spent an inordinate amount of time taking what I thought were really cool pictures of coffee, and worked really hard on the assignment; too bad the class thought that i 'failed to execute' what I was attempting; usually the teacher says "Okay ____, thanks for showing us your pictures. Let's move on." With me this morning, all that I got was her looking at the grade sheet, tilting her head with a sort of quizzical "hmm...." and some arched eyebrows. Give me a fucking break. They weren't that horrible, were they? Other people in the class just did theirs the night before!
Having the Watson committee eat pizza on the dean's couch in his cluttered office didn't really impart the seriousness I had hoped for in the interview, and I just want to go in and shake them all, yelling "look, you stupid people, I put a lot of work into this, and I know half of the other applicants just threw their shit together the week before!"
And of course, having to objectively look at all that shit and realize that none of it's really that important, and that if I'd been just a little more organized, a little more observant, and a little more aware of the fact that I'm not going to get by on just my *charming* personality, I could have remedied all of the aforementioned situations before they squashed me down a bit. What's that, Thea having problems with overconfidence? That's a new one. It has not been a good week for my interactions with authority figures, which worries me. Usually, I have difficulties enough dealing with my peers, and I can handle adults just fine, but when that falls apart too, it's a bit of a downer.
Fortunately, I have in the cupboard what I discovered in Sevilla is the remedy for any and all bad moods or buzzkills: Nutella. Crusty, slightly warmed french bread and sweet chocolate hazelnut spread tempers bitterness quite effectively. I am a little perplexed as to why professional basketball players are advertsing it; apparently I should "TRY KOBE'S FAVORITE." Whatever, man. I don't ask questions as long as it keeps tasting good.
Hopefully this weekend will be fun; big plans for First Friday in Old City, and much productivity with regards to work.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)