In NYC, When We Go Out to Pizza, We Go to Connecticut
In returning to my tradition of writing past due posts, it is now time to show a few pictures of my Labor Day activities. Already knowing that I would have that Monday off (per usual), I wanted to do something but I was most likely going to just pretend to clean my room. That is, until our friend decided that we needed to get out of the city and take a little road trip up the coast of Connecticut. The planted seed immediately sprouted and the roommates and I went online to rent a car and look up maps to travel to Mystic, CT. Monday morning arrived and we were rearing to go...except for our friend who suggested the trip. He stayed home. No one complained about that. It's hard to play girlie games like MASH and Soul Mate when a boy is present.

The trip started off on the subway, next a bus, and after that a rental car at LaGuardia Airport. Like so many other road trips this summer, I was the designated driver.

FYI, when you live in NYC and want to rent a car Leave the Island! Rental cars are $100 cheaper in the buroughs. Boroughs. Whatevs.

Growing up in the West Coast...aka the Land of Really Big States, it is really curious that one can drive through three, count 'em, three states in a matter of a few hours. We left our house around eight and arrived in Mystic for lunch. And we took the slow road on Route 1 to see the old, pretty Connecticut homes. (How I miss a well-manicured yard!) We ended the day with a jaunt to Rhode Island for dinner.

Mystic, CT is a historic town, even though many of you may only know about the town thanks to Julia Robert's breakthough film Mystic Pizza. There really is a pizza place called Mystic Pizza, and of course that is where we went to eat lunch.

There was a lengthy discussion about whic pizza toppings to consume because we have a vegetarian (me) and a picky eater to consider. I am not sure why the discussion took so long as the results were pretty clear: plain cheese for the dietary challenged, and mushroom/pepperoni for the others.

This roomy took the most, and best pictures.

After our hearty meal, we checked out the town. It had all the touristy knick-knack shops one could expect for the small sea-sidey town. My favorite store was the one with the shoplady who let me try on the vintage rings. (A tip to future suitors: a vintage ring beats a Tiffany's any day.)

What charming Connecticut town doesn't have a little white church building?

The drawbridge. I don't have much more to say about it...but it did remind me a little of the drawbridge in the U district of Seattle. And the one in the Fremont area.

After Mystic, we hit the road to Old Stonington to play on the beach.

And look for Hermit Crabs.

This beach kicks the beaches in Long Island's trash. Did that make any sense?

The reason we went to Old Stonington was to see the lighthouse.

That is now a museum.

We just had enough time to head to Rhode Island for dinner. We wanted to go to the campus of Brown University, but we spent most of our day in Mystic. After a filling dinner in a 50's themed diner, we hit the road for the four hour trip back to the city. To pass the time, we played those girlies games. I would tell you who I married in MASH...but I just can't remember...

More Than a Hair Toss

I have a magic skirt, but I just realized this power yesterday, and I have had the skirt for a couple of years. Since I am not going to post a picture of the skirt (I don't want envious parties to track it down and steal it), I will just give you a little background on this marvelous piece of fashion...and then I will tell you about its magical properties.

A few years ago I saw a picture of a red toile Anthropologie skirt in an issue of Lucky Magazine. The stores in the Seattle area were sold out, and the nationwide search (literally, the shopgirls searched everywhere for me) proved fruitless so I turned to my mom to help me out. I described the garment, and she produced a worthy replacement. I loved it, even though at the time it's best features lied dormant...until yesterday. (Amazing isn't it...I am writing about something that happened yesterday and not two weeks ago.)

Yesterday my roommate and I ventured down to Union Square for a little bit of girl time and retail therapy with her friend (and wife of the playwrite in July's trip to Massachussets). To get to Union Square we have to take two trains: the 1 and the NRQorW. The trip can take up to 40-45 minutes, so it is key to find a place to sit down. We were successful on the 1, but after waiting a really long time for connection the roomie and I walked into an apparently full train. I really didn't want to stand. Fortunately Roomie spied two seats about ten feet away.

As we skipped to the seats I caught the eye of a tall, dark and dashing gentleman sitting in the seats next to the ones Roomie found. He was wearing sunglasses, but I know he was looking at me because he smiled at me, and watched us sit down. I knew right away that he was foreign. he looked foreign, and he and his friend we were not speaking English. I turned my head to pick out the language and look at the language in the newspaper his friend was holding. I assume it was Italian. The newspaper had recognizable characters and well, there are just a lot of Italians in this city. Because I was spying, not-so-secretively I might add, we exchanged a few coy smiles.

All to. soon his stop came. His friend got up, and hoped hoped hoped that the "Italian" was going to stay on. He moved to get up, leaned over and said, "I like your skirt. It is very beautiful." I thanked him while smiling mildly flirtatiously...and watched him leave the train. Immediately Roomie and I started giggling. We kept our eyes on the still-open door and we saw the "Italians" pass by the door one more time (after obviously having gone the wrong direction off the train). And when they passed, the "Italian" looked over his shoulder and smiled at me one more time.

If I haven't said it before, Mom, thanks for the skirt.

Did I Ever Tell You About My Gambian Family?
At the Bakery I have a friend from Gambia that I like to joke around with at times. He has been an employee at the Bakery for some time, but he pretends that he has never been to the original location on Bleecker Street. When I give him a large baking to-do list, he complains that I am mean to immigrants. (That is probably our biggest running joke. Yes, it is a joke. I am not mean to immigrants.) Before I left for my Seattle vacation to attend a wedding, he told me he was getting married. Since I had never before heard him mention a girlfriend, I didn't believe him. No one else he told believed him either. When I returned from my vacation, he was on hisvacation because he had indeed gotten married. To prove it, he invited me to his wedding party in the Bronx. Yes, the Bronx. I asked him if it was all right for a white girl to go to the Bronx, he reassured me by saying that Italians lived in his building. I was only mildly relieved.
My next question about his party was what he wanted for a wedding gift. The term "registry" was mildly foreign. He used a registry to find a gift for our boss when she got married, but I don't believe he thought that type of technology applied to him. My coworkers and I asked what he wanted, and this is the list he came up with: a new hat, a watch, and light bulbs. I bought him some nice energy saving lightbulbs, but managed to break them.
I wasn't sure what to expect at the party. My friend said that there would be food and music...and that is all the info I got. It wasn't enough, really, as this party was very traditional and totally interesting. When I safely arrived at his apartment (in a neighborhood that was much cleaner than my own), there was only a handful of people: my friend, his friends, our boss and her husband (the only other white person besides myself). Loud African music was playing in the background, and BBC news was on the television. I am not sure why the television was on, I only imagine that they kept it on so that they could find out if Ramadan was going to officially start the next day. After about twenty minutes my boss, her spouse, myself, and a couple of other people were handed plates of food: chicken and spicy rice. The wierd thing about being served the meal: the party hadn't officially begun. Sure, we were told that the festivities commenced at 6:00, but apparently no one was going to show up until 8:30 or 9:00. So we all kind of stared at each other for a while. My boss had to leave around 8:00, and with her she took her spouse, leaving me as the sole white person/native English-speaker/non-Muslim. But that was fine with me.
During my French studies, I took a class in African Literature, and along with reading novels written by leading Senagalese authors we also learned a lot about African culture. Certainly some cultural aspects vary between tribes, but some of the customs are found in many tribes/countries. Thanks to that class, I wasn't totally clueless about the evenings events.

Around 9:00, all the women showed up wearing their traditional colorful dresses and ornate jewelry. I felt completely underdressed. The women had an important role at the party. Traditionally when the bride comes to her grooms house with the griots (tribal elders/poets), his friend's wives barricade the passage demanding money from her before she can pass. This process is very loud as the women demand more money and the griots sing about the goings on.

Here are the backs of the women blocking the way. They were also blocking my vision a little.

Finally she and her family makes it through. For some reason that I couldn't totally figure out money changed hands rather frequently. First the bride gave money, then it looked like people were giving it back to her. (I was concerned that I should have brought some money. I had money, but I was going to use it as emergency taxi money in case the Bronx got dangerous.) here the bride's mother is giving her money. More dowery?

The griots took turns singing; it was incredibly cool even though I had no clue what they were saying. After singing, the griots talked about the gifts, and then I think they asked for money because more women took money out of their handbags. The gifts were more traditional than the ones that my friend asked for. People brought several comforters, dish sets, cannisters--and multiples of each item. (Something they could have avoided if only they registered.)

Here I am with the bride and groom. I think I am the only one aware that a picture was being taken. Boy am I white.

I got to hold a cute little baby that night. She was a sweetheart.

As I left my friend showed his gratitude for my presence at his party, by saying that we are now family. Don't we bear a strong resemblance? If it works, I have attached two videos so you can get a glimpse of what I experienced that night. Enjoy!

As I mentioned, like, a month ago, I was able to go to Seattle for a family wedding. I must say that I have been completely blessed to have grown up with my cousins. So it was a HUGE treat to be there for my cousin's nuptials. She looked beautiful (as usual) and the groom, whom I met during the trip, seems like a stellar fellow. He knows some of my NYC acquaintaqnces so that boosts his coolness quota.
On to the pictures! The above photo is of the happy couple as they exited the Seattle Temple. I must say that the bride chose her gown perfectly. I am a huge fan of the tea-length dress (I aspire to have my own tea-length wedding dress one o' these days), but since the Seattle weather was abnormally scorching, she chose the breeziest option. Plus she looks fabulous. The groom looks quite dapper as well.

This little cutie belongs to another cousin of mine. At two years old, this solid angel is the life of the party. She was born after I moved to NYC, and I was very sad to miss it, and a little sad that she doesn't really know me, but she did warm up to me a little by the end of my visit.

The mother of the cute little tyke above is a fantastically creative person, (well, all my cousins are and I am sometimes envious of their abilities) and she is responsible for the gorgeous design for the reception. While looking at the forthcoming photos you must remember that the event took place at a church.

The reception was held at the first LDS church builidng in Seattle--which fortunately has a lovely courtyard--perfect for mingling.

My friend at the blog "Where Flowers Bloom" (totally tried to add a link, but failed) flew in from SLC to help out with the bouquet and flowers. I loved the combo of the orange and green flowers. It was bold and unexpected.

My talented mom was in charge of the food. She needed a cute apron, and I found this one at Anthropologie. I love that store. The menu included chicken salad on cream puffs, pulled pork sliders on homemade buns, a couscous salad, and a spinach salad. The popular beverage table was filled with fun bottled drinks: key lime soda, root beer, and Mexican Coke (for the cane sugar).

More pictures of flowers. (I could have arranged the pictures a little better, but I hadn't come up with the story flow when I downloaded the images.) Anywhoo. The bouquet. The bride actually had two, one to hold and one to throw. The one she tossed was actually a bundle of smaller bouquets (providing marital luck to several ladies). I even caught one. Stay tuned for news of my wedding! Or perhaps when I go out on a date...

I even loved the boutonierres. I am not sure if I spelled that right. (A B.A. in French, and what good is it?)

The candy bar. I made a few trips to this place. I had forgotten how good malt balls were.

Instead of a traditional white, towering cake, the happy couple chose a few of their favorite cakes to eat: pink champaigne cake, pistachio cake, carrot cake, Australian Lambingtons, and Jacob's Chocolate Cherry Cake. The Lambingtons were my favorite. They are the little square cakes that mildly reminded me of Hostess Snowballs, but a trillion times better. I love snowballs, so you can imagine how much I loved those little guys. The Lambingtons didn't have marshmallow or a creamy center; they were simply a cube of vanilla cake surrounded in chocolate and coated with coconut. So good.

I was actually responsible for making the Chocolate Cherry Cake. I was glad to put some of my skills to work at the celebration.

The last picture I have for you is a close up of the great little oragami lanterns my cousin made. When the sun went down, these tiny cheery little lights added extra ambiance to the already fabulous reception. Good job family! And another Congrats to the Bride and Groom. I swear, your gift will be in the mail soon.

There's No Place Like Home...Especially if That Place is Seattle.

Although living in New York has been a "dream come true" (please forgive the tired cliche), I would be lying if said I didn't miss the smell of the Puget Sound, the crisp morning air, and all the people I know who live in the Seattle area. So, you can imagine my glee when I had money and vacation days to visit "home" for my cousin's wedding. I filled my time as best I could with my favorite Washington State activities. I shared meals with two former co-workers; played trivia with my former trivia teammates; went shopping with my best friend at University Village; ate at Ooba's, swapped music with my best music-friend; ate Sunday dinner with my aunt, uncle and cousins; watched the Olympics with my closest friends; and had quality time at Pike Place market. Since I am not the best photographer (those genes went to my sister and cousin), I only have a few to share about the week.

Each morning I took a lovely walk in the mountains. Yes, mountains. For some reason when I lived in the Seattle area I didn't realize that the region was not just hilly--it was mountainous and absolutely gorgeous. My eyes and heart needed the reprieve from all the architecture. One morning on my walk I picked blackberries. Wild blackberries that were sweeter and juicier than the ones I have been purchasing here. Plus they were free.

New York has lots of nice farmer's markets, but I prefer Pike Place. NYC's so-called flower district as nothing on this place.

Luckily, tourist season keeps this place packed and lively. It is highly ironic that I now like this place packed with people. When I was little I was always afraid of getting lost in the throngs. I am pretty sure I gripped my dad's hand for dear life.

The best produce is in Washington state. Isn't it pretty? Well, except for the large, icky fungi.

I didn't get a chance to take a ferry ride either. Another ironic glimpse into my childhood: I didn't like ferry rides. At the time it wasn't a nice clean commuting aid; it was a place for wierdos to hang out.

I loved the piers when I was a kid. My favorite was the Trident Pier. It had a fun shop full with Asian imports. I liked the Japanese fans. The store is long gone now, and some tourist shop has sadly replaced it. If you have a hankering for fudge, saltwater taffy, or a Grey's Anatomy t-shirt while walking along the waterfront you will not have to search for long.

The Ye Olde Curiosity Shop is full of mummies, skeletons, and petrified stuff. I like the totem poles. I wonder if they are real or stolen like the ones in Pioneer Square.

I really looked forward to my lunch at Ivar's; I recommed their fish and chips to everyone who goes to visit Seattle. I was so incredibly disappointed. My fish was overcooked, small, and obnoxiously over-priced. I hereby unrecommend the place. Go to Anthony's instead. Or bypass seafood entirely and eat at the 5-Spot in Queen Ann. I had amazing pear hazlenut French toast.

I had to wait in a long line for my food because of the hordes of people receiving similar advice that I gave to eat at Ivar's. There were also a lot of well-fed seagulls milling about squaking for handouts.

That's pretty much it for my photos, but I hope it gives a little glimpse into why I like this place so darn much. (Obviously this blog post is meant more for my readers outside of the Evergreen State. Insiders already know.) Up next: the few wedding pics I took. But now I am going to sleep.

I Don't Mean to Brag...Well, Actually, I Do.

Last year about this time, I was fortunate to have a celebrity sighting practically everywhere I went. For some reason, it is still so exciting to see a famous person--even though we get them at the bakery all the time (Faye Dunaway came in today!!! And I got to talk to her!!!). For the most part I can remain pretty calm and collected...until Alan Alda came in last Saturday. I grew up watching M*A*S*H*, and even though I have seen every episode, I still enjoy the show. In fact, when I returned home from France and had no job I watched about four hours of M*A*S*H* everyday...to the point of having Hawkeye cameos in my dreams. When I recognized Alan Alda in the cupcake line my heart pounded loudly and my jaw hit the floor. It was Alan freakin' Alda!!! I couldn't help myself and I became that giddy fan, gushing about how much I enjoyed the tv show and won't my dad be excited to hear that I met Alan Alda....I was retarded and Mr. Alda was very polite to thank me and shake my hand. Don't worry, I didn't mention that he has showed up in my dreams. I am not that stupid.

I never liked the idea of going right up to a favorite celebrity and start gushing. I've always hoped for something more organic, like reaching for the same bottle of soy milk or sitting next to him/her on the subway. That's what I imagine for an ideal celebrity meeting. So Saturday's experience was a little embarrassing, along with the coolness of it. Fortunately, Sunday's celebrity sighting was so much better than I could ever imagine. Try this situation on for size:

Last Sunday, my roommate S and I took a trip to Williamstown, Massachussets for the Williamstown Theatre Festival. I know I am going to get a few lectures about Sabbath Day observance, so please let me continue by saying that we went to the festival to support a friend. Well, S's friend. My very talented roommate received her Master's degree in Drama Therapy at Kansas State> While there she met a girl named Megan (studying the same thing) who just so happens to be married to an up and coming playwright, Nathan Louis Jackson. (Variety Magazine calls him "one to watch.") Nathan, who is currently at Julliard, penned a play entitled Broke-ology that was entered into the Williamstown Theatre Festival. This is a big deal. The WTF is like the Cannes Film Festival or Sundance of theatre, and after showing at the festival, Nathan's play could very likely get picked up by a theatre company and show on Broadway in the next couple of years.

Despite all that coolness, I had another reason for accompanying my roommate to the Birkshires...the play starred Gaius Charles, who also plays Smash Williams in Friday Night Lights. Maybe you recall me dedicating an entire blog entry to the show. (Are you watching yet?) For S, Smash's appearance was just icing on the cake; she's a fan of the show as well. So we bought our tickets, rented a car, and planned our trip to Williamstown.

We used my credit card to rent the car, so that meant I had to drive. In New York City. I was actually hoping I would never have to drive here. It is scary. People honk and run red lights, and I gripped that steering wheel tightly.

Keeping my eyes on the road, S, her friend, and I made it out of the city in one piece.

The trip to Williamstown is four hours of lush green scenery dotted with charming villages and idyllic farmhouses. We even came across a little touristy country store that sold fudge and turtle candies the size of my hand. You better believe I bought one. Since I haven't driven for a long time, my body was a little sore and tired from driving. I was very happy to see this sign:

The play was beautiful. The story involves a family (a widower and his two sons) dealing with the issues being stuck in a bad Kansas City neighborhood. One son went away to school, and is afraid to get stuck, his brother stuck facing a bleak future of going nowhere, and the father, dealing with MS, regrets never helping his family have a better life. Throughout the play, Nathan wove rules to the game of dominoes throughout the themes of the play. It was warm, touching, and also pretty funny. I enjoyed it immensely.

After the show, Nathan (above) and his wife (below) invited us over to the place they are staying to hang out with the cast. Oh yes, the whole cast, including Gaius Charles. This was cool enough, but the other cast members were just as cool.

Playing the father was Wendell Pierce. Now, I cannot pinpoint where I've seen him, but he has an extensive resume including films such as The Fighting Temptations, Malcom X and Ray, as well as appearances on Law & Order, In Plain Sight, plus he had a recurring role on HBO's critically acclaimed The Wire. He was seriously the most down-to-earth person. I would never guess that he was a Julliard-graduate actor if I saw him on the subway. S and I clicked with him right away. He even showed Sarah how to play bones, er dominos. His friends were pretty cool too. Joining him was a graphic artist by the name of Powell, and Ricky a jazz musician who plays in Wynton Marselis' band.

S and I told ourselves we will allow ourselves five minutes of dorkiness over Gaius, but after that we would have to be cool, calm and collected. While eating our pizza, S got Gauis' attention to let him know that we were fans of the show. I told him that he was the reason I came up to watch the play. Sadly, he couldn't spill any secrets about the show, but that's fine; it's better to be surprised anyway. We did talk about Seattle, bakeries (and my goals to open a bakery), talk show hosting (S's aspirations) and how he needs to take time to play...by going to Seattle. It was so cool. When I asked him about living in Austin, TX (where FNL is filmed) he told me I looked like an Austin-ite. It's a total compliment. He even asked me about my decision to become a vegetarian. He is not like the cocky football star character he plays on Friday Night Lights. Not that that would be a bad thing. It just shows that he is a good actor. He's a working one as well. Not only did he do this play during his FNL hiatus, he also worked on two indie films. (This is why he needs to take a break and play.)

After some good chitchat and a couple games of bones, Gaius took us to Lickety Split, Williamstown's ice cream parlour. I don't eat much dairy anymore, but for blackberry-flavored ice cream I will deal with a tummy ache. It is just one of the things you do to hang out with Gauis Charles...and Wendell Pierce...and an artist named Powell...and Ricky the jazz musician...and up-and-coming-playwright Nathan Louis Jackson.

(L to R: Gaius, S, Wendell, S's friend--who slyly got Gaius' email address. It helps that she had no idea who he was--yours truly, and Ricky.)

We did have to pay the piper, so to speak, for breaking the Sabbath. We got a parking ticket on the rental car after circling for a very long time to find a place. Although the ticket was $165, it is a small price to pay for the Best Celebrity Experience. Ever.

Big Sigh

Fabian Cancellara of Switzerland, World Time Trial Champion (in cycling, obviously), is hot, fast and fabulous. I think I'm in love.

Best of luck to you in this year's year Tour de France...also known as the Best Sporting Event in the World.

A Tale of Two Oglings

Two weeks ago I spent a lovely Monday exploring the Lower East Side (LES)with one of my friends. As we were eating lunch at Clinton St. Baking Company, my friend mentioned that the LES has a non-fancy lingirie store where a little old lady picks out a perfect bra just by looking at the customer's chest. Intrigued, I said we needed to find it since I desperately needed a new brassiere. Seriously. The one I was wearing on that day was an old one that I purchased from Victoria Secret about four years ago. And I think we all know that Vicky's bras are not made to last that long--epecially since they aren't meant to be worn for more than two hours at a time. This particular one was too big and had no elasticity.

This spontaneous bra-shopping excursion was meant to be because it did not take us long to find the little, unassuming lingirie shop. The store was filled with shelves full of long, thin boxes holding all types of women's underpinnings. I am sure there was some sort of organizational system, but it was unclear to the untrained eye. With all the clutter and the flourescent lighting, it was hard to realize that this was a place to get the perfect bra. I looked for a little old lady, but only saw a middle-aged African-American woman and an older, fat, Orthodox Jew...man. He asked what I needed, and I said that I would like to buy a new bra. I thought he was going to call for some unseen granmotherly-type woman hiding behind the curtain, but instead he asked me to remove my over-the-shoulder-strapped bag and proceeded to stare at my chest and and ask me questions about my cup size. It was very odd. Orthodox Jews are not allowed to even touch members of the opposite sex except the person to whom they are married, but somehow it was perfectly all right for this particular Orthodox Jew to stare at my bosom.

He picked out one bra but it was a little too big. (The middle-aged African-Amercan helped with the fitting, naturally.) The next bra, however, was perfect. Absolutely, 100% perfect. I noticed that the brand he chose was, Wacoal, a brand that costs about $50-$70 at department stores like Lord & Taylor's. Since I don't have that disposable income quite yet, I was concerned about handing over my debit card. But I sucked it up--after all, it fit so well. (I even wore it out of the store.) But when ringing up my total the Orthodox Jew announced that the grand total was $22.00. See, even more perfect. The first garbage can I saw, I ceremoniously threw out that old Victoria Secret bra. (Just so you know...I do have newer bras than that Vicky bra.)

My friend and I left the shop smirking and I stated that the experience was the first time I wasn't creeped out after a guy totally stared at my chest. It happens more than I care to admit, and probably happens more than I am aware of (thankfully). But there are some guys who are just so blatant about their staring problems.

Case in point: About an hour later, my friend and I were hankering for a pickle. It is a little odd to crave a pickle, but we were hanging out in the pickle neighborhood. We found one, but after smelling that strong smell of vinegar neither of us wanted a pickle. (Plus we were probably full from the gelato/sorbet we had eaten.) One of the male workers asked if he could help us, and my friend replied that we were just enjoying the view. Then he quipped that he was also "enjoying the view" as he looked us up and down. Ugh. Creepy. We left post-haste. However, now that I think of it, he probably would not have enjoyed the view nearly as much if I was still wearing that awful Victoria Secret bra.