It's raining, it's pouring

To be fair, while it's been a wet, wet winter, it has been mild as all get out (no Lara hat wearing to date), and we denizens of London village have been spared the flooding that's engulfing Somerset, Oxfordshire, and all those places "-upon-Thames".  One is starting to wonder if Darren Aronofsky has anything to do with it.

Where I've been since the last post and why I haven't been writing isn't particularly worth going into - there hasn't been one thing, it's really just been a lifestyle change that crept up on me and got in the way.  It's all good, really, but I've missed writing for fun and am making a belated non-NY resolution to try, try again.  Because I missed you.

That's all for now - sun's out and Canada's on track for a record medal count in Sochi.  All is right with the world.

Now that it's raining more than ever

And on Wimbledon no less.

It's my fault - I've been telling people ever since I arrived in London that the weather was far, far better than I'd anticipated, and that people everywhere think they have the worst weather (along with the worst traffic), and it can't possibly be true for eveywhere. However ...

I'm not a big fan of a wet June, and this is unpredictable wet - serious downpours blowing through unpredictably and soaking everything possible. It's not fun.

Sometimes it's hard

to be "elitist" ...

BARTLET Because the idea of American exceptionalism doesn’t extend to Americans being exceptional. If you excelled academically and are able to casually use 690 SAT words then you might as well have the press shoot video of you giving the finger to the Statue of Liberty while the Dixie Chicks sing the University of the Taliban fight song. The people who want English to be the official language of the United States are uncomfortable with their leaders being fluent in it.

(...)

OBAMA What would you do?

BARTLET GET ANGRIER! Call them liars, because that’s what they are. Sarah Palin didn’t say “thanks but no thanks” to the Bridge to Nowhere. She just said “Thanks.” You were raised by a single mother on food stamps — where does a guy with eight houses who was legacied into Annapolis get off calling you an elitist? And by the way, if you do nothing else, take that word back. Elite is a good word, it means well above average. I’d ask them what their problem is with excellence.

Aaron Sorkin Conjures a Meeting of Obama and Bartlet

Hello!

Somecards

You're a mean one

Mrs. Grinch?

I know, I know, it's just the colour choice. Although, given the palette she's been sporting, you'd think she supported LGBT rights.

Vanity Fair got /really/ catty ...

She's got legs

"I thought Amber scared you guys."

"She does, but she also has legs that go up all the way to Canada."

"So do Canadians, that doesn't mean I want to date one."


Ahem.

House

Exorcise your right

Couldn't put it better than WendyB (again!)

There's no excuse not to vote because Buffy the Vampire Slayer is off the air. Some years ago, a woman I worked with went to her disorganized voting place, waited and waited and then left before getting to vote because the new episode of Buffy was on. I thought that was a reasonable decision. If you've seen how they organize the voting in New York, you'd pick Buffy too. It's easier to fight vampires than stupidity.

Plus, they're so much prettier than the people in your neighbourhood you'll be forced to interact with at your polling station ...

Close Guantánamo

ACLU

Camarooned in the City: Part III

Sunday was another recovery day, not only from the previous night's festivities, but in preparation for for The Dinner Party to come. Marooned mustered up the courage to leave the building and go for a long walk around noon, and then we dressed and departed the house.

The Blue Fairy and the Vintner hold an annual holiday party, in Portland, in Iceland, and this year, in New York City. The invitations are hand written, in (and I'm hazarding here, because I know she'll correct me with kindness) the style of Emily Post, circa 1922, and I always reply in kind (except this year, when I did so via email, but only because the response would never have arrived in a timely manner, I swear!). The dress code is black tie optional, the wines are fantastic, there is home made gingerbeer and egg nog, and the company is always a delightful combination of longstanding friends (the Artist) and newcomers who feel like familiars (some more than others =P) by the end of the evening (click here for details). The Fairy wore an exquisite new vintage dress in a colour I believe we decided was blush, I wore a green and white cocktail dress I adore, and think is festive without being holiday sweater-esque, and my favourite red coat. We even encountered a fellow attendee in our subway car - she'd begun her journey in Brooklyn and we joined her in the East Village - which is rare, and contributed to the growing evidence that I do live here. It's been a year, I know.

We stood in the hallway drinking and cruising the cheese platter, completely in the way of our hosts and arriving guests, told and re-told stories, examined a papier-mache heart, and laughed until we ached - my cheeks had that post-photo session feeling.

The Menu
Baguette and Challah rolls
Cheese plate with Mobay, Goat Gouda and Goat Brie
Green salad
Garbanzo Pomegranate Salad
Key Lime Green Beans with Thyme
Baby red potatoes with garlic and gorgonzola
Spinach, artichoke heart casserole
Butternut squash, eggplant, mushroom and chestnut lasagna
Shrimp Curry and rice
Apple tart

We stayed late, but not too late, as Marooned was heading to Montreal in the morning.

Except that his plane was unable to leave Montreal in the first place, due to the weather. He rescheduled himself for the following day, direct to Vancouver, and returned to the East Village. We ordered Indian food from my favourite, Brick Lane, and played cards. And the next day, he was gone.

Camarooned in the City: Part II

Friday, we dragged ourselves out of the apartment and headed to Mud for much needed coffee before The Long Walk began. We walked through Tompkins Square Park south through the East Village and the Lower East Side. Chinatown, Little Italy, Canal Street, and then to Ted Baker in Soho for Marooned's first suit. Some were too big and some were too small, but we finally found one that was just right (with a quick trip to the tailor's to move the buttons on the jacket and hem the pants), and three shirts.

We went back to Little Italy for dinner. Our intention was to wander up and down the street, reviewing menus before making a decision, but half way down the block, the maître d' from Amici II called us from across the street. Now, I've been welcomed into various Indian restaurants along Curry Row in the past, but this man started singing O Sole Mio to us from across the street. When you meet a living caricature, you have to accept his invitation. And the food wasn't bad. We headed home early, watched TV and played cards (as has been our wont for lo these sixteen years), and went to bed at a reasonable time.


The next day, the weather was beautiful again, so we hopped the R train to 59th and 5th Avenue to see the sights of Central Park. We walked up past various sights previously detailed here, and then happened upon Strawberry Fields, where there was a gathering for John Lennon taking place at the Imagine memorial. We walked down Central Park West to Columbus Circle, and from there down Broadway to Times Square (sadly not stopping at The Bubble Lounge), and Camarooned proved himself remarkably adept at playing the /making your way through the crowds of tourists/ game. Caught the train down to the LES to retrieve the suit from the tailor, walked back up to Astor Wine & Spirits (where Camarooned kindly picked me up a bottle of Belle Vallee, which I am under strict instructions not to drink until next year), and then home to prep for East Coast Guy's birthday party.

Which was a blast. Dinner at Kin Khao, drinks (bad ass chicks from the Moulin Rouge) at the Cub Room, and a night cap at Raoul's. The food was fantastic, the company worthy of the host, and the drinks, well, they just kept coming. After walking our favourite guest to her long train back to Harlem, we headed home. The good news is that Veselka is open all night long, and the pierogies are just as good at 4 am as they are at noon.

Camarooned in New York City: Part I

Camarooned came to The City for the weekend, en route to Montreal to check out the MBA program. Given that his flight came in to JFK, he decided to brave the public transport instead of the traffic and taxi fares, and made it to the East Village without a hitch. We headed to Pure Food & Wine for a raw food feast. It was my third time at Pure in as many years and, while I like the food, I really couldn't do it on a regular basis (more on regularity later). It is a good place to take the vegetarian, the vegan, and those with allergies, not only because there are so many more choices, but because they are both understanding and accommodation when it comes to those with allergies and other special needs. But ...

We were seated promptly, amidst one of the thinnest and hipster-est crowds I've ever seen), and started off with a ginger saketini and an organic mojito (skipping the Master Cleanse saketini!). The ginger was delish, but the mojito lacked, well, rum. And this is one of the two main issues with raw food. You can't really authentically re-create some things with alternate ingredients. Sometimes it's horrible (mock chicken and pork come to mind), but most of the time it's just slightly less satisfactory. Original cocktails are more fun, to me, than faux replications of things we can get elsewhere.

We ordered a bottle of Oregon Pinot Noir, and the main event commenced. After some debate over matching appetizers and entrees, I ordered rosemary infused butternut squash soup with spiced pecans, medjool dates and miso coulis (breath!), and creamy cauliflower samosas with banana tamarind sauce, mango chutney, garam masala & mint. The soup was tasty, but the texture wasn't quite what I wanted (it was a little close to baby food), and the samosas were also delish, but tiny. Camarooned had the crimini mushroom hazelnut crostini, tarragon bernaise, choucroute and pomegranate reduction to start, and the white corn tamales with raw cacao mole, marinated mushrooms, salsa verde, and avocado (this entree was the source of the previously noted debate). It was fantastic.

That said, we decided to head elsewhere for the next course. For better or worse, we ended up at an East Village institution, Telephone Bar, where we ordered vegetarian shepherd’s pie and cocktails. Which brings me to the other issue with raw food - it's just not that filling. If you're a member of the caloric restriction club, it's a feast, but the average human requires more sustenance.

Or more alcohol, as the case may be. In celebration of NYC bars staying open far later than those in British California, we headed for the old standard, the Thirsty Scholar. It was far past happy hour, but we had a good time, and when the barkeep chided Camarooned for his appletini selection, C added a shot of Jagermeister for good measure. I stuck to my usual dirty martini until we finally dragged ourselves home. Where we slept and slept and slept.

Until the next day ...

At the twilight's last gleaming

I spent the Fourth (ridiculous mid week holiday this year) watching Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee, the HBO movie about the final free days of the Lakota Sioux in South Dakota. The story begins with the Battle of the Little Bighorn in 1876 and culminates with the Wounded Knee Massacre in 1890. Having driven past the Little Bighorn memorial (just south of Crow Agency, MT), last fall, it was fascinating to see it as it would have been then. And also important, on a day when historical nuances are swept aside, to remember another group of people living within these borders.

Then I hit the N train to Astoria to visit the infamous Bohemian Beer Garden, drink tequila, and watch the fireworks. They were really good - I was suitably impressed.

Although drinking and then standing on an on-ramp might not be the best idea.

O'er the land of the free

and the home of the shameless.

The other one, silly.





Bush Spares Libby 30-Month Jail Term [NYT]

Oh, the Places You'll Go: DC

There was a rally in DC on Tuesday, and who doesn't want to be in a swamp on a lovely June day when it's 95 degrees with 80% humidity? I donned my indestructible skirt, comfy flip flops (hey, I wasn't going to the White House), my sun hat, and several layers on top to deal with anticipated temperature extremes. I boarded a bus at Union Square at 5 am (you heard me) and rode to the nation's capitol with a crowd of rabble rousers. Fortunately, they let me sleep most of the way down, and even more fortunately, there was a Starbucks at the rest stop in Delaware.

The rally was fun, and well attended, but when Josh Lyman tore himself away from his hearings (and the Rhode Island delegation), and mentioned oysters, I decided I'd done more than enough for an unwanted immigrant. We were off to Johnny's Half Shell for a late, languorous and luxurious lunch. Oysters, of course, and barbequed shrimp with asiago cheese grits. With a few glasses of white, it was perfect. Josh went back to saving this country from itself, and I met two co-workers for a short stroll through parts of the National Gallery. We were just exhausted after the first hour, so returned to Johnny's for a pre-bus ride cocktail, and had the distinct pleasure of hissing at Ann Coulter, taping Hardball just outside.

Back on the buses, y'all and home to bed, many many hours later. I was frankly exhausted, which resulted in a snappy retort to the idiot who commented that it was probably too dark for a hat as I crossed Union Square on my way home at midnight, in lieu of my usual /ignore the imbecile/ policy.

Fashion Police

The real kind.

Only days after Iran’s annual crackdown on immodest dress began in mid-April, with teams of police officers stopping women in major squares and subway stations to warn them about their attire, the security authorities came under fire.

Many women who were stopped on the street and told to dress properly reacted angrily. A parliamentary commission complained about the campaign to the chief of police, and the head of Iran’s judiciary warned that a too repressive policy could bring a backlash. Even an adviser to the president urged caution, saying the police “should not go to the extreme,” according to the daily Etemad-e-Melli.

The Tehran chief of police, Ismail Ahmadi Moghaddam, said during the drive that the security forces would single out women who wore only small head scarves or short tight coats and short pants. He also said the police were turning their attention to men in the second phase of its campaign, which began Saturday.

He insisted that the authorities would avoid force — and arrests — and would only talk to violators to urge them to dress appropriately. Still, he said 150 women a day had been taken to detention centers as the crackdown began.

In Iran, Tactics of Fashion Police Raise Concerns

Bi-National

Are you living in a diverse household? Are there regularly discussions about the pros and cons of life on either side of the 49th parallel? Do you live as close as possible to the border, but remain stubbornly on your own side, determined to change the system from within? Do you wish you had an appropriate pillow with which to bean your opponent during these civilized/no-holds-barred conversations? Fear not, and click the link to determine whither your destiny lies.

Note: these pillows will not help you decide where the kids should be educated.

Little dogs, little dogs

everywhere I go I can see them. Apparently they're not welcome everywhere:

Local (DC) gossip writer Karen Feld exchanged strong words at the Canadian Embassy Wednesday with a burly guard who objected to her dog Campari entering a reception. When Feld huffed that she had the proper papers to take the tiny poodle everywhere from planes to the Capitol, the security guy barked, "We're in Canada now." The embassy apologized to Feld yesterday, and said the pup's always welcome.

At least someone has standards.

WAPost

Also, "Woman's Best Friend, or Accessory?"