I just finished packing for a 25 degree temperature variable (that is just daytime temps, night time is more like 50 degrees). I am sure everything in my case will be cast aside for one great outfit/uniform that I will wear all 7 days.
Jennie and I have decided to buy a bottle of something refreshing in Duty Free and one of those giant Toblerones for the flight. Which reminds me, the title of Bridget Jones's Diary auf Deutsch is Schokolade zum Frühstück (Chocolate for Breakfast). How very quaint. And hilarious. And mildly depressing...
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Shark Sandwich
It's 6:21 a.m., and I have a huge list of things to do before I pick up Jenniekins and head to the airport. Sadly, I am rendered immobile with the crushing discovery that while in flight with Icelandair no meal will be provided, but instead we are offered "Food for Purchase". There is nothing savory about that phrase. To me it translates to "If You Are Hungry You COULD Buy This, Though, If You Look Around You, Nobody Else Has--Except That Creepy Guy With A Neon Green Baseball Cap Advertising "Hot Doug's House of Tube Meats".
If it were Air France I would feel confident in the fact that perhaps a baguette avec jambon and brie is available-shrinkwrapped and made three days ago, sure, but it is a cute sandwich in theory. Whereas a fermented shark hoagie or Hangikjöt is never cute. This begs the question: Does the plane have a smoke room? Will my air hostess talk in a high pitched voice and beg me to not step on my flight fairy? I am suddenly getting a bit anxious. What were we thinking?! Three months ago the chance to stopover in Reykjavik was compelling (not to mention cheap), but now it looms ahead like a dormant volcano spewing weird green gases! Why why why?!
On the flip side, after we endure a flight of crackers and cheese and slightly mashed grapes (lap picnic!), we make our way to our adorable hotel in the lovely town of Bad Kreuznach. I don't know if Jennie realizes this yet, but the name of the street we are staying on is Eiermarkt - Egg Market. We are just a few kilometers from a duck emporium/restaurant and need I remind anyone that it is all about spas spas and more spas in this town. Ima gonna take a Roman bath, a Turkish bath, a bath bath, then I am gonna rinse it all off with thermal healing waters. When I return I will be unrecognizable, and not because I was on a steady diet of quark and marizipan, but because I will have spent a week soaking in these waters. Also because I avoided the shark sandwich.
If it were Air France I would feel confident in the fact that perhaps a baguette avec jambon and brie is available-shrinkwrapped and made three days ago, sure, but it is a cute sandwich in theory. Whereas a fermented shark hoagie or Hangikjöt is never cute. This begs the question: Does the plane have a smoke room? Will my air hostess talk in a high pitched voice and beg me to not step on my flight fairy? I am suddenly getting a bit anxious. What were we thinking?! Three months ago the chance to stopover in Reykjavik was compelling (not to mention cheap), but now it looms ahead like a dormant volcano spewing weird green gases! Why why why?!
On the flip side, after we endure a flight of crackers and cheese and slightly mashed grapes (lap picnic!), we make our way to our adorable hotel in the lovely town of Bad Kreuznach. I don't know if Jennie realizes this yet, but the name of the street we are staying on is Eiermarkt - Egg Market. We are just a few kilometers from a duck emporium/restaurant and need I remind anyone that it is all about spas spas and more spas in this town. Ima gonna take a Roman bath, a Turkish bath, a bath bath, then I am gonna rinse it all off with thermal healing waters. When I return I will be unrecognizable, and not because I was on a steady diet of quark and marizipan, but because I will have spent a week soaking in these waters. Also because I avoided the shark sandwich.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Kenneth Cole's Reaction
As you may recall, I posted a world wide web log about an unsavory experience at Kenneth Cole (See "What to Expect When You Are Not Expecting - 4/10/09). I am sure my readership has been resting on tenterhooks waiting to know the next chapter of this heartbreaking tale. Here is a bit of a follow-up:
On April 20th I sent an email to Kenneth Cole expressing my dissatisfaction with his ad campaign and more importantly, the less than stellar customer service. When I was writing this letter a good friend asked why I even bother and what I expect from it. Quite honestly, I expected nothing but the satisfaction of conveying my feelings. There is something wholly gratifying about saying something that not only gets the point across, but also stirs enough in the receiver of such information to react. The moment I sent the email, I felt confident that I would never get a reply. Why would Kenneth write back to someone who had a minor annoying customer service experience? So I hit send, thought about it a bit, then carried on with my life. Much to my dismay, I got a response from the CEO of Kenneth Cole expressing her apologies. Shortly thereafter, I was contacted by the director of customer service. She and I wound up having a lengthy chat about everything from customer service to fashion to travel and then to type A personalities. Finally, just now I signed for a FedEx envelope in which is a gift card which will grant me with a few new pieces for my Autumn wardrobe.
Not bad for expecting nothing, and not expecting. I'll drink to that (because I can...)
On April 20th I sent an email to Kenneth Cole expressing my dissatisfaction with his ad campaign and more importantly, the less than stellar customer service. When I was writing this letter a good friend asked why I even bother and what I expect from it. Quite honestly, I expected nothing but the satisfaction of conveying my feelings. There is something wholly gratifying about saying something that not only gets the point across, but also stirs enough in the receiver of such information to react. The moment I sent the email, I felt confident that I would never get a reply. Why would Kenneth write back to someone who had a minor annoying customer service experience? So I hit send, thought about it a bit, then carried on with my life. Much to my dismay, I got a response from the CEO of Kenneth Cole expressing her apologies. Shortly thereafter, I was contacted by the director of customer service. She and I wound up having a lengthy chat about everything from customer service to fashion to travel and then to type A personalities. Finally, just now I signed for a FedEx envelope in which is a gift card which will grant me with a few new pieces for my Autumn wardrobe.
Not bad for expecting nothing, and not expecting. I'll drink to that (because I can...)
Saturday, May 16, 2009
Discoteca
Second to last night...so so very sad. so sad.
On my way to the disco last night, several police motorcycles were driving by and I heard an Italian say °Ecco Chips°
Someone in 2009 made a Chips reference. In Rome. This town gets better and better.
We found a very bizarre alternative market in Testacchio today. It was in an old slaughterhouse area which was crazy, but somehow worked. We all bought delicious goat cheese from an old man who had made up for his lack of English skills with gap toothed smiles and cheese samples. The only way to describe the area we are in aside from a combo of Beruit and Sao Paolo is with the panoramic video I took. Uploading to follow in two days. WEEP!!!
On my way to the disco last night, several police motorcycles were driving by and I heard an Italian say °Ecco Chips°
Someone in 2009 made a Chips reference. In Rome. This town gets better and better.
We found a very bizarre alternative market in Testacchio today. It was in an old slaughterhouse area which was crazy, but somehow worked. We all bought delicious goat cheese from an old man who had made up for his lack of English skills with gap toothed smiles and cheese samples. The only way to describe the area we are in aside from a combo of Beruit and Sao Paolo is with the panoramic video I took. Uploading to follow in two days. WEEP!!!
Friday, May 15, 2009
Pazzo Roadkilla
I have been in Roma less than a week, but feels like months-in a spectacularly good way. Today is meant to be a lazy day of sorts, local churches and museums and I am going to drag Kate to a discoteque.
Many things are striking and wonderful about this trip, but the one image that sticks in my head right now is that of a strange mess I saw on the narrow cobbled street near our apartment. It was a bit of animal gore with a glittery silver glint to it. Upon closer inspection I realized it was a fish. A sardine lost its life trying to cross a backstreet in Trastevere. Kate did not believe me (by the way, I cannot find the apostrophe key so no contracted words today, thanks) so I had to drag her back to inspect it. Meh, that was that. Until Eddie came in from fetching olive oil and said, Guys, look at this crazy roadkill and showed us a picture on his iPhone. I laughed and looked and then realized something was askew--it was in fact a different fish. Kate confirmed, yep, a different fish.
It still makes me giggle. Maybe it is the wine, maybe it is the jetlag, maybe it is just general happiness at being in a beautiful place with incredible apricots that taste like the sun or where everyone is gorgeous. Or maybe it is just hilarious.
Many things are striking and wonderful about this trip, but the one image that sticks in my head right now is that of a strange mess I saw on the narrow cobbled street near our apartment. It was a bit of animal gore with a glittery silver glint to it. Upon closer inspection I realized it was a fish. A sardine lost its life trying to cross a backstreet in Trastevere. Kate did not believe me (by the way, I cannot find the apostrophe key so no contracted words today, thanks) so I had to drag her back to inspect it. Meh, that was that. Until Eddie came in from fetching olive oil and said, Guys, look at this crazy roadkill and showed us a picture on his iPhone. I laughed and looked and then realized something was askew--it was in fact a different fish. Kate confirmed, yep, a different fish.
It still makes me giggle. Maybe it is the wine, maybe it is the jetlag, maybe it is just general happiness at being in a beautiful place with incredible apricots that taste like the sun or where everyone is gorgeous. Or maybe it is just hilarious.
Monday, May 11, 2009
That Sweet Lollapalooza
Overnight flights are great because you go to sleep on a big flying boat and wake up in a completely foreign place. However, someone who is an incessant planner and the fastidious packer, it also allows for a full day of anxiety. Planning, packing, re-packing, re-tying up loose ends and this is all by 1:24 p.m.
Syd was packed into his pet carrier and taken to his gracious Aunt D's place last night. Having never dropped him off for a few weeks of vacation, I was astounded to feel a lump in my throat as stumbled down the stairs with my furbaby his food and toys in tow. I have gone soft, friends. Soft.
Returning to an empty apartment took a lot of effort, but I managed. Sleep was minimal, but I woke at 6:00 a.m. to the sounds of pigeons trying to break into my bedroom window. I am convinced I will return to a sky rat family living in my a/c.
The day proceeded to sour a bit--stood up by a lunch date, chipped nail on brand new manicure (not the date's benefit, but for Roma--they like nice hands, I bet, those Romans.) Worse than anything was this mounting anxiety which morphed quickly into a feeling of melancholy. Even my favorite Thursday night line-up on Hulu didn't put a dent in my ennui. Let's chalk it up to the anticipation of a great trip to a wonderful city, not to mention the amazing company I will be keeping. Soon the image of me fighting tears on the Q train will be a distant memory.
Sometimes a bit of cosmic boredom culminates into something wonderful and I have chosen to revel in that notion. In particular, my new favorite video. As long as it doesn't become an anthem I am sure I will be just fine.
Syd was packed into his pet carrier and taken to his gracious Aunt D's place last night. Having never dropped him off for a few weeks of vacation, I was astounded to feel a lump in my throat as stumbled down the stairs with my furbaby his food and toys in tow. I have gone soft, friends. Soft.
Returning to an empty apartment took a lot of effort, but I managed. Sleep was minimal, but I woke at 6:00 a.m. to the sounds of pigeons trying to break into my bedroom window. I am convinced I will return to a sky rat family living in my a/c.
The day proceeded to sour a bit--stood up by a lunch date, chipped nail on brand new manicure (not the date's benefit, but for Roma--they like nice hands, I bet, those Romans.) Worse than anything was this mounting anxiety which morphed quickly into a feeling of melancholy. Even my favorite Thursday night line-up on Hulu didn't put a dent in my ennui. Let's chalk it up to the anticipation of a great trip to a wonderful city, not to mention the amazing company I will be keeping. Soon the image of me fighting tears on the Q train will be a distant memory.
Sometimes a bit of cosmic boredom culminates into something wonderful and I have chosen to revel in that notion. In particular, my new favorite video. As long as it doesn't become an anthem I am sure I will be just fine.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Spring Handmade Snorefest
Despite my ever shrinking bank account, I met up with a pal to hit the greatly anticipated Spring Handmade Calvalcade at The Bell House in Brooklyn. I was wary as I really don't need any new items and my gift list is pretty empty right now, but I was lured in by the incessant email updates with the pretty graphic (how did I get on this mailing list, anyway?...). With the gentle nudging of a friend, I faced the clammy day and headed off towards the Gowanus bracing myself for temptation.
The first thing that struck me was how few vendors made up this "cavalcade". It was more like a craft circle. Jewelry- some with stones, some with brass castings of bird wings (yawn), some pretty, all of it quaint. The first table one sees upon entry was covered with beaded necklaces wrapped in material which was a big thing about 3 years ago. Does someone still dedicate their time to finding gauzy materials to wrap and knot around cheap plastic beads? A resounding yes. There were some felted yarn bags the size of a Croque Madame (I had skipped breakfast) and then some cute plates with local imagery- water towers, the parachute jump from Coney Island. My favorite items were recycled cotton material napkins and placemats which were sturdy and well constructed, but I'll be damned if every one of them didn't have an animal printed onto them. The only truly interesting vendor had printed images from old Japanese science texts onto t-shirts, which was a splendid idea. I would like to think that she chose to use cheaper non-American Apparel t-shirts to print on in order to bring costs down so she could sell them for under $30.
In short, the only tempting thing that met me was the urge to yell "Turn on the damn lights!" The interior of the Bell House was poorly lit and the colored gels on the stage lights didn't help when determining if something was white or pink. A big deal if you are buying your fiance a t-shirt. Perhaps they kept the lights low when they collectively realized that the wares were not the most exciting things on display. I ask the universe this, and please please PLEASE universe, provide me with an answer: When will the day of simple outlines of woodland creatures and common household appliances applied to totes and body hugging t-shirts be over? I long for a time when I can buy a nicely fitting top without antlers or a bird or a broken typewriter strategically placed over my spleen or left boob. This fascination with deer and sparrows has left me cold from the beginning. To walk down a concrete path punctuated with a few anemic looking trees in Brooklyn and be surrounded by two dimensional images of nature strikes me as incredibly sad. It cries out "YES, I live in the city, but I like nature, too. See? SEE!!!" In a balanced world would I find a farmer wearing a barn coat adorned with an adorable silk screen of a Kryptonite chain lock, or maybe the ubiquitous post storm broken umbrella?
Cutesy silhouettes of bicycles, birds, knitting needles and water towers are now warning symbols to me. They are the craft equivalent of a running man with an arrow, interlocking semi-circles indicating radiation or a skull and crossbo-Oh wait!!! lest we forget how mainstream the symbol of skull and crossbones has become. Weave that imagery into a scarf or put it on a onesie and you've got yourself irony a la craft.
Speaking of irony, The Bell House is located next door to a big industrial signs shop with an enormous neon letters above it spelling S I G N S. Nice and straightforward. I long for the email alert about their sample sale.
The first thing that struck me was how few vendors made up this "cavalcade". It was more like a craft circle. Jewelry- some with stones, some with brass castings of bird wings (yawn), some pretty, all of it quaint. The first table one sees upon entry was covered with beaded necklaces wrapped in material which was a big thing about 3 years ago. Does someone still dedicate their time to finding gauzy materials to wrap and knot around cheap plastic beads? A resounding yes. There were some felted yarn bags the size of a Croque Madame (I had skipped breakfast) and then some cute plates with local imagery- water towers, the parachute jump from Coney Island. My favorite items were recycled cotton material napkins and placemats which were sturdy and well constructed, but I'll be damned if every one of them didn't have an animal printed onto them. The only truly interesting vendor had printed images from old Japanese science texts onto t-shirts, which was a splendid idea. I would like to think that she chose to use cheaper non-American Apparel t-shirts to print on in order to bring costs down so she could sell them for under $30.
In short, the only tempting thing that met me was the urge to yell "Turn on the damn lights!" The interior of the Bell House was poorly lit and the colored gels on the stage lights didn't help when determining if something was white or pink. A big deal if you are buying your fiance a t-shirt. Perhaps they kept the lights low when they collectively realized that the wares were not the most exciting things on display. I ask the universe this, and please please PLEASE universe, provide me with an answer: When will the day of simple outlines of woodland creatures and common household appliances applied to totes and body hugging t-shirts be over? I long for a time when I can buy a nicely fitting top without antlers or a bird or a broken typewriter strategically placed over my spleen or left boob. This fascination with deer and sparrows has left me cold from the beginning. To walk down a concrete path punctuated with a few anemic looking trees in Brooklyn and be surrounded by two dimensional images of nature strikes me as incredibly sad. It cries out "YES, I live in the city, but I like nature, too. See? SEE!!!" In a balanced world would I find a farmer wearing a barn coat adorned with an adorable silk screen of a Kryptonite chain lock, or maybe the ubiquitous post storm broken umbrella?
Cutesy silhouettes of bicycles, birds, knitting needles and water towers are now warning symbols to me. They are the craft equivalent of a running man with an arrow, interlocking semi-circles indicating radiation or a skull and crossbo-Oh wait!!! lest we forget how mainstream the symbol of skull and crossbones has become. Weave that imagery into a scarf or put it on a onesie and you've got yourself irony a la craft.
Speaking of irony, The Bell House is located next door to a big industrial signs shop with an enormous neon letters above it spelling S I G N S. Nice and straightforward. I long for the email alert about their sample sale.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Swinus Infection
I have managed to not get too caught up in the panic blitz around the Swine Flu. However, last night I caught myself sniffling quite a bit and a bit of anxiety creeped in. I looked at the person across from me and thought "You gave me this. You just got off a plane. An infected, poxy ridden plane. You bitch!" Then snapped out of my reverie, took a sip of my drink and thought the medicinal powers of ginger, lemon and rum would make it all go away. This is precisely why I could never be a doctor.
Saturday, May 2, 2009
Why Why Why and How How How?
I am about to embark on a mini vacation to meet up with an old college chum and some San Francisco alumni. All I need for my trip is a decent pair of cotton pyjamas, the kind that are suitable for going into our rented apartment kitchen to make coffee without feeling like a scumbag or a whore. Simple. Cotton pantaloons, simple top. So why so difficult?
I tried the go-to spots- Target offered lots of things with birds and stripes with color schemes that smacked of Freshman Year. I couldn't get through the door of Old Navy without my sinuses being assaulted by the chemicals coming off the freshly unpacked spring line. It's generally a bad sign if you can smell the color of your clothing. Where else? Where do people buy pyjamas?
I tried the go-to spots- Target offered lots of things with birds and stripes with color schemes that smacked of Freshman Year. I couldn't get through the door of Old Navy without my sinuses being assaulted by the chemicals coming off the freshly unpacked spring line. It's generally a bad sign if you can smell the color of your clothing. Where else? Where do people buy pyjamas?
Friday, May 1, 2009
May Day
To celebrate this rite of Spring, perhaps I will go to Ikea in Red Hook, get myself a plate of Swedish meatballs and set up camp in the kitchen area and watch couples debate the merits of FÖRHÖJA versus STENSTORP.
If you ever feel bad about being single, go to Ikea on a Saturday and watch the aggravation and despair mount between young lovers. I am surprised there isn't a couples counselor room on location. Perhaps even a space where one could renew vows. Nothing can wear down a relationship more than shopping for living room furniture. The minutia of picking the ideal wine glasses--Classic? Squared? Color? It's hard enough to choose things on ones own, but throw someone else into the mix and it could become easier, or just exponentially more difficult. The thing about opinion is that when someone you love and admire disagrees with you, suddenly your tastes are in question. It's hard not to feel judged. Mix in some stale air and a lot of squawking kids running around, and explanations become clipped. The end result is suddenly the person you want to nest with has excrutiatingly poor taste. How can you not question this life altering decision?
Show me a couple that agrees on everything in IKEA and I will take it all back. But not my meatballs. I am gonna keep the meatballs.
If you ever feel bad about being single, go to Ikea on a Saturday and watch the aggravation and despair mount between young lovers. I am surprised there isn't a couples counselor room on location. Perhaps even a space where one could renew vows. Nothing can wear down a relationship more than shopping for living room furniture. The minutia of picking the ideal wine glasses--Classic? Squared? Color? It's hard enough to choose things on ones own, but throw someone else into the mix and it could become easier, or just exponentially more difficult. The thing about opinion is that when someone you love and admire disagrees with you, suddenly your tastes are in question. It's hard not to feel judged. Mix in some stale air and a lot of squawking kids running around, and explanations become clipped. The end result is suddenly the person you want to nest with has excrutiatingly poor taste. How can you not question this life altering decision?
Show me a couple that agrees on everything in IKEA and I will take it all back. But not my meatballs. I am gonna keep the meatballs.
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