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.

Abandon(ed) ship!

My apologies for the absence of posts of late - I've been watching the Olympics. No, really. Now that they're over (and I've almost finished watching the dvr-ed bits. I suppose I should have warned you. And I've been holding on to a number of posts - Amsterdam for one.

Here, will a gummi bear chandelier distract you?

A Scottish winter

To none but those who have themselves suffered the thing in body, can the gloom and depression of our Edinburgh winter be brought home. For some constitutions there is something almost physically disgusting in the bleak ugliness of easterly weather; the wind wearies, the sickly sky depresses them; and they turn back from their walk to avoid the aspect of the unrefulgent sun going down among perturbed and pallid mists. The days are so short that a man does much of his business, and certainly all his pleasure, by the haggard glare of gas lamps. The roads are as heavy as a fallow. People go by, so drenched and draggle-tailed that I have often wondered how they found the heart to undress. And meanwhile, the wind whistles through the town as if it were an open meadow; and if you lie awake all night, you hear it shrieking and raving overhead with a noise of shipwrecks and falling houses. In a word, life is so unsightly that there are times when the heart turns sick within a man's inside; and the look of a tavern, or the thought of the warm, fire-lit study, is like the touch of land to one who has been long struggling with the seas.

Edinburgh; Picturesque Notes, Robert Louis Stevenson

2009 in sentences

The Annual Roundup:

January: Apologies for the delay and the clumping, but I couldn't let these two get away without recognition.

February: First of all, it's clear (or it should be) that we're all scaling back this year. (And aren't we all glad we didn't spend a year of our lives filming Confessions of a Shopaholic, coming soon to a theatre near you.)

March: Resort season, anyone? (Dior Bow Sandal)

April: Keep telling yourself that.

May: I can't believe I haven't seen anyone since October, but here goes: At Prune for Sunday brunch, at the next table, Top Chef Stephanie Izard. *

June: If you must be married ocean-side, I suppose bare feet are de rigueur, but in case there's a painful stone walkway involved, why not slip in and out of these Gucci thongs.

July: These will definitely go with my tan and my Expose your Toes polish.

August: In a meta moment, I went searching desperately through the Boudoir* for this hilarious bit (30 Rock is a ripoff of the Muppet Show, discuss.), only to learn that I had merely posted it to Facebook, and not actually blogged it.

September: Fall is in the air, and the FG thinks you should pre-order these boots.

October: This seems somehow an updated version of something I imagine on a Brontë heroine.

November: Vote with your feet - Doesn't this remind you of Election Day bunting?**

December: I'm off to London for the weekend (again), but I know you're all panicking about what to get everyone from your special someone to the colleagues you're paired with via Secret Santa.***


*Thank the stars that brunch made at least one appearance!

** Clearly the first of the month was good for Shuesday. Again.

*** Yes, I cheated here. It's not /all/ about the shoes!

Previously

Best of 2009: Catch-up 2

Since this is clearly a once every 10 days event, I'm going to skip around a bit.

Moment of Peace: There have been several, and it's hard to remember them all at this point. Given the year I've had, it's good to know I can recall more than one. Sitting on the dock in the warm early September sun with a book and a beer and a boy. The quiet of my empty, perfectly cleaned apartment in late October on the last day I still had the keys. Those moments where you are the only one awake on the airplane - even surrounded my people, peace can be found.

Challenge: It has to be getting myself out of another challenging workplace with my head held high. And I had LOADS of help and support from friends and family. Thank you!

Album of the Year: I mean, hello, the Glee soundtrack.

Best Place: Previously mentioned dock. The Isle of Skye. Bar Veloce. My apartment on TV night, with friends and cheap Indian food.

New food: Arepas and ramen. Which means Caracas, Ippudo and Wagamama.

Change you made to the place you live: Can I get back to you on that once I have my London flat? 'Cause I've definitely changed the place I live, like, by an ocean, but I'm not in the new place yet.

Rush: Best rush of the year? My surprise engagement party.

Best packaging: My engagement ring came in the most beautiful purple box from Hamilton & Inches. Yes, I'm biased.

Tea of the year: Lady Grey. (This list is clearly by girls for girls.)



Word/phrase of the year: Hod yer wheesht.

Shopping: J. Crew got a lot of my hard earned cash this year, I must say, as did Francis. Next year will obviously be the year of THE DRESS.

Car ride: The 5 days driving around the north of Scotland were amazing.

OK, enough for today. Enjoy! And finish wrapping your presents already!

Best of 2009: Catch-up

The FG is a little late getting on this particular bandwagon, but I know you'll forgive me. It comes from Gwen Bell, via BS. Bear with my whilst I catch up (and skip a few - best article? I can't possible choose). Here are the first five:

Best trip: Tough choice - the March weekend in Caracas was amazing, and not only because I finally made it to South America. But the two weeks in Scotland in July were gorgeous, especially the drive around the north.

Best restaurant moment: Again, I'm ignoring the formula and picking two - Le Bernardin and the Three Chimneys. Make that three - the Canadian wine tasting at Hearth was fun and delicious.

Best book: Sadly, I'm going to have to go with The New Yorker here. I've been terrible about reading books this year, again, and the ones I have read don't qualify for the best category.

Best night out: I think that would have to be the engagement afternoon/night - all of our NY friends gathered at Bar Veloce for cocktails and merriment, and then we ran off for a quiet dinner together at Hearth. There were also a few fun all night poker sessions, but they don't quite measure up.

Best workshop/conference: Hmmm. Usually this would be a no-brainer, but let's just say that my professional development opportunities were few and far between this year.

And that's all she wrote.

Edinburgh musings 2

It's almost been three weeks, and I have further updates:

• There's a tendency for some women here to dye their hair a drastic shade of blonde not found in nature. Clearly, they remember Madonna in her super blonde phase ... although they're not exactly Madonna. Remember, we look to icons for inspiration, not for replication on ourselves.
• Tights are to Edinburgh as scarves are to NYC - women wear them constantly, regardless of the appropriateness of the occasion or the weather. In the case of EDI, this results in women sporting tights and flats in driving, freezing rain. Not smart, and it looks terrible.
• Gardening is a full contact sport here - I've not seen such exquisitely manicured lawns since Versailles. And then there are those who just pave over their front lawn, or fill it with decorative rocks. No one's quite sure what that's about, but even the BBC is concerned.
  
• Double decker buses are great, except when you're trying to descend the stairs to exit the bus as the driver is coming to a stop. Danger, danger, and no warning signs whatsoever. No wonder all the little elderly people remain on the first level.
• The martinis are served wet unless you ask for them otherwise. What's that about? (Especially when everything else is wet ...)
  
• The wind is worse than the rain. 'Nuff said.
  

Edinburgh musings

Well, now that I've been on the original side of the pond for a full 5 days, I have several items to report;

• If you don't like the weather, wait five minutes. I have experienced downpours, violent winds, rainbows, mist, and sunlit blue skies, all in the space of a single day.
• It is, as reputed, somewhat damp and cold, but there are unending pots of tea to consume, which helps.
• Every beer has its own style of pint glass (with the possible exception of the seasonals). Seriously, a Peroni comes in a different glass than a Heineken, comes in a different glass than a Deuchars, comes in a different glass than a Hoegaarden. Amazing. One suspects US bartenders wouldn't put up with that - clearly they're not taking their beer sufficiently seriously.
  
  
  
• Many flats feature a room known as a "box room" - this is not a room in which to store boxes, it is a room without windows. I cannot imagine it, but apparently some people use them for bedrooms. I'm thinking storage, cat litter, etc.
• Most doors seem to open inwards, into the shop from the street (except those that do not). Ages ago, The Scottish Cowgirl told me that doors in the States to rooms holding more than 25 people must open out, in case of fire. Clearly that doesn't apply here.

More to come, I'm sure. Meanwhile, the flat-hunt continues!

Photo from ePints.

What he said, Part III

From Salon, via Gawker and the NYT, Glen Greenwald on the rise of Jenna Bush.

They should convene a panel for the next Meet the Press with Jenna Bush Hager, Luke Russert, Liz Cheney, Megan McCain and Jonah Goldberg (...) They can interview Lisa Murkowski, Evan Bayh, Jeb Bush, Bob Casey, Mark Pryor, Jay Rockefeller, Dan Lipinksi, and Harold Ford, Jr. about personal responsibility and the virtues of self-sufficiency.

Ugh.

If you've never been to you ...

There's probably a reason, but Charlene has a warning for you, and it sounds like this ...

"Please lady, please, lady, don't just walk away
Cause I have this need to tell you why I'm all alone today (...)
I moved like Harlow in Monte Carlo and showed 'em what I've got
I've been undressed by kings,
And I've seen some things that a woman ain't supposed to see
I've been to paradise, But I've never been to me"

(Spoken) - I kid you not:
"Hey, you know what paradise is? It's a lie. A fantasy we create about people and places as we'd like them to be. But you know what truth is? It's that little baby you're holding,And it's that man you fought with this morning, The same one you're going to make love with tonight. That's truth, that's love."

And back to the song ...

"Sometimes I've been to crying for unborn children, That might have made me complete
But I, I took the sweet life, And never knew I'd be bitter from the sweet
I spent my life exploring the subtle whoring, That cost too much to be free"

I mean, really?

I bet her hair wouldn't look that perfectly feathered if she was tending to a husband and a baby of four like a proper "discontented mother and a regimented wife".

Stolen, not stirred

Totally borrowed from BS ... now at Wordpress!

• The perfect outfit: Jeans, a sexy top, a soft sweater-wrap, heels, and the perfect bag.
  
• The perfect meal: Do the blue cheese-stuffed olives in my martini count? Why can't I have one for each meal? Because breakfast is definitely juice, a good americano and the definitive croissant, but that doesn't help me at 8:30 pm. And what about dim sum?
  
• The perfect hangover cure: Two Advil, large glass ice water, previously noted good americano, freshly squeezed juice (preferably made by someone else, in a place where you don't have to hear the juicer), previously noted perfect croissant, but this time with scrambled eggs, cheese and Sriracha.
• The perfect road trip: Convertible, big straw hat, heading out of the city to the beach, tunes on, and the smell of suncreen with a hint of coconut in the air.
  
• The perfect facial feature: What is it with the perfect? I'm also going to go with eyes, but, like BS, yes, ask me about my favorite body part instead and I'll say collar bones. Mine, that is.
• The perfect drink: An actually dirty dry Sapphire martini, blue cheese-stuffed olives, up (because people still ask). Also, a glass of Lillet blanc, one ice cube.
  
• The perfect song: Is it bad if I say Freedom 90? This is too dependent on everything else in the moment.
  
• The perfect sign of affection: Ummm, that depends. A lot.
  
• The perfect afternoon: Sidewalk cafe, previously noted glass of Lillet, people watching from behind sunglasses with a girlfriend. Also, unlimited champagne brunch for 4-6 friends.
  
• The perfect vacation: Waking up on clean white sheets in a puddle of sunshine, excessive relaxation, at least one cultural opportunities, available and cheap fresh local food, (and yes, hotel sex).
• The perfect invention: I mean, this week, Skype is looking good. But definitely the corkscrew.
  
• The perfect type of wedding: Open air, but under a roof that isn't a tent, fewer than 75 people, healthy combination of laughter and tears, beautiful flowers, endless glasses of champagne and a lighter than air white cake.
  
• The perfect album: This category would just date me beyond all recognition.
  
• The perfect accent: One feels fairly obliged to say Scottish at this point, but we've always been a fan of the Brits in general.
  
• The perfect date: Bespoke cocktails, delicious, but not heavy, dinner, and something out of the ordinary. Surprise me, in a good way.
  
• The perfect weather: Eighty degrees, no humidity, light breeze, occasional fluffy white clouds.
  
• The perfect party: Ten to twelve people, awards show, champagne cocktail fountain.
  
• The perfect sport: I mean, rugby, obviously. Quite.
  
• The perfect thing to say: I mean, "I love you," obviously. Unless it's not true. How about "Thank you."
  
• The perfect day of the week: I want to say Sunday, but there is that feeling of impending doom that kicks in around 4:30 ... unless you're still tipsy from brunch, in which case you're probably at home, napping in the sun puddle. How about Sunday of a three day weekend?
  

Off kilter because ...

what I meant to say in the previous post was the following:

Do you ever have those days when things seem just a little bit off? Today was definitely one of those days, and I think it's my hair.

You see, I parted my hair on the "wrong" side today. Normally when I do that, it throws my neck off a little bit, because I'm not used to it (if you think I'm crazy, either you've never changed your part, or you don't have enough hair for it to make a difference). There are reasons I won't bore you with to switch up your part, but the point is, today it threw my neck and the day off. And that's not cool.

I could blame the weather - after a sunny warm weekend, it regressed to Seattle in December (in the days before they got snow for months and months) today - or I could blame the lack of sleep, but I think it's the hair.

And when I went looking for an image of "woman frustrated", please note just how many of them involve hair pulling of some kind ....

Weekend Update: Off Kilter

The weekend was a smash - Friday night Leaving Drinks here*, followed, somewhat inexplicably by bbq here (four martinis and a rye and ginger will do that to a girl), and then home to bed.

Woke up surprisingly well and headed back to Citi Field for (another) Mets game - this one sunny and super fast, but at least they won. Note: They are checking everyone's ID every time, so don't leave it at your seat. The good news about the game's speedy conclusion was that we weren't panicked as we changed for dinner at Insieme (good, but a little on the salty side, again), and Impressionism.

You'd think Jeremy Irons and Joan Allen could do no wrong, and while Irons was excellent, Allen was brittle and not well directed. The material was really at fault. I've read there was much last minute work on the production, including cutting a number of the flashback sequences, but the three or four excellent moments were not enough to sustain an entire play, and the multi-media was distracting. Of course, the tourist-heavy audience applauded effusively when the principals appeared at the start, and gave them a standing O at the end. Our seats were heavenly, but I can't recommend it.

We popped into Flute for a glass of champagne (whilst the champagne was excellent, the music was loud and inappropriate) and then walked from Times Square to the Upper East 90's. It was a gorgeous night to dawdle up the Park under the cherry trees.

The next morning saw a far-too-early brunch at Paradou (where too early means before they can legally serve champagne, at least when we sat down) and then an afternoon of wandering and sipping prosecco at various west side establishments with sidewalk patios.

It doesn't get much better.


* although /actual/ Leaving has been postponed until sometime in late May/June, Drinks were already on everyone's calendar, so what the heck, cocktails never hurt anyone)

For a rainy Friday

Because I'm blue, and because I want a cupcake.

2008 in sentences

Again, the first lines from each month of the last year.

January: I know this is delayed, but the holidays, NY Eve ... you understand, don't you my darlings? (I love it when the first day of the year is a Shuesday, don't you?)

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

March: As you're no doubt already aware, The Scot visited the FG for a few days in February.

April: Yes, I still pay my bills the old fashioned way, with handwritten cheques and stamps and all that jazz.

May: Showmance: When actors engage in a romance for the run of a show. Once the run is over so is the romance.

June: A master left us today, too soon. (Yves Saint Laurent)

July: I'm so out of here. Prada

August: Got a secret. Can you keep it? Swear this one you'll save. Better lock it, in your pocket.
Taking this one to the grave

September: I'm taking it a little easy this weekend.

October: I know, I know. But isn't it amazing how colour and font make something so beautiful almost menacing?

November: Satan made me do it Busty Satan, that is.

December: Tis the season when the shopping guides come calling, and this year, the "Under $100" category's going to wear itself out.

Previously.

Snow 2!

Previously

Happy birthday

Mr. Big ...

Four Things

1. Four places that I go to over and over: The Met, Graffiti, Soho, Bar Veloce

2. Four people who e-mail me regularly: Pastry Chef, East Coast Guy, Midwest Medved, The Artist

3. Four places I would rather be right now: Paris, Hawaii, poolside, somewhere I've never been.

4. Four of my favorite places to eat: Graffiti, Smith's, Soba-ya, my parent's house (my dad can /cook/)

5. Four people I'm tagging: Busty Satan, Trivial Kate, Tabula Rasa, Camarooned (ha!).

6. Four TV shows I watch over and over: Buffy, No Reservations, BSG, SATC (just silly, I know, but it's always on when I'm postponing going to sleep ...)

And furthermore ...

Effective today:

1. Clothes Shop: J. Crew/Nordstrom (shoes)
2. Furniture Shop: Antiques
3. Sweet: organic chocolate with chili
4. City: New York
5. Drink: Champagne, dirty Martinis
6. Music: Oscar Peterson
7. TV Series: True Blood
8. Film: The Philadelphia Story
9. Workout: Yoga (I should get back on that, given #10)
10. Pastries: Croissant
11. Coffee: Triple americano, raw sugar, regular milk

WendyB

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

Back to School ...

Geometry and History it's just a pain
Biology and Chemistry destroys my brain
don't they know that I deserve a better fate
I'm really much too young to matriculate

This fall, more than any in recent history, the dog days of August rushed into frenzied first weeks of September. And it's not just me and my new job.

East Coast Guy is teaching at Columbia, The Scot started med school, and moved, and Tabula Rasa came back East to school. The Pastry Chef is full time at Gotham, Perennial Student went from Brown to Ann Arbor, and The Vintner is working at City Winery, just in time for harvest. The Lead Singer is turning out coters for Obama in Tampa (and I am the Perfect Amount of Sad missing her), The Republican and his lovely wife are expecting, and the Actor is wearing spandex in an un-airconditioned warehouse in Shanghai (it's for the children!). Various friends are moving, or have moved, from NYC to Boston, Miami and Atlanta, from the outskirts of Toronto to Princeton. And I'm sure there's more.

Between work and what I'm calling the consolidation of my NY friend base, there's been an event on my calendar every night, and I've had two, two-brunch weekends in a row. This is the life. Now, if I'd just go to bed at a reasonable hour ...