Off the couch...

The boyfriend and I went to Big Sur this weekend, accompanied by the boyfriend's brother and the brother's wife. (Felix and Ute are their names, should you want to retell this story with more detail.)

Big Sur has become our go-to vacation spot, and we've found this little town called Lucia about 20 miles south of Big Sur that we like to stay in. Actually, it's not really a town. It's just an inn called Lucia Lodge but somehow the surrounding 200-ft. of land has earned the town-like nomination of "Lucia." Here's a pic of the place:















Great weekend with expected big beautiful views and quality sweetheart time. Here are more pics:
















































*** Of course, the real highlight was Florian (the boyfriend) bumping into the dresser, and then the bed, and then the table and the sink. He chalked this up to "the room being too small for his large frame." I was highly entertained at this bold attempt to redefine clumsiness as manliness.

It's come to this.

I was making scrambled eggs this morning, but there weren't enough eggs so I added water. (Would've opted for milk, but that had expired.) It didn't taste very good, so I dumped on a pile of salt. It was then that I looked at my pile of water/eggs with salt on top and drew the self-pitying parallel between myself and a peasant. I don't really know how the peasants of yore ate, but I decided it probably involved lots of water and salt. And maybe eggs because they had so many chickens.

(Plus, the mushrooms and bell peppers I sauteed caught on fire, and I bet the peasants faced serious sautéing problems.)

Alms...checks...credit cards...

Make it stop...
(Craigslist Discussion Forum, Part II)

Someone just posted this final blow to my ego:

nice writing; hope she dont plagarize...

The compliment is intended for my foe (see below post), and the
"she" is me. I should be offended at their suggesting I might
copy and paste the mean man's response because I'm so hungry
for content, but really I'm too busy being shocked. How did I
become the person to topple from her high horse?

I don't even have a horse...

and if I did, it wouldn't be that high...

No actually - if I had a horse, it would look like this:



That's right. It's a miniature horse. In a costume contest. :(

I just got bitch-slapped on Craigslist...

So I've been writing this article about California cooking and decided to post on a Craigslist discussion board, asking any non-Californians for their perspective on the topic. "What fun!!" I thought. How was I to know?

This is what I wrote on the New York discussion board:

I'm a food writer in SF, writing a piece on California cooking and its impact on the American culinary landscape.

Was wondering if any of you New Yorkers could speak to the spread of "fresh and local"? Do you sense a return to backyard produce? Would you credit this to California cooking?

Thanks!!! With your permission, I'd love to quote those who respond! Just imagine your name in lights! (Or Times New Roman, as the case may be...)

So I slapped that together, posted, and waited with baited breath for someone to respond.

This is what I got:

The notion that the "Fresh Local" mantra started in California is plain wrong.

San Francisco is blessed with a special climate that allows a year 'round growing season, but that is climate, not a special enlightened consciousness at work.

It might be useful to think about the roots of California cuisine before you start to pontificate about how it has changed the American food scene. Look at the broader picture and you will see you are not all that special.

(BTW, why don't you actually go spend a couple of weeks in New York to see what teh food scene is really like, rather than ask people to pay acquiescence to your false preconceptions and misplaced sense of importance?)

Um, what???? I think my first response was a shocked gasp. My second was this:

Actually, I'm already detailing the various ways in which California's "fresh and local" emphasis is a regurgitation of ideals held by other communities, past and present.

Which is not to say that the recycling of such principles in restaurants like Chez Panisse and French Laundry has not had some interesting effects on the country's definition of gourmet, what people are demanding from grocery stores, etc.

And I've spent many a week in New York, but thought it might be interesting to pick the brain of a native. You bring up many a good point...it's too bad I seem to have offended your purpose. "Misplaced sense of importance"...my goodness!

To which he responded (and yeah, I'm getting a "he" vibe):

You say: ""Misplaced sense of importance"...my goodness!" Yes, sweetie, you have a profoundly misplaced sense of the importance of both the Chez and the Laundry.

Do you see Alice Waters ever having her kitchen in the Smithsonian? If so you are dreaming, my friend. She is a regional celebrity, not a national movement.

I could go on, but I suspect I could never shake you of your delusions that California cuisine appears much beyond the subscription radius of Sunset Magazine.

And that's where it ends. I was hoping to fashion a nasty response, but figured I might as well pour that "passion" into my article. Or whatever. But I think it's fair to say I've lost whatever innocence I had left. This guy clearly knew what he was talking about, and it's too bad he buried that underneath piles of condesenion. People are nasty and evidently don't like Californians. Or maybe just this Californian.

Watch out for that Craigslist. It harbors meanies...

(p.s. I hope you caught the symbolism of my color-coded dialogue. I worked really hard on that.)

Zzzzzzz.....


On Deadline! Didn't Sleep Last Night! So Amazingly Tired!!!

(sorry - this clip is all i have to give today. have to write 4,000 words in the next 24 hours. ha.)

Tales from a Cafe

So I've gotten off my couch, and ventured out into the world. To the cafe across the street. (Do my adventurous impulses threaten you, Claire and Lara?)

I like going to the cafe because 1) they make a mean Thai Iced Tea and 2) it feels more professional to sit amongst other people typing. I'm trying to create a pseudo-work environment, because my only daily companionship at this point is the sound of our 85-year old landlord shuffling around in her apartment unit above me (though the woman can move).

Of course, it's hard to measure what this new worldly life will mean for my blog. But here's the first, incredibly interesting story from my time across the street:

I was at "Cup a' Joe" yesterday, and overheard the man next to me distributing professional advice. He was probably 30, and I'd say his "mentee," a woman, was around the same age. Unfortunately for her, I've never heard such inane, empty counsel. He insisted on murdering metaphors, drawing out their bloody deaths over hours and hours of aimless "wisdom." It was so exagerated, I finally began transcribing it all. Here are my notes:

"You have to know when to get back on the horse, and you have to understand where the horse is trying to get next. So many people are too scared to ride "horses," and there's a difference between bravery and courage. Riding a wild horse is about as dangerous as driving a broken car, but if you're brave then you'll suceed. It's a gamble. There could be an earthquake today, but are you going to live in fear? People are afraid of making investments and taking risks, because they know the horse might throw them. When someone has courage, it's not that they're not afraid - it's just that you're not afraid to act. I'm not afraid. So I will get on the horse without a rein..."

And so on, and so on, and so on. There was a 10-minute stretch also devoted to dolphins - didn't understand that at all - as well as a conclusion that touched upon David and Goliath. And not once did I hear mention of the specific industry this woman was interested in. And I was listening the ENTIRE time.

I really wish people wouldn't be so absurd, 'cause I'd get a lot more work done...

An Ode to Colbert:

Well, not so much of an ode as a post. I don't really know what an ode is. Anyways...

As many of you know, I'm a devoted fan of The Colbert Report - a show on Comedy Central that parodies celebrity anchor news commentary shows like The O'Reilly Factor and Scarborough Country. Stephen Colbert performs the entire show in the character of a blustery right-wing pundit. The man is completely hilarious. The kind of funny that threatens your boyfriend's standing, if you know what I mean. (Actually, I don't even know what I mean.)

Not much going on today (the highlight was a Thai Iced Tea around 2:00 p.m.), so I figured I'd shift the burden of entertaining you to Mr. Colbert's capable shoulders. Take it away funny-man...


Watch This.

And this.

And this!

Oooh...aahhh...

So I just bought a new computer. Very exciting. It's a Gateway. Whatever that means. It was really cheap...like $499 cheap. And it's even kinda spiffy, though I have a sneaking suspicion my "priorities" aren't what they should be. For example, I found myself especially impressed by this computer's CD burner. In that it had one. Flash forward, past the point of purchase, to Florian telling me all computers have CD burners these days. "Maybe," I mumbled and then "coughed" something about Debbie Downer. (I also really liked how the lights on the computer are purple. So pretty.)

Anyways, I'm slowly discovering why this thing was so cheap. I was trying to play some music and I couldn't find the volume buttons. Which is because it doesn't have any!!! No, instead, I've got a dial!! That's right, like a radio dial you roll around to adjust the station or something!!! I'd use the word "ghetto" but I've never used that word properly (I called a hamburger "ghetto" the other day), so I'll stick with RIDICULOUS!

Okay, back to work...missed deadlines call...

Goal!!!! or Penalty Kick!!!!! Whatever!!!

So the World Cup is over, and I'm feeling kind of blue. I only watched two games, but I was really into them. Without foreign men running around in short shorts (though they could be shorter), life seems a little less fantastic.

(Needless to say, I asked Florian if he wouldn't mind donning some short shorts to ease my letdown. He said no...in so many words.)

Despite my gloom, perhaps the world cup's ending is for the best. The truth is, it's virtually impossible for me to enjoy watching sports because my heart always goes out to whomever is losing. Which means I'm always rooting for the looser. Which means the team I want to win never does. And so the circle of fun continues.

I also spent Sunday night feeling really bad for Zinedine Zidane, the french soccer player (known as being one of the best in the world) who ended his international career with a head-butt to an Italian player (see below video). A half-baked plan, I'd say. He was tossed out of the game and the Italians went on to win.

There was clearly an exchange between Zidane and the soon-to-be-headbutted Italian before things got physical, and now everyone is speculating on what the Italian must have said to provoke such a violent response. I'm thinking something hideous like "Why are you so bald?"

(Footnote: I continue to be astonishingly bad at ridicule. We can all remember my less-than-impressive "Well, you walk like a woman..." How does one get good at this? I want to be formidible.)

mondial 2006 coup de boule de Zidane

Oh no...

So being back at home for a week means rooting through old journals (most of them which chronicle my unrequited love for Lowell Sapiro in 5th grade), dusty report cards and science fair projects. While other students were surely building batteries or measuring pollutants, I was, apparently, conducting "Tests on Cats." (Above is a snapshot I just took of the actual board in all its visually- and verbally-stunted glory.)

My "hypothesis" - if you can call it that - was as follows:

"I decided to do this because I didn't know that much about my kittens and I still don't know everything but I know much more than I did before."

I then proceed to outline a series of experiments and their "scientific" results, with photos as proof.

I think this picture say it all...



















According to the aging piece of paper attached to the rather spartan display, I was trying to answer the incredibly important question, "How do cats' eyes react to bright lights?" And yes, that is a flashlight I am in shining in their sweet, undeserving, faces.

So clearly apologies are in order:

Sorry to my two cats...I knew not what I did.

Sorry to my teachers for delivering a "science project" that merely showcased a bunch of cute, albight tortured, kittens.

And sorry to my parents because no doubt they were forced to lie and compliment this monstrosity.