![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
I've found two typos in the past twenty minutes of reading the New York Times online. Naughty, naughty newspaper.
I found this posting on www.ffffound.com today--a design blog I visit every morning for inspiration. Loved this one too much not to archive for myself. Click on it to enlarge.
After several months of working it out at the gym, I came to the realization that I am completely capable of running in a 5k. This excited me. Approximately one day later, the opportunity arose to run a 5k through the Bronx Zoo in their first ever "Run For the Wild." I took it, figuring what better venue to run my first race than the lush Bronx Zoo with all it's lovely wild animal distractions. And tomorrow will be like a day in Camelot--85 degrees and sunny, with a breeze. I will be waking my ass up at 6:30am tomorrow to get there early enough for a t-shirt. We also get a wrist band for what I'm assuming is free booze along the way.
The race starts at 9am, and if I don't pass out and/or vomit on myself, I should finish by 9:45. Kelly, Sam, Ansel, and Ted will probably be on their third game of Animal Charades by the time I get there, but it's all good. It's not about winning, it's about not coming in last. And if all else fails, there's a monorail.
Check out the path.
The race starts at 9am, and if I don't pass out and/or vomit on myself, I should finish by 9:45. Kelly, Sam, Ansel, and Ted will probably be on their third game of Animal Charades by the time I get there, but it's all good. It's not about winning, it's about not coming in last. And if all else fails, there's a monorail.
Check out the path.
First off, I want to thank Leah. Without you and my Catholic born guilt, this livejournal would have never happened.
So much has gone down since Obama won the election, but let's kick off with a video from moments after it was declared:
Cut to a week later, I'm in Jamaica, relieving the stress of a two year election. As Adri said, I didn't just go to Jamaica, I went to Jamaica as the Queen of England. With a house on the Caribbean equipped with a full staff, it sure was a royal time. *Hardy, har har har*
More photos here:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=20
Two weeks later, for Thanksgiving, I took a trip to Philly to be with Stel, Tim, and the fat kids. It was the most intimate Thanksgiving I've ever had, and I really enjoyed it. We went to the parade, drank rum apple ciders, played Chutes and Ladders, and practiced our "Single Ladies" routine. Typical Thanksgiving day stuff. The next day, I stepped off the Chinatown bus in NYC to a warm welcome from Richie, Gabriella, and Adri. Sidenote: both of my sisters on separate occasions commented that I looked homeless from afar. It's either my big black coat or my shopping cart full of posessions. Either way--rude.
Friday night kicked off siblings weekend/Adri's 40h birthday extravaganza in the city. We all voted Stel out of the siblings circle when she was late to a conference call one night, so that made it easier to start without her. After a day of shopping and Thai food, Richie, Gabriella, Adri, and I made our way to the Upright Citizens Brigade theater where we saw the improv group, "The Stepfathers." They were so brilliantly brilliant, and Bobby Moynihan, even after hitting SNL fame, was still working with the group. We forgot to make a reservation, so when we walked in they told us we'd be in standing room only. Then, I don't know if Adri showed off her new bra or what, but an employee told her we could sit on the floor. So the four of us were right up on stage for the whole show! it was a trip. Subsequently, Adri and I both developed fervid crushes on the players. (The apple doesn't fall too far from the other apple.)
The next morning, the smart one showed up. We all had breakfast at the apartment soon followed by shots of Jamaican rum, which I did not partake in, but which brought me to the realization that I have the least issues of all my siblings. From there, we booked it to Broadway and quenched our Fosse thirst with "Chicago." We did isolated dance movements the rest of the day, and of course, more "Single Ladies" practice. As seen here:
A case of beer and a bottle of wine later, we hit up one of my absolute favorite places in the city--Marie's Crisis--a showtune piano bar in the West Village. I'm hoping we can make it a yearly tradition. See the magic below:
I've been listening to this soundtrack all week. It's even beat out my Tuesday morning "This American Life" slot, which really says a lot. Sunday afternoon, the ladies and I ventured through the rain and into the most adorable Swiss cafe that just opened near my apartment--Cafe Select. We sat for two hours, divulging information like drunken sorority sisters, and it was glorious.
The whole weekend was all too short. This week, I've felt a void from lack of sister talk. Hopefully, one day that will be a consistent reality. For now, we'll have to get drunk in our own environments and write each other about it.
All I care about is love,
t
So much has gone down since Obama won the election, but let's kick off with a video from moments after it was declared:
Cut to a week later, I'm in Jamaica, relieving the stress of a two year election. As Adri said, I didn't just go to Jamaica, I went to Jamaica as the Queen of England. With a house on the Caribbean equipped with a full staff, it sure was a royal time. *Hardy, har har har*
More photos here:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=20
Two weeks later, for Thanksgiving, I took a trip to Philly to be with Stel, Tim, and the fat kids. It was the most intimate Thanksgiving I've ever had, and I really enjoyed it. We went to the parade, drank rum apple ciders, played Chutes and Ladders, and practiced our "Single Ladies" routine. Typical Thanksgiving day stuff. The next day, I stepped off the Chinatown bus in NYC to a warm welcome from Richie, Gabriella, and Adri. Sidenote: both of my sisters on separate occasions commented that I looked homeless from afar. It's either my big black coat or my shopping cart full of posessions. Either way--rude.
Friday night kicked off siblings weekend/Adri's 40h birthday extravaganza in the city. We all voted Stel out of the siblings circle when she was late to a conference call one night, so that made it easier to start without her. After a day of shopping and Thai food, Richie, Gabriella, Adri, and I made our way to the Upright Citizens Brigade theater where we saw the improv group, "The Stepfathers." They were so brilliantly brilliant, and Bobby Moynihan, even after hitting SNL fame, was still working with the group. We forgot to make a reservation, so when we walked in they told us we'd be in standing room only. Then, I don't know if Adri showed off her new bra or what, but an employee told her we could sit on the floor. So the four of us were right up on stage for the whole show! it was a trip. Subsequently, Adri and I both developed fervid crushes on the players. (The apple doesn't fall too far from the other apple.)
The next morning, the smart one showed up. We all had breakfast at the apartment soon followed by shots of Jamaican rum, which I did not partake in, but which brought me to the realization that I have the least issues of all my siblings. From there, we booked it to Broadway and quenched our Fosse thirst with "Chicago." We did isolated dance movements the rest of the day, and of course, more "Single Ladies" practice. As seen here:
A case of beer and a bottle of wine later, we hit up one of my absolute favorite places in the city--Marie's Crisis--a showtune piano bar in the West Village. I'm hoping we can make it a yearly tradition. See the magic below:
I've been listening to this soundtrack all week. It's even beat out my Tuesday morning "This American Life" slot, which really says a lot. Sunday afternoon, the ladies and I ventured through the rain and into the most adorable Swiss cafe that just opened near my apartment--Cafe Select. We sat for two hours, divulging information like drunken sorority sisters, and it was glorious.
The whole weekend was all too short. This week, I've felt a void from lack of sister talk. Hopefully, one day that will be a consistent reality. For now, we'll have to get drunk in our own environments and write each other about it.
All I care about is love,
t
The front page of nytimes.com today:
My week in the AZ started out in Scottsdale, where we spent the night at Sam’s godparent’s house. The town of Scottsdale neighbors Phoenix and is the one area of Arizona where everything blends into the background. In Scottsdale, the famous golden arches are the famous adobe arches. After miles of oooh-ing and aaah-ing at the landscape and the cacti, we pulled up through a gated community to find the house where we 'd be staying.
Oh.
Ma.
Gaw.
The house.
It was like being on the first episode of the Real World: We walked in, dropped our stuff on the sandstone foyer, ran around like homeless people, in and out of every room, took videos with the self-playing piano, and ultimately ended up in the pool.
I took a video of the house but due to limited space on my memory card, I erased it. Of course, I kept this video.
That night, Sam and I watched the sun set over Phoenix. This was easy because the entire west wall was glass, so we could actually watch it from the couch. They don't show these kinds of houses on Century 21's Sunday Special. I hope to one day make enough money to buy one just like it.
The morning after an all too short stay at Real World: Scottsdale, we gunned it for the Grand Canyon.
Upon seeing the canyon for the first time, I gasped and said "What the!" I couldn't take my eyes off of it as we drove past. The great thing about the Grand Canyon is that no one can really explain to you what it's like. I initially imagined it as a giant crater. Then I heard more about it, and began to imagine it more like a really deep river in the shape of a snake. My imagination was just not capable of envisioning what it really is.
The first morning, at 6am, we hiked three miles down the canyon. It took us 4 hours. To give you an idea of what I looked like on the ascent portion of this 100 degree hike in direct sunlight, I’ll just say this--an older Spanish couple passed me on their way down and commented the following in Spanish, “Si esta joven esta muriendo, nosotros no vamos a llegar.” This translates to, “If this young one is dying, we’re not going to make it.” I wanted to reassure them that I was just in terrible shape, but I was too exhausted to figure out how to say it in Spanish.
The next couple nights at the campsite we made cheese dogs and baked potatoes, tapped the boxed wine, played cards etc. On our last night at the Grand Canyon, we actually happened upon a really special stargazing event. A group of us lay down on our backs at the edge of the canyon's south rim. As if being at the Grand Canyon didn't make me feel insignificant enough, a man with an extremely powerful Star Wars type laser pointer, pointed out each star and constellation, and explained the enormity of the universe. It looked as though he were touching each star with this light. It didn't seem possible, and I kept checking myself to see if we were in some kind of bio-dome.
Moment of silence for the long dead career of the Weee-sel.
The next day we jetsetted for Sedona.
Here's my deal. I can enjoy and appreciate camping for a couple days. Sleeping under the stars, waking up with the birds, blah blah blah. But once the third day hits and I haven't showered, slept on a bed, or changed clothes--the shit hits the fan. So once we made it to our campsite in Sedona, I plopped down on the picnic table, and sobbed. That night, to relieve my camping frustration, I cleaned the entire car with Wet Wipes.
After Sam managed to hide the moistened towelettes from me, we sat down to eat. Two minutes into it, the rustling started. The next thing I know we're sitting in a locked car with full head beams on our site. Three skunks were sniffing our baked potatoes and crawling all around the tent. Sam made like an American Gladiator during Rocketball Launcher, and saved our food. To ease our nerves, we turned off the beams and ate in peace. After dinner in the PT Cruiser rental, we reluctantly turned the lights on, and sure enough, the stinky terrorists had multiplied. Long story short, we left Sedona for the Courtyard Marriott the next day. Richie thinks I paid someone to plant the skunks, but it was just Jeebus smiling down on me.
Dun dun DUN. I've finally made it to the wedding portion of this livejournal.
Richie and Gabriella's wedding was so beautiful, I cried not only during it, but days after just reflecting on it. I can only describe it as a moment in time that was meant to be. How else do you explain the rainbow immediately following the ceremony? Literally, a full, six-color rainbow fell upon the botanical garden just as they walked back down the aisle.
My favorite part of the ceremony was the "I Love You Becauses." Richie and Gabriella each wrote down a bunch of reasons why they love each other. Before the "I dos," the master of ceremonies , without either of them being privy to each other's list, read them aloud. Some of Richie's were "I love you because you have no hair and that gives us the best chance of having normal haired children" and "I love you because you will be an amazing mother" and "I love you because you make me do arts and craps." One of Gabriella's was "I love you because you help me do arts and craps." They both, individually, had to tell the guy that "crafts" was misspelled for a reason. Ugh, I'm veclempt just thinking about it.
Take a look at my photos here.
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=20
And for more photos, check out Adri's Picasa album.
http://picasaweb.google.com/Adrianadifra
I'm about to settle in for the debates or "The Final Showdown" as NBC is calling it. Drinking game for tonight: One drink every time the old blue hair says "that one," two drinks if he adds the thumb-point.
Oh.
Ma.
Gaw.
The house.
It was like being on the first episode of the Real World: We walked in, dropped our stuff on the sandstone foyer, ran around like homeless people, in and out of every room, took videos with the self-playing piano, and ultimately ended up in the pool.
I took a video of the house but due to limited space on my memory card, I erased it. Of course, I kept this video.
That night, Sam and I watched the sun set over Phoenix. This was easy because the entire west wall was glass, so we could actually watch it from the couch. They don't show these kinds of houses on Century 21's Sunday Special. I hope to one day make enough money to buy one just like it.
The morning after an all too short stay at Real World: Scottsdale, we gunned it for the Grand Canyon.
Upon seeing the canyon for the first time, I gasped and said "What the!" I couldn't take my eyes off of it as we drove past. The great thing about the Grand Canyon is that no one can really explain to you what it's like. I initially imagined it as a giant crater. Then I heard more about it, and began to imagine it more like a really deep river in the shape of a snake. My imagination was just not capable of envisioning what it really is.
The first morning, at 6am, we hiked three miles down the canyon. It took us 4 hours. To give you an idea of what I looked like on the ascent portion of this 100 degree hike in direct sunlight, I’ll just say this--an older Spanish couple passed me on their way down and commented the following in Spanish, “Si esta joven esta muriendo, nosotros no vamos a llegar.” This translates to, “If this young one is dying, we’re not going to make it.” I wanted to reassure them that I was just in terrible shape, but I was too exhausted to figure out how to say it in Spanish.
The next couple nights at the campsite we made cheese dogs and baked potatoes, tapped the boxed wine, played cards etc. On our last night at the Grand Canyon, we actually happened upon a really special stargazing event. A group of us lay down on our backs at the edge of the canyon's south rim. As if being at the Grand Canyon didn't make me feel insignificant enough, a man with an extremely powerful Star Wars type laser pointer, pointed out each star and constellation, and explained the enormity of the universe. It looked as though he were touching each star with this light. It didn't seem possible, and I kept checking myself to see if we were in some kind of bio-dome.
Moment of silence for the long dead career of the Weee-sel.
The next day we jetsetted for Sedona.
Here's my deal. I can enjoy and appreciate camping for a couple days. Sleeping under the stars, waking up with the birds, blah blah blah. But once the third day hits and I haven't showered, slept on a bed, or changed clothes--the shit hits the fan. So once we made it to our campsite in Sedona, I plopped down on the picnic table, and sobbed. That night, to relieve my camping frustration, I cleaned the entire car with Wet Wipes.
After Sam managed to hide the moistened towelettes from me, we sat down to eat. Two minutes into it, the rustling started. The next thing I know we're sitting in a locked car with full head beams on our site. Three skunks were sniffing our baked potatoes and crawling all around the tent. Sam made like an American Gladiator during Rocketball Launcher, and saved our food. To ease our nerves, we turned off the beams and ate in peace. After dinner in the PT Cruiser rental, we reluctantly turned the lights on, and sure enough, the stinky terrorists had multiplied. Long story short, we left Sedona for the Courtyard Marriott the next day. Richie thinks I paid someone to plant the skunks, but it was just Jeebus smiling down on me.
Dun dun DUN. I've finally made it to the wedding portion of this livejournal.
Richie and Gabriella's wedding was so beautiful, I cried not only during it, but days after just reflecting on it. I can only describe it as a moment in time that was meant to be. How else do you explain the rainbow immediately following the ceremony? Literally, a full, six-color rainbow fell upon the botanical garden just as they walked back down the aisle.
My favorite part of the ceremony was the "I Love You Becauses." Richie and Gabriella each wrote down a bunch of reasons why they love each other. Before the "I dos," the master of ceremonies , without either of them being privy to each other's list, read them aloud. Some of Richie's were "I love you because you have no hair and that gives us the best chance of having normal haired children" and "I love you because you will be an amazing mother" and "I love you because you make me do arts and craps." One of Gabriella's was "I love you because you help me do arts and craps." They both, individually, had to tell the guy that "crafts" was misspelled for a reason. Ugh, I'm veclempt just thinking about it.
Take a look at my photos here.
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=20
And for more photos, check out Adri's Picasa album.
http://picasaweb.google.com/Adrianadifra
I'm about to settle in for the debates or "The Final Showdown" as NBC is calling it. Drinking game for tonight: One drink every time the old blue hair says "that one," two drinks if he adds the thumb-point.
A telephone conversation with my father this past weekend.
Me: Hey Pa, I'm going to a barbecue today and I was thinking of making deviled eggs to bring. Do you know the recipe?
Pa: But sure! How many people?
Me: Fifteen, maybe twenty.
Pa: Take the pan. Put a drop of oil. Spread it around. Drop the eggs. If you want, for color, throw in some salami or some peppers. Sprinkle a touch of salt and pepper and that's it. Takes very few minutes.
My brow furrows; I may not know the first thing about cooking, but this seemed way off.
Me: Ok. Uh, ok. So, then, what are the ingredients for the yellow part? Don't you need mustard or something?
Pa: Mustard? If you want.
Me: Nothing else?
Pa: Nothing else.
Understanding that there must be a misunderstanding, I say, "Deviled eggs. Did you hear me right? I said deviled eggs."
To which he responded, "Oh deviled eggs! I thought you said scrambled eggs."
Moral of the story? My dad doesn't think I know how to make scrambled eggs.
Punchline of the story? I ended up making boxed brownies. And I burned them.
Me: Hey Pa, I'm going to a barbecue today and I was thinking of making deviled eggs to bring. Do you know the recipe?
Pa: But sure! How many people?
Me: Fifteen, maybe twenty.
Pa: Take the pan. Put a drop of oil. Spread it around. Drop the eggs. If you want, for color, throw in some salami or some peppers. Sprinkle a touch of salt and pepper and that's it. Takes very few minutes.
My brow furrows; I may not know the first thing about cooking, but this seemed way off.
Me: Ok. Uh, ok. So, then, what are the ingredients for the yellow part? Don't you need mustard or something?
Pa: Mustard? If you want.
Me: Nothing else?
Pa: Nothing else.
Understanding that there must be a misunderstanding, I say, "Deviled eggs. Did you hear me right? I said deviled eggs."
To which he responded, "Oh deviled eggs! I thought you said scrambled eggs."
Moral of the story? My dad doesn't think I know how to make scrambled eggs.
Punchline of the story? I ended up making boxed brownies. And I burned them.
- Mood:
relaxed
It's quarter of 3 on a sunny Sunday afternoon and I haven't left my apartment yet. Sam's out running to Union Square and back, and I'm here exercising my mouth with last year's Halloween candy. You've gotta start somewhere, peoples.
First, some bad news. I don't want to ruin your day, but it's something everyone should know--
Jemaine Clement, aged 34, married last weekend to some whoreface who doesn't deserve him.
In better news, I saw my first ad run during the Olympics on Monday night!
*Cabbage patch dance*
It was a ten second spot during the opening of the Hurdles event. Supposedly, the spot ran 82 times but I only saw it once. It was so cool to hear the announcer say the words that I wrote. I wasn't sure if they were allowed to say "whoreface" on the air, but apparently, NBC didn't have a problem with it.
For making it to the big screen, I gave myself the gift of a summer Friday. I took the day off and had my way with New York City. It started off with a trip to the Natural History museum, where I spent most of the time at the neanderthals and early humans exhibit. Before I left, I treated myself to a $20 lunch of fruits, cheeses, and a glass of red wine, all of which I had half of. In my relaxed, happy state, I walked across Central Park from the west side to the east, stopping for a good while to watch the rowboats on the great lake. On the other side, I made it to the Whitney (Museum of American Art), at which, I found out, I am admitted for free through work. Badda bing!
The Whitney took the gold for the most mind-blowing part of my day. The Paul McCarthy exhibit had me reacting out loud and startling security officers. I don't want to butcher the exhibit by giving it my own synopsis, so if you're in New York, check it out for yourself. If not, click here for a taste.
http://www.whitney.org/www/exhibition/mc
I got home at 6, not before picking up two slices of my favorite margarita pizza from L'asso and a bottle of Malbec. I popped in Me and You and Everyone We Know, and well, the rest is history. I adored the film (hence the title of this post) and I'm looking forward to reading No One Belongs Here More Than You, written by the writer and director of the film, Miranda July.
Yesterday, the skinny dude and I drove to the ocean, Jones Beach to be exact. Fun fact: Jones Beach is the first sign of the United States that immigrants experienced on their way to New York City. After a day under the sun, we dehydrated ourselves some more with cocktails at home, then headed out for a spectacular meal at Artisanal--New York's epicenter of French wines and cheeses.
It sucks I missed the bocce tournament back home. Congrats to all my peeps who played. I know you rocked it.
I'm out. The fun stops here with a trip to the grocery store. Gross.
First, some bad news. I don't want to ruin your day, but it's something everyone should know--
Jemaine Clement, aged 34, married last weekend to some whoreface who doesn't deserve him.
In better news, I saw my first ad run during the Olympics on Monday night!
*Cabbage patch dance*
It was a ten second spot during the opening of the Hurdles event. Supposedly, the spot ran 82 times but I only saw it once. It was so cool to hear the announcer say the words that I wrote. I wasn't sure if they were allowed to say "whoreface" on the air, but apparently, NBC didn't have a problem with it.
For making it to the big screen, I gave myself the gift of a summer Friday. I took the day off and had my way with New York City. It started off with a trip to the Natural History museum, where I spent most of the time at the neanderthals and early humans exhibit. Before I left, I treated myself to a $20 lunch of fruits, cheeses, and a glass of red wine, all of which I had half of. In my relaxed, happy state, I walked across Central Park from the west side to the east, stopping for a good while to watch the rowboats on the great lake. On the other side, I made it to the Whitney (Museum of American Art), at which, I found out, I am admitted for free through work. Badda bing!
The Whitney took the gold for the most mind-blowing part of my day. The Paul McCarthy exhibit had me reacting out loud and startling security officers. I don't want to butcher the exhibit by giving it my own synopsis, so if you're in New York, check it out for yourself. If not, click here for a taste.
http://www.whitney.org/www/exhibition/mc
I got home at 6, not before picking up two slices of my favorite margarita pizza from L'asso and a bottle of Malbec. I popped in Me and You and Everyone We Know, and well, the rest is history. I adored the film (hence the title of this post) and I'm looking forward to reading No One Belongs Here More Than You, written by the writer and director of the film, Miranda July.
Yesterday, the skinny dude and I drove to the ocean, Jones Beach to be exact. Fun fact: Jones Beach is the first sign of the United States that immigrants experienced on their way to New York City. After a day under the sun, we dehydrated ourselves some more with cocktails at home, then headed out for a spectacular meal at Artisanal--New York's epicenter of French wines and cheeses.
It sucks I missed the bocce tournament back home. Congrats to all my peeps who played. I know you rocked it.
I'm out. The fun stops here with a trip to the grocery store. Gross.
- Mood:
pleased
On Argentina's day of independence, July 9th, Phoebe DiFranco Field bolted from the womb. At 7:16am, after what seemed like days, but was actually more like 29 hours or so after Estela's water broke, we had a new baby girl. Weighing in at a healthy 7lbs, 12 oz, Phoebe is happy and enjoying life with her new, now outnumbered, parents in Philadelphia.
Sam and Lizy (who just had their own baby two days ago, Elissa Summer Field!) made this sign for Estela and Tim's return from the birthing suite.
She be Phoebe!
The bottomless pit of hunger takes a break.
Cora coming down the stairs in a "She's All That" reenactment.
Loretta attempts to steal the spotlight and the hula skirt.
'
Phoebe curls into a blob in my arms. :)
Los bebes tomen una ciesta.
Cora has no comment about being the middle child.
Henry and Nico let their testosterone flow in the baby pool.
Nonno and his new nieta.
My mother: always needs alcohol to have a good time.
Phoebe is perfect and I'm not surprised. Stel has always been a perfectionist.
Congratulations! You did it again!
Sam and Lizy (who just had their own baby two days ago, Elissa Summer Field!) made this sign for Estela and Tim's return from the birthing suite.
She be Phoebe!
The bottomless pit of hunger takes a break.
Cora coming down the stairs in a "She's All That" reenactment.
Loretta attempts to steal the spotlight and the hula skirt.
'Phoebe curls into a blob in my arms. :)
Los bebes tomen una ciesta.
Cora has no comment about being the middle child.
Henry and Nico let their testosterone flow in the baby pool.
Nonno and his new nieta.
My mother: always needs alcohol to have a good time.
Phoebe is perfect and I'm not surprised. Stel has always been a perfectionist.
Congratulations! You did it again!
- Mood:
energetic
The following is a run-down of the night before I left for Glacier National Park:
6pm: Fall into bed.
6-7pm: Stare out window and aggressively bite nails.
7-7:03: Get out suitcase. Pack blow drier.
7:03-7:30pm: More nail biting, followed by eruptions of panic.
7:15-7:30pm: Sam arrives. Begins and finishes packing.
7:45-9pm: Attempt to relieve stress via cleaning. Starting with dishes, ending with the rearrangement of the electronics drawer.
9pm-9:30pm: Complete packing.
9:30pm: Talk to Adri who assures me the only thing I have to fear is sausage fingers. This plus two glasses of wine put me at ease.
11pm-4:15am: Dream consecutive scenarios of grizzly attacks.
I didn’t think the anxiety for my trip could get any worse than that night. Until it was time to come home.
After 7 hours in flight and 3 hours on the road, getting out of the car at Glacier National Park was like walking into the room of the house where the “call is coming from.” I was hesitant. It was my first time in the mountains; I thought I might not be able to breathe due to the altitude.
(Warning: Hallmark moment ahead)
And sure enough, it took my breath away.
Cut to day one of haul-ass hiking. An eight-mile hike up Many Glacier Mountain, through rushing waterfalls, and around lakes that were so blue you’d think they were chemically treated. Each view was more fantastic than the last. Luckily, Sam sat on the camera the day we arrived and we couldn’t take one million pictures, because I would have spent the whole hike behind the lens.
I wore a jingle bell along the way because I read on the website that it’s important to make noise along the trails so as not to surprise any bears. And we were the first ones out that morning, so double bear whammy. What I didn’t read on the site is that everyday hikers taunt people who sport the jinglies. One woman pretended to be a bear when I turned a corner, and another woman sneered, “I don’t know if the bears will hear you, but I sure did.”
Cut to day two of bells off, balls out hiking. This time, a ten-mile hike to Iceberg Lake: one of the few remaining glaciers in the park. This hike was absolutely stunning throughout. We passed over a dozen pristine, natural waterfalls. Everything at GNP feels pure and untouched; you feel like an early American explorer. I haven’t had the desire to swim in a natural body of water since the wave pool at Geauga Lake, but I wanted to jump right into this water. Drink it, breathe it, do flip turns in it.
Once we reached the glacier, my ankles felt like they were supporting 250 pounds each. Of course, Sam’s family had been waiting up there for half an hour before Sam and I arrived. (Sam stayed behind for my pathetic sake, bless his heart.) Over a snowy hill was this still glacier encased in a half circle of mountains. It looked like a backdrop. I didn’t think any destination could be worth the trouble of hiking 5 miles up a mountain--step after painful step to the glacier, I was thinking, “I better see God up there. And he better be holding a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon.” I was wrong.
We stayed at the glacier for a quarter of the time I would have liked. I refueled on pop tarts while the rest of the crew chomped on Clif bars. I figured the Caines already thought me pitiable at that point, so strawberry iced goodness couldn’t do too much more damage. The way back down was rough; every step shot pain through my shins. But I did it! I walked like I had a load in my pants the rest of the day, but I did it.
My only regret about the trip is that I didn’t spend more time there. I really enjoyed getting away from the noise of society for that little while, especially not having Internet or cell phone reception. I was able to focus on important life stuff without the interruption of people.com.
I’m already discussing another trip out there, so let me know if you want in. And if you’re wondering, I did see bears out there—three—two grizzlies and a black bear, but all from the safety of an Infiniti Luxury vehicle. You can check out my photos on the Facebooks. The pictures don’t nearly do it justice, but you get the idea.
Glacier National Park
6pm: Fall into bed.
6-7pm: Stare out window and aggressively bite nails.
7-7:03: Get out suitcase. Pack blow drier.
7:03-7:30pm: More nail biting, followed by eruptions of panic.
7:15-7:30pm: Sam arrives. Begins and finishes packing.
7:45-9pm: Attempt to relieve stress via cleaning. Starting with dishes, ending with the rearrangement of the electronics drawer.
9pm-9:30pm: Complete packing.
9:30pm: Talk to Adri who assures me the only thing I have to fear is sausage fingers. This plus two glasses of wine put me at ease.
11pm-4:15am: Dream consecutive scenarios of grizzly attacks.
I didn’t think the anxiety for my trip could get any worse than that night. Until it was time to come home.
After 7 hours in flight and 3 hours on the road, getting out of the car at Glacier National Park was like walking into the room of the house where the “call is coming from.” I was hesitant. It was my first time in the mountains; I thought I might not be able to breathe due to the altitude.
(Warning: Hallmark moment ahead)
And sure enough, it took my breath away.
Cut to day one of haul-ass hiking. An eight-mile hike up Many Glacier Mountain, through rushing waterfalls, and around lakes that were so blue you’d think they were chemically treated. Each view was more fantastic than the last. Luckily, Sam sat on the camera the day we arrived and we couldn’t take one million pictures, because I would have spent the whole hike behind the lens.
I wore a jingle bell along the way because I read on the website that it’s important to make noise along the trails so as not to surprise any bears. And we were the first ones out that morning, so double bear whammy. What I didn’t read on the site is that everyday hikers taunt people who sport the jinglies. One woman pretended to be a bear when I turned a corner, and another woman sneered, “I don’t know if the bears will hear you, but I sure did.”
Cut to day two of bells off, balls out hiking. This time, a ten-mile hike to Iceberg Lake: one of the few remaining glaciers in the park. This hike was absolutely stunning throughout. We passed over a dozen pristine, natural waterfalls. Everything at GNP feels pure and untouched; you feel like an early American explorer. I haven’t had the desire to swim in a natural body of water since the wave pool at Geauga Lake, but I wanted to jump right into this water. Drink it, breathe it, do flip turns in it.
Once we reached the glacier, my ankles felt like they were supporting 250 pounds each. Of course, Sam’s family had been waiting up there for half an hour before Sam and I arrived. (Sam stayed behind for my pathetic sake, bless his heart.) Over a snowy hill was this still glacier encased in a half circle of mountains. It looked like a backdrop. I didn’t think any destination could be worth the trouble of hiking 5 miles up a mountain--step after painful step to the glacier, I was thinking, “I better see God up there. And he better be holding a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon.” I was wrong.
We stayed at the glacier for a quarter of the time I would have liked. I refueled on pop tarts while the rest of the crew chomped on Clif bars. I figured the Caines already thought me pitiable at that point, so strawberry iced goodness couldn’t do too much more damage. The way back down was rough; every step shot pain through my shins. But I did it! I walked like I had a load in my pants the rest of the day, but I did it.
My only regret about the trip is that I didn’t spend more time there. I really enjoyed getting away from the noise of society for that little while, especially not having Internet or cell phone reception. I was able to focus on important life stuff without the interruption of people.com.
I’m already discussing another trip out there, so let me know if you want in. And if you’re wondering, I did see bears out there—three—two grizzlies and a black bear, but all from the safety of an Infiniti Luxury vehicle. You can check out my photos on the Facebooks. The pictures don’t nearly do it justice, but you get the idea.
Glacier National Park
- Mood:
hungry
I am sitting on my bed, listening to the Brooklyn Bridge fireworks and watching the camera flashes from the top of the Empire State building.
This is me sharing the moment.
This is me sharing the moment.
- Mood:
jubilant
My first ad got published in USA Today! I am now a permanent copywriter for these ads. Wipppeeee! I don't think it's appropriate to reveal the client, so email me if you want to see it.
Work has become a lot more creative since I started working on these ads. I have a bunch of copywriting projects I'm rotating plus my weekly ad class, which is going really well. I am basically the star pupil of the class because the other students are seemingly a bunch of short bus kids who don't care about their careers in advertising. This one kid comes in with a pun in his ad EVERY week, and EVERY week our teacher tells him never to use them. And the other kid who's taken the class four times in a row, and last week our teacher said that if he could fire students, he would be gone. Ouch. Anyway, I only shine because others are so dull.
On the contrary, I am the Daria of my yoga class. While I was in butterfly pose, my instructor brought me a helper block because my arm was visibly shaking like a leaf, unable to support my body weight. I looked around the room, and I was the the only person using one. *smashes face into keyboard, bawling*
I'm good enough, I'm smart enough...
Work has become a lot more creative since I started working on these ads. I have a bunch of copywriting projects I'm rotating plus my weekly ad class, which is going really well. I am basically the star pupil of the class because the other students are seemingly a bunch of short bus kids who don't care about their careers in advertising. This one kid comes in with a pun in his ad EVERY week, and EVERY week our teacher tells him never to use them. And the other kid who's taken the class four times in a row, and last week our teacher said that if he could fire students, he would be gone. Ouch. Anyway, I only shine because others are so dull.
On the contrary, I am the Daria of my yoga class. While I was in butterfly pose, my instructor brought me a helper block because my arm was visibly shaking like a leaf, unable to support my body weight. I looked around the room, and I was the the only person using one. *smashes face into keyboard, bawling*
I'm good enough, I'm smart enough...
I had quite the celebri-licious weekend! And what better to blog about than brushes with celebs? You know that's all I'm good for. It started Friday night, out to dinner at York Grill on the Upper East Side--walked right into the restaurant behind Dan Akroyd and his family, and ended up having a clear sight of him throughout the meal. I know, B-list celebrity, but every SNL alum touches a special place in my heart.
Then, Saturday night, after a beautiful day of walking around the city and hitting up the New Museum on Bowery (brand-spankin' new modern art museum), we found ourselves ten rows back at the Broadway show "A Country Girl." (Sam's parents had last minute, extra tickets.) It's a new show by Mike Nichols (Oscar-winning director of The Graduate and a bunch of other cool films you know) starring Morgan Freeman, Peter Gallagher, and Frances McDormand. Don't be surprised if you haven't heard of this Broadway show, as last night was a sneak preview; opening night isn't until April 27th. It was a great show although it still has some kinks to iron out--lines and technical issues. But Peter Gallagher did a terrific job in the role as Bernie Dodd and Morgan Freeman delivered as always. Hopefully, it will be a hit. But the real Mecca of Pat's weekend celebrity sightings didn't happen until later that night at the Russian Samovar restaurant in midtown.
Going to the Russian Samovar validated all the rumors I've heard about Russian parties. There was the loud, bouncy music that you couldn't help but clap to, the girls in tacky, tight outfits with the bright red lipstick, and the guys with the greased back hair attempting to dance with every one of those girls. And of course, the vodka. LOTS of vodka. Our table alone ordered a small carafe of Pomegranate, Pineapple, Ginger, and Horseradish infused vodka. It was unexpectedly a VERY fun time. I would have never visited this place without being dragged to it, but I would recommend it to someone who's looking for a new cultural experience.
Cutting to the chase...let's not lie, you're only reading this still because I've got a BAJAM celebrity brush. For those non-"Sex and the City" fans, I suggest you read version 1. The rest of you, version 2 will satisfy.
1: I turned from my table to watch the musicians and saw Tom Brady standing at the bar with the rest of the Miami Dolphins. I did my freak-out dance at the table and tried not to stare.
2: I turned from my table to watch the musicians and saw Chris Noth a.k.a. "Big" standing at the bar in his powerful and charismatic "Big" way. I did my freak-out dance at the table and tried not to stare. Apparently, this restaurant is partly owned by Baryshnikov--the top notch ballet dancer in real life and the SATC character whom Carrie nearly moved to Paris for. It's like Big was seeking him out! Whispers to self, "this is not a TV show, this is not a TV show."
Aaaaaannnd BAJAM! It was a really special moment for me. And I understand that not everyone can appreciate this siting, but those that do, really do.
Then, Saturday night, after a beautiful day of walking around the city and hitting up the New Museum on Bowery (brand-spankin' new modern art museum), we found ourselves ten rows back at the Broadway show "A Country Girl." (Sam's parents had last minute, extra tickets.) It's a new show by Mike Nichols (Oscar-winning director of The Graduate and a bunch of other cool films you know) starring Morgan Freeman, Peter Gallagher, and Frances McDormand. Don't be surprised if you haven't heard of this Broadway show, as last night was a sneak preview; opening night isn't until April 27th. It was a great show although it still has some kinks to iron out--lines and technical issues. But Peter Gallagher did a terrific job in the role as Bernie Dodd and Morgan Freeman delivered as always. Hopefully, it will be a hit. But the real Mecca of Pat's weekend celebrity sightings didn't happen until later that night at the Russian Samovar restaurant in midtown.
Going to the Russian Samovar validated all the rumors I've heard about Russian parties. There was the loud, bouncy music that you couldn't help but clap to, the girls in tacky, tight outfits with the bright red lipstick, and the guys with the greased back hair attempting to dance with every one of those girls. And of course, the vodka. LOTS of vodka. Our table alone ordered a small carafe of Pomegranate, Pineapple, Ginger, and Horseradish infused vodka. It was unexpectedly a VERY fun time. I would have never visited this place without being dragged to it, but I would recommend it to someone who's looking for a new cultural experience.
Cutting to the chase...let's not lie, you're only reading this still because I've got a BAJAM celebrity brush. For those non-"Sex and the City" fans, I suggest you read version 1. The rest of you, version 2 will satisfy.
1: I turned from my table to watch the musicians and saw Tom Brady standing at the bar with the rest of the Miami Dolphins. I did my freak-out dance at the table and tried not to stare.
2: I turned from my table to watch the musicians and saw Chris Noth a.k.a. "Big" standing at the bar in his powerful and charismatic "Big" way. I did my freak-out dance at the table and tried not to stare. Apparently, this restaurant is partly owned by Baryshnikov--the top notch ballet dancer in real life and the SATC character whom Carrie nearly moved to Paris for. It's like Big was seeking him out! Whispers to self, "this is not a TV show, this is not a TV show."
Aaaaaannnd BAJAM! It was a really special moment for me. And I understand that not everyone can appreciate this siting, but those that do, really do.
I've been asked to give up my three vices--coffee, alcohol, and ALL tomato products for TWO weeks. I've got an inflamed esophagus and the doctor has blamed it on an excess of the aforementioned consumables. I know what you're thinking--"but Trish, how have you survived such a torturous lifestyle change?"
Two words...
Rice pudding.
Rice pudding! Rice pudding! Riiiiice Puuudddiiiing! I feel like Tom Cruise on Oprah's couch. This great new place opened up near ourapartment called "Rice to Riches," and there's only one in the world, but oh my hell, you have to try it. I am not one to be crazy about any food, again, I know what you're thinking--"but Trish, you've got dumps like a truck"-- but this rice pudding is ambrosial.
The night after I had my first bowl, I crawled up the five flights of stairs to my apartment and plopped down on the couch with exhaustion. Not thirty seconds after the thought of that sweet, soft, and chewy chocolate-hazelnut rice pudding popped in my head, was I OUT THE DOOR. Let me tell you, I have never, ever, left my apartment for food after I've returned home from work; I will eat ginger snaps for dinner to avoid going out again. I shocked myself by my own lack of self-control when it came to getting my tastebuds on the stuff. I let Gabriella know that I'd become a rice pudding whore since we went there, and she said she'd been dreaming about rice pudding!
I'm like a junkie; I've stopped by the place every night this week and I'll even sneak scoops before work! I realized today, that if I couldn't have my uppers and downers, I'd be morbidly obese.
www.ricetoriches.com
PS: They deliver buckets ANYWHERE in the United States.
Two words...
Rice pudding.
Rice pudding! Rice pudding! Riiiiice Puuudddiiiing! I feel like Tom Cruise on Oprah's couch. This great new place opened up near ourapartment called "Rice to Riches," and there's only one in the world, but oh my hell, you have to try it. I am not one to be crazy about any food, again, I know what you're thinking--"but Trish, you've got dumps like a truck"-- but this rice pudding is ambrosial.
The night after I had my first bowl, I crawled up the five flights of stairs to my apartment and plopped down on the couch with exhaustion. Not thirty seconds after the thought of that sweet, soft, and chewy chocolate-hazelnut rice pudding popped in my head, was I OUT THE DOOR. Let me tell you, I have never, ever, left my apartment for food after I've returned home from work; I will eat ginger snaps for dinner to avoid going out again. I shocked myself by my own lack of self-control when it came to getting my tastebuds on the stuff. I let Gabriella know that I'd become a rice pudding whore since we went there, and she said she'd been dreaming about rice pudding!
I'm like a junkie; I've stopped by the place every night this week and I'll even sneak scoops before work! I realized today, that if I couldn't have my uppers and downers, I'd be morbidly obese.
www.ricetoriches.com
PS: They deliver buckets ANYWHERE in the United States.
I'm fantasizing about playing rock band with this drummer.
I nearly just got escorted out of the office for maniacal laughter.
I was standing outside my apartment on Saturday, staring into a goldfish aquarium in the window display of the Chinese pet store next door, when an English bulldog started sniffing my leg. It really wasn't bothering me, just kinda lingering. I didn't pay attention to it until I heard it's owner say, "Geooorge" in the tone of "don't bother the lady." I recognized his voice before I recognized his face. And sure enough, it was Mike Meyers.
!!!
!!!
