Words alone cannot express the AMOUNT of food I encountered while flying business class on JAL. I wanted to live on the plane, because I ate so well. In fact, I had to start turning down meals, because honestly, I was too stuffed to eat another mouthful. Uncomfortably stuffed full. Like my pants were too tight kind of stuffed. Ugh. And it killed me to not even order the middle of the night udon.
I landed at Narita Airport for a quick layover of two hours, before heading on to Shanghai. And while I normally eschew any flight that is not direct, I practically leaped at the opportunity to layover in Tokyo. Moments after disembarking, I noticed the above sign, and it was like I was coming home. And while Japan is not yet my home, I hope that soon it will be. Yeah, I have been saying this for years, now. But soon, I am sure it will happen. Or at least, soon, I need to make it happen. Sadly, I felt elated just hearing the cheerful chime of the elevator arriving; a sound unlike anything you hear in the USA. So for now, until we move there — or my next trip, I had to make do with browsing at the Akihabara Mart for duty-free electronics and green tea flavored Kit-Kats; lovingly fingering the keitai straps featuring Hello Kitty posing in different Japanese locales.
This afternoon, I flew on JAL to Shanghai, by way of Narita airport. On the flight to Tokyo, they served lunch. I had the option of a few meaty-fishy options all with a creamy sauce, or the Japanese set menu with the fish of the month. That was a no-brainer, and obviously picked the Japanese set menu. I cannot even tell you what the set menu included (you can check out the above picture for the first course, and that was only one of three courses) because I just stuffed my face happily, but the highlight of the meal was the red plastic crane that was for resting my chopsticks. I immediately plucked the crane off of my tray and set it aside; the intent was to tuck him into my book bag when no one was looking. But I wanted to be slick about it, and slowly move it closer and closer towards my bag, until, oops, it just fell in. Just then, the stewardess came along and moved the crane back to my tray and rested my chopsticks on it, as she removed my first course. I was totally caught in my act of stealing the silverware, so to speak. So I just asked her if I might keep the chopsticks rest, to take home, and she said of course.
I was not able to pack a snack before I left for the airport this morning, and I was worried (for no good reason), that I actually might be hungry on the flight to Tokyo. Hello, however, I had forgotten that I booked my flight on JAL for a very good reason — other than it being like $2k cheaper than flying non-stop to Shanghai — which was that the food on JAL blows like every other airline right out of the water. Beginning with the lounge, where I delightedly found an assortment of rice balls (Salmon, Ume, and Tuna) to tide me over until I got on the plane. This alone was worth not flying non-stop. I ate two, together with a nicely warmed bottle of Ito En green tea.
I woke up a little early this morning with the bright idea of lugging all of my packages to Skillman, New Jersey — thinking that their post office will be less crowded than the ones in Brooklyn. For whatever reason, the city of New York has to have the absolute worst post offices in the entire country. Like one window open during the busiest times, no one who speaks English, no good stamps to choose from — who wants boring old flags?!, crabby sales staff, broken Automated Self Mailer machines, etc. The list of rants goes on and on.
So I thought that by taking my mail to New Jersey, I might actually save some time — if you overlook the 2 hour drive. And I was right. Despite Skillman having only ONE window and ONE person to wait on you, I mailed 7 packages in about 2 minutes flat. In fact, it went by so fast, I did not realize that I mailed a package to a friend and forgot to put her address on the label. Usually, I have so much time in line I can double check everything.
If we had a Hästens bed, I would NEVER go to work.
This morning, I decided to stay home to as I felt a cold coming on and I could not afford to get sick this week — and looking at my calendar I happily discovered that every meeting that I had today could be accomplished from my bed at home. I dug my nifty laptop desk out of the front hall closet, set up my laptop and proceeded to dial into a marathon session of conference calls, interspersed with naps and email checking. The best part was that I never even go out of bed to brush my teeth, until 5pm.
I cleaned off my desk at home this evening and came across and random article that Kenny had clipped for me from the New York Times. I have no idea when he cut it out for me, since it was was mixed into the pile of bills, viable magazines to look through, thank you notes, birth announcements and credit card offers that lives on the edge of my desk until I clean it out every so often.
Kenny randomly leaving me clipped articles is always such a nice surprise, as I enjoy seeing what he thinks would be relevant to my life. The article in particle that he cut out for me was about Xerox changing its logo, in hopes that people do not still think that they make copiers. (You can read the articlehere.) Since I sometime still use the phrase "make a xerox of this," I guess they mean the logo is for people like me.
I am not going to get into the article and debate it, since you can just read it yourself. However, I will say that I love that the New York Times runs these sorts of design articles every so often, as it helps people remember that good design is incredibly important, and that we, designers, don't just redesign things for the hell of it.
(click on the picture to look at the timeline, larger.)
Looks like we drove to Hong Kong, but really, its Flushing.
Notice the Hoe see fat choy on the right: hair seaweed (fat choy) with dried oysters (ho see) sounds like "wealth and good business."
Too much food and family.
Just kidding.
This evening, we drove to Flushing for our family reunion meal, Also known as 团 圆 饭 reunion rice," my mother-in-law made it very clear that we were not to miss this dinner, despite the last minute notice. Apparently,this is one of the most important meals for Chinese people, and many Chinese people living away from their homes make a special effort to attend this meal with their families, as they place a lot of emphasis on being reunited with their family members especially for this day. (It seems like the family drama that most Americans associate with spending the holidays with their families is noticabley absent from Chinese families. They actually WANT to spend their holidays together. Imagine that.) The reunion dinner should be eaten with all immediate family members present as a symbol of strength and unity in the family. Some people make it a point to eat this meal also with their in-laws and extended family members, as this is a time to renew and reaffirm family ties. So I went, and wore a red cashmere sweater (red being a celebratory color), despite it having a small hole underneath the arm.
As I was walking down Dean Street this morning on my way to Element Beauty Spa, I passed by this empty lot, behind an deserted loft building on Pacific Street. Kuma, the graffiti artist, had recently tagged the building with a set of pumpkins. I particularly liked how the pumpkin on the left is smiling with the word/name "Rain" making up his teeth.
There is something particularly delightful about seeing how completely medusa-like (i.e. fucked up) my hair can look like when I awaken each morning.
This morning was no exception. After a night of two bad dreams — I dreamt that someone broke into our car and stole my Nikon D40 and I mourned the loss of my full compact flash card; and then the next dream my compact flash card melted in a pile of silly putty-like plastic and I was vainly trying to remold it back to its original shape, as if the plastic itself held my images, in an shape or form — I woke up at the ungodly hour of 10:17am, a full three hours past my normal weekend wake up time. I am not sure its the longer sleep, or the bad dreams' tossing and turning, that attributed to my rather spectacular hair helmet this morning. Or it might be the fact that I showered last night, but did not use conditioner, and then went to bed without combing my hair first.
Now, I have to go figure out how to tame this into something presentable, so I can go out and get a manicure/pedicure. When I called to make an appointment this morning, while still laying down, they were like, "Sure, we can fit you in at 11am." Knowing that my hair might be a giant nest, I quickly calculated that it might take more than 15 minutes to do something to my appearance, after patting the top of my head and feeling something akin to straw (and it takes 15 minutes to walk there), and said no can do, I needed more time. Even though this is Brooklyn, I still cannot look like above while walking down 5th Avenue.
And for anyone who might be worrying about the giant freckle on the back of my neck, don't. I am going to to the dermatologist in two weeks to have my freckles given the annual glance over.
This evening I finished the last few episodes of "Friday Night Lights" on nbc.com and now I feel bereft, like something I loved is gone. I cannot explain why I became so obsessed with the series, since I find football to be a stupid sport, and I have no desire to relive my high school years, ever again. Yet, I was hooked. The characters are believable, and there were moments when I was like "Why is Tim Riggens so fucking stupid right now?!" and then I was like, "oh, yeah, cause he's in high school. High school kids make these sorts of dumb mistakes." — at least I did. And then I also cried at the critical junctures as well...I mean, they won state and all. Even coach Taylor cried, I bet. But I felt like perhaps I was the only person obsessed with this show, even more than Dana, who got me hooked in the first place. (I have become a TV junkie.) No one I asked really watched it although they had seen an episode of two, and most everyone had heard of it. And thankfully, no one made fun of me, the way they do when I tell them that I still love "Grey's Anatomy."
And then I read Virginia Heffernan's article in the New York Times Magazine, and felt like she totally understood me. Maybe because the third sentence in her article goes like this: "I love Friday Night Lights.'" But apparently only 6 million people watch the show, compared with the 13 million who watch "Heroes." Now, I have never watched "Heroes" and don't plan to start. But I have no idea how a group of TV viewers can love "Ugly Betty" and NOT "Friday Night Lights." So, please, can you all go onto nbc.com and watch the first episode, where QB 1 Jason Street gets paralyzed, and then you all will be hooked, too. Otherwise, this show might never make it past the writers' strike, and I will be left feeling a little bereft, without ever being able to watch my new best friends again.
Tonight, Kenny and I went to Dressler in Williamsburg to celebrate his getting a bonus this year, despite the mortgage crisis and the massive layoffs at Citi. I was not feeling too hot, which was too bad, as the ambiance was really delightful — as if was described as being both a hip spot and also a place where you can take your parents. So, we made a reservation to take my mom there when she comes in a few weeks.
I had the warm artichoke salad to start and was so delighted with that, that the oxtail ragout over penne (which was scrumptious) was like icing on the cake. I wanted to lick the ragout gravy that was left in the bowl, however, I politely refrained from looking like a complete redneck.
On the way out, I bumped into Suzy at the bar. At first, I was completely caught off guard and I was like, "I know this person, but how do I know them?" It took me a few minutes to figure out, "It's Suzy!" I am slow on recognition when I see people out of my element. Oddly enough, it was the first time for both of us, at Dressler.
Tonight, some of my colleagues and I went to Aroma for a belated holiday dinner sponsored by one of our vendors. I had never been to Aroma before, as I had wrongly assumed that it was just yet another Italian restaurant, of which New York City has like two million of. And yes, it was an Italian restaurant, but the space was so fabulous. Mind you, the upstairs space, which is all that is visible from the street, is super narrow and small, and would immediately keep me from ever eating there. It looks like the place where you will constantly be bumped as you are eating your pasta while wearing your winter jacket, since it is freezing whenever someone opens up the door.
However, we were immediately ushered down the narrowest flight of stairs known to man. In fact, the stairs took us back outside, but we were some where inside of the building. And then we were led back inside the building, but in the basement, where we relieved of our jackets, about one foot from where a cook was frying/stirring/cooking something on the stove. The dining room was off of the kitchen to the left. And to go to the bathroom, I had to walk back through the kitchen to my right, and go back outside, although it was up a step and through a different small door. And then there was the smallest, narrowest door to the bathroom, which was outside. When I looked up I could see the night sky. And either there were stars, or it was the lights from planes about to land at LaGuardia. All in all, it was a very surreal experience; and it felt very reminiscent of Alice's adventures down the rabbit hole. Or what I could imagine it would be like if I ever tried acid.
Tonight, I came home and found out that Kenny had installed the hand-free motion detection light switches that I had randomly bought at Home Depot over the holidays. I had gotten so annoyed with walking from our bedroom through the house in the dark, since the light switch is only on one side of the hallway. The far side. So now, I can walk into the hallway, and the light immediately switch on.
Of course, like anything we seem to do in our house, it is slightly fucked up. For some reason, the lights only stay on for 15 seconds and then switch off. And then if you happen to breathe, the lights switch back on again. And off. And then on. And off. And so forth. To the point, where it got so super annoying that I had to turn off the manual switch, which defeated the whole point. In order to adjust the sensitivity of the sensor, it involves removing the switch plate, shimmying out the whole box of electric stuff behind the switch plate and fiddling with a dial. And if you know Kenny and I, you know that it will take at least eight months for us to get around to actually doing that — which is the amount of time I can live with something super annoying before I get so pissed off that I take matters into my own hands one day and just fix it.
Tonight, Dane and I went to the Sunday night, monthly Dance Manhattan Salsa thing, where from 5-9pm, you can dance salsa for four hours straight, for only $11. This is the first time that I have ever danced in public, other than when my lessons with Walter took place in the center dance room and other people were having their lessons at the same time. But this was completely different. This was the first time I have ever danced in public with another person, other than my teacher. And given how completely lacking in rhythm I was less than two years ago — and with memories of Shaker Height High School senior basketball player Daryl Williams making imitating, to the whole cafeteria, how I danced as a sophomore at Homecoming is still fresh in my head, despite that being 18 years ago — I was pretty pleased with myself for actually putting myself out there. You know, standing like a giant freaking wall flower on the edge of the room waiting for some guy to pick me, to dance.
The first guy to ask me to dance was basically Kenny's cousin Simon. I am not sure why the only Chinese guy in the room, picked me. Could he tell that I have a Chinese mother-in-law? He had sweaty palms and was doing all sorts of spin-y stuff and I was like, "Dude, what the fuck are you doing?!" I kept apologizing for moving the wrong direction (he would spin me and I would literally spin away), and at one point, I stepped on my OWN foot. However, it felt good to be dancing with someone other than my salsa teacher, despite he embarrassment of having to wait to be chosen to dance (I think you have to wear sexier clothes, in order to get picked more often. The yoga pants I wore under my twirly skirt with a black cashmere sweater on top, did not really give off the vibe of salsa sexiness. Huh, who would have known?). After the sweaty palmed guy, I danced one more time with another guy whom I would describe as a bear. And then we left after an hour and half or so, when the floor got super crowded with people who really ought to be on "Dancing with the Stars." However, I would have gamely stayed longer and not minded more humiliation, because I am never going to become a better dancer, if I don't completely embarrass myself enough.
However, the best part of the night (other than hanging with Dane) was the feeling of taking off my dancing shoes after a night of waiting on the sidelines, and putting my clogs back on.
And after I had gotten my haircut, Kenny suggested that we meet our friend Chuck for dinner, and go to Minca Ramen Factory on East 5th Street. I happily agreed, as it was the perfect night for ramen slurping, given the unexpected coldness of the weather. Minca itself was small, and super warm — with brick walls exuding coziness. There was not much on the menu other than ramen (oh, and bean sprouts, which I LOVE!), which is how a real ramen place should be. And the best part was that they had whole wheat ramen noodles and organic chicken! So I could essentially lie to myself and pretend that I was eating a nutritious meal.
Helen gave me the sweetest (literally) gift for Christmas this year, albeit slightly belated. (Although, who doesn't love Christmas in January?) The gift was a box of Swedish Gingerbread Caramels that came in a box with a giant smiley face on it. So now, every time I open up the fridge, I see this very cute box of candy smiling at me. It is like the box is saying, "Hi! Have a caramel! It's okay if you get fatter and fatter! I will still be your friend!"
Ok, so this will be one of my last dinner posts for a long time. But we went to Crispo solely because I was craving these little fried rice balls, which are basically a classy version of mozzarella sticks. Which secretly, everyone still loves and wishes that they could order without seeming too I'm-still-living-in-1985-and-eating-at-Ruby-Tuesdays-despite-knowing-that-the-food-will-cause-me-to-have-a-heart-attack.
Today I had the most interesting experience at work: I had a smell meeting. We sat around and sniffed different scents and base notes, and then we mixed our own, based on which ones we liked. Despite being quite descriptive with what the different scents made me think of (one note smelled like Strawberry Jello® brand gelatin powder; another smelled like the soap used to clean the bathrooms at our J+J Skillman campus; and another smelled like the interior of Draegers' Candy Store — where, as a kid, I bought Haribo gummi bears at by the poundful.), I was terrible at making my own fragrances.
I created something that smelled exactly like a hair salon in a shopping mall. And another scent that smelled just like the smell you experience when you peel off the foil on a container of Dannon® Yoghurt. Gross. I freaking hate that smell. Everyone else was creating stuff that smelled either like Yankee Candle or something sort of suburbanly sexy and wanton, like what you might find at the fragrance counter in drug store. And I ended up creating scents straight from my midwestern upbringing.
This morning, when I came into work, I found a holiday card from TODA on my desk — it was a giant list of Good Things for 2008. Reading the list, some of my favorites were:
Heated seats, snooze buttons, wool socks, marzipan, 67%, cover stock, PBS, croutons, law abiding citizens, calcium, AAA, full refunds, white tee shirts, meatloaf, your spleen, suction cups, Graphis, the plastic things at the ends of your shoelaces, Google earth, feijão, Little League, Stockholm, Buenos Aires, The smell of Sharpies, Looking at the window, ladybugs, People who never give up on you, Helvetica, Sharp nail clippers, bookshelves, serendipity, A new president for 2008, sparklers, extensions cords
And it made me want to create my own list of what makes me happy this year, and maybe every year. And while I know that the purpose of this blog is to actually focus on one of those happy things every day, I think I have fallen into a rut of posting about my dinner. Or a book I read. And then my dinner again. (Which might be why I have gained at least 15 pounds.) And I have forgotten all about the little joys that truly make my world a much happier place. Hello fleece lined pockets. And staring into a well-organized fridge. The smell of new books. The freckles on my feet. Down comforters. Leftover lasagna noodles that did not fit in the dish. My list is incredibly long, and yet I usually forget about these things and tend to focus on the crummy day I had, which uplifted by eating dinner. And so I will start to focus more on these simple (or not so simple) delightful things, for this coming year.
TODA, thanks again, for reminding me of what truly makes me happy.
Thanks to Dana, I am now completely hooked on NBC's Friday Night Lights. The obsession is actually sort of disturbing, as it is ALL I can think about. And I only started watching it today, because I had a temperature, and stayed in bed, and had finished the book I was reading, and I did not feel well enough to go looking around for a book in the house, which I have not already read. So I watched 8 straight episodes. In between conference calls and a meeting in the city. And now, it is all I can do to tear myself away from my laptop. Oh, yeah. I started with episode 101, and there are like 37 episodes to watch. At this rate, I am going to go blind watching 37 episodes on a screen the size of a ham sandwich.
After doing some research, I found out, serendipitously, that Smash Williams went to Teaneck High School and then graduated from Carnegie Mellon. Which is pretty funny, since so did Dane.
Too bad, I only have eyes for Tim Riggens, who is played by Taylor Kitsch. I love his bad boy, yet underneath it all a sweetheart, persona that is so damn appealing, which must be because of his Canadian-ness — because for some reason, Canandians are always just so much nicer than Americans. Yeah, I have a very small tv crush on a 26 year old. I was also perusing the teen books aisle at Barnes + Noble this weekend, and almost bought a book in the Gossip Girls series. I have no idea what this means. Perhaps, that I am getting old? I mean, I also think that Coach (Kyle Chandler) is pretty cute too. He was that hot EMS guy that got blown up by the bomb on Grey's Anatomy.
I am done waxing enthusiasm over tv shows, since this post effectively has made me come across as a chick lit reader, a watcher of stupid tv dramas, and a seemingly vapid girl. I am not vapid, is all I can say.
Some of you might be aware of my secret, or not so secret, obsession with John Maeda. It began when I saw that he made the entire series of TOYO chips into little animatic "dolls" for his kids. Over the past ten years, I have had the opportunity to hear him speak on many occasions and even mingle in the same crowd with him at an art installation, back in the late 90s. However, I have always been way too shy to go and up to him and say something, like what I would not even know. Perhaps, something like "Hi, I lust after your brain, John Maeda!" And a college classmate, Ben, has worked with John in the Media Lab at MIT for many years. How lucky, right? The past year or so, though, my love of John's brain has been dampened slightly — partly because he gave a really horrible talk (he did not even talk, actually, his grad students did. Which was terribly lame.) at the AIGA conference in Boston two years ago. Although his bizarre and wacky introduction for Samsung (talking about their cafeteria in Seoul) at the AIGA Awards Dinner this past fall made me reconsider dropping him altogether.
So anyway, my co-worker (thanks, Richie!) sent me a link this morning to an AIGA interview with John, about his decision to leave MIT's Media Lab and move to RISD to become president. Which is pretty fabulous for the design community. It makes me really consider getting my masters at RISD, now. MIT was way out of the question since it would involve me taking classes that involve math and perhaps a calculator. But RISD is math-less, I think.
This morning, we drove down to Princeton, New Jersey to see our friends Aaron and Christine, and to meet their cute baby, Sammy. We had lunch at the Zen Palette in a Princeton strip mall — and while we ate wheat gluten and mock duck, Sammy ate baby food from a jar. And then he puked a giant puddle of baby vomit right there on the floor between my chair and Kenny's while I was holding him. Oh wow. It's pretty amazing how that happens. One minute he was making the cutest baby noises (so far, he makes the cutest baby noises I have heard), and then the next moment, he made a scary noise, and there was his lunch on the floor.
And when Sammy spits up at home, Dora the dog comes along and laps it up. Now that, I am still trying to wrap my head around that one, as much as I love how environmentally friendly it is.
Tonight we all celebrated Dana's birthday and I decided that for once, I ought to represent the fact that I am girl and actually wear something that is remotely feminine. As opposed to a my usual uniform of a green sweater with $48 jeans and clogs. So, while I was in São Paulo, I decided to shop for a girly outfit while I spent my entire afternoon at the mall. In my usual style though, I found the right dress in about 12 minutes, and then spent the remaining 4 hours and 48 minutes thinking that I ought to find something other than the first dress I saw. But no. So I finally went back to the store, bought the dress out of the window and left.
It seems that every time I have been in Brazil, I have bought only navy items. Basically, Brazil is navy in my mind. In August, I bought a navy pair of shoes and a navy silk blouse. In November, I bought a navy silk balloon-hem a-line jumper dress. And this trip, I also bought a navy silk dress. But this dress was silk satin and very very unlike what I would normally buy — because it was not from J.Crew. It was not even A-line, nor did it look like something I wore when I was elementary school. It did NOT have a hood. And I could NOT wear clogs with it, without looking like a complete loser.
So I wore the slippery silk navy dress from Morumbi Mall, black fishnet stockings, and my sexy librarian heels. I had planned to wear the black patent leather heels from Spain (see previous post), but when I put them on, I felt like a classy hooker. Which was a bummer. It felt good to finally hooked up my outfit for once in my life, cause Dane and Christina also wore cute dresses. Dana was the birthday girl, so naturally she wore a super dress. And Christina owns the fief of cute dressdom. And finally, I was able to complete the triumverate of girliness, and it was not while wearing jeans from the Gap.
On the way to Dana's house, we dialed into some college radio program where some completely collegiate music geek was talking extensively about acoustic bachata. For those of you who have no idea what bachata is, here is a quick overview:
Bachata, a form of music and dance that originated in the countryside and the rural neighborhoods of Dominican Republic. Its subjects are often romantic; especially prevalent are tales of heartbreak and sadness. In fact, the original term used to name the genre was "amargue" ("bitterness," or "bitter music"), until the rather ambiguous (and mood-neutral) term bachata became popular. It has been compared to the blues.
Bachata music flourished in the explosive era after the murder of Dominican dictator Rafael Trujillo in the early 1960s. While still alive, Trujillo frowned upon bachata and other guitar-oriented sounds, as the music of the hoi polloi. After his death, a defiant populace played, recorded, and listened to bachata with a vengeance. The lyrics are often naughty, juxtaposed with a gentle, romantic guitar backing, and will appeal to anyone with a sense of humor and an ear for melody.
But I was completely hooked, since I have been learning to dance the bachata in my dance class (I am still really lousy at dancing the bachata), that I started emailing myself on my Blackberry, so I would remember to buy the record that they were discussing. The album is Bachata Roja, from Iaso (pronounced Ya-so) records. My plan is to buy the record and practice dancing by myself at home.
Tonight, we went to some new pizza place on Arthur Avenue, called 809 or 089 or something like that (otto sette nove?), but in Italian. Apparently, Russ was reading his Bloomberg terminal and there was an article on the best new pizzeria in the United States. Which is pretty random, to begin with. And then it was in the Bronx. They picked me up after work and we drove up, and as we parked the car I spied this Chinese restaurant that has its delivery information mosaic'ed into the wall! How awesome is that?
The pizza place was good too. I had the Pizza Ricardo, which has butternut squash puree, smoked mozzarella and crispy pancetta bits.
About two years ago, I helped Weiheng find an internship at TODA, The Office of Design and Architecture. He had sent in his resume to the design firm I had been working before Johnson + Johnson, and I thought that TODA would be a better fit for him. I admired his enthusiasm and determination, and his typographic skills. You know how it is, you want to make sure that a nice person is placed in an environment that is inherently a good place. Which is TODA. So his internship came and went, as it is only a three month gig at TODA for interns, and then Weiheng and I sort of lost touch. Not because of him, but because I was really lax in responding to emails. Surprise, surprise. And yet, this morning, I came into work and checked the mailroom, hoping for my big box of J.Crew dresses. And lo and behold, not only did my dresses arrive, but in addition, I had a giant, mammoth box waiting for me as well. I checked the return label and saw that it was from Weiheng. I was so excited and curious to see what the box contained that I pushed it back to my desk on a trolley and immediately ripped it open. Holy cow! It was like my dreams FINALLY came true. A giant freaking box full of cookbooks! And a few novels, and a lovely book on horses. And the most lovely note from Weiheng, thanking me for helping me find him an internship at TODA — almost two years ago! How unbelievable is that? I felt so super special. And this is why I think that if you can, you should always pay it forward and help a person out.
I am so looking forward to seeing Marjane Satrapi's Persepolis in the movie theater. I bought the book last weekend, and I have been debating whether I ought to read the book first, or see the movie first. There is something super delightful about her illustrations (perhaps its just that I am a sucker for little noses and big eyes on hand drawn characters. Sadly, I have to admit that I get sucked in by cuteness.) But what I really find inspirational is that Marjane Satrapi did not just write another coming of age story set in a politically upheaved country, like a million other books I have read. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy those books. But they do not have such magical drawings that completely transport you to another place and dimension. I keep looking at her drawings and each time, they just make me more and more happy.
This evening, as Juliana and I were walking back from Chinatown Ice Cream Factory with our pint of Coconut Fudge, we stopped at the little florist on Bayard Street (I think its Bayard), where I have never been able to resist the little cacti and Jasmine plants flowering on the sidewalk. Of course, I bought yet another jade plant — I cannot help it. I am such a sucker for those glossy little, bright green leaves.
This morning when I woke up from a delightful, almost 10 hour sleep, the air hostess asked me if I would like the American Breakfast. I was like, I want the Japanese Breakfast! Why do you think I picked JAL?!! (Other than it being $2000 cheaper than AA, of course.) And I was not disappointed. The green tea was amazing — it was not a lame green tea tea bag, mind you. It was made from green tea powder which creates such a brilliant green tea with a really rich tea-y flavor. I could practically feel the anti-oxidants dancing through my body — I had three cups, so maybe what I felt was the caffeine. And the breakfast itself was incredible — the umeboshi (pickled plum) was the highlight. I stuffed myself thoroughly, while still wrapped up cozily, in my down comforter. It was the first time that I have ever flown on a plane and thought that the food was delicious. Even in Business Class, it is usually only just okay. Which means I am spoiled forever now. I only ever want to fly first class on JAL, just for the great breakfast and the down comforters.
When I boarded my flight this evening, there was already a girl sitting in 10D. I double checked my ticket stub, and mine said 10D, and so did hers. The aisle was getting blocked by my body and my luggage at this point, I was tired and cranky, and thankfully the flight was on JAL. First of all, they apologized at least six times. Then a steward got on his headset and called someone who came around with a new ticket stub for me, for seat 2K in first class. I briefly wondered what happened to the occupant of 2K — was it a family member that got bumped to coach? Was the pilot now going to have to sleep in his seat? But when I saw that my seat was a lie flat seat (although sadly, not the incredible new Skysleeper Solo), I stopped worrying about who was supposed to sit in 2K, and settled in for a delightful flight.
The air host brought me a down comforter and tucked me in, and about one minute after the seat belt sign blinked off, I extended all of the parts on my seat that could extend, and settled down for an entire night of restful sleeping, lying flat on my back. At one point in the night there was was some turbulence, which normally scares me. Despite knowing that planes do not crash form turbulence, I can't help but think that we might hurtle out of the sky and plunge to our deaths in some ocean. But this time, I tightened my seat belt and snuggled even further under my covers and went right back to sleep. If we crashed and died, at least I would be cozy.
I landed at Narita Airport for a quick layover of two hours, before heading on to Shanghai. And while I normally eschew any flight that is not direct, I practically leaped at the opportunity to layover in Tokyo. Moments after disembarking, I noticed the above sign, and it was like I was coming home. And while Japan is not yet my home, I hope that soon it will be. Yeah, I have been saying this for years, now. But soon, I am sure it will happen. Or at least, soon, I need to make it happen. Sadly, I felt elated just hearing the cheerful chime of the elevator arriving; a sound unlike anything you hear in the USA. So for now, until we move there — or my next trip, I had to make do with browsing at the Akihabara Mart for duty-free electronics and green tea flavored Kit-Kats; lovingly fingering the keitai straps featuring Hello Kitty posing in different Japanese locales.
I was not able to pack a snack before I left for the airport this morning, and I was worried (for no good reason), that I actually might be hungry on the flight to Tokyo. Hello, however, I had forgotten that I booked my flight on JAL for a very good reason — other than it being like $2k cheaper than flying non-stop to Shanghai — which was that the food on JAL blows like every other airline right out of the water. Beginning with the lounge, where I delightedly found an assortment of rice balls (Salmon, Ume, and Tuna) to tide me over until I got on the plane. This alone was worth not flying non-stop. I ate two, together with a nicely warmed bottle of Ito En green tea.
I woke up a little early this morning with the bright idea of lugging all of my packages to Skillman, New Jersey — thinking that their post office will be less crowded than the ones in Brooklyn. For whatever reason, the city of New York has to have the absolute worst post offices in the entire country. Like one window open during the busiest times, no one who speaks English, no good stamps to choose from — who wants boring old flags?!, crabby sales staff, broken Automated Self Mailer machines, etc. The list of rants goes on and on.
If we had a Hästens bed, I would NEVER go to work.
Looks like we drove to Hong Kong, but really, its Flushing.
Notice the Hoe see fat choy on the right:
Too much food and family.
Just kidding.
As I was walking down Dean Street this morning on my way to Element Beauty Spa, I passed by this empty lot, behind an deserted loft building on Pacific Street. Kuma, the graffiti artist, had recently tagged the building with a set of pumpkins. I particularly liked how the pumpkin on the left is smiling with the word/name "Rain" making up his teeth.
front view
back view
Tonight, Kenny and I went to Dressler in Williamsburg to celebrate his getting a bonus this year, despite the mortgage crisis and the massive layoffs at Citi. I was not feeling too hot, which was too bad, as the ambiance was really delightful — as if was described as being both a hip spot and also a place where you can take your parents. So, we made a reservation to take my mom there when she comes in a few weeks.
Tonight, some of my colleagues and I went to Aroma for a belated holiday dinner sponsored by one of our vendors. I had never been to Aroma before, as I had wrongly assumed that it was just yet another Italian restaurant, of which New York City has like two million of. And yes, it was an Italian restaurant, but the space was so fabulous. Mind you, the upstairs space, which is all that is visible from the street, is super narrow and small, and would immediately keep me from ever eating there. It looks like the place where you will constantly be bumped as you are eating your pasta while wearing your winter jacket, since it is freezing whenever someone opens up the door.
Tonight, I came home and found out that Kenny had installed the hand-free motion detection light switches that I had randomly bought at Home Depot over the holidays. I had gotten so annoyed with walking from our bedroom through the house in the dark, since the light switch is only on one side of the hallway. The far side. So now, I can walk into the hallway, and the light immediately switch on.
Tonight was freezing.
Helen gave me the sweetest (literally) gift for Christmas this year, albeit slightly belated. (Although, who doesn't love Christmas in January?) The gift was a box of Swedish Gingerbread Caramels that came in a box with a giant smiley face on it. So now, every time I open up the fridge, I see this very cute box of candy smiling at me. It is like the box is saying, "Hi! Have a caramel! It's okay if you get fatter and fatter! I will still be your friend!"
Ok, so this will be one of my last dinner posts for a long time. But we went to Crispo solely because I was craving these little fried rice balls, which are basically a classy version of mozzarella sticks. Which secretly, everyone still loves and wishes that they could order without seeming too I'm-still-living-in-1985-and-eating-at-Ruby-Tuesdays-despite-knowing-that-the-food-will-cause-me-to-have-a-heart-attack.
My sniff sticks.
Thanks to Dana, I am now completely hooked on NBC's Friday Night Lights. The obsession is actually sort of disturbing, as it is ALL I can think about. And I only started watching it today, because I had a temperature, and stayed in bed, and had finished the book I was reading, and I did not feel well enough to go looking around for a book in the house, which I have not already read. So I watched 8 straight episodes. In between conference calls and a meeting in the city. And now, it is all I can do to tear myself away from my laptop. Oh, yeah. I started with episode 101, and there are like 37 episodes to watch. At this rate, I am going to go blind watching 37 episodes on a screen the size of a ham sandwich.
Tonight we all celebrated Dana's birthday and I decided that for once, I ought to represent the fact that I am girl and actually wear something that is remotely feminine. As opposed to a my usual uniform of a green sweater with $48 jeans and clogs. So, while I was in São Paulo, I decided to shop for a girly outfit while I spent my entire afternoon at the mall. In my usual style though, I found the right dress in about 12 minutes, and then spent the remaining 4 hours and 48 minutes thinking that I ought to find something other than the first dress I saw. But no. So I finally went back to the store, bought the dress out of the window and left.
On the way to Dana's house, we dialed into some college radio program where some completely collegiate music geek was talking extensively about acoustic bachata. For those of you who have no idea what bachata is, here is a quick overview: 
I am so looking forward to seeing Marjane Satrapi's Persepolis in the movie theater. I bought the book last weekend, and I have been debating whether I ought to read the book first, or see the movie first. There is something super delightful about her illustrations (perhaps its just that I am a sucker for little noses and big eyes on hand drawn characters. Sadly, I have to admit that I get sucked in by cuteness.) But what I really find inspirational is that Marjane Satrapi did not just write another coming of age story set in a politically upheaved country, like a million other books I have read. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy those books. But they do not have such magical drawings that completely transport you to another place and dimension. I keep looking at her drawings and each time, they just make me more and more happy.
This evening, as Juliana and I were walking back from Chinatown Ice Cream Factory with our pint of Coconut Fudge, we stopped at the little florist on Bayard Street (I think its Bayard), where I have never been able to resist the little cacti and Jasmine plants flowering on the sidewalk. Of course, I bought yet another jade plant — I cannot help it. I am such a sucker for those glossy little, bright green leaves.
This was my seat.
