a suburbian conversation

These snozberries taste like snozberries!

2010-02-23T16:52:00.008-05:00

completely isolated blueberry events

1. snackin'
2. My still-life self portrait from Painting 1 class in college... my class definitely thought I was a weirdo
3. "Violet! You're turning violet, Violet!" 2010
4. My coat. I was recently told while wearing it, "You look like a blueberry!" My reaction? A happy one, I think I even responded with a thank you, but now that I think about it, I don't think it was a compliment.

so if you were a fruit, what fruit would you be?

large but escape-proof cage

2010-02-15T21:24:00.009-05:00

my girl Ester knows what's up

With great care, I raised my eyes to the level of the windowsill.
A woman not five feet tall, with a grotesque, protruding stomach, was wheeling an old black baby carriage down the street. Two or three small children of various sizes, all pale, with smudgy faces and bare smudgy knees, wobbled along in the shadow of her skirt.
A serene, almost religious smile lit up the woman's face. Her head tilted happily back, like a sparrow egg perched on a duck egg, she smiled into the sun.
I knew the woman well.
It was Dodo Conway.
Dodo Conway was a Catholic who had gone to Barnard and then married an architect who had gone to Columbia and was also a Catholic. They had a big, rambling house up the street from us, set behind a morbid facade of pine trees, and surrounded by scooters, tricycles, doll carriages, toy fire trucks, baseball bats, badminton nets, croquet wickets, hamster cages and cocker spaniel puppies--the whole sprawling paraphernalia of suburban childhood.
Dodo interested me in spite of myself.
Her house was unlike all the others in our neighborhood in its size (it was much bigger) and its color (the second story was constructed of dark brown clapboard and the first of gray stucco, studded with gray and purple golfball-shaped stones), and the pine trees completely screened it from view, which was considered unsociable in our community of adjoining lawns and friendly, waist-high hedges.
Dodo raised her six children--and would no doubt raise the seventh--on Rice Krispies, peanut-butter-and-marshmallow sandwiches, vanilla ice cream and gallon upon gallon of Hoods milk. She got a special discount from the local milkman.
Everybody loved Dodo, although the swelling size of her family was the talk of the neighborhood. The older people around, like my mother, had two children, and the younger, more prosperous ones had four, but nobody but Dodo was on the verge of a seventh. Even six was considered excessive, but then, everyone said, of course Dodo was a Catholic.
I watched Dodo wheel the youngest Conway up and down. She seemed to be doing it for my benefit.
Children made me sick.
A floorboard creaked, and I ducked down again, just as Dodo Conway's face, by instinct, or some gift of supernatural hearing, turned on the little pivot of its neck.
I felt her gaze pierce through the white clapboard and the pink wallpaper roses and uncover me, crouching there behind the silver pickets of the radiator.
I crawled back into bed and pulled the sheet over my head. But even that didn't shut out the light, so I buried my head under the darkness of the pillow and pretend it was night. I couldn't see the point of getting up.
I had nothing to look forward to.

-Sylvia Plath "The Bell Jar" 1963

My New Life

2010-01-21T18:53:00.002-05:00

dreamt my way out of suburbia

I'm new

2010-01-03T12:07:00.004-05:00

Newest edition to the suburbian prisoners.

Here is some of myself

Last night's dream: Pausing from devouring a vanilla frosted donut, I watched the local news to find out a kid I went to college with jumped off a cliff after overdosing on steroids.

Last nights dream decoded: Went to bed hungry after watching artsy thriller "Seven". That's my best stab.

Dream Job: Video or Film Editor until it makes me grow gray way to prematurely

Current Job: Assistant Editor for various semi meritable TV programs.

Grey hair count: 14 and counting

A few snipits from my evergrowing LIST

MOVE OUT MOVE OUT MOVE OUT
Live in New York City
Learn to play the piano
Live in Berlin
Learn tons more foreign languages
Organize a cross country trip and actually go through with it
Run a marathon
Move to Paris forever. Or for a while.
Change someone's life

Worst Day of my Life: Don't think it's happened yet.

Best Day of my Life: Hope it hasn't happened yet.

Ok done. Glad to be here. No. Not glad to be here. Glad to be contributing. Yes.

it'ssnowingout

2009-12-19T19:41:00.000-05:00

runaway

2009-12-14T16:28:00.006-05:00

I saw Francisco's story a few weeks ago in the New York Times and after reading it I felt there was much left unsaid. The article covers a thirteen year old boy who spent 11 days riding the subway back and forth between the five boroughs. Not spoken to, questioned, or generally noticed. He floated among the waves of strangers in business suits or with shopping bags; men and women disengaged from what went on around them.
Francisco's Asperger's Syndrome and ethnicity weave in and out of explanations and accounts as to why a young boy could go missing for such an extended period in such a highly populated area. But the article seems to act like a veil to something more innate about human behavior. "Nobody really cares about the world and about people," he states in an interview.
It is almost as if Francisco were performing is own version of an Erving Goffman social experiment. He exploits a kind of truth in his odyssey. There is something left unsaid about human nature that causes us to be so in tune to a sports star's love affairs yet so negligent of our own world surrounding us.

post- thanksgiving

2009-12-04T11:02:00.006-05:00

roasted butternut squash soup

In celebration of my first Thanksgiving as an “official” vegetarian (I don’t really know what that means) and to satisfy my mom’s desire to have a classy soup course with dinner this year, I decided to cook me up some butternut squash soup. I was a little intimidated at first, not only had I never cooked with, or even tasted a butternut squash before, but Thanksgiving is quite the time to debut a new experiment. Pressures on!

Making the roasted butternut squash

2 medium butternut squashes (yes squashes is a word) peeled, seeded, and chopped. Coat lightly will olive oil, season with salt and pepper

2 cloves of garlic

Bake @ 425 F for 30 minutes or they soften and caramelize (the garlic will be done earlier)

*** highly suggest throwing the squash seeds on the baking sheet, I flavored them with salt and red pepper and let them get brown and crispy, they were so good I was tempted to grab the rest out of the seeds out of the garbage... but I didn't I promise.

Squashy Soup

Coat bottom of pot with a few tbs of olive oil

Chop & add 1 large white onion and 1 stalk of celery

Season w/ 2 cloves of roasted garlic (finely chopped), 1 sage leaf (also finely chopped), salt & pepper, red pepper

Deglaze the pot with a splash of apple cider vinegar and a splash of white wine

Add a large carton of veggie stock, 1 tbs maple syrup squash, and your roasted squash. Let simmer & mingle for a few minutes.

texture

Creamy or chunky? Up to you! Use whatever fancy kitchen gadgets you might have to work the soup to your desired texture. Even if you just have the basics, like me you still have options... I decided to transfer half of the squash (use slotted spoon) to puree in the blender, and mashed the rest of the squash in the pot with a potato masher. Result? smooth and thick, not completely liquified perfection.

Let simmer for another 10-15 minutes with a thyme sprig and sage leaf, remove them and serve with a scoop of sour cream!

If you are feeling adventurous, there are a few ways to give standard butternut soup a kick! Try adding potato and heavy cream for a hearty creamy soup, or a chopped apple and apple cider for something on the sweeter side... mashed white beans to get in some protein... the options are endless!!

Although I have concluded that butternut squash soup is not my favorite, this eazy recipe makes an elegant soup with complex flavors, how sneaKY!

meet the bloggers

2009-11-19T21:37:00.003-05:00

What was your first job?

M: tennis pro girl

Julie: barista

Marge: lifeguard

Your most prized possession?

Julie: my bike.

M: my Sluggy...

Marge: my nalgene, I get anxiety going anywhere without it.

Would you rather be a drug dealer or egg donor?

Julie: egg donor, it would be fun to see my babies without being pregnant?

M: egg donor, i dont wanna deal with the logistics and hassle of dealing with druggies and suppliers

Marge: def drug dealer.

What is Julie's dream job?

Marge: professional softball player, team USA

M: tour de france champion

Julie: bike mechanic!

Favorite holiday?

Julie: cinco de mayo

Marge: 4th of July

M: Labor day

If someone offers to buy you a drink, you order a _______?

Marge: g & t

Julie: whiskey on the rocks

M: g & t

Indulgence?

Julie: nachos & amy winehouse

Marge: coffee and treatz

M: spiced caramel apple cider & OPI nail polish

mysecretplaylist

2009-11-14T19:53:00.000-05:00

another amazing something is birthed by some creative web-friendly music lovers. i'm a little slow on the pickup because i am just now discovering this little jem. My Secret Playlist is a collaborative space where bands, musicians and the like are invited to give the world (or the world that is My Secret Playlist) a look into the music that inspires them. contributors list eight songs they are currently feeling, accompanied by a few lines revealing their inner workings.
gloriousness: free listens and discovering new bands/songs.

how to: photoblade

2009-11-11T21:17:00.023-05:00

Photoblading (n): [foh-toh-bley-ding]

1. The act of capturing images on-the-go.

2. A loony consequence of humdrum suburbia.

3. My brilliant new art project??

I'm a junkyard full of false starts

2009-11-07T23:23:00.002-05:00

fall is here.

scarves.bulky sweaters.pumpkin beer.brisk mornings.leaf piles.short days&long nights.and over zealous holiday preparation.

Spice up your Life!

2009-11-02T15:08:00.016-05:00

To all my fellow vegetarians, a hearty solution to your canned soup blues. My inspiration for this recipe? Campell's southwestern style vegetable soup- a bland combination of mooshy vegetables floating around in a salty broth blahhh... left me disappointed and determined to concoct something better. Satisfy your craving for a comforting fall soup, loaded with vegetables and a great source of low-fat protein!

**meat lovers beware- this flavorful soup will bring you to the dark side, even my manly- idontunderstandwhyanyoneisavergetarian- brothers raved about this soup, and didn't even notice there was no cow in it.. the h0RR0r!

Blazing 3-bean Chili

1. coat bottom of large pot w olive oil, medium heat

2. Start with veggies

chop and add-

1 medium yellow onion

1 carrot large carrot

1 stalk of celery

1 green pepper

1 red pepper

season with salt & pepper, stir til soft, but not brown

3. Add some flavor

grate in 3 cloves of garlic

6 chopped jalapenos (the sliced pickled ones in a jar)

spices-

1 tablespoon oregano

1 tablespoon chili powder

2 teaspoons ground cumin

1 teaspoons salt

freshly ground red pepper flakes (to taste)

stir and let mingle with vegetables, be careful not to burn!

4. Time to Simmer

Add 1 can (28-ounce) diced tomatoes, 2 cups of vegetable stock (or water)

leave for 20-30 minutes

5. Beans & Beer

1 can light kidney beans

1 can dark kidney beans

1 can black beans

1 mini rolling rock (or whatever beer you have in your fridge)

more red pepper flakes

let simmer for another 15- 20 minutes, or until desired consistency.

essential toppings-

dollop of sour cream

chunks of sharp cheddar

freshly chopped cilantro

Pair with some warm crusty bread, and you've got yourself a meal.

haven't biked in a few days...here is a tribute

2009-10-19T16:44:00.005-04:00

wake & bake

2009-10-15T15:33:00.007-04:00

Rise and Shine!

I find that it is much easier to face the "draining" days of suburbia when my morning cup of joe is paired with a freshly baked breakfast treat. In an attempt to embrace the new fall season, I give you my original recipe for apple/cinnamon/walnut muffins- low calorie & low fat, of course!

(also proven helpful in comforting the resurfaced anxiety that you may experience after preceding rant)

"Autumn Muffins"

dry bowl

1/2 cup whole wheat flour

1/2 cup unbleached flour

1/2 cup oats

1/4 cup toasted wheat germ

1 teaspoon baking powder

1/2 teaspoon salt

1/2 teaspoon cinnamon

wet bowl

1/4 cup veg oil

1/2 cup brown sugar

1/3 cup eggwhites

1/2 container of plain yogurt

1 teaspoon vanilla

Add dry to wet in batches. Then gently mix in-

1 apple, peeled & finely chopped (freshly picked from the orchard, of course)

2 lunch box containers of apple sauce (1 cup-ish)

1/2 cup of raisins (or not)

Scoop bater into muffin tin.

Topping

mix and sprinkle on top:

1/4 cup brown sugar

1/4 cup chopped walnuts

1 teaspoon cinnamon

bake @ 400 F, 15-20 minutes.

where else but in the uneventful suburban world of dieting housewives would I be inspired to create such a treat?

i'll start with a rant

2009-10-12T21:08:00.005-04:00

Little boxes on the hillside,
Little boxes made of ticky-tacky,
Little boxes, little boxes,
Little boxes, all the same.
There's a green one and a pink one
And a blue one and a yellow one
And they're all made out of ticky-tacky
And they all look just the same.

suburbia drains me. my motivation, inspiration, aspiration are sucked away by road rage of women too small to see over their dashboards, by the saturday morning ritual of lawn maintenance, by the overconcentration of ugg boots. this was a place i liked in elementary, middle, and even high school. it is chock-full of memories like when we choreographed dances to the spice girl’s singles, or played manhunt just to get first kisses, or threw parties even when we knew our parents would be home in three hours. if you drive through it you will probably say that it looks very nice because the houses are pretty and there are parks and kids playing; you will comment on its proximity to the beach and the train to the city, and what am i complaining about you would love to live here. and i would respond: yes, i know i sound snobby, but would you want to live here in your twenties? so i am suffocating in a community that i don’t belong- where there is a major age gap between eighteen and thirty-two that just don’t live here, and i guess we are all trying to see where we fit into a place where we don’t want a permanent position.

i'm a ghost in the sheets

2009-10-05T21:42:00.015-04:00

terry richardson. sometimes you're so good it hurts.

..laughter on their dust lips.

2009-09-29T22:36:00.018-04:00

Today, I was not "blessed" to have been seated next to the infamous NJT masturbater or a past contestant of a tanked Bravo reality series, instead I was seated next to an interesting man with a thick Staten Island accent and an affinity for electronics. His man purse came equipped with a Kindle, mini laptop, ipod, and camera phone; all of which he put to use on this hour and a half journey.
What happened to the organic awareness of turning a page in a book? Or conversing with a fellow commuter rather than barricading yourself with technology? I may never run into my tech savvy traveling cohort again, but I have to say he put some things into perspective.