Tuesday, December 18, 2001

Home Again

Or I should say home for the first time. It's been a year and a half since I last moved all my gear up to New York. Several residences later, I finally trucked it all back home. Dadoo did a marvelous job cramming the Buick full of stuff. Moving day really makes me feel very sad and materialistic. Unpacking day makes me even more sad. But I think about how nice it is to have stuff, and I don't feel so bad.

I am sad about leaving New York, although it's good to be home, and I'm excited for London (such a cornucopia of emotions!).

Okay, back to unloading boxes. How such a little person accumulates so much stuff is a mystery to me. Ah well.


Wednesday, December 12, 2001

E.B. White

"The city, for the first time in its long history, is destructible. A single flight of planes no bigger than a wedge of geese can quickly end this island fantasy, burn the towers, crumble the bridges...The intimation of mortality is part of New York now: in the sound of jets overhead, the black headlines of the latest edition...In the mind of whatever perverted dreamer who might loose the lightning, New York must hold a steady, irresistible charm."

-- E.B. White, Here Is New York, 1949

Sunday, December 9, 2001

Philistines 'R Us

I finally went to the Museum of Modern Art today. Maybe I'm ignorant, though I like to think I'm a fairly well-educated person. I just didn't get it.

I think I may be spoiled by the Met. The Met is fairly cheap ($5 for students), extremely large, and consequently, guaranteed to have something for everyone. It is also the museum that I visit the most.

The MOMA, by contrast, is $8.50 for students (that's a lot of Ramen Noodles, friends), three floors high (one of which is entirely dedicated to a single exhibit), and can be torn through in well under an hour. The most famous painting in the collection, Van Gogh's The Starry Night is on loan. Plus, I'm afraid modern art just doesn't thrill me.

I'm sure I'm missing something. Modern art comprises so very many movements and genres that it seems unfair to toss off the lot of it. But golly gee, if I'm already paying so much to get in, I'm not about to shell out another $4 for the headset that will explain it all to me. I'm all for letting the viewer draw their own conclusions, but if you're gonna present me with a plain white canvas as a finished work, may I please have a dinky little write-up of some kind by the artist's name telling me why? Just a clue? No? Okay. I'm obviously a flaming philistine.

If anyone feels like they could take me to the MOMA and help me try to see what I'm missing, I'm completely game. Let's just please go on Pay-What-You-Wish Night.

Ignorantly Yours,


Thursday, December 6, 2001

Sushi Fever

This week I've been seized with a mad craving for sushi.

Which is odd, because I could probably count the number of times that I've had sushi in my whole life on one hand. But this week I've had it twice, and darned if I don't want more.

Our supermarket has a fine sushi section; cheap and fresh. Sushi is really quite pretty, although I'm a bit afraid of the stuff that looks like a big ol' whole shrimp. I much prefer the rolls of stuff.
They look so cute in those little plastic packages, all lined up nice and orderly, with such brightly colored fillings. Like tempting pieces of candy. Delicious, fishy candy.

Banzai to all.


Sunday, December 2, 2001

A Tasty Place to Live


Blarf is how I feel after what I have consumed in the past 30 hours.

Now, I'm not one of those chickies that obsesses over what I eat, but consider this rather unladylike list:

A whole bag of popcorn (mind you, it was light)

A bacon burger

A taquito sandwich (sausage and scrambled egg on bread)

Popcorn chicken and obligatory biscuit

Cheesecake (from East Village pastry mecca, Venierio's)

Nog, sweet nog


It doesn't help that New York is such a tasty place in which to live. On our walk this evening around a healthy portion of the Village, Jeffrey and I passed so very many interesting restaurants. Thai, vegetarian Indian, Ukrainian, Belgian fries, diners a-plenty, etc.

One of our favorite places is Bamiyan, an Afghani place up on 26th Street. We were patronizing Bamiyan before helping out your local Afghani neighbors in times of crisis was the cool thing to do. They don't seem to be suffering there, although they have covered all mention of "Afghan" outside their restaurant with American flags.

They have a drink there called doogh, which I find delightful, but others find repulsive. It's yogurt and mint leaves and seltzer water. It sorta tastes like carbonated sour cream. You'd think that would be a bad thing, but it's not. It goes great with a kebab.

I must away to the lavatory, for to swig some Pepto now. Farewell.