Papel Chiltepin

This Is Me as a Playlist

2013-11-19T17:30:00.000-07:00

Adrian Younge's entire album Something About April (ha!)

Snoop's Old Stomping Grounds; or, the LBC

2013-08-09T10:15:00.000-07:00

Javier attended a film conference in Orange, California, and we stayed at another Airbnb casa in Long Beach which, while sort or a run-down place, was a block from the beach--including a dog beach--and so the $40 motel vibe was, I guess, worth it. Due to all the driving from the previous weeks we only stayed within an Orange-LBC radius, and while Javier was at the conference at Chapman University, I would camp out at cafes or dogs parks in Orange's cute downtown. I did get to see my friend Milissa who recently bought a pretty casa it Orange, and Dana came down from Los Angeles to spend Saturday with us and the dogs. The only photos from SoCal are from our last night there, taken at the dog beach where our pups (and we) romped around.

Action shot of our pups in the surf

Looking good

Oil rigs festoon the background

The welcome wagon for Rosy's Dog Beach

A wild, red-eyed Paco

Sunset and downtown LBC

Old pals, including Ginger

Dana says ,"Two thumbs up for 'Merica"

"I'm so excited/I just can't hide it"

Ginger meets her match

West Coast Camping

2013-08-05T13:46:00.000-07:00

Though sad to leave Portland, we headed back on the road, taking a little northerly detour to meet up with Kari and Collin in Centralia, Washington. After roaming the streets of that funky, antique-shop-filled town and chatting for several hours, Javier, the pooches and I headed back south, catching the Pacific Coast Highway to stay the night in Lincoln City, Oregon. Here began Javier's love of the quaint coastal towns of Oregon that we drove through, and he made a list of the ones we should move too. Lincoln City was also where the dogs had their first ocean experience, and though they remained on -leash, they loved the water and sand and did their berserk doggy dance they do when really excited. This is also where I saw a sign explaining what to do if a person should come across any objects or remains from last year's tsunami in Japan: fascinating, but eerie, and luckily we did not see anything.

The following day we stayed on the PCH and drove along beautiful stretches of road where ocean and cliffs met pine forested mountains. We camped in the Redwoods, at Prairie Creek, a campground that what recommended to us. Immediately we saw a herd of elk laying down in a prairie, only their massive antlers visible from a safe distance. Our campsite smelled delicious, of the redwoods, I suppose, and other flora nearby. Though we were unable to hike because of the dogs, we took several walks in the misty evening. This was a campground where bear and mountain lion sightings are possible, though we didn't see any. Actually, I was very proud of myself for getting up in the middle of the night to go to the restroom, despite my semi-gut wrenching fear of coming across a bear, the next morning I told Javier about this, and he said he was proud of me too because there was no way he was going to go out and escort me to the restroom.

The next day we picked up Highway 101 to hit our next campsite in the Samuel P. Taylor Campground near Point Reyes. We initially thought the campground would be more urban, but as we drove through the hilly grasslands we arrived at our campsite tucked in some redwoods along a creek. We were able to take a long walk with the dogs before setting up and and making dinner. Despite this more leisurely afternoon and evening for camping, I still failed at writing postcards before bed. Instead, I fell asleep around nine as I have been on camping nights, only to be awakened at 5 by a racoon that was circling and circling our tent, sniffing us out and causing Lola to growl and Paco and I to nervously watch it's silhouette pace back and forth.

After Sam. P. T. and the 101, we moved over to the speedy Interstate 5 and drove down the central valleys which looked as though they were ready to--actually, some had--goo up in flames. There were a lot of signs on farming land along the freeway protesting the politicking and diversion of water, and though I realize the situation and history of agriculture in the region is much more complicated than this, I question people bemoaning access to water in a landscape that cannot sustain decades of mass

Kari and Colin

The beach in Lincoln City

Lincoln City beach

Pouting to drive

A search for a restroom lead us to this beautiful view near Cape Blanco

A circle of elk near our Prairie Creek campground

Our campsite at Prairie Creek in Redwood California State Park

We needed a restroom and ended up paying $5 to be here

Co-pilot

Lovely view from our campsite at Samuel P. Taylor Park near Petaluma, CA

Sam P.T. site

Fighting to be close to the front seat

Portland!

2013-08-02T22:12:00.000-07:00

The exhausting trip from Ohio to Oregon was totally worth it because we had such a great time once we landed in Portland! We stayed in a lovely house in the Alberta Arts district, hung out with a bunch of friends from Tucson--including my childhood friend Rachel, plus her sweet family, whose photo I didn't get--and, of course, there was the beautiful wedding of Beth and Chris--the whole reason we were in Portland to begin with--at the stunning Cascade Locks.

The approach into Portland along the Columbia River: Mt. Hood?

Chico, one of our housemates at the airbnb casa in the Alberta Arts District

Farley, a boxer-pit mix like Lola, who was also madly in love with Lola

Beth, the dogs and I at the Sandy River. I was a lucky lady to get the bride-to-be to myself for a few hours

Lisa and the neon pink underwear gift for Beth's bachelorette party in Laurelhurst Park

Sunny day at the Rose Garden

Papa and baby at the dowtown foodtruck block

Annetta arrives: part of the gang together downtown

Leni, Lori and Rodin at the rehearsal dinner at the Polish Association-yummy Polish food!

Couldn't help but sneak another Chico photo in here

On the drive out to the Cascade Locks we saw this strange number

Bria and Gus!

The gorgeous, gorgeous wedding site on Thunder Island looking out over the Columbia River at Washington

Noel--my fellow toaster--and Louisa

The Mexican wedding flags a group of us arranged

Selfie

The locks

Cutting the delicious cake--tres leches! Also, the best shot I have of Beth's gorgeous dress, though it doesn't do her or the dress justice

great expressions, guys

Pinky up

Mischievious, round 2

The groom, Chris, photo bombing a photo with Beth

Louisa, the gorgeous (my favorite word for this wedding) bride Beth, and me

Ah yeah, dance time

These two know how to get down

The morning after the wedding: tired, but also a common expression I have when Javier snaps a photo of me

Multnomah Falls, a few miles from the Cascade Locks

The ladies

A shot of the gang

Cross Country Camping (and Cabin): Part Une

2013-08-02T21:44:00.003-07:00

I'll be honest: the first stretch of our cross-country trip was exhausting. It's tough to set up camp and then take it down in 15 hours or less, especially after a long day of driving. Plus with extreme heat, lots of mosquitoes, and surprising sources of stress (Paco shivering from fright on curvy mountain roads, spotting a black bear a couple miles from the cabin in Montana, yellow jackets infesting our campsite in eastern Washington, tempers flaring, etc.) I arrived in Portland dirty, tired, full of bug bites, extra freckles, and chapped lips that remained a lovely (but painful) deep red color until I finally was able to recover from my dehydration days later.

That being said, there were some lovey moments on the trip. Lola turned out to be a champion car-dog as she would nap or stare out the window. We got faster at packing up camp in the morning and we made some delicious food even for being prepared on a one-burner propane stove. We saw beautiful scenery, witnessed a bison and the full moon in Theodore Roosevelt National Park, and had lunch with Jessie and Dori at a state park in Wisconsin as we crossed paths going in opposite directions across the country.

The surprisingly pleasant little enclave campsite at Minneapolis' NW KOA

More beauty at Teddy Roosevelt

Bison at Teddy Roosevelt

Lovely, semi-secluded campsite in Teddy Roosevelt National Park

Badland-esque geological features at Teddy Roosevelt

Action shot of Lola at the Little Missouri River near our campsite in Teddy Roosevelt National Park

The hunting cabin in Montana

A man and his campfire breakfast

The view from the cabin in Montana: our car, corraled

Lola and I hiding from what I thought was my second bear sighting of the day

The "bear" turned out to be a herd of cattle. We were surrounded by cattle.

This place is hell. Too many mosquitoes and yellow jackets. Get me out of here. -in Liberty Lake, WA

Jessie and Dori in WI

The gals do lunch

Camping, Proud Lake, Michigan

2013-07-07T15:15:00.003-07:00

This weekend we did a trial camping run with our new gear, the dogs, and luckily for us, some friends. My friend Kyle and his family joined us for a night in Proud Lake, per his suggestion. It seemed like everyone in the greater Detroit area also went camping at Proud Lake, which makes sense as it was a holiday weekend. Though the campground was crowded with many other tents, campers, dogs, and families with children who played chicken with cars on their bikes, in a way the "village" aspect of the campground was nice. I don't see (or hear!) my neighbors in Bowling Green with as much frequency as our neighbors at the campground. Perhaps because there are fewer, or at least thinner, walls separating folks, and we're all sharing a lot of dirt and meddlesome storm clouds and beautiful fireflies, some folks were perhaps more friendly than in their normal day-to-day lives. Having our beautiful brindle babies didn't hurt in making acquaintances as Paco and Lola received plenty of attention and the usual "What kind of dogs are they?" question with also plenty of guesses.

It seems as though we figured out the camping thing pretty well our first time around, with only a small list of purchases or items to add to the car trunk before we head out on the road (small broom and dustpan for the tent, plus a mat to wipe our feet, for example). The tent is HUGE! We easily fit an inflatable mattress, a dog bed, our duffle bag and, when it rained, our collapsible chairs, plus two humans and two dogs, and we had room for another dog bed. The Coleman burner was a dream as it cooked or boiled super fast. The collapsible ice chest was cool looking and a nice size, though the ice melts in a day, which I thought was normal, but Javier said there are some that preserve ice for two days, and I overheard some neighbors talk about their electric cooler (granted, their car battery died as a result of running this electric cooler).

So our roadtrip out west should prove to be a success. While I will miss not having friends with us while we camp--Kyle, Katie, Teddy and Lydia were so much fun to be with--we will get to see plenty of friends in Portland, Seattle, L.A. Tucson, and points elsewhere, and we'll have this camping thing down pat once we return to BG in August.

The Conway/Castillo & Pawlowski/Westfall human and dog family portraits

Dogs on a hill

The Castillo castle

Antics

Javier waiting for his dinner

Proud Lake: dogs not allowed on beaches

Campsite

Teddy and Paco pose for the camera

Lydia not amused with Javier's antics (let it be said that, according to Lydia, Javier and Lola --who knocked Lydia down in her excitement--are not allowed to visit us at our own house in BG when her family comes to town. Paco an I are welcome, though)

Some serious looking dudes

Lola licking something up from under the picnic table

Food Diary

2013-06-24T08:02:00.000-07:00

NY Whiskey Sour

Peaches and green beans

Rhubarb hamantaschen

Eggplant sandwich with beet salad and feta; probably the best sandwich I've ever had

Not the best photo, but this is a peach dumpling with bourbon sauce

Javier's eggplant calzone

Wheat raspberry scone

Thanks again, Smitten Kitchen, for the recipes--you're the best

Cross Country Cruise Part II: Food

2013-05-22T14:58:00.000-07:00

Okay, so food is more important to me than gear, that's why I'm leading with this post. Here are ideas for do-ahead meals (r.e. pre-made in BG, packed in a cooler, and good for a couple days) so we can eat luxuriously on the road. We're taste-testing many of these recipes this week, and so far they're all winners. Where did I get the recipes? From BA, of course.

Roast Provençal Chicken; probably the best roasted chicken I've made yet

Chicken served with some marinated veggies

Cherry tomato Vinaigrette: Amazing on pasta with feta

Noodle salad with pickled vegetables

Cross Country Cruise: Plans, Part I

2013-05-21T15:14:00.000-07:00

Javier, the dogs and I are headed on an epic road trip mid-July. The first major destination is Portland to see some dear friends get married. Next, Los Angeles for a film conference, then Tucson, and finally we'll circle back to ol' BG before the school year starts (and before my sister, nephew, and mom come for a visit!).

What's special about this trip is that we'll be camping part of the way. Javier and I have never camped together before, the dogs have never camped at all, Lola has never been in the car for long distances... Will tempers be tested? Yes. But until then I'm having a blast planning everything out. I love to plan in general, but I love to travel plan best.

My favorite part of the planning process has been figuring out driving distances, mapping our route, and finding places to stay.

Here's our route:

The first day on the road will be a doozy. Ten and-a-half hours just to get to a KOA outside Minneapolis. Propping up a tent in a glorified RV park isn't very appealing, but I figure it'd be better to get a big chunk of the mileage done on the first day so we can enjoy our time in the national parks down the interstate. Also, Javier is severely afraid of ticks, and WI (the closer camping option) is a hot spot for those Lyme disease-ridden buggers. Plus, this KOA in Maple Grove, MN (sounds lovely, doesn't it?) has putt-putt golf (see below), so that's all we'll nee to unwind, right?

The next day, though, it gets really good: the Badlands of North Dakota and Theodore Roosevelt National Memorial Park:

Looking at this, I can imagine myself queuing up Springsteen's Darkness on the Edge of Town

Hopefully we'll see some of these, preferably at a distance from our tent.

On day three we'll be in Beaverhead-Deerlodge National Forest outside Butte, Montana. Specifically, we'll be staying in High Rye Cabin, built in 1919 near a mining district in the Fleecer Mountains. There's a creek nearby, but no running water in High Rye, which is fine because we chose to stay in a cabin to avoid bears. And according to all the warnings on the forest service website, there's a lot of bears in Beaverhead-Deerlodge. No thanks.

High Rye Cabin

Then off to Portland, with perhaps a brief stop-over in Seattle to see Kari and Collin. If anyone can recommend a good pet-friendly hotel in the City of Roses, or a good dog sitter for that matter (we need Paco and Lola watched for a night while we're at Beth and Chris' ceremony), that would be fantastic.

After the reunion with old friends, and after a bit of urban dwelling, it's back on the road, this time on the Pacific Coast Highway. We'll camp for a night (or two!) in Humboldt Redwoods State Park. I did some research, and Hidden Springs campground seemed like a good bet, but we'll see what spot catches our fancy when we get there.

I'd like to see this, please, among the redwoods.

Depending on Javier's schedule at the conference, we may have another night to camp along the PCH. I need to do some more in-depth research, but so far Limekiln State Park sounds pretty sweet.

Then off to L.A., or Orange County more precisely, where the dogs and I will be chilling while Javier spends his daylight hours at Chapman University. No camping in SoCal, unless we stop off in Joshua Tree on the way to Tucson.

I don't think there will be any camping on the return trip. It costs more to camp in the Sandias outside Albuquerque than it does to stay at a Motel 6, and there's no way I'm camping anywhere near Oklahoma City, especially after the disaster this week. Same goes for camping near St. Louis, which is our normal penultimate stopover before our arrival home.

In "Cross Country Cruise: Plans Part II": Gear

A preview: Should we buy this tent?....

Food Diary VII

2013-04-04T15:38:00.002-07:00

All recipes courtesy of Smitten Kitchen or Bon Appetite

Smörgåsbord open-face sandwich with smoked salmon; potato, horseradish, yogurt, lemon and dill spread; topped with radishes and dill

Maple bacon, pickled onion, fried egg, sriracha/mayo sauce, plus arugala

Spring risotto with poached egg

Minestrone soup with homemade turkey meatballs

Roasted poblano peppers stuffed with corn risotto

Homemade meatballs with tomato glaze and brown butter mashed potatoes

Zucchini, corn, black beans and corn tortilla with poached egg

Food Diary VI (Biscuits)

2013-02-18T11:19:00.003-07:00

Berry/Apple Cobbler with Buttermilk Biscuit Topping

Chicken Dumpling Soup with Chive Buttermilk Biscuit

Acorn Squash with Lime, cilantro and pepita dressing

Honey, Lemon, Rosemary roasted chicken with shallots

Sourdough Loaf

Hungarian Fennel Farmhouse Loaf

Food Diary V

2012-12-10T09:30:00.001-07:00

Asparagus Pizza

Leek latkes with lemon garlic sauce

Perfect poached egg and homemade wheat bread

Veggie Bibimbap

Maple syrup brussel sprouts

The Manhattan (Recipe) Project: Bourbon Vanilla Cherries

2012-12-09T19:18:00.000-07:00

Though I am fairly adventurous in terms of the fare I attempt, I don't feel as though I have fully forayed into the world of cooking. This is because I rarely ever "invent" any dishes. I am excellent at following a recipe, I have internalized many complimentary ingredients, and I can eyeball measurements more accurately than a year ago, but I rarely throw something together off the top of my head. I want that to change: I want to be able to truly understand food at a level where the fear of failure, and the excitement of surprising tastes and textures by my own hand, is something I experience in the kitchen at least once a week.

I gave this dare a try Sunday night. In the December issue of Bon Appetit I spotted a page with a lustrous photo of a Manhattan. Next to the cocktail the magazine promotes a boutique batch of bourbon vanilla cocktail cherries, made by Barker & Mills at thebostonshaker.com. What a great Christmas present for...myself, I think, but this product truly is boutique: hand-pitted and seasonal, the business sold out (presumably months ago), and there won't be any more twelve-dollar jars until next autumn. So place your order now! the website proclaims.

But I want these cherries yesterday. I bought Javier an early Christmas present of Bulleit rye whiskey that's sitting in our cabinet just waiting to make a yummy Manhattan. And I want to try something new. So on our trip to the grocery store I buy a half-pound bag of cherries, some Gallo sweet vermouth, and Madagascar bourbon vanilla beans. At home I pit the cherries and muck up my hands with their red. I put the cherries in a saucepan with sugar, a bit of fresh squeezed orange juice, and half a vanilla bean split and scrapped so that the microscopic beans cling to the knife and my fingertips, and eventually get simmered in the juices of the cherries.

The result is cherries that taste like the innards of a fresh cherry pie, with the heavenly smell of the vanilla. The cherries are good enough to eat directly, or to place atop Javier's ice cream. And, as seen below, they compliment a Manhattan quite nicely.

Cherries, sugar, bourbon vanilla bean, orange juice

Manhattan with vanilla bourbon cherries, stirred

Thanksgiving

2012-12-01T08:34:00.000-07:00

For Thanksgiving, Javier and I traveled to D.C. to visit my mom and my cousin Chris who was visiting from Vancouver. Ahead of time, my mom and I struck a bargain: she would fund Thanksgiving dinner if I made it. This was an easy deal to make as for weeks (alright, months) in advance I was looking at new and exciting recipes for the feast. To make it easy, the October issue of Bon Appetit arrived in the mail and it was dedicated in its entirety to what the mag stated as "the most daunting holiday of the year" (the pounds of butter contribute to the daunting aspect, the caption claimed).

After multiple emails and phone calls from various grocery stores in the days and weeks prior to the big day, my mom purchased all the ingredients, and we arrived with the rest (our collection of spices has grown impressively over the past few years). The menu was comprised of traditional dishes all with a bit of a twist: the turkey had a soy sauce-based glaze, the potatoes a bit of horseradish. The dressing had kale, pine nuts, and raisins. The squash was Persian influenced; the salad, Mediterranean. And instead of cranberry sauce or pumpkin pie, the two would be (somewhat) combined into cute little cranberry hand pies for dessert.

As happy as I was looking forward to devouring (I mean relishing) this fare, I was also happy to prepare the food because of the challenges that lay before me: How would I plan the cutting, peeling, baking, steaming, and other various cooking verbs, in order for the meal to finish on time and without any disasters?

Luckily, on that second-to-last Thursday in November, everything went (nearly) without a hitch. My mom and Javier were gracious sous chefs, and Javier was also the turkey master. One batch of pine nuts burned black in the toaster oven, and there was a bit of stress of whether the turkey would finish on time, but we had back-up piñons, and the turkey roasted to a beautiful golden brown. We all sat down just after sunset with full plates, glasses of wine, and relished in the hard work of the day.

The photos below are obviously professional shots: in my rush to start eating, the photos I took of our dishes are sloppy and blow-out with the flash. I'm substituting my photos with those of Bon Appetit since it is from that magazine that I took the recipes. So though the images are not not my own, trust me that the food we made was as good as these look.

(P.S. The leftovers were awesome, too!)

Squash with Spiced Butter and Pomegranate

Italian Mother-In-Law Dressing

Whipped Potatoes with Horseradish

Arugula Salad with Grapes, Almonds, and Manchego

Cranberry Hand Pies

City Park and Wintergarden/St. John's Nature Preserve: Autumn

2012-10-21T08:33:00.003-07:00

East Coast Tour: Boston

2012-09-16T07:55:00.001-07:00

Months old, but such a great trip that I still want to post...

At the end of July my mom came to stay at the Conway Castle (Castillo). After a week's visit in Bowling Green--mostly walking in the nature preserve and reading in cafés as far flung as Ann Arbor-- my mom headed back to D.C., with me in tow. We spent a long evening dining in Du Point Circle and then, back at her condo, reading some more.

I have a very kind mother who agreed to drive me to Union Station at 5 the following morning From there I took the train to meet up with my friend Annetta in Boston. I later went to Connecticut to visit Jessie, but no photos of that experience exist, except for two taken on Jessie's cell phone of her and I next to our favorite vehicles at an old car show in Woodbury. Alas, the photo of me and the green, '50's Ford pickup is locked in a text message and I don't know how to extract it.What follows are some photo highlights from my trip to Boston, including work by some of my favorite street (now also gallery) artists, the Brazilian twins Os Gemeos.

Annetta contemplating our chocolate mousse cake at the North End Italian cafe where we also watched some Olympics

Boston Public Library

Crouching by the Lady of Art

At Revere Beach

At Saloon, an unmarked speakeasy-style whiskey bar below the streets of Davis Square

Os Gemeos' public art piece

Os Gemeos' piece at the ICA exhibit

Too shy to photograph their faces, my terrible photo of the the twins when I stumbled upon them in the streets of Boston

Swoon's piece in the ICA lobby

Detail from Swoon's piece

Rogue Seeds

2012-07-16T15:01:00.000-07:00

When Javier and I returned from our trip to Tucson, our garden looked more or less like this:

Lettuces predominate, and these are from seeds I planted last August when my dad and Javier helped me build my little 4'x8' raised bed. What did not seem to magically sprout were the seeds I haphazardly pushed in to the soil hours before taking off on our cross-country adventure in May. So those hardy lettuce seeds hibernated through the mild winter in the warmth of a raised bed, an extra layer of compost, and the DIY mulch of fallen leaves Javier piled on throughout the more bitter months. To me, the taste of these lettuces is reflective of their hardiness: they are, to me, a bitter green I can not abide by, much like I can't abide by other, usually more darker greens, like arugula, and mustard and turnip greens. Javier, however, picks the leaves, plies them with our homemade dressing or soaks them in vinegar and then haves at it.

Though the additional lettuce, beet, chard, spinach and carrot seeds that I lazily planted in May did not take root, we do have rogue seeds that have turned in to lovely, mysterious plants. I believe these seeds, which now appear to be a jalapeno plant and a cucumber vine, came from our compost, the very compost that protected the lettuce all winter.

Again feeling like a lazy gardener, I bought some starter plants when we returned: a crook neck squash, a zucchini, an heirloom tomato, and a yellow pear tomato, and nestled them in next to our rogue plants, which you can see below. If anyone is better at identifying plants than me, I am open to suggestions until the flowers bear fruit and reveal the answer to the mystery.

Early shot of the rogue plants

Shot from the rogue plant today with lovely climbing vine

The Quiet Year

2012-07-12T09:26:00.000-07:00

This past year in Bowling Green has been a quiet one. Though I'm not one to party, or to constantly seek out entertainment, my life in Tucson was considerably, and usually satisfactorily, busy, both socially and with work. With the multiple jobs I had in Tucson, my mind did not have as many opportunities to be quiet, and I could always rustle up time with friends when I wanted to. Despite some instances of an unquiet mind due to anxieties of health and employment, overall the quiet life in Ohio has suited me well.

This is not to say I want another year quite like I had this past year. While being a sub teacher left my time outside of the school day blissfully free, I demand more from work long-term. I seek a career that is creatively and intellectually rewarding and challenging, in addition to having a steady, positive, and collaborative work environment. Fortunately, in August I begin a program that will, I believe, provide these qualities for the next four years and beyond. Though the demands of a doctoral program will provide the structure and stimulation I desire, come this fall when the visceral reality of academia sets in, those vacuous afternoon and weekend hours when I subbed will be missed.

With the freedom of time and mind, I was able to throw myself in to the fun of academic coursework, namely the gothic literature class I took in the fall. Never before had I been such a good student, primarily because I'm at a point in my life where the social education of school does not factor in to my expectations of school. Not that I don't seek relationships from fellow students, but the time and effort needed to foster these relationships doesn't hold the same urgency as it did when I was younger. There also, quite simply, weren't as many social distraction.

The issue of friendships has, I'll admit, been a mental occupation for the duration of this quiet year. Over the past eleven months I've begun friendships that briefly flared only to sputter and fade. I've attempted friendships that never purchased. Javier and I have made friends with other couples and occasionally we make dinner for one another, or go out for drinks. We've made acquaintances (all with librarians, it seems) that hover on the edge of what could be deeper friendships, but haven't been pushed past the dinner-party-invite line, and maybe never will. For someone who thrives on deep relationships with friends, I haven't found a "bestie" yet, a woman who I don't have to think twice before I call her for coffee, a walk, or a drink. Sometimes this lack of an intimate friendship, or even the lack of an immediate and easy group of friends, has bothered me, but mostly, and much to my surprise, it hasn't. I have drawn the perimeter of my energies inward, I have focused my love on my husband and dog, and myself, I suppose. I continue to foster my relationships with friends and family scattered elsewhere by writing letters, and making more phone calls, and using Skype. Though a year without intimate friendships was fine for the time, it will be difficult to continue in this trajectory. After returning from Tucson where I indulged in the experience of so many friends at our wedding, and also in the easy manner of gathering with various groups of friends that live in Tucson after the wedding, the contrast to my social life in Bowling Green was abrupt, if not stark.

During this quiet year, and especially during this even quieter summer, I have had more time to think, to read, to write creatively, to take ambling walks, to experiment with cooking and baking, and to indulge in watching movies and television shows. I've had more time to suss out what I want in life, and to make steps towards securing it. I've had time to address the panic-inducing fear of flying I developed two years ago, and I'm glad to say I've made great strides with this as even the thought of a plane no longer brings me to tears. I've reconnected with old friends who live in the area, and explored cities and regional landmarks. This quiet year has been remarkably self-indulgent in some aspects, and I am privileged to have the time and resources to do so often what I please.

It is difficult for me to reconcile that I may be in Bowling Green for a very long time. While I am thrilled with the home Javier and I have created, and I believe the town to be (mostly) lovely, I am still surprised and usually dismayed to find myself surrounded by cornfields, farm houses and pre-fab buildings when we drive out of town on the Dixie Highway. Though I resist the idea of raising children and retiring here, it may be a very real thing and, when I push myself to truly meditate on the all the variables of life, I would be extremely fortunate to spend my life with my family in a quiet piece of Northwest Ohio.

Food Diary IIII

2012-07-10T15:23:00.003-07:00

My love for avacados and mac n' cheese combined! Recipe via http://www.twopeasandtheirpod.com/

Rajas poblanas tacos

Making the tortillas

Mollorcan Ensaimadas: Spanish breakfast rolls

Just yer ol' tortilla soup

Weighing In on "How Should a Person Be ?"

2012-07-10T11:57:00.001-07:00

Last week I was introduced to Sheila Heti and her latest novel How Should a Person Be? in James Wood's New Yorker review. While the review piqued my curiosity (I'm generally curious about what women, especially women my age, create), I also felt somewhat dismayed. Part of me wanted to read the book and part of me thought, Gawd, it sounds obnoxious. The intrigue lay in the multiple forms the novel takes (email transcriptions, mini-essays, script-like dialogue, etc.) and in Heti's artistic background, especially as the novel includes large doses of autobiography. But this infusion of "real life," or at least what Heti decided to include of "real life" or how she chose to portray it, was part of my hesitancy ( I want to say revulsion, but it feels too strong a word). Reading about North American artists living in Toronto making art and pondering life could be interesting, but it could easily veer into privileged whiners talking a bunch of dribble. In his article, Wood includes a line from the book that summed up my fears. At one point the narrator's friend says, "everybody we hang out with is pretty competent at vaguely intelligent party talk." Wood then confirms that, to him, this was "a fair summary of the book's presiding atmosphere."

Later, on my Facebook feed I saw a comment about the novel by Cathy Park Hong, a poet whose work I deeply admire. She wrote something to the effect that it was refreshing to read a novel that deals with women's friendships revolving around art and intellect, not around relationships and babies. this was enough to tip me over the edge. How refreshing indeed to read something of this nature.

What Cathy Park Hong describes above is what salvages the book for me; that and, at least substance-wise, the fact that there are moments of clear, and often true, understandings of male-female relationships. Though not a feminist book, it is powerful to read a young female character intone, more than once, about men she casually meets that he was " just another man who was trying to teach me something."

Before I go on, let me explain the plot--though traditional narrative trajectory is not a primary focus for Heti here. The narrator, also named Sheila, is a playwright experiencing writer's block. She hangs out with friends who are also artists, her best friend being Margaux, a painter. (These characters are named and based on real life friends of the author). Popping up are brief flashbacks of Sheila's childhood, her marriage in her early twenties, and the beginning of her friendship with Margaux. Though set mostly in Toronto, Sheila also travels to Miami, New York City and Atlantic City. Sheila not only suffers from writer's block, but also from one existential crisis after another, the main crisis captured in the novel's title. There is also her job at a salon, a sado-masochist relationship with a man named Israel, and an ugly painting contest that serves as a metaphor for how Heti constructed her book and for the narrator, which I will get to momentarily.

I read the book in a day. When finished, I felt somewhat furious. As I suspected, the narrator is completely obnoxious. This is part of Heti's plan, to make Sheila "ugly" as she reveals the character's desire for fame, for writing a play that will "save the world", for a being a leader for the people. Heti certainly does not intend for Sheila to be a heroine, nor do I expect it, and yet it is an irritating process to read through the intentional failings and shallowness of this character.

In addition to all her other shortcomings, Sheila also struggles with being a good friend. She demands much from Margaux, from advice, to reassurance, to ideas for her play, to adding depth to who she is based on her proximity to her friend.

Margaux, on the other hand, is an excellent foil to Sheila (While reading I often wished the book was about Margaux instead). Margaux also waxes existential. She isn't sure that painting is meaningful, but she is a hard worker and a successful painter nonetheless. Margaux is certainly more self assured, more clear-minded about how she wants to live, which includes making "the big mistakes" in order to be more free, especially in her art. What I don't understand about Margaux is why she is friends with Sheila. At one point the two are talking and Margaux delivers the line that irked me so much in Wood's review: "everybody we hang out with is pretty competent at vaguely intelligent party talk." "But," Margaux goes on to say to Sheila, "you say things that make me think better..." I think both Sheila and I were stunned by this declaration.

While the two often talk about art, Sheila leans so hard on Margaux's personality that as a reader I forgot what Sheila herself genuinely thinks about it.

In terms of the book's craft, there were elements I appreciated, such as the multiple narrative forms I mentioned above which, if not new, appear fresh here. A clear, direct prose often materializes as well. However, there are many times when an image is given more weight than it deserves, such as police horses moving outside Sheila's bedroom window. There are lines where any poetic intention falls flat. For example, upon writing about her experiences with Margaux in Miami, Sheila feels "pride bloom(ed) in me like spring, like something new was being born." There is also the messy inclusion of Sheila's dreams. Early on Sheila consults her Jungian analyst about a dream she has; while this initial dream reveals Sheila's fear of being perpetually stuck and resisting artistic risks, the analyst never appears again and yet the reader is stuck with more dreams that serve nothing more than tedium.

As for the sado-masichist relationship, I only wish Sheila recognized Israel as being "just another man who was trying to teach me something."

In my brief obsession with this book, I read an interview where Heti says that all she wants is to be funny. Some of the other reviews of the book describe this book as funny. While I do see how Heti's writing is deliberately hyperbolic, how she is poking fun at how many of us experience a world saturated with fame and ridiculous ambitions, I still fail to see how Heti executes humor.

I certainly don't believe that Heti is naive, so this is another reason why it is difficult to have a narrator who perpetually appears to be in her early twenties (however much this references the Jungian analyts' mention of puer aeternus, "the eternal child"). Perhaps Heti has astutely portrayed a general atmosphere of North American culture, of artistic sensibilities and personal anxieties of a certain class of young women, but in doing so her novel gets bogged down in gawky writing and self-indulgence.

Tools of the Domestic Arts

2012-07-01T13:12:00.001-07:00

Otherwise known as "appliances." Kitchen appliances in this case. Never in my life would I have thought to write about such a topic but with a lot of time on my hands, with a new influx of cooking gadgets, and at thirty years old (i.e. an adult, though I'm not sure what I'm implying here when I say adult: That adults like me have far too many unnecessary materials? ), here it goes.

Over the years I have slowly gathered a fine collection of appliances, though they mostly started out as gifts. In graduate school, Javier, horrified by what constituted as my cutting board (a ceramic saucer) bought me a high quality wooden board and shipped it to me in the mail (he also mailed a power strip as he was equally horrified that I unplugged and plugged in lamps, my laptop, my toaster whenever each particular need arose). "That's a very romantic gesture," my friend Joel said at the time. "He's buying you something you need." I guess Joel was right. Not only is Javier still in my life, but so is the cutting board.

Once I moved out of the Sarah Lawrence dorms and back to Tucson, and eventually in to my own place, the need for practical cooking ware grew, but so did the opportunity for acquiring appliances grow, especially as how my dad saw it. I've received some surprising appliances from Dad, items I may not have bought myself, but most of which I use to this day. For example, the Bella Cucina Rocket he gave me saved me many a time when I was late to work. I'd blend my yogurt smoothie and then pop out the door and drive to work drinking my breakfast.

The Rocket!

My dad also gave me a quesadilla maker which, though I used it rarely, I have to admit was pretty awesome. However, it is because I used it so rarely that in a packing-for-Ohio binge, sadly, it did not make it out to the Midwest.

Pretty red quesadilla machine no more

A pattern emerges in the timeline of my life with kitchen appliances, from the blender and egg beater I bought at Goodwill, to the tagine I asked my sister to bring from Morocco which I prepped for cooking and never used, to the roasting pan Javier wanted for his birthday that, again, my Dad gave him. From that roasting pan, to incorporating the cast iron skillets Javier brought from Chicago into my cooking rotation, the only place to go in the quality of appliances was up.

As my, and Javier's, cooking ambitions grow, so has our arsenal of supplies. This arsenal has been bolstered, of course, by getting married, though it was preempted by a crowning glory in the way of kitchen machinery: the CuisinArt food processor I received from Javier on my 30th birthday. Though well used, I haven't even begun to scratch the surface of what that sucker can do as I've only used it to make dough: from pizza, to pretzel, to various breads. Addendum: I did use it once to make an entire pie: from the almond crumble topping to the sliced apple filling.

Back to the wedding-backed influx of arms (err, I mean appliances. I just read a New Yorker article about Mexican drug cartels and that diction is crossing over into this post). Truly believing (and rightfully so) that our house was full of wonderful cooking toys, Javier and I didn't register anywhere for our wedding. But then we got asked: What do you want for your wedding? Or, we were given appliances because, and I take this as a compliment, my reputation precedes me and people know all I really do now is cook and bake. Or we received very generous gift certificates and with that free pass dreams of appliances bloomed in our heads. I guess that's what happens when we have too much of something good, in this case "free money" at prescribed locations: we come up with ways to use it.

Once we received the gift certificates (and I saw a sale at Macy's) suddenly it was vitally important to get a pressure cooker. For one, I know I won't have much time to spend on meals when I start my doctoral program. But also, honestly, isn't it awesome to cook beans in the wink of an eye instead of in a matter of hours? I took the process of selecting a pressure cooker very seriously: I did extensive internet research to see what materials reacted with food and which brands came with instruction manuals. I asked my friends who own pressure cookers what their opinions were, and what meals they made. I finally settled on one and I'm proud to say I've cut the cooking time of long grain rice in half!

Javier too was bit by the bug and it became crucial for him to find a stockpot to better cook hops and malt for the beer he brews. The remainder of the Macy's gift certificate? Done. New stockpot. Then I decided I really couldn't stand to eat Kroger tortillas (plus I read how easy it is to make your own in Bon Appétit) so an Amazon gift card bought us a tortilla press. Javier lamented that we still had the Goodwill blender ( a sad piece of equipment, I'll admit: the saucer solution I enacted in grad school returned: once we lost the blender's top, a ceramic saucer became the substitute). No more blender? Well, Javier spotted a Ninja Prep Master box in his Mom's closet and asked if it was for him. Boom. A Ninja traveled back to Ohio with us in the trunk of our car.

This thing is scary: I cut myself on the blades first thing out of the box

As I mentioned above, we did receive some tangible appliance gifts. The one thing I knew I wanted ahead of time was an ice cream maker, and my friend Beth obliged. My friend Joon also surprised us with a pretty, retro looking food scale, which has helped enormously when I use recipes out of a British cookbook that is my baking Bible and it switches from cups to ounces.

I don''t know why I'm making this face. I'm truly excited about the berry sorbet about to emerge from the ice cream maker

Retro style food scale

This post is definitely not an advertisement for various appliances, though I do name them by name. It is, embarrassingly, an accurate reflection of what has been on my mind as of late (not the only thing on my mind, but still, there it lays before you). At a deeper level, hopefully, is a little bit of commentary of what I mention at the beginning of this post: that someone like me can easily accumulate gadgets and will become swamped with the detritus of consumer desire.

However, I do not plan on our house becoming cluttered with anything, especially machines of steel and plastic. Let my tools of the domestic arts aid and challenge me in my cooking, and whatever else will go the way of quesadilla maker.

Trek to Tucson: or, How We Found a Body in a Car; or, Midnight Ghosts!

2012-06-28T12:23:00.000-07:00

Our road trip to Tucson for our wedding in May was very pleasant, and mostly uneventful. As we gained an hour nearly everyday, we would roll into town (St. Louis, Oklahoma City, Albuquerque) around 4 p.m. and therefore could explore a bit.

Paco as navigator

St. Louis was a highlight. All I knew about the place before arriving was:

1. The arch

2. A hub for Somali refugees

3. Home to some sports team (probably baseball) called the Cardinals

Now I can add Forest Park to my list of "Things I Know About St. Louis." A superb, ginormous park with plenty of walking trails, water fixtures, museums, a zoo, a botanical garden, a concert hall, and a gazillion wedding parties getting their photos taken.

We ate some delicious food at Atlas Restaurant where the waiters fought over who could give Paco a dog biscuit, and had a a leisurely meal at the Boat House, located on a paddle boat river in Forest Park, on the way back to Ohio.

Oklahoma City was another story. Many folks have heard this, but yes, we did find a body in a car outside our Motel 6. Pulling in to the parking lot after dinner, we saw the car below double parked, the driver's door open, and a woman slouched over, her leg hanging out of the door. She didn't respond to any noise we made, and afraid she had O.D. and not wanting to look too closely, I reported her to the front desk.

As the car was parked right outside our window, we surreptitiously "overheard" the front desk lady try to wake the woman, and learned it was to no avail when an ambulance and several police cars pulled up and surrounded the car. I was quick enough (I think) to notice that the ambulance drove off with the lights flashing, so I can only assume, and hope, it means the paramedics weren't taking the woman to the morgue, but rather to a hospital.

Having read too many detective novels, I half prepared myself to be interviewed by the police, and when that didn't happen, I peaked out the window to see the cops searching the car, particularly the backseat which was piled to the ceiling with junk. The cops kept pulling out and passing around this Raggedy Anne looking doll and laughing, which did nothing to improve my opinion of the fuzz.

I later asked the lady at the front desk if she had learned something of the woman's condition, and she said the authorities wouldn't tell her anything. However, Javier is "pretty sure" he saw the woman and another woman dropped off later that night by a Lincoln Town car (or something like that), and that our o.d. lady looked showered and changed.

Javier and I can sometimes be slow on the uptake, and we stayed at this Motel 6 on the way back to Ohio. Nothing like finding a body occurred, but upon check-in the front desk lady (a different one) was hunting down some guy roaming the halls and said there was going to "be trouble." After reporting a broken smoke alarm (sigh) we locked ourselves in our room and didn't leave until the a.m.

Where we found the body

Here are a couple photos from the rest of the road trip:

Spotted in tiny Texas town

Crochet bomb in Albuquerque

A week or so after our wedding (wedding photos can be found on Facebook), Javier and I went to Bisbee, Arizona for our "honeymoon." Bisbee actually served as a home base where we stayed the night so that Javier could get some shots for his film, but I always have fun walking around that hilly little mining town, and it's a place where I always have good meals.

We stayed at the School House Inn, a former school house perched on one of Bisbee's many rocky outcrops, where each room is themed (The Geography Room, the Library, etc.) and where, like many other hotels in Bisbee, ghosts may haunt. I definitely didn't see any spirits, and didn't feel a "presence" per say, but I had some weird-ole dreams about the place and Javier and I slept terribly that night.

Pizza vs. Man at Screaming Banshee Pizza in Bisbee

In Bisbee: Our "honeymoon"/Javier's research site

A man hard at work: filming the sunset at the Mexican/U.S. border

Our room at the School House B&B: The Writing Room

There were many other highlights of the trip to Tucson. Here are a couple:

What Auntie April does while babysitting: snap photos of Salim.

Javier is famous! Outside the Screening Room in Tucson. In case you can't read it: Director of Photography: Thomas Castillo

On the trip back to Bowling Green we were pretty antsy, what with losing an hour everyday and being tired of driving. But I will round out this post with a final photo of Paco.

Paco is stoked to go back to Ohio

Improv Night

2012-06-28T11:28:00.003-07:00

"What are we having for dinner?" Javier repeatedly asked yesterday.

Well, this:

Homemade jamaica!
Salad from our garden.
Dill and olive oil potatoes and zucchini, bought at the farmer's market and grilled on our new baby-sized Smokey Joe grill.
Homemade bread spread with a mouth-watering butter/cream cheese/ fresh mint mix, topped with slivers of radish and sprinkled with sea salt.
Yum.

Mad About Work

2012-05-11T08:43:00.003-07:00

This is a post I wanted to write back in October. Perhaps my anger and frustration led to a writing-paralysis, or maybe I didn't write because I was simply lazy. At any rate, many of the frustrations and anxieties I felt then have eased because the next four-plus years of my life have a purposeful direction that I am both pleased with and, frankly, intimidated by, though that is a state of mind I rather be in than the anxieties that plagued me just a few months ago.

Last September, just a month or so after we moved to BG, I started to feel the mental and financial pressure of not having a job. Javier had started work, we were settled in our new house, and the novelty of having endless hours ahead of me to do as I pleased was beginning to wear off. Though I had applied for jobs since April--as soon as Javier accepted his position--and I had been informed of candidacy status for a couple positions, none of those panned out. I reduced my career expectations and began applying for wage jobs. I had an interview with an agency that contracted substitute teachers for local school districts . That seemed a sure bet, but it was taking several weeks for the agency to check my references. Meanwhile, my savings were dwindling, I had only catastrophic health insurance and a concerning looking mole on my belly, plus I had to get a new credit card to pay for the course I enrolled in at BGSU (a privileged choice, to be sure, but one that was part of the successful grand plan to get in to a doctoral program). My ability to pay off my credit card every pay check was gone and now the dollar signs were growing, in a not happy way.

Having been financially independent for the past four years with a salary that took care of all my bills, student loan debt, excellent health insurance, in addition to being able to sock away savings, go out as I (reasonably) pleased, plus travel, it was difficult to transition to relying on my partner for most of my financial needs. At one point Javier gave me an "allowance" (we joked) to get coffee at the local cafe so I could get out and do school work in a less isolated manner.

Before I go on, it is only fair to once again point out how privileged I am. I do have people I can, and have, fallen back on for financial security. It was a choice I made to be with Javier in Ohio, and therefore give up the multiple, great jobs I had in Tucson. Javier takes care of my living expenses and the majority of my travel expenses. My parents have helped with some other travel expenses (when visiting family). My mom helped me with a medical bill and car loan payments. My dad is helping with student loan payments. Now that Javier and I are married, I have insurance again. This has relieved my health-related anxieties: what a feeling I took for granted, and that I won't again, of being able to make a doctor's appointment whenever I want and know it'll set me back, on average and while I'm in good health, $20. I don't have children I have to take care of, or a house I may lose because I may not make a mortgage payment, and I'm back to being credit card debt free thanks to help from my dad, a sweet tax return, and some deep savings I set aside several years ago.

So, though my pride prevented me from asking for help at first, especially with medical bills, which I now realize was ridiculous, monetarily, I am doing a lot better. I did, thankfully, get the job through the sub agency and have worked steadily throughout the year. Not to say I'm where I want to be financially, of course, and it is a bit worrying that I won't make a decent salary for another five years so that I can sock away more savings, get rid of all my student loan debt, contribute in any significant way for a house, children, etc. But, I am eternally grateful for what I have and realize I am an extremely fortunate position.

The second part of this post is not about the economic aspect of being career-stunted, but rather the fall from hubris of having a job where I experienced a range of, mostly, negative emotions. I'll try to keep this brief because though these feelings were legit, a pity-party is never pretty.

Besides sometimes feeling bored, which may be one of the more positive aspects of subbing , if looking at the sub- -spectrum, I also often felt defensive and prideful, especially when I subbed as an aide. It was difficult for me to be in a position I had been in five years ago, in a position I had moved from to being a certified teacher with my own classroom and my own pedagogy. I often wanted to--and when I could, often did--explain to faculty I met that I was a certified teacher, that I had taught in Arizona; the only reason I was doing this gig was because I had moved with my husband who had gotten a tenure track position (yes, obnoxiously, I couldn't help throwing that in sometimes) and now I couldn't find a full-time teaching position in a flooded market.

Thankfully for my pride, many people did understand this. The education program at BGSU is, reportedly, excellent and so it cranks out many graduates and therefore the market in this region is over-flowing with qualified teachers. Nearly every other sub I met was either a recent graduate from a teaching program or, like me, someone who left their K-12 job in another state and moved with their partner, a recently hired prof at BGSU. Other teachers I spoke to in faculty rooms assumed I was in the first category--I guess because I look young, like a recent undergraduate (?)-- and I was always quick to say I was an experienced teacher.

Of course being a sub means being used and abused in ways different than how public school teachers are often demeaned. Though I have grown a pretty thick shell over the years working with adolescents, one comment a student made to me (which, was, thankfully, only representative of attitudes of a few students; at least I think) completely made my blood boil. I was in a long-term position teaching freshman English and this kid already had demonstrated that he had an ugly, ugly personality, so it should have come as no surprise that one day when talking about future careers with his friends he asked me if I had always dreamed of being a sub. The way he said it made it clear what he thought of me and the working position I was in. Writing about it still makes me angry. Mainly this comment bothered me because it struck a nerve. I didn't know him well, but he certainly didn't know me and what I had done as a teacher, nor did it seem that he had any deep sense of the world.

Most importantly, though, is that he had little regard for the tough work it is to be a substitute teacher, especially for a sub who is actually teaching. Subs often have bad reputations for legitimate reasons: I often came back to my classroom after being out sick, dismayed to find all the many things the sub didn't do. However, I put a ton of emotional and intellectual effort into being a sub, both before and after having a teaching certificate, and always considered myself teaching the students I was with, if only for a day. (Thankfully, some students did recognize this effort. Though both a compliment and somewhat troubling, I have been told on several occasions by students that I was a better teacher than their regular teacher, and one student wrote about me for Teacher Appreciation Week!)

Though I often felt frustrated with how others treated me, or how I imagined others thought of me, as a sub, especially as an aide, this is not to say I disrespect people who are professionally in these positions. Many of the aides/paraprofessionals (these titles now have a new/loaded meanings for me) I have met, particularly a group of women in a special needs classroom at an elementary school in BG work so incredibly hard and don't get, as far as I can see, the recognition they deserve, nor the money they deserve, for the work they do. These are modifying lesson plans the certified teacher writes up, and they are the adult working one-on-one with a child who has sever cognitive, behavioral, and/or cognitive disabilities. They put up with the tantrums, the endless repetition of activities and lessons, the bathroom messes, etc. Often when I worked with this group of women as a sub-aide for an extended period of time I would become angry for them because I thought they deserved an awards ceremony, and a raise.

Clearly, during this time I was fraught with class, intellectual, and professional identity issues. Once I was accepted in to the doctoral program at BGSU, I was elated. I was back on the career path I had wanted to start years ago--to teach full-time in higher education. I'll be immersed in theory, and the practical elements of writing and rhetoric pedagogy, among other challenging and creative projects.

In addition to my own angst, this post, back when I began thinking about it in October, was also supposed to be about my anger towards the situations the majority of people across the world find themselves in. There are those in underpaid, under appreciated jobs, or hose who are under-employed, or not working at all when they desperately want to be working. There are those workers, like me, who are under-employed in jobs that leave them creatively and intellectually unfulfilled. This year has taught me many things about labor, and though my position is shifting in a direction I am more comfortable with, I know I'll stay mad about the state of work in the world for a long time coming.

New York, Belatedly (with a quote by Jay-Z)

2012-05-11T07:53:00.000-07:00

This post is very, very late as I went to New York in March.

While Javier went to Tucson over BGSU's spring break, I took the train to NYC and stayed with my friend Joon, a friend from Sarah Lawrence, in Park Slope. After stopping in DC's Union Station and seeing my mom for a quick lunch, I met Joon at Penn Station in the late afternoon. Joon is an excellent hostess. She held a chicken and waffle brunch on Sunday (though her made-from-scratch sticky buns were the highlight) so I could reconnect with folks. Hossanah--also from SLC--came, and Sandy, from Redlands, with her gf Carly, plus Julie from Tucson High and her hubby Ritesh! I also saw another SLC friend--Jordan--later in the week for lunch and was able to to catch up with everyone from brunch again. It was so, so good to see old friends-definitely the best part of the trip.

The other best parts were the food, the museums, and the walking. There was little of Manhattan that I didn't zig-zag my way through, though, regrettably, I didn't hoof it through Central Park.

I saw the Cindy Sherman show at MOMA, and was pleased to discover the Print/Out and Sanja Iveković: Sweet Violence exhibits. Having already viewed it years before, I swept through the permanent collection, and somehow missed the Diego Rivera exhibit, not realizing it was there until I left. Per Julie's suggestion,

I went to the Museum of Art and Design (a museum I'd never visited) and was blown away by the Swept Away, Glasstress, and Hanging Around exhibits, especially Swept Away which is comprised of pieces made from ash, sand, smoke, dust, pollution particles, etc. Exposure to all the art left me feeling more creative. I contemplated mapping my New York trip via Facebook check-ins ( a very consumer-based art project, but my mind has been map-focused all semester) but never got around to it. I desperately wanted to see my friend Nicole's piece in the Bearden Project for the Studio Museum in Harlem, but the Museum was closed on the days I was there!

As for food: I had a list of gems I wanted to try, including Pok Pok Wing in the Lower East Side and NuNu Chocolates in Boreum Hill, Brooklyn. I also savored as much Thai food as possible, and was able to dine on some delicious sushi with Joon, Hossanah, Sandy and Carly my last night in town.

The day I left, Joon took time from work to walk around Brooklyn with me, and we started our day with a perfect everything deli bagel. That afternoon I took the train back to to Ohio, circling through upstate New York along the lakes, and reaching Toledo--and the freezing rain--in the wee hours of the morning.

I think the only way to end this post is with a quote from Jay-Z's "Empire State of Mind." So here it goes:

"These streets will make you feel brand new/Big lights will inspire you, let's hear it for New York"

(I didn't take many photos, and these are not that interesting--mostly documentary--I guess because I didn't bring my camera, or because I was having too good a time to snap photos with my phone.)

Lake shore view from the train

Education Non-Profit founded by Dave Eggers

Manhattan Public Library

View from Joon's room in Park Slope