I've been inspired by a Cookthink post on healthy sweet snacking. As they put it, "The three o'clock sweet hour" and I know you all know it well. 3:00 comes around and you decide to wander by your office's front desk to see if there may be any of those m & m's left. Sometimes you get lucky, other times you need to run down to the corner store for a Snickers bar. What is it about 3:00pm?
Cookthink provides a healthy alternative and from reading this post, I've decided to give it a try. For a month. It is inevitable that I need a snack around 3:00 to get me through the rest of the day, but from here on out, I'm going to make it healthy. I'm not trying to lose weight, but I am trying to regain some energy, to feel a little less lethargic by the end of the day, and boost my blood levels of the all of the important things that blood tests check for due to an impending annual doctor's appointment (that I still need to schedule).
Now, I'm not going to lie. With October around the corner and Halloween on the horizon, I'd be kidding everyone if I said I was going to cut chocolate out of my diet completely. Besides, aren't there studied health benefits of chocolate? But, for the most part, I will be replacing my 3:00 sweet fix with more generally accepted, healthier options such as fruit, whole grain crackers, and natural peanut butter. Hopefully just what I'll need to make it through the work day and a short evening work-out at the gym.
I even bought cereal and oatmeal as options to start my day with. As we speak, I'm eating SmartStart (appropriate, huh?) with soy milk and banana.
It is the dawn of a new me.
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
The Local Flavor
I had a cold. That is my excuse.
But I'm back, now.
I've lived in D.C. for 8 years and had never visited a local winery until this past Sunday. I can't believe what I had been missing! I mistakenly thought that all the good wines were made in California or France and to have a true vineyard experience, I would have to hop a flight to Napa. Not so!
We set out on Route 66, about an hour and 15 outside of the city. Destination: Linden Vineyards in Linden, Virginia. The scenery was breathtaking. Atop the Blue Ridge Mountains, we passed through rolling hills and valleys en route to the winery. The parking lot, surprisingly, was packed although we decided later that the guests must have been on the tour, because once inside, we felt like we had the place to ourselves.
Our afternoon started with a tasting of the five wines that are manufactured at Linden:
Good food, good wine, good company. It added up to the perfect Sunday afternoon.
But I'm back, now.
I've lived in D.C. for 8 years and had never visited a local winery until this past Sunday. I can't believe what I had been missing! I mistakenly thought that all the good wines were made in California or France and to have a true vineyard experience, I would have to hop a flight to Napa. Not so!
We set out on Route 66, about an hour and 15 outside of the city. Destination: Linden Vineyards in Linden, Virginia. The scenery was breathtaking. Atop the Blue Ridge Mountains, we passed through rolling hills and valleys en route to the winery. The parking lot, surprisingly, was packed although we decided later that the guests must have been on the tour, because once inside, we felt like we had the place to ourselves.
Our afternoon started with a tasting of the five wines that are manufactured at Linden:
A dry 2006 Seyval with the aroma of white grapefruit and lemon zest tinge. Citrusy and fresh.We settled on a bottle of Chardonnay and retreated to the porch, overlooking the rows and rows of grapes in the vineyard. Linden Vineyard offers a selection of local cheese and sausages to pair with your wine selection, with the most delicious, warm and crispy baguettes.
A medium bodied 2004 Chardonney. Crisp and very pleasant with hints of pear and vanilla.
A delicious 2005 Cabernet Franc, full of flavor. Raspberry and truffle aromas.
A hearty 2003 Claret that would be great paired with a dense stew. Notes of mint, sage and blackberry.
And finally, a sweet, but not too sweet, Reisling (2006). It almost had a spritz on my tongue and had a fruity finish of grapefruit, peach and orange peel.
Good food, good wine, good company. It added up to the perfect Sunday afternoon.
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
My Plant
My mother-in-law bought me a plant for our condo. She assured me that it only needed watering once every two weeks and was very easy to care for. I do not have a grand history of keeping plants alive (I think I once even killed a cactus) so I was a bit skeptical, but once every two weeks? I could handle that. She also told me that the plant produces little babies. The only thing I could deduce from that was that this plant was some kind of fertility plant. So, at the same time, this gift was more than just a gift. It was a test. I had to prove to my mother-in-law that I could keep this plant alive because if I can't keep the plant healthy and strong, how am I going to care for a baby? Right?
Diligently, once every two weeks, I watered the plant. I let the soil dry out between waterings as the instructions stated. I gave it light (and love). And still (!) it slowly began to wither and shrivel and die. Then, I gave up. I stopped watering it and just left it on the window sill to eek out its last days.
Last night I got frustrated. At why I can never keep plants alive. I cut some of the leaves back and immediately jumped on the internet. Googling "plant with pink center" until I figured out exactly what I had (a bromeliad.) I visited bromeliad care sites, bromeliad society sites, and even found some doctoral thesis on the little buggers.
And you know what I found out? The plant is SUPPOSED to die! Yes, have you ever heard of such a thing? Once the plant flowers, it completely shuts down - giving all of its energy to the birth of a "pup" or offshoot, or as my mother-in-law put it, a "baby." I inspected my plant and low and behold, it had produced a pup.
See that offshoot, above? That's the pup.Now the question is (according to the myriad of websites on the topic) - do I transplant the offshoot, or do I leave it there, allowing the "mother" plant to produce more pups?
I've got to think this one over a bit. With my history, though, I'm sure that whatever I decide for the fate of this pup, the poor plant will eventually die. I'll keep you posted.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
9/11: My Story
It's been six years. It's already been six years and it's only been six years. I was actually surprised that the Today show this morning wasn't overdoing its "America Remembers" series. Or maybe that's CNN? Maybe we're moving on?
Since 9/11 will be one of those days that we recount time and time again, as in a "where were you when..." story. Our parents had JFK and the landing on the moon. We, and they, have 9/11 (and the Challenger explosion.) This is how I remember and will retell my 9/11 story:
I was in a job at GWU that I hated and had a hard time pulling myself out of bed. As usual, I turned on the Today show while I was getting ready for work. The usual stories of the day were on and somewhere around 8:45am, when I needed to leave for work, Katie Couric announced that they would be back with breaking news. I thought it had to do with Chandra Levy, so I turned off the TV and headed to work.
The next day, September 12, I had a doctor's appointment to go to. I hadn't been to the doctor in years and I was worried he would find me unhealthy. So, on September 11, instead of taking the elevator up to the 2nd floor for work, I opted for the stairs. A last ditch effort to break up any cholesterol I had and to get my heart pumping healthily. By taking the stairs, I bypassed the bank of TVs that would have certainly been tuned to the breaking news story of the day.
Up in the gallery, I was hanging the last of the artwork for our exhibition before my boss came in. The phone rang, and it was my Dad. He told me that a plane crashed into the World Trade Center. It can be amusing, in hindsight, what the first reactions are to a tragedy. We both knew it was bad (although we didn't really know how bad at the time) and our conversation went something like this:
Me: Wow. So, I guess a lot of people died?
Dad: I don't know. I would guess. It's crazy. The World Trade Center is so big that the plane didn't even come out of the other side.
In hindsight, neither of us knew how to react to this news, nor did we know that our comments would be recounted for years to come. We did not know how big the plane was and there is history of small planes crashing into the World Trade Center. I was thinking it was a small plane, and couldn't really understand why my father was calling me. Then my dad ends the conversation with some reference to hearing that the Pentagon was on fire and I assured him I was headed down to the TVs to check it out.
I go down to the TVs and the area is mobbed with students. It was there that I watched one of the towers fall, but I can't remember which one. A security officer ordered all students back to their dorms. I asked him, "what about staff?" He said, "If I were you, I'd get the hell out of here." Someone lived in Pentagon City and asked him what she should do. He told her to head north.
Panic mode hit. I tried calling my friend who worked on the Hill but since cell phones were so overloaded, I couldn't get through. I tried to call other friends in DC, but had no luck, so I headed home. The streets were completely clogged with traffic, cars were getting nowhere. I looked toward the direction of the Pentagon and could see a little smoke. I lived right across from the State Dept. and feared that it, too, would be a target. Back at my apartment, I could get through to people on email, letting them know I was ok. My mom somehow got through to me and told me that I needed to get out of the city. She didn't realize that that was pretty much impossible.
I was able, though, to get up to Van Ness to seek refuge at a friend's apartment. It just seemed safer up there. Another friend joined us and for hours, we watched the news coverage. We watched the events unfold, be recounted and analyzed. Too stunned to really talk. It wasn't until hours later, that our one friend informed us that her dad worked at the World Trade Center. He was in England, though, and was not harmed. I couldn't believe it took her so long to tell us. She must have been in shock.
Eventually we felt the need to get out of the apartment and away from the TV. Chadwick's, in Friendship Heights, was pretty much the only thing we could find that was open. We just wanted a quick bite to eat. Our waiter told us that all appetizers were half off. My friend asks, "Is it because of the crisis?" He says, "No, it is happy hour." It was 5:00pm. And, technically, happy hour.
I had a lot of bad dreams that night, basically of being trapped inside falling buildings. The next morning I went to my doctor's appointment. I was pronounced healthy...
Since 9/11 will be one of those days that we recount time and time again, as in a "where were you when..." story. Our parents had JFK and the landing on the moon. We, and they, have 9/11 (and the Challenger explosion.) This is how I remember and will retell my 9/11 story:
I was in a job at GWU that I hated and had a hard time pulling myself out of bed. As usual, I turned on the Today show while I was getting ready for work. The usual stories of the day were on and somewhere around 8:45am, when I needed to leave for work, Katie Couric announced that they would be back with breaking news. I thought it had to do with Chandra Levy, so I turned off the TV and headed to work.
The next day, September 12, I had a doctor's appointment to go to. I hadn't been to the doctor in years and I was worried he would find me unhealthy. So, on September 11, instead of taking the elevator up to the 2nd floor for work, I opted for the stairs. A last ditch effort to break up any cholesterol I had and to get my heart pumping healthily. By taking the stairs, I bypassed the bank of TVs that would have certainly been tuned to the breaking news story of the day.
Up in the gallery, I was hanging the last of the artwork for our exhibition before my boss came in. The phone rang, and it was my Dad. He told me that a plane crashed into the World Trade Center. It can be amusing, in hindsight, what the first reactions are to a tragedy. We both knew it was bad (although we didn't really know how bad at the time) and our conversation went something like this:
Me: Wow. So, I guess a lot of people died?
Dad: I don't know. I would guess. It's crazy. The World Trade Center is so big that the plane didn't even come out of the other side.
In hindsight, neither of us knew how to react to this news, nor did we know that our comments would be recounted for years to come. We did not know how big the plane was and there is history of small planes crashing into the World Trade Center. I was thinking it was a small plane, and couldn't really understand why my father was calling me. Then my dad ends the conversation with some reference to hearing that the Pentagon was on fire and I assured him I was headed down to the TVs to check it out.
I go down to the TVs and the area is mobbed with students. It was there that I watched one of the towers fall, but I can't remember which one. A security officer ordered all students back to their dorms. I asked him, "what about staff?" He said, "If I were you, I'd get the hell out of here." Someone lived in Pentagon City and asked him what she should do. He told her to head north.
Panic mode hit. I tried calling my friend who worked on the Hill but since cell phones were so overloaded, I couldn't get through. I tried to call other friends in DC, but had no luck, so I headed home. The streets were completely clogged with traffic, cars were getting nowhere. I looked toward the direction of the Pentagon and could see a little smoke. I lived right across from the State Dept. and feared that it, too, would be a target. Back at my apartment, I could get through to people on email, letting them know I was ok. My mom somehow got through to me and told me that I needed to get out of the city. She didn't realize that that was pretty much impossible.
I was able, though, to get up to Van Ness to seek refuge at a friend's apartment. It just seemed safer up there. Another friend joined us and for hours, we watched the news coverage. We watched the events unfold, be recounted and analyzed. Too stunned to really talk. It wasn't until hours later, that our one friend informed us that her dad worked at the World Trade Center. He was in England, though, and was not harmed. I couldn't believe it took her so long to tell us. She must have been in shock.
Eventually we felt the need to get out of the apartment and away from the TV. Chadwick's, in Friendship Heights, was pretty much the only thing we could find that was open. We just wanted a quick bite to eat. Our waiter told us that all appetizers were half off. My friend asks, "Is it because of the crisis?" He says, "No, it is happy hour." It was 5:00pm. And, technically, happy hour.
I had a lot of bad dreams that night, basically of being trapped inside falling buildings. The next morning I went to my doctor's appointment. I was pronounced healthy...
Sunday, September 09, 2007
What Goes Around Comes Around
Can you believe it? Ok, you don't know what I'm talking about yet. If you haven't read my last post, Life's Little Lessons at the Safeway, you should read it now before proceeding any further... then come back!
This afternoon I drove over to Trader Joe's to get the ingredients I need for our Island dinner tonight (I'm making spiced island shrimp over jasmine rice with pineapple "island" cornbread). I loaded up my basket, waited through the winding line and as I approached the check-out counter, I realized that I didn't have my wallet. No cash, no credit cards, no ID even to buy the three bottles of wine I picked up.
Talk about "pay it forward." No one jumped to my rescue, just as I let the man in front of me leave without being able to take his groceries with him. There is justice in this world, isn't there? The difference, unfortunately, is that I did have the money to pay for my groceries, it just required a 10 minute ride home to get it. (Which, by way of postscript, I did. And returned back to Trader Joe's where they had so thoughtfully put my grocery cart full of items in the cooler to wait for me. Then, as luck would have it, I wound up being directed to the same guy behind the cash register who tried to ring me up a half hour earlier...).
What goes around comes around.
This afternoon I drove over to Trader Joe's to get the ingredients I need for our Island dinner tonight (I'm making spiced island shrimp over jasmine rice with pineapple "island" cornbread). I loaded up my basket, waited through the winding line and as I approached the check-out counter, I realized that I didn't have my wallet. No cash, no credit cards, no ID even to buy the three bottles of wine I picked up.
Talk about "pay it forward." No one jumped to my rescue, just as I let the man in front of me leave without being able to take his groceries with him. There is justice in this world, isn't there? The difference, unfortunately, is that I did have the money to pay for my groceries, it just required a 10 minute ride home to get it. (Which, by way of postscript, I did. And returned back to Trader Joe's where they had so thoughtfully put my grocery cart full of items in the cooler to wait for me. Then, as luck would have it, I wound up being directed to the same guy behind the cash register who tried to ring me up a half hour earlier...).
What goes around comes around.
Life's Little Lessons at the Safeway
I had a moment the other night. It was one of those moments that requires a split second decision to be made and in that split second, you waffle back and forth about 100 times, make your decision and them immediately regret it, but then it's too late.
I stopped at the grocery store after work on Friday, to pick up two steaks and a pint of ice cream as a reward for our hard work in painting the bathroom. With just three items, I scanned the 15 items or less check-out counters but the lines were long. I'm convinced that it is quicker to stand behind one or two people with 30 items than behind 8 people with five items each. So, I wound up behind an older man, who gingerly and deliberately placed each of his items, one by one, on the conveyor belt. A few blocks of cheese, some milk, meats, slowly one by one. But, I wasn't annoyed, in fact I was surprisingly calm as I considered his age and the fact that I had nothing going on that evening other than a quiet night at home - I had some time to spare.
Finally, the check out man got to this gentleman's order and swiftly scanned and bagged each item. The shopper swiped a card, but seemed to have some trouble. I assumed it was just an older generation thing and their aversion to the do it yourself era of modern technology. The check out man reached over to help out his customer and asked "food?" A strange question I thought - typically it is "debit or credit?" - until it hit me that he must be referencing food stamps. The customer nodded silently. Then some confusion ensued, the check out man printed out a receipt and informed the customer that he only had a balance of 37 cents and they must not have made the deposit yet. The customer grunted, the man asked if he should cancel the order, the customer nodded and walked out of the grocery store. Three bags of groceries were packed, but they weren't going home with him. The check out man reached to his intercom and announced "bagged groceries for restocking, checkout 3" and proceeded to scan my steaks.
For a moment, somewhere around the discovery of the 37 cent balance, I almost - almost - offered to pay for this man's groceries. It was only $30 - he would have gone home with food and I would have gone home feeling like I made a selfless gesture. But, I didn't. Something stopped me. I guess I didn't want him to feel embarrassed, but I'm sure he didn't feel so great learning he didn't have enough money for his food. Then again, I don't know much about food stamps. I don't know how they work, I don't know how or when money is deposited. I didn't know whether he just needed to wait until the next day or wait an entire month. My ignorance basically rendered me powerless to determine the appropriate course of action.
Since, I've read up on food stamps. Here is the low-down. I still don't know if I made the right decision and I'll probably never know what happened to the man who tried to buy his groceries. But, at the very least, I'm a little more educated than I was and the next time I find myself in this situation perhaps I'll waffle the other way.
[Read the related story, What Goes Around Comes Around, where I find myself in a similar situation later the same weekend.]
I stopped at the grocery store after work on Friday, to pick up two steaks and a pint of ice cream as a reward for our hard work in painting the bathroom. With just three items, I scanned the 15 items or less check-out counters but the lines were long. I'm convinced that it is quicker to stand behind one or two people with 30 items than behind 8 people with five items each. So, I wound up behind an older man, who gingerly and deliberately placed each of his items, one by one, on the conveyor belt. A few blocks of cheese, some milk, meats, slowly one by one. But, I wasn't annoyed, in fact I was surprisingly calm as I considered his age and the fact that I had nothing going on that evening other than a quiet night at home - I had some time to spare.
Finally, the check out man got to this gentleman's order and swiftly scanned and bagged each item. The shopper swiped a card, but seemed to have some trouble. I assumed it was just an older generation thing and their aversion to the do it yourself era of modern technology. The check out man reached over to help out his customer and asked "food?" A strange question I thought - typically it is "debit or credit?" - until it hit me that he must be referencing food stamps. The customer nodded silently. Then some confusion ensued, the check out man printed out a receipt and informed the customer that he only had a balance of 37 cents and they must not have made the deposit yet. The customer grunted, the man asked if he should cancel the order, the customer nodded and walked out of the grocery store. Three bags of groceries were packed, but they weren't going home with him. The check out man reached to his intercom and announced "bagged groceries for restocking, checkout 3" and proceeded to scan my steaks.
For a moment, somewhere around the discovery of the 37 cent balance, I almost - almost - offered to pay for this man's groceries. It was only $30 - he would have gone home with food and I would have gone home feeling like I made a selfless gesture. But, I didn't. Something stopped me. I guess I didn't want him to feel embarrassed, but I'm sure he didn't feel so great learning he didn't have enough money for his food. Then again, I don't know much about food stamps. I don't know how they work, I don't know how or when money is deposited. I didn't know whether he just needed to wait until the next day or wait an entire month. My ignorance basically rendered me powerless to determine the appropriate course of action.
Since, I've read up on food stamps. Here is the low-down. I still don't know if I made the right decision and I'll probably never know what happened to the man who tried to buy his groceries. But, at the very least, I'm a little more educated than I was and the next time I find myself in this situation perhaps I'll waffle the other way.
[Read the related story, What Goes Around Comes Around, where I find myself in a similar situation later the same weekend.]
Thursday, September 06, 2007
On Facebook
A few weeks ago the cover story of Newsweek was on Facebook. There were two articles in particular - first person narratives - on "Why I Love It" and "Why I Hate It." The final verdict is still out for me, I mean, I haven't even completed my profile yet. I have profiles on Friendster (in the days was I was so innocent to the social networking world) and MySpace (when I played up my alternative art side and, initially, decided to add every musician/ punk rocker/ band member who sent me a friend request. Ultimately, I received too many concert solicitations to deal with and let go). And here, yesterday, I started over on Facebook.
It is a blank slate. How do I want to convey myself to the world? It is a new era of first impressions... connecting with old high school classmates, neighbors, co-workers who haven't been privy to my daily trials and tribulations. Do I want my old friends from high school to know that I sometimes still watch The Real World? Or that I am still driving my 1994 Toyota Celica that I drove for the first time into the Junior parking lot 13 years ago? Or how about my camper who I just reconnected with after 10 years. She was 12 when I was her counselor, now she is 22 and seeking her first job. What does she need to know about me?
I'm working on getting it all together. Stay tuned to my Facebook page. That, is of course - as all Facebookers presume... that you care.
It is a blank slate. How do I want to convey myself to the world? It is a new era of first impressions... connecting with old high school classmates, neighbors, co-workers who haven't been privy to my daily trials and tribulations. Do I want my old friends from high school to know that I sometimes still watch The Real World? Or that I am still driving my 1994 Toyota Celica that I drove for the first time into the Junior parking lot 13 years ago? Or how about my camper who I just reconnected with after 10 years. She was 12 when I was her counselor, now she is 22 and seeking her first job. What does she need to know about me?
I'm working on getting it all together. Stay tuned to my Facebook page. That, is of course - as all Facebookers presume... that you care.
Wednesday, September 05, 2007
It's been a month...
and I have no excuse. Well, other than I was on vacation for 10 days, got back, got a promotion, work load has increased, end of summer social scene is in full effect, painted the bathroom, am glued to the US Open - you get the picture. I promise I'll get back to regular posts soon, though.
I joined Facebook today and people have been checking out the blog. That's just the impetus I needed.
Welcome all and we'll chat soon.
I joined Facebook today and people have been checking out the blog. That's just the impetus I needed.
Welcome all and we'll chat soon.
Wednesday, August 08, 2007
Sand between my toes...
Yes, I still owe you more Vegas posts but I'm about to go on vacation for a week and a half. My hope is to be truly on vacation - and that means no internet, no email and not many phone calls either. I'm headed out to Montauk to meet my hubby who has been galavanting around Boston the past few days and who called me at 6 this morning to tell me he just got back from a night of gambling at Foxwoods. He is truly on vacation.
So until then, you'll have to picture me on the beach as far (mentally) from work as I can be. I'm still waiting to hear about my promotion. I seriously never thought it could take over 6 months to make a decision on what I believe should be the easiest decision in the world. :)
Tomorrow, when I board the cheapy bus to NYC only to transfer immediately to the LIRR, I'll be knee deep in Harry Potter. A solid 8 hours to get through 700 and something pages. I'll "apparate" myself to Hogwarts since I can't really apparate to Montauk. And when I do arrive (in Montauk that is), I get to enjoy dinner at Dave's Grill.
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Las Vegas, Part 1: All the World's a Line
Last night I returned from a four day getaway with “the girls” to Las Vegas. The City of Lights, Sin City, the LV; whatever you want to call it, it was big, it was bright and it was unforgettable. Over the next few days, I’ll be posting a series of posts on my experience there formatted around roughly based themes that surfaced over and over again during the long weekend.
Today’s discussion: Las Vegas, Part 1: All the World’s a Line
Somewhere around 11am, I arrived at Dulles airport after driving the very boring 16 mile stretch of the Dulles Access Road that’s not quite 495 and not quite the toll road and I was immediately presented with a dilemma: Daily Parking 1 or Daily Parking 2. My quick intuition led to me to choose Daily Parking 2 because it looks much closer to the terminals and I vaguely remembered parking there before. I love the electronic sign upon entering that tells you in little green numbers exactly how many spots are available on each level. Level 1: 3; Level 2: 195, Level 3: 65 etc. Level 2 it is. Duh! I drive up and immediately find a spot that looks good. It takes me a good few minutes to hoist my ridiculously large suitcase out of the trunk, narrowly missing all ten of my toes as it crashes to the ground only to soon find out that the access to the pedestrian walkway is only accessible from level 3. Of course. I contemplate moving my car to one of the 60-some spots on Level 3 but that would require maneuvering my suitcase again, so I opt to take the elevator up a level instead. When I exit the parking lot I see another very humorous sign. It says something like "Next time you fly, consider Daily Parking 1 with its state of the art, new and improved, covered and air conditioned moving sidewalks that will make your life so much easier than Daily Parking 2. We'll even pass out fruity umbrella drinks as you glide on by in style." Ok, so that's not exactly verbatim, but you get the idea. (And it is not a line story, but it sets the stage...)
I had an easy check-in at Southwest and fortunately my friend clued me in to this 24-hours in advance online check-in thing so you can get into the first group of seating. I wasn't lucky enough to get A since I checked in 21 hours in advance, but I felt my B status was not so shabby. It was here that I encountered my first line of the vacation. Have you ever flown Southwest before? Talk about perpetuating the class system! Sitting on the floor in the B line, over one hour before the scheduled take-off of my flight, I held such envy for those in the A line and such panic that I was going to get a bad seat and have to endure the pointing, laughter and snickering from my fellow window and aisle seat neighbors ("She must have been in the B line... ha ha ha. Loser."). [line 1] Well joke on everyone. For some reason everyone before me passed up a second row aisle seat which I promptly snagged. Unfortunately, a C line woman took the middle seat next to me and proceeded to cough and pop pill after pill of prescription medication the entire flight. I was mentally reviewing my CPR skills should she pass out from an overdose.
We arrive in Vegas, I rush off the plane to baggage claim up and down a few escalators where presumably most of the riders are from the DC area and STILL do not stay to the right. Ugh. I grab my bag off the carousel and head for a taxi. The taxi line at McCarren International awaits. It must be about 150 people deep, although props to the attendants, they have this worked out. From the main taxi line, and as you approach the front, you are directed to one of 9 smaller lines where the taxis pull up to pick up the passengers. [lines 2 and 3]
Finally reunited with my friends from college we talked about all of the activities we had planned for the weekend - some fine dining, a show, a bit of sun and gambling, and at least one of the trendy nightspots. At this point we hadn't realized how beneficial our female status would prove to be over the next few days. More on this later but for now, I'll speak of how it affected our experience with the many lines we encountered in Las Vegas.
Being a female visitor to Las Vegas gets you many privileges. For some, like us, it got us line passes, VIP passes, and guest list status, presumably limiting the time you have to stand in lines for entry into the various clubs. For others, it probably gets you an STD or two, but either way you come back with a special memory. Props to Terry who totally got us the hook-up at Body English, Tao and Rehab. He knows people and we were glad to know him. What we didn't realize, until our first Las Vegas club experience, is that knowing Terry and getting line passes and VIP passes etc., is that it just allows you wait in a different line than the rest of the masses. True it was typically shorter and moved faster, but it was a line nevertheless. Often though, you started in one line and then were shuffled to another and yet another before your actual entry into the esteemed and at that point quite mysterious Las Vegas club scene. And then, who were those people who could just cut the line and why were they so important? Probably because they spent thousands on a table or cabana or whatever other exclusive and private corner of the club they could afford. (More on that later, too.)
And every line we waited in had its own characteristic. Some lines were long (taxi line outside of Caesars after a night at Tao), some lines were entered through parking lots (Rehab VIP/Cabana line at Hard Rock), some lines had misters that would keep us cool, but mess up our hair before a night out (Mandalay taxi line), and others promised Furkinis - yes, a bikini made of fake fur (a Body English promotion at Hard Rock and apparently a coveted promotion judging by the line of ladies giddy with anticipation).
At last count, somewhere around Monday morning, we recalled at least 24 lines that we waited in. At an average of say 4 minutes a line, we stood in lines for over an hour of our vacation.
Perhaps they should rename Las Vegas and call it Disney World instead.
Today’s discussion: Las Vegas, Part 1: All the World’s a Line
Somewhere around 11am, I arrived at Dulles airport after driving the very boring 16 mile stretch of the Dulles Access Road that’s not quite 495 and not quite the toll road and I was immediately presented with a dilemma: Daily Parking 1 or Daily Parking 2. My quick intuition led to me to choose Daily Parking 2 because it looks much closer to the terminals and I vaguely remembered parking there before. I love the electronic sign upon entering that tells you in little green numbers exactly how many spots are available on each level. Level 1: 3; Level 2: 195, Level 3: 65 etc. Level 2 it is. Duh! I drive up and immediately find a spot that looks good. It takes me a good few minutes to hoist my ridiculously large suitcase out of the trunk, narrowly missing all ten of my toes as it crashes to the ground only to soon find out that the access to the pedestrian walkway is only accessible from level 3. Of course. I contemplate moving my car to one of the 60-some spots on Level 3 but that would require maneuvering my suitcase again, so I opt to take the elevator up a level instead. When I exit the parking lot I see another very humorous sign. It says something like "Next time you fly, consider Daily Parking 1 with its state of the art, new and improved, covered and air conditioned moving sidewalks that will make your life so much easier than Daily Parking 2. We'll even pass out fruity umbrella drinks as you glide on by in style." Ok, so that's not exactly verbatim, but you get the idea. (And it is not a line story, but it sets the stage...)
I had an easy check-in at Southwest and fortunately my friend clued me in to this 24-hours in advance online check-in thing so you can get into the first group of seating. I wasn't lucky enough to get A since I checked in 21 hours in advance, but I felt my B status was not so shabby. It was here that I encountered my first line of the vacation. Have you ever flown Southwest before? Talk about perpetuating the class system! Sitting on the floor in the B line, over one hour before the scheduled take-off of my flight, I held such envy for those in the A line and such panic that I was going to get a bad seat and have to endure the pointing, laughter and snickering from my fellow window and aisle seat neighbors ("She must have been in the B line... ha ha ha. Loser."). [line 1] Well joke on everyone. For some reason everyone before me passed up a second row aisle seat which I promptly snagged. Unfortunately, a C line woman took the middle seat next to me and proceeded to cough and pop pill after pill of prescription medication the entire flight. I was mentally reviewing my CPR skills should she pass out from an overdose.
We arrive in Vegas, I rush off the plane to baggage claim up and down a few escalators where presumably most of the riders are from the DC area and STILL do not stay to the right. Ugh. I grab my bag off the carousel and head for a taxi. The taxi line at McCarren International awaits. It must be about 150 people deep, although props to the attendants, they have this worked out. From the main taxi line, and as you approach the front, you are directed to one of 9 smaller lines where the taxis pull up to pick up the passengers. [lines 2 and 3]
Finally reunited with my friends from college we talked about all of the activities we had planned for the weekend - some fine dining, a show, a bit of sun and gambling, and at least one of the trendy nightspots. At this point we hadn't realized how beneficial our female status would prove to be over the next few days. More on this later but for now, I'll speak of how it affected our experience with the many lines we encountered in Las Vegas.
Being a female visitor to Las Vegas gets you many privileges. For some, like us, it got us line passes, VIP passes, and guest list status, presumably limiting the time you have to stand in lines for entry into the various clubs. For others, it probably gets you an STD or two, but either way you come back with a special memory. Props to Terry who totally got us the hook-up at Body English, Tao and Rehab. He knows people and we were glad to know him. What we didn't realize, until our first Las Vegas club experience, is that knowing Terry and getting line passes and VIP passes etc., is that it just allows you wait in a different line than the rest of the masses. True it was typically shorter and moved faster, but it was a line nevertheless. Often though, you started in one line and then were shuffled to another and yet another before your actual entry into the esteemed and at that point quite mysterious Las Vegas club scene. And then, who were those people who could just cut the line and why were they so important? Probably because they spent thousands on a table or cabana or whatever other exclusive and private corner of the club they could afford. (More on that later, too.)
And every line we waited in had its own characteristic. Some lines were long (taxi line outside of Caesars after a night at Tao), some lines were entered through parking lots (Rehab VIP/Cabana line at Hard Rock), some lines had misters that would keep us cool, but mess up our hair before a night out (Mandalay taxi line), and others promised Furkinis - yes, a bikini made of fake fur (a Body English promotion at Hard Rock and apparently a coveted promotion judging by the line of ladies giddy with anticipation).
At last count, somewhere around Monday morning, we recalled at least 24 lines that we waited in. At an average of say 4 minutes a line, we stood in lines for over an hour of our vacation.
Perhaps they should rename Las Vegas and call it Disney World instead.
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
The Countdown Begins
My Gmail chat announces that I'm Vegas bound in a little less than 48 hours. With two of my very best girlfriends, sun, water, a bit of gambling, fine dining and Love it adds up to the perfect recipe to cure my blahs. I haven't taken a vacation, much less a day or two off since November, work is getting stagnant and morale here is low. I think this will be the just the pick-me-up that I need.
And, when it rains it pours... less than two weeks after my return, I head to my in-laws beach house for over a week. Like the rest of D.C., my hubby and I will be fleeing the confines of this city as the tourists come in to replace us - a veritable free-for-all. We'll spend a few days with his family and then they leave us on our own for a week. We plan to have a steady stream of friends coming and going, crashing on extra beds and couches (and maybe floors!). We'll eat lobster rolls, sunbathe, and probably partake in a competitive game or two of putt-putt. Just the crazy kind of relaxation that I need.
And come September, I should be as good as new.
And, when it rains it pours... less than two weeks after my return, I head to my in-laws beach house for over a week. Like the rest of D.C., my hubby and I will be fleeing the confines of this city as the tourists come in to replace us - a veritable free-for-all. We'll spend a few days with his family and then they leave us on our own for a week. We plan to have a steady stream of friends coming and going, crashing on extra beds and couches (and maybe floors!). We'll eat lobster rolls, sunbathe, and probably partake in a competitive game or two of putt-putt. Just the crazy kind of relaxation that I need.
And come September, I should be as good as new.
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Portrait of an Artist (part 2)
Here are some more images from my drawing class to tide you over. It has been a busy week at work and I'm getting ready for a mini-vacation (Vegas, baby!), so it may be until next week before I can post something substantial. Thanks for your patience!
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Someone's in the Kitchen
I've been cooking a lot lately. My husband even remarked how the cooking responsibility has seemed to shift over to me this summer. He, being a "gourmand" and well adept in the kitchen, would have no problem whipping up something scrumptious after we both got home from the gym. Now, that I've frozen my gym membership for the summer, since I prefer to do my exercising on an outdoor bike, I've been getting home before him.
It makes me feel like the notion of "wife" that I had when I was growing up. Apron-smocked, I'll have dinner just about on the table when he gets home from work, but not totally on the table so he can see all the preparation that went into making the meal. (It is a sick little thing, I know.)
But more so than feeling like a '50s wife, I gain great pleasure out of creating and knowing that I've successfully taken a mish-mosh of ingredients and turned them into something pleasantly plated and palatable.
Some recent winners include:
It makes me feel like the notion of "wife" that I had when I was growing up. Apron-smocked, I'll have dinner just about on the table when he gets home from work, but not totally on the table so he can see all the preparation that went into making the meal. (It is a sick little thing, I know.)
But more so than feeling like a '50s wife, I gain great pleasure out of creating and knowing that I've successfully taken a mish-mosh of ingredients and turned them into something pleasantly plated and palatable.
Some recent winners include:
- Spicy blackened catfish (served with lemony spinach and a salad)
- Grilled steak with lemon and rosemary marinade (served with potato salad with celery and sweet onion)
- Chicken breasts stuffed with goat cheese and basil
And like my mom always said, "If you can read [a recipe], you can cook."
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Komi: A Meal to Remember
Komi
1509 17th Street NW
http://www.komirestaurant.com/
I am a glutton for inventive food, so when we received an invitation from a friend to dine at Komi, I re-arranged all of my plans. Ok, I had no plans really, but ever since chef Johnny Monis was named one of the best new chefs by Food and Wine magazine, it has been near impossible to get in the door. I wasn't going to pass up this opportunity.
And I am sure glad I didn't. This meal was one of the best I've had in my eight years in D.C. and I liken it a bit to Obelisk - another fixed price menu of delicious yet unpretentious food featuring unique combinations of ingredients. Like, Obelisk, I felt like I had arrived at a friend's house when I entered Komi. It is small and unassuming on the inside and you are made to feel like the guest of honor. Tables are spread out enough that you can have your own conversation and dining experience without feeling infringed upon by your neighbor.
Komi offers a fixed price menu - either you choose from several options per section or have the chef prepare a tasting menu for you, of his choosing but as is typical, the entire table must oblige to this second option. We decided to select our own and add the wine pairings. We were in for a treat. The staff was so very knowledgeable about each ingredient and the sommelier fully explained the wine offerings to us, at the start of each new course.
First course: a selection of mezzethakia (in my best Greek, roughly translates to small bites). I think we each received 8 and this course incorporated two wine pairings. [A note on the wine pairings: these are FULL glasses of wine which translates to an excellent deal but a heavy night of drinking. Be forewarned that I don't have the best recollection of the later courses... ] Highlights from the mezzethakia: a date that literally melts in your mouth, watermelon with whipped feta topped with a hazelnut, and an oxtail pita "sandwich". One diner in our party is a vegetarian and each meat based mezzethakia had a vegetable based equivalent that both looked the same and contained similar flavors (the oxtail pita translated to a wild mushroom pita - both dense and earthy flavors).
The second course featured a selection of pastas. I selected the local corn ravioli with summer truffles and langoustines and others at our table enjoyed the Gorgonzola ravioli with pears and almonds and the tagliatelle with guanciale and blueberries.
For our main entree, I shared the bronzino for two which was delicately cooked in a typical Mediterranean style of olive oil and lemon and accompanied by a side of garlicky chard. Prior to this course, the waitress came out to present the whole fish to us before it was filleted and said that the chef would like to know whether we wanted the head served for its fleshy cheek meat. Apparently a delicacy, but we declined. It was at this point that I believe I caught of glimpse of Chef Monis working hard in the kitchen. It was something of a celebrity sighting to me.
Dessert had a plethora of exciting options, but I finally settled on the Greek doughnuts, bathed in honey with a side of chocolate mousse for dipping. They were light and airy and the perfect note on which to end my meal.
Our bill arrived with four lollipops wrapped in wax paper. Flavor of the evening was something with saffron and citrus. After a delicious meal and five glasses of wine, with a lollipop stick sticking out of my mouth, I felt as happy as a kid in a candy shop.
I hope to have this experience again. I'll make sure to reserve at table early.
**** (out of 4 stars)
20% tip: While the wines were paired quite nicely with the meal, be careful how much you drink. The food is too good to be forgotten the next morning.
1509 17th Street NW
http://www.komirestaurant.com/
I am a glutton for inventive food, so when we received an invitation from a friend to dine at Komi, I re-arranged all of my plans. Ok, I had no plans really, but ever since chef Johnny Monis was named one of the best new chefs by Food and Wine magazine, it has been near impossible to get in the door. I wasn't going to pass up this opportunity.
And I am sure glad I didn't. This meal was one of the best I've had in my eight years in D.C. and I liken it a bit to Obelisk - another fixed price menu of delicious yet unpretentious food featuring unique combinations of ingredients. Like, Obelisk, I felt like I had arrived at a friend's house when I entered Komi. It is small and unassuming on the inside and you are made to feel like the guest of honor. Tables are spread out enough that you can have your own conversation and dining experience without feeling infringed upon by your neighbor.
Komi offers a fixed price menu - either you choose from several options per section or have the chef prepare a tasting menu for you, of his choosing but as is typical, the entire table must oblige to this second option. We decided to select our own and add the wine pairings. We were in for a treat. The staff was so very knowledgeable about each ingredient and the sommelier fully explained the wine offerings to us, at the start of each new course.
First course: a selection of mezzethakia (in my best Greek, roughly translates to small bites). I think we each received 8 and this course incorporated two wine pairings. [A note on the wine pairings: these are FULL glasses of wine which translates to an excellent deal but a heavy night of drinking. Be forewarned that I don't have the best recollection of the later courses... ] Highlights from the mezzethakia: a date that literally melts in your mouth, watermelon with whipped feta topped with a hazelnut, and an oxtail pita "sandwich". One diner in our party is a vegetarian and each meat based mezzethakia had a vegetable based equivalent that both looked the same and contained similar flavors (the oxtail pita translated to a wild mushroom pita - both dense and earthy flavors).
The second course featured a selection of pastas. I selected the local corn ravioli with summer truffles and langoustines and others at our table enjoyed the Gorgonzola ravioli with pears and almonds and the tagliatelle with guanciale and blueberries.
For our main entree, I shared the bronzino for two which was delicately cooked in a typical Mediterranean style of olive oil and lemon and accompanied by a side of garlicky chard. Prior to this course, the waitress came out to present the whole fish to us before it was filleted and said that the chef would like to know whether we wanted the head served for its fleshy cheek meat. Apparently a delicacy, but we declined. It was at this point that I believe I caught of glimpse of Chef Monis working hard in the kitchen. It was something of a celebrity sighting to me.
Dessert had a plethora of exciting options, but I finally settled on the Greek doughnuts, bathed in honey with a side of chocolate mousse for dipping. They were light and airy and the perfect note on which to end my meal.
Our bill arrived with four lollipops wrapped in wax paper. Flavor of the evening was something with saffron and citrus. After a delicious meal and five glasses of wine, with a lollipop stick sticking out of my mouth, I felt as happy as a kid in a candy shop.
I hope to have this experience again. I'll make sure to reserve at table early.
**** (out of 4 stars)
20% tip: While the wines were paired quite nicely with the meal, be careful how much you drink. The food is too good to be forgotten the next morning.
Monday, July 16, 2007
MapQuest Failed Me Yesterday
MapQuest failed me this weekend. In planning our bike ride from Vienna to Great Falls and back, I looked up the address for the Whole Foods in Vienna - right off of the W&OD trail, and mapquested the directions from our home. These are the directions that MapQuest provided, from route 66:
10: Merge onto I-66 W (Crossing into VIRGINIA). 19.2 miles
11: Take the FAIRFAX CO PKY / VA-7100 exit- EXIT 55- toward RESTON / HERNDON / SPRINGFIELD. 0.5 miles
12: Merge onto VA-7100 N / FAIRFAX COUNTY PKWY / JOHN F JACK HERRITY PKWY via EXIT 55B toward RESTON / HERNDON. 0.7 miles
13: Turn SLIGHT RIGHT onto FAIR LAKES PKWY. 0.3 miles
14: End at 143 Maple Avenue East, Vienna, VA 22180, US
Now, for anyone who lives in Vienna and frequents the Maple Avenue Whole Foods, you would realize that these are not the correct directions. And, for anyone who lives in Fairfax, you would realize that these are in fact the directions to the Fairfax Whole Foods on Market Commons Drive. Not being too familiar with either area, we trusted the powers that be at Mapquest. What are the chances that by plugging in the correct address, we would be led to the wrong Whole Foods?
Fortunately, my husband had biked part of the W&OD trail before and recognized that our initial destination did not look familiar - nor could we find the trail. When we asked a very nice suburban looking mom for directions to Maple Avenue, she said, "Oh, that's in Vienna!" and quickly pointed us on our way before the light turned green.
So, MapQuest, in the age of information technology, you have let me down. Your "omniscient" self was no match for the mind behind the woman in the black SUV. Don't you realize that we trust you whole-heartedly to navigate us along our paths and into uncharted territory. Your "shortest time" directions indicated a total estimated time of 32 minutes, instead it took us over an hour.
Did you think I was just going grocery shopping and would have been satisfied with any old Whole Foods? If that were the case, I would have walked two blocks and avoided much frustration.
So, MapQuest, you've lost some of my trust. And perhaps I've now learned a lesson... to read the fine print:
10: Merge onto I-66 W (Crossing into VIRGINIA). 19.2 miles
11: Take the FAIRFAX CO PKY / VA-7100 exit- EXIT 55- toward RESTON / HERNDON / SPRINGFIELD. 0.5 miles
12: Merge onto VA-7100 N / FAIRFAX COUNTY PKWY / JOHN F JACK HERRITY PKWY via EXIT 55B toward RESTON / HERNDON. 0.7 miles
13: Turn SLIGHT RIGHT onto FAIR LAKES PKWY. 0.3 miles
14: End at 143 Maple Avenue East, Vienna, VA 22180, US
Now, for anyone who lives in Vienna and frequents the Maple Avenue Whole Foods, you would realize that these are not the correct directions. And, for anyone who lives in Fairfax, you would realize that these are in fact the directions to the Fairfax Whole Foods on Market Commons Drive. Not being too familiar with either area, we trusted the powers that be at Mapquest. What are the chances that by plugging in the correct address, we would be led to the wrong Whole Foods?
Fortunately, my husband had biked part of the W&OD trail before and recognized that our initial destination did not look familiar - nor could we find the trail. When we asked a very nice suburban looking mom for directions to Maple Avenue, she said, "Oh, that's in Vienna!" and quickly pointed us on our way before the light turned green.
So, MapQuest, in the age of information technology, you have let me down. Your "omniscient" self was no match for the mind behind the woman in the black SUV. Don't you realize that we trust you whole-heartedly to navigate us along our paths and into uncharted territory. Your "shortest time" directions indicated a total estimated time of 32 minutes, instead it took us over an hour.
Did you think I was just going grocery shopping and would have been satisfied with any old Whole Foods? If that were the case, I would have walked two blocks and avoided much frustration.
So, MapQuest, you've lost some of my trust. And perhaps I've now learned a lesson... to read the fine print:
Or use Yahoo! Maps.Your use of the website and Materials is at YOUR OWN RISK (their emphasis) and MapQuest is under no obligation to provide you with any support, error corrections, updates, upgrades, bug fixes and/or enhancements of the website and Materials.
Please note that the Materials may include technical inaccuracies or typographical errors. (my emphasis) MapQuest has the right at any time to change, modify, add to or discontinue or retire any aspect or feature of the website or Materials, including, but not limited to, the software, content, hours of availability, equipment needed for access or use, or the availability of the website or Materials on any particular device or communications service. MapQuest has no obligation to provide you with notice of any such changes.
Thursday, July 12, 2007
Memories of Summers Gone
It felt like camp this morning. It was brisk summer morning with a light breeze, the sun drying the dew on the grass. It smelled like fresh rain. It instantly made me nostalgic for my childhood summers at overnight camp. Waking up on a thin cot mattress, dressed head to toe in sweatpants and a sweatshirt (sometimes even with the hood up if it was an especially cold night in the mountains), and often with a slightly scratchy throat. Our pull rope windows would be sealed shut and ironically the cabin wouldn't warm up without opening them.
The "20 minutes until line-up" announcements would progress at a rate that seemed much faster than reality, quickly building up to the last minute when you knew you had to get out of bed if you were to have time to brush your teeth before breakfast. A quick glance at your best camp friend sleeping next to you would be returned with an equally knowing glance... "do you think they are going to make us get in the pool today?" - a reference to 1st period instructional swim.
Soon all of girls' camp was stumbling out of their bunks, bags under their eyes from long nights of giggling and telling stories, some maybe even came back just a few hours prior from a raid to boys' camp with memories of a secret kiss and a summer crush.
By the end of breakfast, temperatures would have risen enough to be comfortable (but still not enough to go swimming! Never!). Another day in the Poconos awaited us - bound to be filled with memory-making activities that we would only realize later when walking to work on a cool summer day among the hustle and bustle of Washington, D.C.
The "20 minutes until line-up" announcements would progress at a rate that seemed much faster than reality, quickly building up to the last minute when you knew you had to get out of bed if you were to have time to brush your teeth before breakfast. A quick glance at your best camp friend sleeping next to you would be returned with an equally knowing glance... "do you think they are going to make us get in the pool today?" - a reference to 1st period instructional swim.
Soon all of girls' camp was stumbling out of their bunks, bags under their eyes from long nights of giggling and telling stories, some maybe even came back just a few hours prior from a raid to boys' camp with memories of a secret kiss and a summer crush.
By the end of breakfast, temperatures would have risen enough to be comfortable (but still not enough to go swimming! Never!). Another day in the Poconos awaited us - bound to be filled with memory-making activities that we would only realize later when walking to work on a cool summer day among the hustle and bustle of Washington, D.C.
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
Portrait of an Artist
To many established artists, these pieces will look like your typical Intro to Drawing still life studies. They will remind them of their younger days, when the canvas was new and approached with hesitancy, when materials felt foreign in familiar hands and techniques went beyond common logic (you want me to only draw the highlights?).
I share with you some of my first attempts at composing still life - from Beginning Drawing at the Art League. (some more finished than others)
I share with you some of my first attempts at composing still life - from Beginning Drawing at the Art League. (some more finished than others)
Monday, July 09, 2007
Biking 'round the Old Line State
This was my bike ride on Sunday. We estimate it to be about 22 miles, although Map My Run says 18. Considering we were on trails for a portion of the ride and Map My Run doesn't always pick up on trails, I'm going with 22 miles. It sounds more impressive, anyway!
It was really nice to get out of the hustle and bustle of the city and bike among horse farms, rivers, marshland and even the osprey at the Merkle Wildlife Sanctuary. A far cry from home. We ran into some fisherman along the way, trying to catch catfish and two park rangers who really helped us navigate our shoddy map. (Thank you!) This area of Upper Marlboro, along Croom Road and through Patuxent River Park, was virtually deserted on a beautiful but hot Saturday afternoon. Aside from a family of four that we saw biking through the wildlife center, we were the only ones on two wheels.
The traffic was minimal and not much of a factor except on the relatively "busy" Croom Road. In fact, the park ranger urged us to move along from the visitors center around 4pm, worried that we may get caught in rush hour traffic. I laughed, and then realized she was actually being serious. Most of the route was hilly - some tough uphill climbs tempered by some long downhill coasts.
This area of Maryland comes with some history and we were able to catch some sites along the way. The site of the first African American owned airfield which is now merely one of many cornfields in the area, the town of Nottingham (population 1800), which was home to the British invasion of 1812 and once the third largest port in Maryland. Today it is virtually a ghost town, with several large plots of farm land and the old one room schoolhouse. And we rode by the ancestral home of the Bowies, who founded the town of Bowie, MD. Today it is owned by the Catholic Church and serves as a youth center.
I wish I had brought my camera on this trip because we really encountered some beautiful scenery. And the pictures would have made this post much more interesting!
So 22 (or 18) miles later, depending on who you believe, we definitely earned our meal at Komi. A review to come later this week.
It was really nice to get out of the hustle and bustle of the city and bike among horse farms, rivers, marshland and even the osprey at the Merkle Wildlife Sanctuary. A far cry from home. We ran into some fisherman along the way, trying to catch catfish and two park rangers who really helped us navigate our shoddy map. (Thank you!) This area of Upper Marlboro, along Croom Road and through Patuxent River Park, was virtually deserted on a beautiful but hot Saturday afternoon. Aside from a family of four that we saw biking through the wildlife center, we were the only ones on two wheels.
The traffic was minimal and not much of a factor except on the relatively "busy" Croom Road. In fact, the park ranger urged us to move along from the visitors center around 4pm, worried that we may get caught in rush hour traffic. I laughed, and then realized she was actually being serious. Most of the route was hilly - some tough uphill climbs tempered by some long downhill coasts.
This area of Maryland comes with some history and we were able to catch some sites along the way. The site of the first African American owned airfield which is now merely one of many cornfields in the area, the town of Nottingham (population 1800), which was home to the British invasion of 1812 and once the third largest port in Maryland. Today it is virtually a ghost town, with several large plots of farm land and the old one room schoolhouse. And we rode by the ancestral home of the Bowies, who founded the town of Bowie, MD. Today it is owned by the Catholic Church and serves as a youth center.
I wish I had brought my camera on this trip because we really encountered some beautiful scenery. And the pictures would have made this post much more interesting!
So 22 (or 18) miles later, depending on who you believe, we definitely earned our meal at Komi. A review to come later this week.
Thursday, June 28, 2007
30 going on 12
I got carded at a restaurant last night for the second time in recent memory. I was out with my husband and my mother-in-law, which incidentally was the same company I was keeping the first time around. The scary part... I'm sure the waitress thought I was my husband's younger sister and we were out with our mom.
Now that I've turned 30, though, I've decided to take a different approach. And instead of getting huffy about it all, I just laugh it off. Maybe even make the waitress uncomfortable by joking, "Did you think I was his sister?" as I emit one of those "ha, ha, ha" laughs. (That's mean, I realize, and I've never worked in food service, and I do know she is just doing her job. If it is any consolation to me, she did look embarassed to have to ask.)
The problem is, I don't know how else to try to look older. I dress professionally during the day and stylishly at night. I wear heels to make my 5' 2" frame appear taller. I just got a sleek new haircut. I've been blessed to have never found a gray hair or wrinkle - yet. The only thing I can think of is that I'm flat-chested. Very. And I've got no plans to do anything about it. Ever. So, if that's what is holding me back from joining the ranks of my 30 year old looking peers, so be it. Guess I'll just have to get used to carrying around my ID - for the rest of my life.
Now that I've turned 30, though, I've decided to take a different approach. And instead of getting huffy about it all, I just laugh it off. Maybe even make the waitress uncomfortable by joking, "Did you think I was his sister?" as I emit one of those "ha, ha, ha" laughs. (That's mean, I realize, and I've never worked in food service, and I do know she is just doing her job. If it is any consolation to me, she did look embarassed to have to ask.)
The problem is, I don't know how else to try to look older. I dress professionally during the day and stylishly at night. I wear heels to make my 5' 2" frame appear taller. I just got a sleek new haircut. I've been blessed to have never found a gray hair or wrinkle - yet. The only thing I can think of is that I'm flat-chested. Very. And I've got no plans to do anything about it. Ever. So, if that's what is holding me back from joining the ranks of my 30 year old looking peers, so be it. Guess I'll just have to get used to carrying around my ID - for the rest of my life.
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Rambles
I don't know whether it is my lack of creative ideas or this extreme heat we've been enduring that has hampered me from posting more often this week. What is the humidity, like 1000%? It is like there is no air to breathe out there.
Tonight I start my second drawing class and I'm way excited. Its the same class I took last time - I'm taking it again to "refine my skills." Whatever skills I think I acquired could definitely still use some refining.
And this weekend is my first pool party of the season. Don't think I haven't been kicking up the On Demand workouts to get ready for the official start to bikini season. And I bought a super-cute yellow polka dot bikini for the occassion. Now to get that six-pack in order...
Hopefully tomorrow I'll have a better post for you - but in my creative absence, here are a few sites to keep you going.
Draw like Jackson Pollack...
Pretend you are on the beach...
Tonight I start my second drawing class and I'm way excited. Its the same class I took last time - I'm taking it again to "refine my skills." Whatever skills I think I acquired could definitely still use some refining.
And this weekend is my first pool party of the season. Don't think I haven't been kicking up the On Demand workouts to get ready for the official start to bikini season. And I bought a super-cute yellow polka dot bikini for the occassion. Now to get that six-pack in order...
Hopefully tomorrow I'll have a better post for you - but in my creative absence, here are a few sites to keep you going.
Draw like Jackson Pollack...
Pretend you are on the beach...
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