tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29313470184577958182024-02-07T06:50:06.581-05:00Life without a meal plan...The wisdoms, wisecracks, and completely clueless moments of a twenty-something in Boston.Marika Lenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05014409565609891662noreply@blogger.comBlogger21125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2931347018457795818.post-74972606788359464192012-06-25T19:16:00.000-04:002012-06-25T19:16:32.440-04:00Holy hills...Yikes. Been
over two months since I last graced the internet with my presence (other than
the embarrassing number of hours spent on Pinterest). But you know what?
I make NO apologies. Mostly
because… well, I doubt anyone noticed.
THANKS, FRIENDS.<br />
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And now, here I am in San Francisco. I’ve been here a lil’ over three weeks
now, and the two most important things I’ve learned so far are:</div>
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1)<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';">
</span>I sort of forgot how overwhelming it can be to move to a new
city, and</div>
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2)<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';">
</span>I do, in fact, know Eddie Izzard’s San Francisco routine by
heart. And it runs through my head
constantly. <i>Saaannn Fraannncisco… town, city of gleaming spires, people live
here… Golden Gate Bridge! Ahh, the
Romans came here…</i><span style="font-style: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Here. You
should watch the first half. Then keep
reading.<o:p></o:p></div>
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But back to the overwhelming thing – </div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEP2EnwWbvCQUFzPbQf5lTer5W-3Yro05eeNz8g0k80fgtJ994_WYddeD5vCWJ1rUajODN7WgWoDwxpY46LaF8qwpecmkc_XgL9bs2xXiSkzihriQHev4KyuEInGplS02PnQrZT-cpSl8/s1600/2012-06-08+22.45.31.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEP2EnwWbvCQUFzPbQf5lTer5W-3Yro05eeNz8g0k80fgtJ994_WYddeD5vCWJ1rUajODN7WgWoDwxpY46LaF8qwpecmkc_XgL9bs2xXiSkzihriQHev4KyuEInGplS02PnQrZT-cpSl8/s200/2012-06-08+22.45.31.jpg" width="149" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Favorite bathroom graffiti so far</td></tr>
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I don’t know where things are (What the f*** is with the
million different neighborhoods?
And why do I always feel like the Tenderloin is just around the corner?)</div>
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I don’t know how to get anywhere (busses, trains, light
rail, cable cars – CABLE CARS? I
haven’t been on one yet, but every time I see one go by I go back to Eddie: “
Cable cars, they’re fun! Everybody
gets on board and becomes a rhesus monkey. No one talks on a cable car, they just haaang and staaare...")</div>
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I don’t know as many people (although I do adore the few
exceptions) </div>
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Crashing on couches is lame (but thank you, Mom)</div>
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There’s just lots of mooching in general, off the generous
and sympathetic. </div>
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Until I find my footing.</div>
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Not having my footing annoys me. </div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYsqoebCettmOck3GeDLxY8kc5F4laYnXy_0LJ1MhcyiMUaZtM7s_pk8yyhXp9XRtn0uVWn3RjH57mTKs8MV34i-dgmmMX9S48AppoMEO08YjOzDAKw9WjTwo-UOE9cmNsRTeQdXzUkuY/s1600/2012-06-05+21.01.32.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYsqoebCettmOck3GeDLxY8kc5F4laYnXy_0LJ1MhcyiMUaZtM7s_pk8yyhXp9XRtn0uVWn3RjH57mTKs8MV34i-dgmmMX9S48AppoMEO08YjOzDAKw9WjTwo-UOE9cmNsRTeQdXzUkuY/s320/2012-06-05+21.01.32.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Van Halen in San Jose. What?</td></tr>
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Of course, I mean that in the proverbial sense, but it’s
also hard to find your literal footing in this city. Somehow I’m even clumsier here than I am elsewhere (hard to
believe). I’ve definitely had a
few nail-biting, near-ankle-breaking moments already. I mean, between the vision-obscuring fog and the hills that
appear out of nowhere and just keep going up… into the sky… forever... and never seem to come back down... HOW
does that happen? Sort of like
that story every grandfather tells about having to walk 5 miles to school in
the snow, uphill both ways. It’s
like that. But in fog. </div>
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So I’m still feeling a little iffy. I’ve been yelled at a number of times
for doing MUNI wrong, was asked by a panhandler if I was “one of those Teen
Moms” and then told to “stay thick” – thanks – and I have learned that finding
an apartment here is going to be a million times harder than finding a
job. May need some Jedi mind trick
action to knock out the competition... these aren’t the roommates you’re
looking for… </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyEuo87uz9vwiuM4yqjmwepq82w-iAEWKQPoQC6LgE0eZo2nJWO6KfkBjN7FKfCjWETP3Of55lMolqdI9DWgs6AuXtEHtDozeQ8pMC_A8HrMKCv0jstkL47RQNtK_YibF9Y3rbtQEXm3k/s1600/2012-06-06+15.46.21.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyEuo87uz9vwiuM4yqjmwepq82w-iAEWKQPoQC6LgE0eZo2nJWO6KfkBjN7FKfCjWETP3Of55lMolqdI9DWgs6AuXtEHtDozeQ8pMC_A8HrMKCv0jstkL47RQNtK_YibF9Y3rbtQEXm3k/s320/2012-06-06+15.46.21.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Picnic table overlooking vineyards. CHyeah.</td></tr>
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But I also think I’m still just in the mourning period,
missing Boston. I do know how much
this city has to offer. And I have
admittedly had a lot of fun so far.
I went wine tasting in Napa, I went to a Van Halen concert in San Jose,
I explored Golden Gate Park, I saw a girl running down a hill in very high
heels, jeans, and an open Giants jersey with nothing on underneath (what?), I
walked down Haight Street and got an immediate contact high, I got sunburned in
Dolores Park, I saw many a naked old man at Pride (expected). </div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKsIfjxRThuZ-WusEbeCivoW_9YELeIGpFb7d4GeXN3p89iak43Bwp1j4ZE6z_LOKxI_lyn2mWuDtghSjTX4xsq64axxGm3UQqWhDd5DY48KqrO18L5DnHfczdYckagztf05QdmaUSttw/s1600/2012-06-17+12.36.19.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKsIfjxRThuZ-WusEbeCivoW_9YELeIGpFb7d4GeXN3p89iak43Bwp1j4ZE6z_LOKxI_lyn2mWuDtghSjTX4xsq64axxGm3UQqWhDd5DY48KqrO18L5DnHfczdYckagztf05QdmaUSttw/s320/2012-06-17+12.36.19.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dolores park and cityscape</td></tr>
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Just takes some getting used to, I suppose. In any case, I intend to commandeer
some empty houses and apartments for the month of July (with or without
permission, BITCHES!*) so it’ll be nice to have my own space for a bit… and
then, perhaps, I can follow the trail of organic breadcrumbs to Whole Foods and
even start cooking again. Since we
all know how well that goes for me.</div>
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That’s all for now.
Here’s the rest of Eddie’s SF routine, in case anyone would like the
full version of what runs through my head day in and day out.</div>
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*…lie. With
permission.</div>Marika Lenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05014409565609891662noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2931347018457795818.post-78350027393309774602012-04-17T22:22:00.000-04:002012-04-17T22:22:21.098-04:00The One With A Golden Gate Bridge and Chinese Food<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfP23BqjtZY54dHdICo-ULObhT634QPeQRZLQ4G5HHksp0jBuPTqE_p_mZP1iNWY55PLjlV3vXjm1Fa6rUF_sYN9w2XtIZoSA70__8t1JQeQRdsvlF3fFEjxQJwpwg-0Cati4gYdDp1pA/s1600/IMG_0181.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfP23BqjtZY54dHdICo-ULObhT634QPeQRZLQ4G5HHksp0jBuPTqE_p_mZP1iNWY55PLjlV3vXjm1Fa6rUF_sYN9w2XtIZoSA70__8t1JQeQRdsvlF3fFEjxQJwpwg-0Cati4gYdDp1pA/s320/IMG_0181.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Whatever. I'm still a tourist. Sue me.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
A brief update whilst I gather more interesting blog fodder:<br />
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I just got home (a few days ago) from 10 days in the Bay
Area, and I can safely say that I’m puuuumped to move out there. I got to explore the city, see my
lovely and hilarious friends and family, and start the ball rolling (or at
least give it a nudge) in terms of job contacts, so we shall see how this
experiment goes. As of now, I have
a lot of confidence in the idea… not to mention the fact that I’m TOTALLY
STOKED to rediscover San Francisco more thoroughly. What an awesome city.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2n0lmh9mVkO-_-CqW2Zc42FjFnu1U6P6E0yYORJeRd6176ubW-xuY5jwY2ii-x1uECJ9-eGyWAf3f0r5zoGTje_xK97KNGNEfJQWXET9uCvfi0cFyfU-GayXTc5WF583BtEfSTuUBkiI/s1600/IMG_0207.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2n0lmh9mVkO-_-CqW2Zc42FjFnu1U6P6E0yYORJeRd6176ubW-xuY5jwY2ii-x1uECJ9-eGyWAf3f0r5zoGTje_xK97KNGNEfJQWXET9uCvfi0cFyfU-GayXTc5WF583BtEfSTuUBkiI/s320/IMG_0207.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I guess hoards of angry seagulls are a given after Giants games.</td></tr>
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In the meantime, six very busy weeks await, in which I will try
to accrue as much of a financial cushion as possible AND try to get as much out
of Boston as I can… perhaps mutually exclusive goals, but I have faith. </div>
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I actually have a “Boston Bucket List” of sorts, which
includes – but is not limited to – the following:</div>
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1)<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';">
</span>Freedom Trail.
Never walked an inch of it.
At least, not intentionally.</div>
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2)<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';">
</span>Walden Pond.
Always been a fan of Thoreau.
And ponds.</div>
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3)<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';">
</span>Harpoon Brewery.
Cuz I like beer.</div>
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4)<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';">
</span>Sam Adams Brewery.
See above.</div>
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5)<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';">
</span>Swan boats.
Boring but classic.</div>
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6)<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';">
</span>Duck Tour. Don’t
ask me why, just always wanted to be one of those idiots that quacks at the
locals.</div>
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Anything huge I’m missing?</div>
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I’ve also been horrendously out of my healthy-living kick
for the last week-ish, so I’m hoping that this busy busy schedule won’t further
destroy my progress. Regardless of
the imminent time crunch, it’s time to return to yoga and eating my vegetables.</div>
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Consequently, I’ve been ravaging <a href="http://pinterest.com/" target="_blank">Pinterest</a>, in the throes of
a healthy food-finding frenzy. I’m
thinking some lightened-up Chinese and Thai recipes will be showing up blogside
soon, since really any style of Asian cuisine can be categorized under “My
Weaknesses.” It's such. A. Problem.</div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPve0o5vRflUP3-Nb3_CJjEhGP-enHFlYSWYDh-LTnW0oGvdNoz5uevZ_h2nPuwxM9Q_ylQYSliujWk6zOd2TvQZXsE8dfBf9ZjH4R38JyKukx8RtMXXO46lLRaL_8QyRxpiyRs8YyjzM/s1600/DSCN2535.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPve0o5vRflUP3-Nb3_CJjEhGP-enHFlYSWYDh-LTnW0oGvdNoz5uevZ_h2nPuwxM9Q_ylQYSliujWk6zOd2TvQZXsE8dfBf9ZjH4R38JyKukx8RtMXXO46lLRaL_8QyRxpiyRs8YyjzM/s320/DSCN2535.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A non-sickly sweet sauce</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv4jseUks7A0v866UIsK6GD4xf_Q-08FZJqyzjO9v9R7i8_2ZxCQTlhStvME7uUnEfmdFjwYxIlYAjOAMK_T6wuT2fOo4eAdm1z6LugzmyO95bJvbZYyWncjSPYaCVvrWA9qX9JHLIX08/s1600/DSCN2536.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv4jseUks7A0v866UIsK6GD4xf_Q-08FZJqyzjO9v9R7i8_2ZxCQTlhStvME7uUnEfmdFjwYxIlYAjOAMK_T6wuT2fOo4eAdm1z6LugzmyO95bJvbZYyWncjSPYaCVvrWA9qX9JHLIX08/s320/DSCN2536.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Breaded in whole wheat panko and baked.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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That said, I actually made a very successful attempt at a healthified
version of General Tso’s chicken a few weeks ago, courtesy of Rocco DiSpirito’s
cookbook “<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Now-Eat-This-Americas-Favorite/dp/0345520904/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1334715180&sr=8-1" target="_blank">Now Eat This</a>.” </div>
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No deep
frying or sugar-loaded sauce required, but it still turned out way delicious. </div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8AI4htUA117wIAq1U1FlmwU3skrSpkBbXacseJJv3sWIlJ2m0YRuwD4VIwqPiojtF90zRTLxjm6DW8Cfu4TYnWKWaeesvsJNbmBcllGNyIxc6P3nM9kqA9G6JLD_O65GtR7BWL67DuOc/s1600/DSCN2538.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8AI4htUA117wIAq1U1FlmwU3skrSpkBbXacseJJv3sWIlJ2m0YRuwD4VIwqPiojtF90zRTLxjm6DW8Cfu4TYnWKWaeesvsJNbmBcllGNyIxc6P3nM9kqA9G6JLD_O65GtR7BWL67DuOc/s320/DSCN2538.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">NOM.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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And, as with any good Chinese food,
made for excellent leftovers.</div>
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Hokay, that is all for now. More exciting entries coming soon. PROMISE.</div>Marika Lenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05014409565609891662noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2931347018457795818.post-67609019672661485932012-03-29T22:48:00.000-04:002012-03-29T23:40:23.637-04:00Time to Change My Tagline......Because in a couple months, the current one will cease to be relevant.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m movin’ to San Francisco, baby.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I spent several maddening, decision-oriented days going back
and forth and back and forth and rationalizing staying and rationalizing
leaving aaaand my brain tied itself in many knots. But after a few days of hyperventilating at the idea of
picking up and moving 3,000 miles, I realized – why the hell not? </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Your twenties are the time that you can kinda just… go. And do something totally
different. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And my momma’s out there, along with the rest of my
crazypants / wonderful family.</div>
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<br /></div>
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And my mom and dad lived out there for many many decades, and she still knows lots of people in the area… sooooo hello, Networking. I’m Marty’s incredibly charming
daughter. Nice to meet you. A job, you say? Why yes, I AM in the market!</div>
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<br /></div>
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And so many good friends out there.</div>
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<br /></div>
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AND I love San Francisco. </div>
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<br /></div>
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So there are plenty of good reasons behind it. But all those said – it’s still sort of
a leap of faith. I don’t have a
job lined up. I don’t know where
I’m going to live yet. I just had
a gut feeling that it was time for a … I don’t know, a shake-up of sorts. And after the panic phase simmered, I started getting super excited.</div>
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<br /></div>
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So, seem reasonable to everybody? Yes? Great.</div>
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<br /></div>
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My prediction is that the following two months will be a
little bonkers… with three part-time jobs, lots of packing, and seeing all mah
buddies so much that when I’m finally out of here they’ll go, “Thank GOD, I
thought she’d never leave. Like
seriously, WHY was she sleeping on our couch for the last six days if her lease isn't up for three weeks?”</div>
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<br /></div>
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OOOH, good news though! I JUST got an email with a totally exciting job opportunity from
one “Coral Gilreath.” Ready?</div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-size: 13pt;">Good
Morning. <i>[it’s
10:30 PM]<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-size: 13pt;">Don't miss
superb career opportunity. <i>[I
would never miss superb career opportunity.]<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-size: 13pt;">The Firm <i>[sounds
legit to me!] </i></span><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-size: 13pt;"> is seeking for <i>[close enough] </i></span><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-size: 13pt;">self-motivated worker in United States
to help us spread out our business in the North America area. <i>[Seems like a reasonable goal. The North America area isn’t too hard
to cover.]</i></span><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-size: 11pt;"><i><o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-size: 13pt;">Free
instruction possible. <i>[Like… in
anything I want?]<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-size: 13pt;">Admirable
profit ability. <i>[Thank
god. I only accept jobs with
admirable profit ability, so I’m glad we covered that.]<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-size: 13pt;">Conditions: <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-size: 13pt;">- 18+
age <i>[Hey, that’s me!]<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-size: 13pt;">- Only basic
knowledge of Internet & computer.
<i>[I have a blog, I can work a keyb oard oKayllksgjin0??;]<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-size: 13pt;">- 2-3 free
hours per day <i>[Wait, does that
mean I’ll be working 21-22 hours?]<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-size: 13pt;">Those who are
interested must be fair and commerce motivated. Working only some hours per
day. <i>[Now that’s just
uncanny. I’ve ALWAYS said that the
best way to describe me is commerce motivated.]<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-size: 13pt;">Everyone
living in the United States can be our representative. <i>[Well jeez, Coral, now I don’t feel
so special.]<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-size: 13pt;">Thank you for
your attention. <i>[You’re
welcome.]<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-size: 13pt;">I think I’ve
found my calling. …In what,
exactly, I couldn’t say. But I
have a good feeling about it, don’t you?
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>Marika Lenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05014409565609891662noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2931347018457795818.post-24717444756808679042012-03-13T16:32:00.000-04:002012-03-13T16:35:03.958-04:00Marika Goes Giggin'A harrowing journey.
A raging stuffy nose. A
moderately enthusiastic group of 30 senior citizens. A girl and her karaoke tracks.<br />
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<br /></div>
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That, in a few short sentences, sums up my gig last week –
my 10-song set for the Military Officers Association of America’s monthly
meeting.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Actually, it was pretty fun. But before it got fun, I had to negotiate some treacherous
territory to make it to the restaurant, which was in the damn boonies. The hour spent on the T was fine. The half-hour bus ride was where it
started to get iffy… as the minutes passed, and as, one by one, my bus riding
compatriots reached their destinations, there I still was – heading deep into
the Weymouth wasteland – until finally, as the last one left on the vehicle, I
reached my stop. Which was literally
an intersection in the middle of nothing.
As in, surrounded by dirt.
The end. </div>
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Only moderately creepy.</div>
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<br /></div>
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So I got off the bus, looked around, pictured what I must
look like standing in the middle of nowhere in my cute little dress with my
makeup all done, and just started laughing… I mean I was like, 80% sure I wouldn’t
get kidnapped. I just started down
the pseudo-sidewalk and hoped I was heading in the right direction. God knows there weren’t any street
signs to offer assistance (it’s still the Greater Boston area, after all).</div>
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<br /></div>
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Eventually it became clear that I was on track, but the best it got in terms of civilization along the way was a rather dingy shopping complex, which was actually sort of bumpin’ – apparently, it’s the place
to be in Weymouth. Fair enough,
though – it had everything a hip, modern American might need! A store called BLDG #19 – GOOD STUFF
CHEAP, a Dollar Tree, a… uh… “restaurant” called “Frank’s Place,” and a rockin’
arcade that looked like it hadn’t been renovated since the mid-80’s. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Anyway. On to
the gig itself. Everyone was very
sweet, but apparently the turnout for this month’s meeting was about a third of
what it usually is – according to the wife of the man in charge, “everyone is
still in Florida!” Which made me
giggle. Again – senior citizens.</div>
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<br /></div>
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So I chatted with everyone, they bought me dinner, and then Mr.
In Charge introduced me – “All right everyone, this is Marika. We met her when she was our waitress on
the boat… the Boston— the Spirited— the Boston Spirit? What was it? Oh that’s right, the Spirit of Boston. Anyway, she’ll be singing a few songs
for us tonight. And don’t miss
next month, when we’re going to have Miss Massachusetts come and speak!”</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
… You know how sometimes you forget to think before you
talk? You know. Like when you half-shout, “Uggggghhhhh
REALLY?? I’m SO SORRY,
everyone!!!”</div>
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<br /></div>
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To which someone responded, “At least you don’t have to <i>follow</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> that act.”
Fair point. So, they may
forget about me next month as they gaze upon the beautiful face of Miss
Massachusetts, but what can ya do.
</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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In any case, I got up, stuffy nose and all, and did my
little half-hour show. Mostly jazz
stuff (duh), but I DID throw in one of my mother’s originals (which was very
well received) and closed out the set with the entirely incongruous choice of
Dusty Springfield’s “I Only Want to Be With You.” Which I decided to throw in because my father always said it
was the greatest rock song ever written.
Out of place given the jazz-centric set, perhaps, but I dedicated that
one to him. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Overall, it was an entertaining experience. And people seemed to enjoy it. Always a plus. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Also, upon reviewing the recording, I learned that: </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
1) Head colds and notes at the top and bottom of my range
are enemies,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
2) I make a lot of really awkward faces when I’m nervous,
and…</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
3) I have no idea what the F*CK to do with my hands when I
don’t have a mic. Lots of weird
arm movements, flapping fingers, opening / closing hands for no apparent
reason. Gotta get my stage
presence together, that’s for damn sure.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But I did it!
First solo gig ever. <i>And </i>I
didn’t get kidnapped on the way there.
Two big wins in my book.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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Just for funsies, here's my mom's original, "Serves Me Right."</div>
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<br /></div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/fAKvsiLvB4s?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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<br /></div>Marika Lenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05014409565609891662noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2931347018457795818.post-79701586045504511752012-03-06T22:49:00.000-05:002012-03-06T22:51:01.818-05:00Literary Failures and Musical ProcrastinationBaahhh… EPIC fail on the reading-and-writing-more
endeavor.<br />
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I mean, I wrote <i>something</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> every day... if, of course, you count talking to my friends on Gchat. Sigh. Other than that, it was a very lame attempt. And I got about 5 pages into an
incredibly old copy of </span><i>A Farewell to Arms </i><span style="font-style: normal;">on the first day of the “challenge”
and have not, as of yet, reopened it.
</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
SOMEONE save me from my computer addiction. Any thoughts on kicking the habit?</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF2AJWv2CCPSlsL811KCtysXHZwEL14_hsdl1nNhqNxChfEEu1_5wtjbDrd-r7sGFZOAbJMiHT1Z5C9JBvxMM7hbsfQQqvS3fMhheZcqd7yTgycfLvVO5QYSTR5SWn9iXVpN37DNOStT0/s1600/amazon-kindle-fire-tablet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF2AJWv2CCPSlsL811KCtysXHZwEL14_hsdl1nNhqNxChfEEu1_5wtjbDrd-r7sGFZOAbJMiHT1Z5C9JBvxMM7hbsfQQqvS3fMhheZcqd7yTgycfLvVO5QYSTR5SWn9iXVpN37DNOStT0/s320/amazon-kindle-fire-tablet.jpg" width="223" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I did make one (rather expensive) effort to tempt myself
into reading more – a few nights ago in very sleepy, half-lucid haze, I thought
it would be a brilliant idea to buy a <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0051VVOB2/?tag=googhydr-20&hvadid=8302881757&hvpos=1t1&hvexid=&hvnetw=g&hvrand=1224131931792394254&hvpone=&hvptwo=&hvqmt=e&ref=pd_sl_7gl7b2uwu2_e" target="_blank">Kindle Fire</a>. Like an iPad, but half the price (which, if you do the
math, is still pretty pricey for someone who makes her living on tips). <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That said, I am very pleased with my new toy. The first thing I did was download all
the free books I wanted to read!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
…And the second thing I did was install my email and
download a bunch of useless apps.
We shall see which element proves more captivating.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This week I’ll read a book. Cross my heart.
<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Other than an expensive new gadget, the big news of the week
is that I have a GIG tomorrow.
Yes, a gig. Like,
singing. For people. By myself. For 45 minutes.
And they’re paying me.
What?<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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The elegant, high-profile event for which my talents have been
requested iiissss…. ready for it? <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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One of the monthly meetings of the MOAA – Military Officers
Association of America! 30
people! 70 years and older! At a bar in Weymouth! Just me and my iPod!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
All right, so it’s nothing huge. But I’ve certainly never done this before – a whole set of
just me? Ought to be
interesting. True to my procrastinatory
(yes, it’s a word… or it is now, anyway) roots, I waited until abooouutttt 15
minutes ago to finalize my set list.
Standard. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I also, of course, woke up with a totally stuffed up head
yesterday – so as of now, my first
song will come out sounding much like “Iiii’ve got by loooove to keep be waaarb…”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Luckily, one of the regulars at the Bistro gave me some
advice as he watched me sniffle through my shift:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Rob: You should
make a drink, I swear it works – hot water, lemon, honey, and a lot of brandy.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Me: So then
what, I drink it and I’ll just feel better instantly?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Rob: Well… you’ll
be a little drunk.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Me: But then I’ll
wake up in the morning and feel better?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Rob: Well… you’ll
be a little hungover. But THEN you’ll
feel better.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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Sounds promising. Wish me luck tomorrow…</div>Marika Lenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05014409565609891662noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2931347018457795818.post-70631356115123490132012-02-27T15:36:00.000-05:002012-02-27T15:36:36.034-05:00And We're Back...Aww jeez. So
easy to fall off the blog wagon.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
First of all, it’s been a bit of a busy couple weeks. But more to the point is the fact that
I kept looking at my <a href="http://www.lifewithoutamealplan.com/2012/02/if-you-were-in-room-with-jim-you-were.html" target="_blank">last entry</a> and going, “Well, kind of hard to follow this
with an <a href="http://www.lifewithoutamealplan.com/2012/01/yoga-its-not-worst.html" target="_blank">I-went-to-the-gym-today post</a>…” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But, gotta keep it going somehow. So we forge ahead with a quick summary of the last 11 days –
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
– I’m on the
job hunt. Had an interview at a
digital advertising agency – which was awesome, and went well enough… but, as
tends to happen, my lack of experience is making it difficult for me to find
somewhere to get experience. Love
that.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
– Consequently,
I’ve been working the “connections” angle, pestering anyone I know that might
know someone that might know someone.
Because it is clear, after many applications sent in online to no
response whatsoever, that “knowing someone” is the only real option. Some of those job sites are cruel
enough to tell you how many other people have applied for the job you just
applied for... REALLY?? I wish
you’d told me that 1,000 people had already sent in applications before I spent
two hours perfecting mine.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
–<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: xx-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 9px;"> </span></span>And
along with the blog wagon, I also fell off the healthy eating wagon a bit last
week… far too much food that I did not make myself. I am shamed.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
HOWEVER, I got back in the game a bit this weekend. I made a pizza, with – are you ready? –
a crust made out of – wait for it… </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Cauliflower?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Indeed.
Cauliflower. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHi8qTBCQfWMzJIiWqJrQAFJjSLjuQmjkQiPX3NUUWVd4TrRsQvICJQtvRUTr_IdNbvQg3pJD496RdsN3kvg445gqbzsIPVjxd_surdw16M2wWTvcljTXbG58TOiB5QyWXnv83GTnIZ3w/s1600/DSCN2479.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHi8qTBCQfWMzJIiWqJrQAFJjSLjuQmjkQiPX3NUUWVd4TrRsQvICJQtvRUTr_IdNbvQg3pJD496RdsN3kvg445gqbzsIPVjxd_surdw16M2wWTvcljTXbG58TOiB5QyWXnv83GTnIZ3w/s320/DSCN2479.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grated cauliflower</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After yet another battle with the oven (with Noah to the
rescue once again, teaching me how to reignite the pilot light), and far too
much time spent bent over a cheese grater shredding my cruciferous
dough-substitute (time which would have been cut down significantly had I known
how to operate our food processor… it really is a wonder how I function in a
kitchen…) I emerged with a surprisingly delicious product.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-V5NlFUAl2g6N5uKRqcb91EB5iL09-7CutChw7r6NAydehJeKH1O9WbNFbJN_DCNQmwZoGwrDMmC3_wkju0tLzYbpW2W9r8jheTTID43P8i8HhB-oC2-5ykn00gJKstwHr6Ij4ackRW8/s1600/DSCN2485.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-V5NlFUAl2g6N5uKRqcb91EB5iL09-7CutChw7r6NAydehJeKH1O9WbNFbJN_DCNQmwZoGwrDMmC3_wkju0tLzYbpW2W9r8jheTTID43P8i8HhB-oC2-5ykn00gJKstwHr6Ij4ackRW8/s320/DSCN2485.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Skeptical... looks like a pile of fried rice...</td></tr>
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The crust is only cauliflower, shredded mozzarella, an egg,
and spices. Smashing the seemingly
flimsy concoction onto a baking sheet, I was dubious… it seemed highly unlikely
that this would cook into something substantial enough to bear the many
toppings I had planned for it. </div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizaRkWNtFg4uBCH1wAeGWP3WtWvKauglzl3p1mqfU0Fa1iiR2Mnhx1YTWs8C3pBixFc2dZD15spLdCArcVYjc729Y2If9dj5LZyfkgYMaNa9Wpg0LuSKx9Uw2kTMbGJS9UfvzMQLgtKRE/s1600/DSCN2486.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizaRkWNtFg4uBCH1wAeGWP3WtWvKauglzl3p1mqfU0Fa1iiR2Mnhx1YTWs8C3pBixFc2dZD15spLdCArcVYjc729Y2If9dj5LZyfkgYMaNa9Wpg0LuSKx9Uw2kTMbGJS9UfvzMQLgtKRE/s320/DSCN2486.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking better after baking, but still skeptical...</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguonuqY1Dy0lvmOLna0Wl2HaHeWU6h8vyGdJE2QOY2ZxGmXWZ-QmPyE5rOaTnkAHHOutFrH_xbeQ7U7KXIJED0FE_jgdhwh4jwprV6txQEPfYn45_eonCp_bnWP27hINyScIZPYkYfCaE/s1600/DSCN2487.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguonuqY1Dy0lvmOLna0Wl2HaHeWU6h8vyGdJE2QOY2ZxGmXWZ-QmPyE5rOaTnkAHHOutFrH_xbeQ7U7KXIJED0FE_jgdhwh4jwprV6txQEPfYn45_eonCp_bnWP27hINyScIZPYkYfCaE/s320/DSCN2487.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Okay, fine.</td></tr>
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But since when have I had any culinary intuition?</div>
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As per usual, <a href="http://www.eat-drink-smile.com/2011/04/cauliflower-crust-pizza.html" target="_blank">the recipe was right</a>. I was wrong. It worked and was suuuper tasty.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPE9augWgrcofV6rbkttrqBGnFx0dXrHbP8I1hm25MLMqADkGJ5iROGLYM-6bo4JlhP31vhi7VLMTQBtmXZ9mO09wL9l2WTSAIB8ZLH2bnEZ33e9alkYlTl6OVWwuT8CwDapNzhGjL5es/s1600/DSCN2489.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPE9augWgrcofV6rbkttrqBGnFx0dXrHbP8I1hm25MLMqADkGJ5iROGLYM-6bo4JlhP31vhi7VLMTQBtmXZ9mO09wL9l2WTSAIB8ZLH2bnEZ33e9alkYlTl6OVWwuT8CwDapNzhGjL5es/s320/DSCN2489.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Recipe wins again.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq-XUqmu-FmL_fY9jZxMR8DxmV47jPyyOKS5xJgLskVs1H7xFXvbWjNs7fCqY0qNjKbZ5ptV_vT-YYp4BjDCU8gmrVgxbkAuteBrPcT0oikETmmw71xjJlRSNYUk0g6BqnbKR3yyYlUac/s1600/DSCN2491.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq-XUqmu-FmL_fY9jZxMR8DxmV47jPyyOKS5xJgLskVs1H7xFXvbWjNs7fCqY0qNjKbZ5ptV_vT-YYp4BjDCU8gmrVgxbkAuteBrPcT0oikETmmw71xjJlRSNYUk0g6BqnbKR3yyYlUac/s320/DSCN2491.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">BANANA MUFFINS!</td></tr>
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I also made <a href="http://allrecipes.com/recipe/mimis-giant-whole-wheat-banana-strawberry-muffins/" target="_blank">whole wheat banana muffins</a>!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB8lpPRYUmG91EJ9ixT82nh8goSP5MiFgOHbaBazyCwirO19hOGRhG2bTmwviYAn9bi4hhCEQjpeIct07L8s0u17BYVMBSE-C9LrzNtArvhk6UmpgKo0Eza-zEUqaWLXhHeuCUgivUBc4/s1600/DSCN2504.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB8lpPRYUmG91EJ9ixT82nh8goSP5MiFgOHbaBazyCwirO19hOGRhG2bTmwviYAn9bi4hhCEQjpeIct07L8s0u17BYVMBSE-C9LrzNtArvhk6UmpgKo0Eza-zEUqaWLXhHeuCUgivUBc4/s320/DSCN2504.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Blurry and health-tastic</td></tr>
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Not quite as decadent as my favorite
white-flour-lots-of-butter-full-fat-sour-cream-sugar-loaded-chocolate-chip
banana muffins… although I guess they really can’t be compared. A different beast entirely. But they’re still way yummy.</div>
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So that was the last couple weeks. </div>
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Coming up – I wanted a less-computer-and-TV challenge,
wherein I’d limit myself to an hour of TV / recreational internet-ing a day, or
something. But I decided instead
on the following – for the month of March, I’m going to make myself write
SOMETHING every day (whether it’s blog, journal, or Harry Potter fan fiction… I
meeeaannn… what?) and read one book a week, which will, I’m assuming, automatically
mean less time being a slug in front of my computer. So basically, time to add mental wellness to physical
wellness. Because I do not. Need to watch. How I Met Your Mother. In its entirety. Again.</div>
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Backing away from the computer…</div>
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PS – I do not –
I repeat, DO NOT – write Harry Potter fan fiction. </div>
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But if I did, it would be awesome.</div>
</div>Marika Lenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05014409565609891662noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2931347018457795818.post-22021149909280038572012-02-16T12:06:00.000-05:002013-02-15T15:48:40.688-05:00If You Were In A Room With Jim, You Were Smiling<div class="MsoNormal">
We, as a culture, are hardwired to commemorate various
anniversaries. The day we were
born and the day we married are to be celebrated. Other anniversaries are more somber and reflective. Sad,
even. But we recognize them
nonetheless – maybe not with grand displays, maybe we don’t verbalize them at
all, but we know they’re there. Those dates stick with you.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib3cZCE_dIjvtfQelRwLSWd1NsHjk91lWUzCl-xhOwuNW5fymB6ZW6dBuOJEMvPSd8BlFhmY3OiYBgQd3f-w51A2jf6nRsJhbpu0GSM0L5kSXMj_YD-EPLqYDs8y2wvkJ3uI73e1F3lR8/s1600/Scan+5.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib3cZCE_dIjvtfQelRwLSWd1NsHjk91lWUzCl-xhOwuNW5fymB6ZW6dBuOJEMvPSd8BlFhmY3OiYBgQd3f-w51A2jf6nRsJhbpu0GSM0L5kSXMj_YD-EPLqYDs8y2wvkJ3uI73e1F3lR8/s320/Scan+5.jpeg" width="217" /></span></a></div>
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I didn’t really want to give this day power. It is what it is, and it feels
pointless to pay homage to the pain year after year. Buuuuttt like I said – I can’t help it. Hardwired. And we haven’t gotten to year after year yet – this is the
first one. A year ago today, my
dad died. Though it’s obviously
still crushing to think about, that’s the case any day – the year anniversary
is also proving to be just… weird.
Surreal. It feels like it
happened yesterday and a million years ago. Which is not an uncommon feeling, I guess.<o:p></o:p></div>
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So I debated for a while on whether I wanted to, in fact,
commemorate the day via blog. Like
I said in my <a href="http://www.lifewithoutamealplan.com/2012/01/life-without-meal-plan-sequel.html" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">first post</span></a>, I don’t mean any of this to sound self-pitying, or
aggressively melodramatic, or like I’m trying to collect condolences. I just figured that everyone
experiences loss at some point, and so everyone can connect to this in some
way. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIoeLs8RAsYomCc4ka6hv0MdUV7MgqcC1OGtH-Hk57hUSV9u-QZEotO-l-ftVZmJK2ZX7KEWMML_H53JjeOErycCra2fO34Ft_KjT27qrb53cfootuiuLkNinRpSKyFNXOkj58lG32_V8/s1600/Scan+69.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"><img border="0" height="143" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIoeLs8RAsYomCc4ka6hv0MdUV7MgqcC1OGtH-Hk57hUSV9u-QZEotO-l-ftVZmJK2ZX7KEWMML_H53JjeOErycCra2fO34Ft_KjT27qrb53cfootuiuLkNinRpSKyFNXOkj58lG32_V8/s200/Scan+69.jpeg" width="200" /></span></a>And also, my dad was always so proud that I followed in his
literary footsteps that I felt I had to post <i>something.</i><span style="font-style: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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But I decided that what I really wanted to do was bring some
levity to the remembrance (which I am 100% certain he’d want) by sharing some
of the hilarious anecdotes / heartfelt thoughts that people wrote about him and
sent our way last year, highlighting what a brilliant, ridiculous, sweet guy he
was. I laughed and cried my way
through reading these again – they are awesome. So, without further ado… <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiynGF0tH7j3ivfX3eaRo-ogSu0EPYFJrubNS36UEpeomck-djX91kNePVkQ1MZ2pRdTnGR37Z2e9rjIQi_5xqJXr3SP14vGTR1zY9Jw3HRNVedSpYf9XGaiWSxVpytEagtN04IH2mwZGE/s1600/Scan+21.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiynGF0tH7j3ivfX3eaRo-ogSu0EPYFJrubNS36UEpeomck-djX91kNePVkQ1MZ2pRdTnGR37Z2e9rjIQi_5xqJXr3SP14vGTR1zY9Jw3HRNVedSpYf9XGaiWSxVpytEagtN04IH2mwZGE/s320/Scan+21.jpeg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<i>As Jim was the soul of humor,
smarts, wit and ironic insight, it would be hard to pick just one memory.
So saying, what instantly sprang to my mind happened probably 20 years
ago. I was walking in your front door for what would be (I knew) a
delicious Jim-cooked feast. You and your father were on the floor in
front of the TV set watching the Evening News and President H. W. Bush was
speaking. As I entered Jim turned to me, eyes alight, absolutely beaming
with pride and recounted, “Marika just said, 'Daddy, the President is a
pin-head!’" No father was ever prouder of a three-year-old daughter.</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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After being dragged up to a
cabin in the woods by my family, Jim reluctantly emerged from the car, looked
around at all that nature and announced, "I don't trust air I can't see.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMjqmDHXloT8z4ZA7aVOLvib5O08zYFL0S2jJkKdvLWJPIe5TUnh-hNWZ6kDzG_PmbBIJ-iS8aVb8CUyZSZ8_y79K_YHFLZDcf9Zll3IooEfopvCGZf1tTXjPh47OFB7rM0LvXgOd_miI/s1600/Scan+58.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"><img border="0" height="221" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMjqmDHXloT8z4ZA7aVOLvib5O08zYFL0S2jJkKdvLWJPIe5TUnh-hNWZ6kDzG_PmbBIJ-iS8aVb8CUyZSZ8_y79K_YHFLZDcf9Zll3IooEfopvCGZf1tTXjPh47OFB7rM0LvXgOd_miI/s320/Scan+58.jpeg" width="320" /></span></a><i>I am a pretty good cook, and Jim
once made the mistake of suggesting an alternate way to prepare something.
I did not say anything, I just looked at him, and then he said, after his
characteristic pause for greatest effect, "I never believed in
channeling someone, but your mother has just gotten into your
kitchen." My mom was not
known for her patience and gentleness.</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPFm-lHYeipO_Y2qUnYwoRZwFZi7n-ykp-LBRtaShFN0G1a4_hjLduxipNbVdcIeVlB_AUlnqYmDd_-XYbvbL7ZawB3h72F8Tdjs6pw6Sp_gwTrBdj2_yLVCCP4YBcA7zlAK6bynnnC-E/s1600/Scan+63.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="130" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPFm-lHYeipO_Y2qUnYwoRZwFZi7n-ykp-LBRtaShFN0G1a4_hjLduxipNbVdcIeVlB_AUlnqYmDd_-XYbvbL7ZawB3h72F8Tdjs6pw6Sp_gwTrBdj2_yLVCCP4YBcA7zlAK6bynnnC-E/s200/Scan+63.jpeg" width="200" /></a></div>
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It was truly beautiful to see
the sublime love that he expressed for you and your mother every time
I was around him. I've never seen a man with such a total dedication to
family and friends – really connecting with
them on the most heartfelt level.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqYY_zILJsKqbYD5NpPG6z_X05BM9QuMIojqKtYT-bTbRtTzPnzVn7hFyoRPud69RWVTxg8l4yqFzaq0QPX308h7FnETOVr6KXST9bq5DR3Fv-3GmAYlsnXoaQ51TCb9lV_5BhZ6qwLVU/s1600/Scan+32.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="227" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqYY_zILJsKqbYD5NpPG6z_X05BM9QuMIojqKtYT-bTbRtTzPnzVn7hFyoRPud69RWVTxg8l4yqFzaq0QPX308h7FnETOVr6KXST9bq5DR3Fv-3GmAYlsnXoaQ51TCb9lV_5BhZ6qwLVU/s320/Scan+32.jpeg" width="320" /></a><i>Last summer, your parents came to visit us in LA. The only condition – set by your father – was that he would cook dinner for us. All we had to do was round up the usual suspects and provide the kitchen. They arrived at about 4:00, LADEN with grocery bags – no doorbell ringing – just them and bags of food. And not just food from ordinary grocery stores. No – they had stopped at an Italian market for rice for risotto, some Thai or Vietnamese place for shrimp, an exotic bakery for cheesecake, was it? Who remembers – at the time, none of stopped to remember each detail. It was just Jim – his generous, abundant, warm, funny self doing what he always did – feeding us and making us so happy.</i></div>
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Upon seeing Jim’s name as contributor to a food blog while
reading a restaurant review on that blog, I asked Marty, “What else does this
mysterious man do?” That helps summarize my never-ending awe, respect and
astonishment at his continually appearing facets, layers and interests.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>Jim always made me feel better
being around him; expressed understanding of my point of view – even if he
didn't embrace it; and created a peaceful balance among disparate and feisty
friends when we gathered together – all
topped with the impish smile of a knowing and benevolent rascal.</i><br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
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If you were in a room with Jim,
you were smiling.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>Several years ago, we were
having dinner and discussing the war in Afghanistan. We got quite serious discussing the plight of the refugees
fleeing over the Kyber Pass and into Peshawar. Quietly at first and
then building, Jim started humming, "My kind of town, Peshawar
is... my kind of town.” That
ended the erudite discussion and all descended into fractious frivolity.</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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I always think about what a
supremely unique combination of characteristics Jim had – gentle, thoughtful, intelligent, funny, caring, and
quirky. He was his own man, and not one who met our culture's ideals
necessarily (and I doubt he or any of us who cared for him would want him to),
yet he still managed to operate with grace and fluidity within our strange and
sometimes cruel world.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>The thing I loved most about
Jimmy was his equanimity. He could cook rings around me blindfolded, but
was so very graciously complimentary about my cooking, even when I naively
served Italian to him and Marty.
Then, after my first meal at his house – rigatoni,
meatballs, sausage, peppers in a heavenly red sauce – I knew it would be Chinese take-out next time he
visited us. By the same token, Jimmy was patient and generous when he
played in our poker game. I don't
think any of us realized how skilled he was, but still he didn't win every time
and let others at the table take home a few bucks. Occasionally.</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhweR8iVMQu1lgiKYK7tstPrTWIZzfCIO5gIF3WeBlkRppWBdtQeAd_JwFS_i8g9QryBynZkArA-3kkqP8cKUf6oFelstAGU6f2-UeNf3QgRp_phvnTKqjLTnrEHi1pa7LjcPwrY7Do-EU/s1600/Scan+71.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="227" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhweR8iVMQu1lgiKYK7tstPrTWIZzfCIO5gIF3WeBlkRppWBdtQeAd_JwFS_i8g9QryBynZkArA-3kkqP8cKUf6oFelstAGU6f2-UeNf3QgRp_phvnTKqjLTnrEHi1pa7LjcPwrY7Do-EU/s320/Scan+71.jpeg" width="320" /></a>I remember vividly the goodness
in his smile, the merriment in his eyes and the optimism flying off the slope
of his nose, the warm and loving feeling he wrapped us in, the blissful comfort
foods he cooked for us, his impish laughter and hilarious storytelling, but I
cannot remember any of the words...<o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>He was such an incredibly kind man – it's unbelievable the
kindness he showed to me. He went way out of his way to help me, and
I was just this kid he barely even knew.</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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One bit I heard from him at
dinner one night was that the only regret he had about living in California was
that Marika had never gotten to experience the joys and subsequent
well-embroidered stories of sitting at the dining table with all the "old
girls" in the family. Marika was sitting right at the table with me and my
sister, and then Jim looked around at us, waited a beat and said, "Oh my
God! You guys ARE the old girls!”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>The day I met Jim he did the
most stone cold, spot on imitation of Mervyn Dymally I've ever heard. Then he
said, "Never trust anyone with three Ys in his name." I knew our friendship had a future.</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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Thinking back over my fund of
Jim stories, the one that I recall most vividly related to the horror movie he
wrote for a friend back in the day. I may have the words wrong but he said
something like, “I was watching the movie that I'd written when the fucking
mummy started spouting Nietzsche. I wondered who the fuck had written
those lines, because I sure didn't.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br />
*****<br />
<br /></div>
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And here’s one of my own, which
comes from a home movie of ours.
My dad decided to videotape the preparations for my first Halloween…
well, not my first, but the first for which I had any idea what was going
on. I was two and a half, dressed
as a tiny pirate (or, as I said with my horrendous speech impediment,
“piwate”). As I was playing with
the candy meant for trick or treaters, and I asked, “Daddy, are we going to
take the candy with us?” To which
he responded from behind the camera, “No sweetie, because the point of this holiday
is to extort candy from other people.”</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0Q6unpSdIYglTDhwWtMO5uSsyQTPunnmTA0_snkt7xLHVd2B2xY0-gx-5hP3QpPQjVV9Y1QdeiUl_EMBIIvhEHGZYdrnb9O9VWNuSrbOlYeZxarcep1bqtky9lJI4sY4tQ9jhhcTSy5Q/s1600/Scan+18.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0Q6unpSdIYglTDhwWtMO5uSsyQTPunnmTA0_snkt7xLHVd2B2xY0-gx-5hP3QpPQjVV9Y1QdeiUl_EMBIIvhEHGZYdrnb9O9VWNuSrbOlYeZxarcep1bqtky9lJI4sY4tQ9jhhcTSy5Q/s320/Scan+18.jpeg" width="212" /></a>He could make me laugh just by
saying the word “fart.” He
invented characters and voices for each and every one of my stuffed animals, as
well as a sock puppet he named “Barfy.”
He spoiled me rotten without actually making me rotten. He was my mentor and my friend. And in my 14 years of almost year-round
soccer, much of which was played many hours from home, in pouring rain, in
scorching heat… the man missed two games.
TWO. IN 14 YEARS. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I could not have asked for a
more supportive, loving, witty, brilliant, generous father. So this hasn’t necessarily gotten
easier over the last year, but we press on. My dad had faith in me even (and especially) when I didn’t have
it in myself – and that’s what has kept me going. <o:p></o:p><br />
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So, that’s that. I appreciate anyone getting all the way
through any of my posts, but if you made it through this one, special
thanks. And now, my final word on
the subject will be the first and greatest lesson I ever learned from my father,
and one not to be forgotten – <o:p></o:p></div>
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Never eat anything bigger than
your head.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Marika Lenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05014409565609891662noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2931347018457795818.post-81928544075546361322012-02-13T14:53:00.001-05:002012-02-15T15:30:17.304-05:00At Least I Don’t Have to Be Picked Up In the Middle of the Night Anymore…Sleep and I have always had a love / hate relationship. By which I mean, of course, that I love
it and it hates me. It’s heartbreaking.<br />
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Sometimes sleep enjoys leading me on – we’ll be happy for a
few weeks, and then out of nowhere… it tells me it wants to sleep with other
people. Ba-dum-CH!<br />
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…Sorry. I’m
done. GOD, I’m a nerd.</div>
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Point being, I’ve had sleep issues for as long as I can
remember. I’m sure anyone from
Hermosa will remember those countless nights that my parents had to rescue me
from sleepovers after I’d tossed and turned in a friend’s bunk bed for hours,
finally dissolving into hysterics and sobbing into my stuffed animal that I
needed to go home.</div>
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Yeah. High school
was a weird time.</div>
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…… Juuuust kidding.…*cough* … Moving on.</div>
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As a kid, it was the idea of not being able to sleep that
sent me into a tailspin. Ten
restless minutes and I would lose it entirely (I was a sensitive little
flower…). Several years later, the
causes of my sleeplessness have changed (as have the reactions… mercifully, I
do not call my mother in tears at 2:00 AM anymore), but the sleeplessness
itself remains. </div>
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Nowadays, the problem stems largely from a brain that won’t
turn off. Instead of drifting
peacefully into unconsciousness, I start planning for the day ahead. What I’m doing, when I’m doing it, when
I have to leave, why is this song stuck in my head, what I’m wearing, what I’m
eating, what’s on my grocery list, who do I have to email, will I have time for
the gym, WHY IS THIS SONG STUCK IN MY HEAD?? Aaaand so on.</div>
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Then a couple days ago, I stumbled upon an article on
<a href="http://Shape.com/">Shape.com</a> entitled “<a href="http://www.shape.com/lifestyle/mind-and-body/12-steps-better-sleep" target="_blank">12 Steps to Better Sleep</a>.” It didn’t address the “active brain syndrome” specifically,
but it offered some decent advice.
A few highlights:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7lNcObEKlBPqJ4oq0ZDNwlDsasZZic8YvoNoWGZdah80e3FcLlK_tWWPNF-QCmWr6DdCQcpddD-6ZaJ9fLQQ1ZToOusJK0M67pFzX9uoFnWiyVpIAMG74uzItB52Va2YXACh_S5H2eks/s1600/sleeping-problems.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7lNcObEKlBPqJ4oq0ZDNwlDsasZZic8YvoNoWGZdah80e3FcLlK_tWWPNF-QCmWr6DdCQcpddD-6ZaJ9fLQQ1ZToOusJK0M67pFzX9uoFnWiyVpIAMG74uzItB52Va2YXACh_S5H2eks/s320/sleeping-problems.jpg" width="248" /></a><b> 1)</b><span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"><b>
</b></span><b>Unplug.</b> I.e. –
turn the freaking computer off. I
have a big problem with this. I
usually fall asleep watching something.
If I can’t sleep, I’ll put something else on. It’s an issue.
Especially because, according to this article, the glow of electronics
mimics daylight. Which makes your
body stop producing as much melatonin.
Which makes you not sleep.
Awesome.</div>
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<b> 2)</b><span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"><b>
</b></span><b>Ease Up On Caffeine.</b>
I learned my lesson on this on.
No Dunkin’s Medium Iced Coffee with a Turbo Shot after 4:00 PM. May make work more tolerable, but it
makes trying to sleep veeerrry upsetting.</div>
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<b> 3)</b><span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"><b>
</b></span><b>Don’t Over-Hydrate. </b>
Excellent tip, as anyone who knows me knows it doesn’t take much to make
me have to pee every 5 seconds.</div>
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<b>4)</b><span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"><b>
</b></span><b>Hit the Gym in the Morning. </b> Workout in the morning – good for sleep. Workout at night – bad for sleep. Noted.</div>
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<b>5)</b><span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"><b>
</b></span><b>Get Up on Days Off.</b>
Getting better at this, but it really is hard to maintain regular sleep
patterns when you’re on a server’s schedule. One of these days, when I have a big girl job, I’ll work
this one out.</div>
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I may not spend my sleepless nights in a bleary-eyed
hysteria anymore, but it still might be time to give some of these tips a
shot. I can’t tell you how many
times in the last few weeks I’ve forgotten what I was doing halfway through
doing it, and I’m guessing that it’s thanks to overtiredness rearing its ugly
head. In a very slow and groggy
way.</div>
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And if anyone has any advice on getting your brain to turn
off (or at least on getting it to stop playing the How I Met Your Mother theme
song on repeat), please feel free to share your glorious nuggets of wisdom with
the world by posting them in the comments.</div>Marika Lenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05014409565609891662noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2931347018457795818.post-80928174711032502222012-02-07T01:13:00.000-05:002012-02-07T01:14:17.342-05:00Restaurant-Free Challenge: CompleteYep. Thus endeth my two-week foray into a restaurant-less
world.<br />
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I had one minor transgression – a few bites of (freakin’
incredible) bread pudding at work yesterday – but otherwise, I was totally
clean. Much to my own surprise.</div>
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I’m not kidding.
I really thought Thai food would haunt my dreams. I thought the free / cheap food I have
access to at work would be nearly impossible to resist. I never would have guessed it, but…
this really wasn’t super hard.
After a few days of eating well, cooking for myself, and bringing dinner
to work instead of waiting until I was so hungry that I HAD to eat there, the
cravings that used to overwhelm me so often simply subsided. Suddenly, I was content with whatever
half-ass meal I’d made for myself.
Why, a peanut butter and banana sandwich, you say? Sounds amazing! The same turkey burger I’ve made four
days in a row? Absolutely!</div>
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(Okay. That’s a
slight exaggeration. Obviously I
did <i>some</i> mildly interesting cooking, and learned how to work with the basics a
bit better to add some excitement to my go-to meals. But it’s not like I was whipping up feasts on a daily
basis.)</div>
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In any case, I stuck it out.</div>
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Maybe it worked because I had the blog to keep me
accountable. Maybe I’m just in the
right mindset now. Or maybe I’m
just so damn stubborn that it was almost fun to be the obnoxious one responding
to dinner invitations with, “I’ll sit with you, but I already ate.” </div>
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Doesn’t matter.
Now, I finally have to admit it – contrary to everything my inner-fat
kid tells me, eating better really does make you feel better. Less sluggish. More alert. Less cranky.
Yadda yadda. Fine.</div>
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Not to mention the fact that I dropped five pounds in what
felt like ten seconds and probably spent way less money than I would have
otherwise.</div>
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Sidenote: my last official dinner of this self-imposed
challenge was actually NOT half-assed!
Not difficult, really, but not a peanut butter sandwich…</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzWz4xiKrjBbjOhvnP5Z4bsqHm1-RfclEXnq3p0FoYcuj9QxFvBSsoI75-C_XGkIu_fkchAcZ_g86DxRUXCX4FWLj7jZvTMFwC6zPSZhXoEFOzzqsn8_SefN4K4vCqqrgEGLT10rh6gNk/s1600/DSCN2470.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="219" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzWz4xiKrjBbjOhvnP5Z4bsqHm1-RfclEXnq3p0FoYcuj9QxFvBSsoI75-C_XGkIu_fkchAcZ_g86DxRUXCX4FWLj7jZvTMFwC6zPSZhXoEFOzzqsn8_SefN4K4vCqqrgEGLT10rh6gNk/s320/DSCN2470.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Boy, do I take an awful picture.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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Voila.
<a href="http://www.skinnytaste.com/2009/04/baked-chicken-parmesan.html" target="_blank">Lightened up chicken parm</a> with whole wheat spaghetti – or, as I used to
refer to it as a child, “sticky-up noodles.”</div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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Mmmmmm… sticky-up noodles….</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, of course, I can’t keep this restaurant-less business up
forever… nor would I want to, because</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -.25in;">
a)<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';">
</span>I love food too much, and</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -.25in;">
b)<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';">
</span>I would really start to annoy the crap out of my friends</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That said, it’s definitely good to know that I don’t, in
fact, need to hit up <a href="http://Grubhub.com/">Grubhub.com</a> every other day to be satisfied.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="http://curry-thai.com/" target="_blank">Curry Thai</a> will be devastated, of course. But such is life.</div>Marika Lenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05014409565609891662noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2931347018457795818.post-46736341821874554522012-02-03T00:00:00.001-05:002012-02-03T00:04:06.769-05:00Squash Explosion ImminentI was told that spaghetti squash was the perfect low calorie
substitute for spaghetti. Mild
enough in taste that it could pass for noodles – particularly once drenched in
pasta sauce – with a texture that would faithfully mimic that of spaghetti.<br />
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was lied to.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I’m sorry, but if you’re eating spaghetti squash covered in
tomato sauce and you think it tastes like the real deal, you clearly have not
met real spaghetti.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisfjPxGe7iQqmqmhgHskALlq49ArzgjaPRftCEvUl-IGr29BuqkjJ0jmC05NC8w0nFXKoWZ-GGUi1z9ftQUub5iwf_6h8gW9_XTndNTfCn6Rxd24o73nDvY3wizfV7pr87HTnZMthPpSE/s1600/DSCN2408.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisfjPxGe7iQqmqmhgHskALlq49ArzgjaPRftCEvUl-IGr29BuqkjJ0jmC05NC8w0nFXKoWZ-GGUi1z9ftQUub5iwf_6h8gW9_XTndNTfCn6Rxd24o73nDvY3wizfV7pr87HTnZMthPpSE/s320/DSCN2408.JPG" width="304" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fierce.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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It doesn’t taste like spaghetti. It tastes like squash.
Very stringy squash.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Fortunately, I happen to like squash, so no taste buds were
harmed in the making of this meal.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Some <a href="http://lowcarbdiets.about.com/od/cooking/a/spagsquash.htm" target="_blank">squash-cooking research</a> led me to decide that the best
method was to bake it whole… but not before violently attacking it with a knife
to prevent a squash explosion. Miracle I made it out of this step with all my
fingers, really. <br />
<br />
Then, since everything in this building enjoys f***ing with us, the baking idea was foiled by an oven that decided to give me
the finger and take a nap.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
(For context: our apartment is full of clunkers when it comes
to appliances – heaters that make the electricity short out, stovetop burners
that fill the kitchen with gas but never turn on, overhead lights that
spontaneously combust… yes, that has happened… and, of course, an incredibly
finicky oven.)</div>
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<br /></div>
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In any case, I decided to microwave the little sucker. For about 15 minutes. At which point it cracked open (not
supposed to happen), so I figured it was about done. I scooped all the stringiness out – about 2 cups’ worth –
and topped half of it with sauce and chicken. </div>
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<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAsSMe8C3mK_wtLAyP-IVFXWuvhNK4Vx8f7Kwvn_tTYwQ2pZeUFq4xDiXlk_02ejjj7A6tncNXNulseOJ0vzPB9X0dDrOguDrjytb6bwjwi7LerH0SbLdJrP7A6ZtSxYcMID2SSIWULog/s1600/DSCN2413.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAsSMe8C3mK_wtLAyP-IVFXWuvhNK4Vx8f7Kwvn_tTYwQ2pZeUFq4xDiXlk_02ejjj7A6tncNXNulseOJ0vzPB9X0dDrOguDrjytb6bwjwi7LerH0SbLdJrP7A6ZtSxYcMID2SSIWULog/s320/DSCN2413.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not spaghetti.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br /></div>
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So, fine. It wasn’t spaghetti, but it was damn tasty anyway. A new favorite f’sho.</div>
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<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIJbrkw9tMNVen23fZkl_LRlOQIZDV7XrDW3iMelSlZDYL465RzJyM9jvoKakBVqTL-lS8kC3PF5G_hXk70BHKMHErb8gO5aPp4ztFOmcwVQxYVajKsDAXxrL2JHvyVwxVQUixM86B_N4/s1600/DSCN2414.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIJbrkw9tMNVen23fZkl_LRlOQIZDV7XrDW3iMelSlZDYL465RzJyM9jvoKakBVqTL-lS8kC3PF5G_hXk70BHKMHErb8gO5aPp4ztFOmcwVQxYVajKsDAXxrL2JHvyVwxVQUixM86B_N4/s320/DSCN2414.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looks like a bowl of mush. But a yummy one.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br /></div>
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Another new favorite of mine (and I think I’m a little late
in the game on this one) is quinoa.</div>
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Quinoa.
Pronounced exactly as it’s spelled. I promise. </div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9Q5UslQINAfWvg7vQxGMot9KMFDxj34vlClUGMB6JBatKW-HBqgIkpnkFtrclcMzfyCnixPcDaUWe6tbwFPk4JO6p0pP-ioBR1Vrt1zbrasl41SaNRgTiE-TT6DAH_Tg6Alx2HLqb4OM/s1600/DSCN2434.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9Q5UslQINAfWvg7vQxGMot9KMFDxj34vlClUGMB6JBatKW-HBqgIkpnkFtrclcMzfyCnixPcDaUWe6tbwFPk4JO6p0pP-ioBR1Vrt1zbrasl41SaNRgTiE-TT6DAH_Tg6Alx2HLqb4OM/s320/DSCN2434.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yet again, slightly blurry. This camera freakin blows.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Seriously. Go into
Whole Foods and ask where they keep their quinn-oh-ah and you’ll get almost as
fun a reaction as when my mom tries to order something containing the word
“chipotle” at a restaurant.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I use it in the place of rice, obviously, but ALSO
discovered a recipe for “<a href="http://www.marthastewart.com/314453/breakfast-quinoa?backto" target="_blank">Breakfast Quinoa</a>” – boiled in milk instead of water
and topped off with some brown sugar, cinnamon, and blueberries. I used WAY less sugar than Martha
Stewart suggested and it was still a little too sweet for me, but other than
that I was a fan.</div>
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<br /></div>
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And last but not least in this week’s kitchen crusades
waasss… pancakes. Heck yeah.</div>
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<br /></div>
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But not just any pancakes. <a href="http://www.skinnytaste.com/2009/06/whole-wheat-pancakes.html" target="_blank">Whole wheat pancakes</a> – high in protein, fiber, and
deliciousness. </div>
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<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVPTSKpmPJzBSTaH6QPYgjzTCcMSgwqxFyf5ktKyx8h-RFTBr6j09cRnWhyuk8WLs3PaRlstwZNPIJE40IFPLyPFmwNR9QSsdX3nj4jHo8mWrrMSTsmPHa_PRN4UFIi_gKQZXl65rVoqg/s1600/DSCN2452.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVPTSKpmPJzBSTaH6QPYgjzTCcMSgwqxFyf5ktKyx8h-RFTBr6j09cRnWhyuk8WLs3PaRlstwZNPIJE40IFPLyPFmwNR9QSsdX3nj4jHo8mWrrMSTsmPHa_PRN4UFIi_gKQZXl65rVoqg/s320/DSCN2452.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Disaster looms...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br /></div>
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Of course they’re
not going to come out looking like the big, fluffy buttermilk pancakes I crave
so regularly – I have flipping issues, so many times I wind up with
double-deckers after having flipped one on top of the other, or they’ll have
that gentle slope that comes from being tossed into the side of the pan – nor
will they taste quite like restaurant pancakes. But they were, I’ll admit, a really solid (and healthy)
Option B. </div>
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<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBb83jnuI_3Jpt4FyrvvpAKSO-Ly3hZtORLVQ1wG0FYkkwJfcWPdmpuCGcbw-_bnpGSPDKJgym-s2tUNeoZjze8clE5XP0l-zEcefGX-IyQQ7mnrqnNXXZ2auoxVzy2VpBtTOalEKQDYs/s1600/DSCN2453.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBb83jnuI_3Jpt4FyrvvpAKSO-Ly3hZtORLVQ1wG0FYkkwJfcWPdmpuCGcbw-_bnpGSPDKJgym-s2tUNeoZjze8clE5XP0l-zEcefGX-IyQQ7mnrqnNXXZ2auoxVzy2VpBtTOalEKQDYs/s320/DSCN2453.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crisis averted!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
And, bonus points, if you make the whole batch, you can freeze the leftovers and they’ll actually microwave to pancake perfection at a later date.</div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5HOb31DiXydbJzvE92jIV41hD9_fNLvB98J8phCH8XtyxYv7LDvE7Cv_Biq5DfJfAF1UFmiLUJl894MIAeqcmYZ6MEbZOrhwpYFPGY4ApvJl6dZa2wRkl0EH-xSlzNgPXgtFzSKGe8yQ/s1600/DSCN2463.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5HOb31DiXydbJzvE92jIV41hD9_fNLvB98J8phCH8XtyxYv7LDvE7Cv_Biq5DfJfAF1UFmiLUJl894MIAeqcmYZ6MEbZOrhwpYFPGY4ApvJl6dZa2wRkl0EH-xSlzNgPXgtFzSKGe8yQ/s320/DSCN2463.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And pure maple syrup. Yyyyyes.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Nothing particularly groundbreaking, it’s true, but this is
coming from the girl who has, in the past, been too lazy to microwave canned
soup. Any meal that contains more
than two ingredients and / or touches a stove...? I count that as a win.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>Marika Lenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05014409565609891662noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2931347018457795818.post-19907357320411181522012-01-30T15:52:00.000-05:002012-01-31T10:50:21.147-05:00Yoga: It's Not the Worst.Okay.
Fine. After giving it a try
a few times, I will begrudgingly admit that yoga does not suck. In fact, I kinda like it… under the
right circumstances.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve been to two classes in the last week – both billed as
vinyasa yoga, but with two different instructors. And what I’ve learned from this two-class wealth of experience is
this: not all yoga instructors are
created equally not douche-y.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Instructor number one:
laid-back British lady.
Focused on teaching and helping perfect poses and sequences of
poses. Walked around the room and
offered assistance. Complimented
my form twice (maybe that’s why I liked her…). Referenced the spiritual side of yoga but did not harp on it
(no, THAT’S why I liked her… but also the compliment thing).</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Instructor number two:
spent an hour and a half lecturing the class about the spirituality of
it all. Very few actual
poses. Mostly just a series of
movements while balancing on one foot at a time. Compared us to flowers, various animals, and the wind. He told me to “relax my cell
membranes.” I told him to shove
it. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
…I didn’t actually.
But I wanted to.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now, I understand that half of yoga is the spirituality of
it, and many many people swear by it for that reason. I absolutely respect that, although personally I’m, uhhh…
noottt super spiritual. Instructor
number two was (duh), but that wasn’t the problem. I’m sure every yoga class is going to have a spiritual
component to it. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But I’m sorry, I really can’t help myself – when someone
starts taking about letting your energy flow through your fingertips, imagining
you’re a flower who needs to detox after hibernating all winter, relaxing your
cell membranes… my eyes just start rolling uncontrollably. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Luckily, I was in the back corner of the room where no one
could see me being a douche.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That all said, there are some things beyond the physical
aspects of yoga that I can appreciate.
Centering yourself, being in tune with your mind and body, a certain
degree of meditation – this I can get behind. Even after the class I didn’t like as much I left feeling
better and calmer. I think all
fitness classes benefit the mind because they have that element of focus, but
somehow the atmosphere of a yoga classroom lets you relax even when you want to
die because you should NOT have tried that backbend.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sooooo fine, all you yogis. You win.
Consider me a convert.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sidenote:
During class #2, I spent an hour and a half doing quite well in various
one-footed positions. When we finished, I stood up to put my shoes on aaaand immediately toppled over. Because I am nothing if not graceful.</div>Marika Lenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05014409565609891662noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2931347018457795818.post-89726197476258164902012-01-26T22:42:00.000-05:002012-01-26T22:43:07.193-05:00Culinary AdventuresToday, I begin with four heartfelt words – f*** you, Whole
Foods.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
To be fair, I mean that less towards the establishment
itself and more towards the inevitable end result of my trips there.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Every time – every DAMN time – I walk into Whole Foods
simply intending to buy, oh I don’t know… some apples and a carton of milk… I
walk out many tens of dollars poorer, but with many pounds of organic-y
goodness in tow. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Today, for example, on my way back from the gym (took my
first “cardio kickbox” class this morning, and consequently hate life very
much), I strolled (hobbled) into Whole Foods with the aforementioned
apples-and-milk grocery list in mind.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Aaaaand this is what I walked out with:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5QflENr0hD7xm0OvuL2uWpCRIV3_OhTT0xzzUeYLl_Gd3k_QJv19-FSHohy_NZ0U-1SdVoa2JIDtPviXOQ7l4S5f7FvI5hKU078Nlf3OW_A-8RnltSExxUAyoyCI1Ii-wJzSGaOqCYXw/s1600/DSCN2387.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5QflENr0hD7xm0OvuL2uWpCRIV3_OhTT0xzzUeYLl_Gd3k_QJv19-FSHohy_NZ0U-1SdVoa2JIDtPviXOQ7l4S5f7FvI5hKU078Nlf3OW_A-8RnltSExxUAyoyCI1Ii-wJzSGaOqCYXw/s320/DSCN2387.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That big yellow thing on the right? Spaghetti squash.<br />
Stoked to try it.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Don’t look at me like that, it’s all health-tastic and I
felt a range of good ingredients would help me refine my budding cooking abilities in
this restaurant-free challenge. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY6S9m7K0rTHib6j2Sfqwuz40tj47tyIFst-ExflhApK0z84shC3iDLHf5yuiXGyxJCTDhBvohTt3BCV33O-tt_2OYcbXicznjpU5AnWMKvKvQ60TLJHOpG5Bef_2agDk4ZswQVgp_hCs/s1600/DSCN2396.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY6S9m7K0rTHib6j2Sfqwuz40tj47tyIFst-ExflhApK0z84shC3iDLHf5yuiXGyxJCTDhBvohTt3BCV33O-tt_2OYcbXicznjpU5AnWMKvKvQ60TLJHOpG5Bef_2agDk4ZswQVgp_hCs/s320/DSCN2396.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(I also bought an organic kitty, but he wouldn't pose<br />
with the rest of the groceries.)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Incidentally, the restaurant-free challenge is four days in and going strong (much to my own
surprise). I mean, I haven’t done MUCH
cooking yet other than my daily breakfast…</div>
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<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC55xZcvNsB8IA2Fogq7GwOwVsNatykwlUPOWALGcLQRw4dnI26qZFxfJ8SeVL4-76JH2EDs8etktL9hs1fpED2-UJROha3ptQGGGxa2RAtZv5Qp6u8VuMp51EIkyiVp_TBhdGLHZnok0/s1600/DSCN2302.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC55xZcvNsB8IA2Fogq7GwOwVsNatykwlUPOWALGcLQRw4dnI26qZFxfJ8SeVL4-76JH2EDs8etktL9hs1fpED2-UJROha3ptQGGGxa2RAtZv5Qp6u8VuMp51EIkyiVp_TBhdGLHZnok0/s320/DSCN2302.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Scrambled eggs, baby spinach, grape tomatoes, avocado.<br />
Occasionally wrapped in a tortilla if I'm feelin' carb-y.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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I did, however, also made a contribution to my friends’
nascent club, currently identified as “Food Group,” in which each participating
chef is given the monthly “mystery ingredient” – yeah, we’re all Iron Chef and
s*** – and assigned a course in which they must utilize said ingredient. This month’s ingredient of choice was
vinegar. I was assigned the hors
d’oeuvres. And while the rest of
my very organized friends had their recipes planned out several days in
advance, I, the eternal procrastinator, decided on my plan of action the
morning of the dinner – spring rolls, with a rice vinegar-based sauce. Minimal cooking. Loves it.</div>
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The spring rolls were easy enough, other than those little
douche spring roll wrappers being occasionally feisty. The sauce looked simple enough as well,
so off I went, boiling peppercorns in vinegar until it reduced and then adding
some ketchup, just like the recipe told me. I let it simmer.
I tasted it. And my
reaction was essentially this:</div>
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<br /></div>
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“Noah… Noah…??
NOAHHH!!! THIS JUST TASTES
LIKE KETCHUP! NOAH!!!”</div>
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<br /></div>
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And so Noah, my lovely chef of a roommate, swooped in like a
curly-haired Superman and saved the day with ginger and garlic. Et voilá – delicious sauce. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ6XL-I3zxpVnwWiH1qliXlwOwOLUZ5XpuP-SKx0nSK4IXrUTdcjm5e78q0-Tw6dtLtY3beHrOQ8LWw6-1A9CWPOxoddgijmj9IoBwuiY5Bv3gQ2kxtuLTAFzrrw0G9GT247TYSNPPGFo/s1600/DSCN2330.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ6XL-I3zxpVnwWiH1qliXlwOwOLUZ5XpuP-SKx0nSK4IXrUTdcjm5e78q0-Tw6dtLtY3beHrOQ8LWw6-1A9CWPOxoddgijmj9IoBwuiY5Bv3gQ2kxtuLTAFzrrw0G9GT247TYSNPPGFo/s320/DSCN2330.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
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And then there was today’s dinner, which was actually rather
miraculous. Miracle number one was
that I turned down going out to a restaurant. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Actually, that’s a lie. What happened was this: boyfriend wanted to get dinner, to which I gave a shaky
response of, “Ehhh wellll I kiiinda want to stick to this no restaurant thing,
buuutt I also don’t want you to go hungry… so, we can go out.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiioCVOcYnINjS0-6qCrw89y8O4owRevfRVNI4fyKybRf4I98L5BYOBKYkBHMdYsdyOhBhBYfh1sj_9t65IQMkiLdNniVB5VLcv1UMbXGOnN-m-WR9beEpy6j0LlDW4yaBVopId-MwDmPc/s1600/DSCN2400.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiioCVOcYnINjS0-6qCrw89y8O4owRevfRVNI4fyKybRf4I98L5BYOBKYkBHMdYsdyOhBhBYfh1sj_9t65IQMkiLdNniVB5VLcv1UMbXGOnN-m-WR9beEpy6j0LlDW4yaBVopId-MwDmPc/s320/DSCN2400.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Why yes, that IS a blurry picture of me cooking.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br /></div>
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Thankfully, he decided to brave my cooking. What a nice guy. Didn’t stop him from giving me nonstop
crap during the process, of course.</div>
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<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijl6TRJsID-rsTBIb32Rwl2MlDlx78xAPt5fxj61CA5zxGQFSZXXOu3Yp2yrmrA7kJOJ7n8QBhJjurrtfl0lHFqEQq2Vc0OPeFkSzpoA6woEXdV0Ccdmnt1Mxl_VC8zBDG1hiNlNAjbVE/s1600/DSCN2398.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="244" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijl6TRJsID-rsTBIb32Rwl2MlDlx78xAPt5fxj61CA5zxGQFSZXXOu3Yp2yrmrA7kJOJ7n8QBhJjurrtfl0lHFqEQq2Vc0OPeFkSzpoA6woEXdV0Ccdmnt1Mxl_VC8zBDG1hiNlNAjbVE/s320/DSCN2398.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stew portion</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
So what I decided to attempt was a healthier version of a
childhood favorite of mine – chicken and dumplings. It used to be my #1 request for my gourmet chef of a father,
up until just a few years ago. It
was… just… awesome. Stew-y and
gooey and delish. Such fond
memories of helping him make it.
And of course, of eating it.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn6GE4i_3ZFZ3Ka3Csx3aIAAJVoBOUQ8UMlRuC3tffbDK63LICHfF6jiFKSEVgnv2WtZQOra7z4pJCEFn48Q-u6-cpInk2qFeu3IAcer9Ik8ZFI77AWXxLEm31tMcXAGUf-fvMtUdKK3o/s1600/DSCN2402.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn6GE4i_3ZFZ3Ka3Csx3aIAAJVoBOUQ8UMlRuC3tffbDK63LICHfF6jiFKSEVgnv2WtZQOra7z4pJCEFn48Q-u6-cpInk2qFeu3IAcer9Ik8ZFI77AWXxLEm31tMcXAGUf-fvMtUdKK3o/s320/DSCN2402.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Enter: dumplings.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
Today's culinary adventure began, unsurprisingly, with half an hour of badgering Noah with yet more cooking questions. But while he talked me through the beginning stages, I actually did the rest of it on my own – and I am delighted to say it did NOT crash and burn! In fact, it was pretty solid. I cooked it a little long so there
wasn’t much actual stew left, and the dumplings were just a tad dry, but
taste-wise it was pretty on point and overall I think it was a damn good first
shot. And it was Noah and
Devin-approved, so… that’s a success in my book.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjymwKN9Ao9qqpSPZbkPB2mMJcmC5zVeBHm7h_d50Vs7k4fzi4ZmEHJR0f3e6uNhkhULWytHZY_sNBMtlWVfORtWMH8vXlTWfebljXmsXNjIYRUipXEr4J4gkU1aIXmXTJyPXLRt2r_Qco/s1600/DSCN2405.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjymwKN9Ao9qqpSPZbkPB2mMJcmC5zVeBHm7h_d50Vs7k4fzi4ZmEHJR0f3e6uNhkhULWytHZY_sNBMtlWVfORtWMH8vXlTWfebljXmsXNjIYRUipXEr4J4gkU1aIXmXTJyPXLRt2r_Qco/s320/DSCN2405.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A little brown on the bottom, <br />
but a lot delicious everywhere else.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Thanks for the inspiration, Dad. I think you woulda liked this one.</div>Marika Lenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05014409565609891662noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2931347018457795818.post-11297669790626199272012-01-23T00:37:00.002-05:002012-01-23T01:01:10.760-05:00Challenge AcceptedOne of my favorite pastimes is reading article after article
about healthy eating.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I subscribe to a newsletter entitled “Eat This, Not
That.” I frequent
<a href="http://Prevention.com/">Prevention.com</a>, <a href="http://Shape.com/">Shape.com</a>,
<a href="http://Womenshealthmag.com/">Womenshealthmag.com</a>. I’ve read hundreds of accounts on the <a href="http://eatthis.menshealth.com/slideshow/most-nutritious-whole-foods?cm_mmc=ETNTNL-_-780046-_-01202012-_-moreon5" target="_blank">healthiest foods in the world</a>, <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/eatingwell/superfoods-you-can-eat-every-day_b_707955.html#s135501&title=1_Berries" target="_blank">foods you should eat every day</a>, <a href="http://www.prevention.com/weight-loss/flat-belly-diet/flat-belly-diet-morning-meals?cm_mmc=ETNTNL-_-780046-_-01202012-_-body" target="_blank">breakfasts that flatten your belly</a>. Which foods will <a href="http://www.prevention.com/weight-loss/diets/foods-speed-metabolism" target="_blank">speed up metabolism</a>,
<a href="http://www.livestrong.com/article/547513-foods-that-slow-down-aging/" target="_blank">slow down aging</a>, <a href="http://organicjar.com/2009/2172/" target="_blank">give you energy</a>.
I read ‘em all. I absorb
the information. I get
inspired. I vow that tomorrow I
will take the first steps on the road to ultimate health food-ness.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And then tomorrow comes. I wake up determined.
I roll up my sleeves… aaannnnddd never implement any of it.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Okay, that’s not an entirely fair assessment. I’ve definitely <i>tried</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> to be better about making my meals at home healthy
ones. My grocery lists are always
very wholesome, but I’ll keep up my determination for two days… then maybe one
more lunch… and then by the following dinner… disaster.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
All. I
want. Is Thai food. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-75VWh1Wt6YLCP6LwSMxoLrSdjk61JvS7lTcNPlF3wYjQZtm3g9QpzFydyXPIPLinadRUmw9M8IHB_L_eUEm3Rga9t4r30VCWP7_4id2Ig43vAGwYv7ZctsfJ4fr0DDkzvyjNS_Vtt78/s1600/pad+thai.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-75VWh1Wt6YLCP6LwSMxoLrSdjk61JvS7lTcNPlF3wYjQZtm3g9QpzFydyXPIPLinadRUmw9M8IHB_L_eUEm3Rga9t4r30VCWP7_4id2Ig43vAGwYv7ZctsfJ4fr0DDkzvyjNS_Vtt78/s320/pad+thai.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yeah. I found a random picture of pad thai. <br />
Don't tell me it doesn't look delicious.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Peanut sauce beckons to me. What I wouldn’t give for just one drunken noodle. My palate aches for subtle citrus and
creamy coconut flavors of tom kha gai.
And Grubhub – that fiend, that little devil on my shoulder – makes it
horrifyingly easy satisfy my cravings.
Why, Grubhub? WHY?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So now, I feel it’s time to back away from the curry and
embark on my first self-imposed challenge – ban the restaurant food. Because Thai isn’t the only
culprit. In general, eating out is
standard for socializing. My
roommates and I have an alarming weakness for wings. My boyfriend and I order pizza all too regularly. There are culinary dangers around every
freakin’ corner, and what am I supposed to do, NOT eat them?? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
…Challenge accepted.
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
No restaurant food for… I don’t know, what do you think? Two weeks sound reasonable?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Not too hard, right?
But of course, here’s the truly challenging part about this – I work at
a restaurant. Two, in fact. Which means a few things:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
1) I generally
leave for work at 4:00 and get home anywhere between 10:00 and midnight. Tough to get in a nice homemade dinner
with those hours.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
2) I get to eat
food at said restaurants at little or no cost, which makes my frugal side
suddenly veeeery hungry, even if the rest of me is not.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
To counteract all that, I guess what I’ll have to focus on –
beyond healthy cooking for myself, of course – is timing meals / snacks
appropriately and cost-effective grocery shopping. Yes? Yes. Time to put my wealth of healthy-eating
knowledge to use. We shall see how I fare...</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Cards on the table, I was going to start today, but after
working all morning on an empty stomach I decided to get just a little
something at the Bistro. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So naturally, I
had a giant bowl of linguini bolognese.
Like… GIANT.</div>Marika Lenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05014409565609891662noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2931347018457795818.post-35015473498616985072012-01-19T02:34:00.010-05:002012-01-19T14:36:16.382-05:00Life Without A Meal Plan: The Sequel<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">Yes. I’ve decided to reopen the box of boundless goodies that is “Life Without A Meal Plan.”</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">I suppose I should have started a new blog with a new title, but I liked this one so much that I couldn’t bear to part with it. AND, while I’m now several years out of college, I still feel that the title is applicable… although Blog 2.0 intends to function with a little more focus. Not much more. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;"></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">Don’t get too excited. But after an unwieldy couple of years, I’m determined to just, ya know... focus.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">Point my life in the right direction.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">Because the last year has indeed been a tad directionless. A little background, just for some context:</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">Just about this time a year ago, I was finally beginning to feel put together. I’d quit the Border Cafe (glory hallelujah) and gotten a job as a singing waitress on the Spirit of Boston, my mom and I had our </span></span><a href="http://chasingjazz.wordpress.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">jazz blog</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;"> going strong and garnering interest, I had just gotten a job writing for a lifestyle blog, and, if all went according to plan, I was going to help write website copy for my dad’s burgeoning company. In January I headed to London, where I was to meet my dad and spend the week. I had a grand old time exploring the city, spending one-on-one time with my dad for the first time in years (in his favorite city in the world, no less), and getting to learn about this company that he was building. He was, in his own very understated way, bubbling with excitement about it, as it all seemed to be falling into place.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">On January 28, we parted ways as he headed back to California and I </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">took off to visit a friend in Kenya. I hugged him goodbye at Heathrow Airport, he told me to have fun and be careful, and off we went.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">That was the last time I saw him. He died less than three weeks later.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">To be clear - I don’t mean to sound dramatic and I’m certainly not trying to inspire sympathy. Just trying to explain why it was a rather rocky, disorienting 2011, and why now it’s time for a reboot. In many ways I think I handled the situation well, and in many ways I feel that I crashed and burned - to be expected, I suppose. In any case, the feeling of finally having my life put together promptly shattered, and I have spent the last many months trying to make everything fit again.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">So, this incarnation of my ramblings intends to focus on how I attempt to accomplish this. I made a list (oh, how I love lists...) entitled “Things I Want to Work On / Challenges.” Not the pithiest title, but whatever. It included many of your classic New Year’s Resolutions such as exercise more regularly and eat healthier (classics for a reason), but I also threw in things like... oh, I don’t know... get a full-time job. Learn to quiet my anxiety. Read and write more, watch less TV. Listen to more jazz.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">Try yoga (and I hate yoga).</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">In terms of literal "challenges"... yet to be determined, but some preliminary thoughts are:<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">- A month of no restaurant food, no exceptions - learn to cook, damn it.</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;"></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">- Go unplugged for a week - no internet or TV. NO. STOP IT. You do </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">not need to watch How I Met Your Mother in its entirety AGAIN.</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">- Read ___ books a month.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">- A few weeks of pushing the bedtime and wake-up time back a few hours... starting the day at 8:00 am? Novel idea.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">- Try every class at my gym (ugh, I'm sore just thinking about it... okay, maybe MOST classes at my gym).</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">- Experiment with what helps ease stress - yoga? Meditation? Better </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">diet? Writing it all down in a blog for the world to see?</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">Essentially, doing things that will enhance my life - physically, emotionally, intellectually - and learning how to kick some bad habits. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">Seeing if immersion in these things for a week or a month will teach me that all of my "resolutions" are also doable in a long-term, less immersion-y way. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">And yes. I am aware that everyone and their mom is blogging about “healthy living” and “wellness” and yada yada. That, of course, turned me off to the idea at first. And then I remembered that one of my New Year’s Resolutions is to just say... F*** it. I DO WHAT I WANT.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">Okay, fine. Honestly, I just wanted a project. And you're looking at it.</span></span><o:p></o:p></div>Marika Lenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05014409565609891662noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2931347018457795818.post-84680255082946464742010-06-23T02:14:00.005-04:002010-06-23T02:22:39.992-04:00Revival?Yeah. I know it’s been a while. I just did it to keep everyone hanging. You know, build the suspense. Throw a little tension into the blogosphere.<br /><br />Actually, I was just following the rules of amateur blogging, which clearly state that at least one out of every three entries must occur after a 6-month hiatus, must include sincere apologies to all of said blog’s loyal fans, and must SWEAR to update more regularly from now on. <br /><br />…Actually, I’ve just been super busy for the last 7-8 months. I’ve had three jobs and no life. Well, minimal life. To sum up: server at the Border Café (which continues), unpaid intern of sorts at a literary agency (which has ended), and I had a temp job at Pearson Publishing (which, being a temp job, has also obviously ended).<br /><br />It was a lot to take on. I felt that I needed all three for different reasons and was therefore not willing to give any of them up… something that seems to tie into the whole “how to survive after college” point of this blog. While it was kind of tough to juggle it all, it swiftly became apparent to me that you HAVE to jump on opportunities when they come your way, whether it’s for a little extra cash or a little extra oomph in your resume. Jobs still ain’t easy to come by, and you gotta do whatcha gotta do – even if it means dealing with a whole lot of jobs at once.<br /><br />Now, with that sage-like advice out of the way, let’s proceed to the more amusing notion of me as a server. My life involves a giant white chef’s coat (not the most figure-flattering uniform), salsa stains on my pants, margarita overflow dripping down my arms, and the constant stench of fajitas. And of course there are Harvard kids who seem to have forgotten how to do simple math, tourists who aren’t aware that tipping is customary, parents who are flabbergasted that we don't have a kids' menu ("You... you don't have hot dogs?") and, thankfully, an enormous staff of people that freaking ROCK.<br /><br />I must admit, though… as a server, I’m fairly ridiculous. Competent, generally, but absurd. Whatever social awkwardness I possess in real life is amplified in the restaurant. Not always of course… uuuuusually I behave like a normally functioning human being. But, many times, I walk away from my tables, shaking my head and thinking… what the f*** was THAT?<br /><br />Examples? Well, once, I imitated a catfish. Yeah. My table asked, “What’s a catfish? Is that the one with whiskers?” My reply? “Yeah yeah, it’s this one: [puts three fingers up to either side of my face, to create the illusion of the whiskers.]” They looked confused, and I walked away and smacked myself in the face.<br /><br />Once I grabbed a guest’s hand, because I thought she was reaching out to grab mine. In fact, she was reaching for the check I had in my other hand. I tried to save the situation by making some half-hearted, equally awkward joke, but wound up just shoving the check into her hand and running away. That one stung.<br /><br />Routinely, words get stuck in my head before they even come out, and instead of asking, “Would you like beans and rice or jambalaya?” I ask something that can best be translated into text as, “Wouldyouasjkfnajegjnkvubalaya…?”<br /><br />So, perhaps being a server is not my calling. But it’s tiding me over for the time being, and I’ve found some awesome – and equally ridiculous – people to spend my days with. <br /><br />But now, bedtime. I sincerely apologize to all my loyal fans for making them wait for this entry. I SWEAR I’ll update more regularly from now on!Marika Lenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05014409565609891662noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2931347018457795818.post-53668004928459238362009-11-23T00:23:00.002-05:002009-11-23T00:26:55.520-05:00This is what I think about when sitting three feet away from a bus bathroom?So as I sat, curled up in the very back seat of an absolutely charming Greyhound Bus (…ew) with “Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy – THE REEEMIIXXXXX” ringing in my ears (why? Because I miss Jon Short, of course), I found myself wondering if my weekend retreat to Wesleyan was relevant blog content. <br /><br />Let’s ignore the “duh” moment here and jump straight into the fact that a crucial part of the post-college life – at least for those who were as attached to their schools as I was – is <span style="font-style: italic;">getting over</span> college life. So I’m going to try to stay serious here without getting sappy. But… I make no promises. I mean, come on, you’re talking to the girl who, just a few days ago, teared up at a Kay Jewelers commercial. Yeah. That happened.<br /><br />This weekend had everything that Wesleyan weekends, at least for me, should have – trips to Thai Gardens and Mikado, a show at the ’92 Theater, New Group rehearsal, house parties and bad beer, 4 AM forays to the falafel cart, ridiculous antics at all hours – it feels so normal until you remember that it’s not, anymore.<br /><br />Six months out, I still miss Wesleyan and the people there every day, and I know I’m not alone in that sentiment. It was home, and I think I speak for most of our recent grads when I say that being away from Wesleyan in particular makes the inherent stress of moving to a new city, job-hunting, and creating a life from scratch all that much harder.<br /><br />I started this blog to talk about the process of learning how to live in the real world and learning how to be a grown-up. I’m realizing that a huge part of that process is simply learning how to not be in college anymore. Figuring out what parts of the experience to hang on to and what to let go of. For me, the hardest thing has been the fact that Wesleyan was and is home to so many people who I love an incredible amount, who love me just as much, and all of whom, until 6 months ago, were within a few short blocks away at any given time. I guess college spoils you in that way.<br /><br />Of course, I have many wonderful friends in Boston, too – my roommate Caitlin and my Wes friends in the area know me inside and out (heh… we’re talking metaphorically, here) and have been an amazing support system – and there are many more awesome people that I’m getting to know better every day. But I think it’s kind of inevitable (and I’m pretty sure I speak for many, many other recent grads) that until you fully establish yourself somewhere, and until you get used to not being constantly surrounded by people who know you super well, it’s just simply going to feel a little lonely. <br /><br />As for all of us establishing ourselves in the real world… well, it ain’t easy, but it’s happening. The death grip my mind had on the concept of “Wesleyan is home” is loosening ever so slightly. Once you get a job or two that you like, once you’ve begun to understand the concept of living on a salary rather than points or Middletown Cash, once you start figuring out how to meet people – finding a sports team, hanging out with coworkers, joining a… oh, I don’t know, an a cappella group or something… *cough*… things start to seem more manageable. <br /><br />…But enough of this sad faced-ness! Tomorrow morning, my dear friends, is my first legit shift at Border Café… no one staring intently over my shoulder prodding me to ask the right questions or making sure I don’t give a vegetarian a cheeseburger instead of her black bean tostada (they don’t like that). <br /><br />Will she remember to bring the chips and salsa? Will she spill a margarita on a poor defenseless guest?? Will she swiftly become the youngest manager in Border Café HISTORY??! Tune in next time.Marika Lenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05014409565609891662noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2931347018457795818.post-76947692218325954472009-11-13T20:24:00.003-05:002009-11-13T20:29:52.305-05:00Frozen or on the rocks? Beans and rice or jambalaya? Grilled or blackened? Dizzy yet? I am.With my head still spinning from my first real day on the restaurant floor, I return – frazzled, sore-footed, and ready to be making TIPS for this crap.<br /><br />Okay, seriously though, it wasn’t too bad… I aced my Menu 1 Test (HOLLA! The guy grading it even asked if I had cheated, and quizzed me out loud on stuff to make sure. No, I did not cheat. I am JUST THAT GOOD, BITCH.) But then… I happened to be training with (by a popular vote that included Border Café employees and the regular customers) the craziest, most intense, speediest server in the wild wild east. Anyone who was in the restaurant during those 5 hours can attest to the fact that I was quite literally sprinting to keep up with this dude. Several mangers / coworkers offered to buy me a pair of roller skates, because my legs clearly were not long enough to get the job done.<br /><br />As I have mentioned, I’ve never waitressed before. So I’m here to tell anyone else going into this business for the first time that this job is… um… hard. When I wasn’t reeling around a corner clinging to tabletops for dear life or praying that I didn’t eat it as I sprinted up and down the stairs carrying drinks and appetizers, I was answering questions like “So what did you forget that time? What should you have asked them when they ordered that? Do you know what you’re supposed to do now?” …as if I wasn’t already dizzy enough.<br /><br />What am I supposed to do now? …Greet the customers. Bring them chips and salsa and ask for their drink orders. IDs if necessary. Bring them their drink orders and ask if they’re ready to order. Take their orders and ask the appropriate questions. Bring the necessary accoutrement for whatever appetizer or entrée they’ve chosen. Bring the food and ask if they need anything else. Check back in two minutes (or two bites! Whatever comes first) to see if they need anything… keep an eye out for drinks that need refilling, plates that need to be taken away, read their minds as to when they need their check, ask if they need a back massage to help them digest their food…. I usually forgot two or more of those steps.<br /><br />Fortunately, the tables I served found my… what’s a nice word for “incompetence?” …The tables I served found my CONFUSION endearing rather than irritating, as they all knew I was the new kid on the floor. In fact, the customers were usually my biggest cheerleaders, and even though I got a lot of crap from my trainer, many of my tables were very up front in telling me that they liked me a lot. I even had one very nice British family actually send someone to find me so that they could tell me I’d done a good job.<br /><br />I’m going to count that as a lucky break. Having worked in politics (and elsewhere… but mostly politics) I have long since learned that not everyone is, uh… <span style="font-style: italic;">easy</span> to handle. And not everyone will be charmed by a cute smile and a “Sorry guys, I’m new!” So tonight, Friday night though it may be, is devoted to studying and making lists of everything I need to remember on the floor… because tomorrow, I’ll be handling the Saturday morning crowds solo. I mean… with a trainer over my shoulder, but still… ya know, mostly solo.Marika Lenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05014409565609891662noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2931347018457795818.post-37547181479496690142009-11-02T19:00:00.002-05:002009-11-02T21:21:03.259-05:00Remember when the hardest part of Halloween was what candy to eat first?Celebrating Halloween used to be so easy. In the early years, it was just a matter of which cute cartoon character to dress up as and which houses to trick or treat at. And there was candy. Lots of candy. And it was good.<br /><br />In college, it stayed pretty simple – the big decisions revolved around what witty pop culture reference to impersonate and what parties to make an appearance at. There were house parties, frat parties, dorm parties, dance parties. And it was good. AND you know what? I could WALK to everything. And walk home very easily if I so chose. There was none of this public transportation / cab business. If I didn’t want to walk down the street, I could take The Ride, but that was out of laziness, not necessity. Oh, and no overpriced drinks. That was a plus.<br /><br />And now? Well, I don’t mean to sound like the Grinch Who Stole Halloween here, but it seems to me like the city version of this holiday might be more trouble than it’s worth. Next year I may stick to what I had originally intended for this year – staying in, drinking pumpkin beer and watching the Ghost Hunters marathon on the SciFi channel. As it was, I wound up wandering around the Boston bars, paying too much to get in and too much once inside, fighting my way through the drunk Clark Kents, dudes in gorilla suits, and sluttified Disney princesses (thanks for shedding a new, disturbing light on my childhood, by the way) and spending a good two hours walking back to Allston in the rain before finding a cab that wasn’t already full.<br /><br />Also, a bunch of drunk jerks threw a huge traffic cone at Caitlin and me? But I mean, in their defense, what ELSE were they supposed to do with it? …..what the hell.<br /><br />So, verdict on my first real-world Halloween: well, I learned my lesson. Next year, pajamas and scary movies it is. Sounds pretty awesome to me. Of course, I’m the party pooper that doesn’t really like Halloween anyway, so feel free to ignore my cynicism.<br /><br />Also, update: got the aforementioned waitressing job. This oughta be interesting. Assuming I pass my menu and margarita tests (yes, those happen), I will be working at Border Café in Harvard Square within a few weeks. Tomorrow is my last day at The Campaign Network… so goodbye, politics. I wish you well.<br /><br />Now bring on the tips, please.Marika Lenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05014409565609891662noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2931347018457795818.post-54694777922300519252009-10-30T09:30:00.001-04:002009-10-30T09:32:56.197-04:00You want fries with that?So as my foray into the world of politics draws to a close (…and there was much rejoicing) I find myself even more in need of a job that, ya know, pays me.<br /><br />Problem is, of course, that nothing I’d be interested in for career purposes is hiring paid workers – only unpaid interns. So now that I’ve got the unpaid internship in something I love (I work for a literary agency now!) I needs me something to pay the bills. Thus, I decided it was time to explore the prospect of waitressing.<br /><br />But let’s be clear, here – I have NO experience as a waitress. I mean, I worked at The Pita Pit, but I was hired there as soon as they heard I had a high school diploma. So I don’t count that. So while I’ve had a million interviews – at PR companies, sales companies, political companies, travel companies – I was terrified to interview at a restaurant. Because I know, for the most part, how to interview in a corporate setting. We’ve all been taught what they want to hear. But at a restaurant…? What do I even wear? Do I need a different resume than the one I have?? Should my hair be up or down??? Skdfvksduhnj!!!*?%??#$%<br /><br />So, instead of asking any number of people I know with experience in this industry, I turned, of course, to my good friend Google. My exact searches: “What do I wear for a waitress interview?” “Waitress resume example” and “What restaurants look for in a waitress.” Yes, I know. I’m an enormous dork. It’s okay. I own it.<br /><br />After finding advice ranging from “Look hot, wear lots of makeup – restaurants like to be known for their sexy waitresses” to “You should wear a suit to any interview,” I decided to err on the side of “professional lady” rather than “hussy.” Also, apparently, there’s actually a specific format for a waitress resume. Who knew? So I split the difference between that format and my current one, and added a list of “Qualifications” – basically a “Why I’m awesome” section. Oh, and I threw Pita Pit back on there – that had NOT been on the resume I handed out at corporate interviews.<br /><br />So on Wednesday, I ventured out to my first waitressing interview ever. Quaking in my heels. <br /><br />In the end – and I’m sure anyone I asked would have told me this – it was pretty much like every other interview I’ve ever had… just shorter and more relaxed. And yes, I felt appropriately silly for my unwarranted freakout. But for the fact that, when asked why I should be hired, I could include “I’m passionate about customer service, Tex-Mex cuisine, and margaritas,” my answers were pretty much the “About Me” shpiel I’ve already come to know so well. Everything from “great attention to detail” to “works well with other people” was just as relevant here as at any other company.<br /><br />For those who are curious, it seemed to go well. I just had my second interview with that particular restaurant, and should be hearing from them soon. At any rate, it broke the ice, and I think I can now go into restaurant interviews without feeling like I’m about to hurl. Success!Marika Lenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05014409565609891662noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2931347018457795818.post-67133762497373517672009-10-22T16:01:00.002-04:002009-10-22T16:50:20.798-04:00Was it something I said?So a few weeks ago – 29 days ago, to be exact – I had what seemed to be a very promising interview with what seemed to be a very interesting PR company. I thought I had done fairly well, and they told me they’d get back to me within a week and a half or so.<br /><br />Clearly, something went terribly, terribly wrong. I haven’t heard from them since.<br /><br />Granted, it’s not unusual (at least in my experience… is it just me?) for a company to mysteriously forget all about you after you’ve come in for an interview. With thingz bein’ the way thingz is and with jobs in such high demand, sometimes, I suppose, one of the many interviewees is bound to fall through the cracks.<br /><br />But get this – they had called ME to come in for an interview, and they said they were only interviewing three people. Whatever crack I stepped in must’ve been a big one, ‘cause it seems like, given the situation, I should have been a little harder to overlook.<br /><br />Talk about the cold shoulder. Did I have something in my teeth? Did I look fat in my skirt suit? Was it something I said?<br /><br />Weeelllllllll….. yeah, it might have been something I said.<br /><br />Listen up, all you job-hunters. This is something we’ve all heard about 8 million times and eventually you just go “WE EFFING KNOW, OKAY?!” But… I thought I knew too. Always, ALWAYS know WHY you’re interviewing somewhere and WHAT that place does, lest you run into this situation:<br /><br />PR Man: So, Marika, why this company? What about what we do in PR intrigues you?<br />Marika: [stunned silence as I try to remember what the HELL a PR company does] Well… I mean, you know, politics has been fun, but PR is… well… I mean…<br />PR Man: So basically, you’re just looking for another job?<br />Marika: [sighs, resigned] Basically.<br /><br />I looked the part. I smiled, made eye contact. and was well-spoken (for the most part). I had my resume, I had my neat little portfolio. I’d researched the company, I knew who ran every department, I knew who all their clients were… but I had no idea what they actually DID for those clients... whoops.<br /><br />My advice: well, just don’t do that. Easy enough, right?Marika Lenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05014409565609891662noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2931347018457795818.post-47761587825652799542009-10-19T21:44:00.007-04:002009-10-19T23:13:22.758-04:00Who needs focus when you can have... oooh, butterfly!I think there's a lot to be said for a focused blog. I've read blogs on politics, fashion, the quest to find the best burger in Boston (those jerks totally stole my idea, by the way)... so while I've had this notion of starting a blog for a long time, I've always balked at the idea of having to find ONE topic to focus on, ONE thing that I just knew so much about that the entirety of the internet would be clinging to my every word and clamoring for the next entry from which they would surely learn more about life than any college class or Discovery Channel special could teach them.<br /><br />And then I thought... let's just cut the crap. It's a BLOG for God's sake - the very word is ridiculous. Can't get too high and mighty about it. Sure, some bloggers out there will undoubtedly be better and more informative than others. They'll deliver news, report on trends, share insightful opinions. But in the end, I decided - perhaps more for my own benefit than anyone else's - that a blog doesn't need to be earth-shakingly, life-changingly profound to be relevant. Right? I mean, let's hope so. And moreover, I can even have one without being some super expert in a particular field. In fact, NOT being an expert on anything in particular is my point in this - I'm new to this whole "real life" thing. I'm learning how to survive post-graduation, and I only hope that my embarrassing moments can be filed in your mind under "what and what not to do when pretending to be a grown-up."<br /><br />Okay, so it's actually been a few months since I graduated from Wesleyan, and I've been able to figure out a feeewwww things regarding this whole life-as-an-adult thing. But while I managed to bypass the "what do you MEAN I can't live on PBR and Ramen??" phase... there's still a lot to learn. So these entries promise to contain a veritable potpourri of experiences - job hunting, networking, city living, grown-up decision making (or lack thereof), and living life without a meal plan. Focus be damned - I gotta figure stuff out first.Marika Lenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05014409565609891662noreply@blogger.com1