Thursday, February 28, 2008
Found a peanut just now
The other day I was walking into my apartment when I spotted a peanut on the sidewalk. Immediately, I thought of that perennial children's classic, "Found a Peanut" (which is my second-favorite repetitive children's song to sing to myself when I can't fall asleep, right behind "The Ants Go Marching"). I couldn't help but wonder what would happen if I did pick the peanut up, crack it open, see it was rotten and eat it anyway--if I would then get sick, call the doctor, hear that I was going to be fine but die anyway, then be doomed into a never-ending peanut-finding cycle for all eternity when I was rejected by both heaven and hell. At first, I thought it might be kind of cool to have my life mirror the song, but once I thought about all of the inevitable sickness, death and never-ending peanut-finding, I reconsidered.
Apparently, though, there are some children out there who haven't learned the lesson inherent in this song. I was at Five Guys earlier getting a burger for lunch (yum), and I noticed a sign on the door asking patrons to please not take the free peanuts out of the restaurant, as there were neighborhood kids with peanut allergies. I can only imagine that this sign was predicated on the fear that someone would drop a peanut once outside, and then one of these allergic "neighborhood kids" (this Five Guys is located in a strip mall, nowhere near any housing units as far as I can tell, by the way) would see it on the sidewalk and pick it up after thinking, "Cool! It's just like that 'Found a Peanut' song!" Way to go, Five Guys, for preventing innocent children from getting sucked into never-ending peanut-finding cycles.
The other day I was walking into my apartment when I spotted a peanut on the sidewalk. Immediately, I thought of that perennial children's classic, "Found a Peanut" (which is my second-favorite repetitive children's song to sing to myself when I can't fall asleep, right behind "The Ants Go Marching"). I couldn't help but wonder what would happen if I did pick the peanut up, crack it open, see it was rotten and eat it anyway--if I would then get sick, call the doctor, hear that I was going to be fine but die anyway, then be doomed into a never-ending peanut-finding cycle for all eternity when I was rejected by both heaven and hell. At first, I thought it might be kind of cool to have my life mirror the song, but once I thought about all of the inevitable sickness, death and never-ending peanut-finding, I reconsidered.
Apparently, though, there are some children out there who haven't learned the lesson inherent in this song. I was at Five Guys earlier getting a burger for lunch (yum), and I noticed a sign on the door asking patrons to please not take the free peanuts out of the restaurant, as there were neighborhood kids with peanut allergies. I can only imagine that this sign was predicated on the fear that someone would drop a peanut once outside, and then one of these allergic "neighborhood kids" (this Five Guys is located in a strip mall, nowhere near any housing units as far as I can tell, by the way) would see it on the sidewalk and pick it up after thinking, "Cool! It's just like that 'Found a Peanut' song!" Way to go, Five Guys, for preventing innocent children from getting sucked into never-ending peanut-finding cycles.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Awesome things discovered over my long weekend in London:
-Richard Coyle (aka Jeff from Coupling) is currently appearing in a play in the West End. This discovery was all the more awesome because I didn't find it out until I was walking into the theater for said play, which we'd already purchased tickets for.
-The menu at the West End Kitchen (which was serendipitously located right next to the theater) appeared to have changed very little since the last time I ate there--including the amazingly cheap prices.
-Speaking of amazing prices, the bookstores on Charing Cross Road still sell used books for a couple pounds each...although I don't remember quite so many of them having sex shops in their basements.
-Other than my favorite cafe and my favorite bar, pretty much everything else in the old neighborhood was comfortingly the same.
-Although said favorite cafe (Cafe La Cigale) and said favorite bar (Cafe Society) have since changed hands (now called The Tomato Cafe and The Longford, respectively), they are at least still a cafe and a bar with similar offerings. (Although The Longford does not have 2-for-1 nights, as apparently that's what did Cafe Society in.)
-Helen Mirren loves to watch America's Next Top Model, a fact that I came across on the flight home while reading one of the many British magazines I picked up. I really hope that watching America's Next Top Model is Helen Mirren's secret to looking so fabulous, because I not-so-secretly aspire to look that great at her age, and God knows I already watch plenty of America's Next Top Model.
Not-so-awesome things discovered over my long weekend in London:
-The $2 to £1 exchange rate is even more painful than I thought it would be.
-The landscape on Oxford Street has changed dramatically since I last shopped there. Most of the high street stores have moved toward Bond Street, leaving the stretch toward Tottenham Court Road with little more than junky tourist shops and totally messing up my standard shopping path.
-Speaking of shopping, Topshop now offers a 10-percent student discount. Where the heck was that when I was a student?
-Other things that would have been nice when I was a student: 24-hour buses. There are tons of them in London now, instead of just the infrequent night buses. Oh, the all-night-clubbing and bus-stop-ditching incidents that could have been avoided if only London had implemented this idea sooner...
-It seems that for me, international travel is destined to go hand in hand with neck pain. Although the soreness this morning is much less painful than the $300 neck injury I sustained when I got back from Bangkok, it still is annoying. I'm not sure what caused it, but I'm going to blame the guy sitting behind me on the flight back, who seemed unable to understand that each time he yanked on my seat back to get up out of his seat, I could actually feel it.
-Richard Coyle (aka Jeff from Coupling) is currently appearing in a play in the West End. This discovery was all the more awesome because I didn't find it out until I was walking into the theater for said play, which we'd already purchased tickets for.
-The menu at the West End Kitchen (which was serendipitously located right next to the theater) appeared to have changed very little since the last time I ate there--including the amazingly cheap prices.
-Speaking of amazing prices, the bookstores on Charing Cross Road still sell used books for a couple pounds each...although I don't remember quite so many of them having sex shops in their basements.
-Other than my favorite cafe and my favorite bar, pretty much everything else in the old neighborhood was comfortingly the same.
-Although said favorite cafe (Cafe La Cigale) and said favorite bar (Cafe Society) have since changed hands (now called The Tomato Cafe and The Longford, respectively), they are at least still a cafe and a bar with similar offerings. (Although The Longford does not have 2-for-1 nights, as apparently that's what did Cafe Society in.)
-Helen Mirren loves to watch America's Next Top Model, a fact that I came across on the flight home while reading one of the many British magazines I picked up. I really hope that watching America's Next Top Model is Helen Mirren's secret to looking so fabulous, because I not-so-secretly aspire to look that great at her age, and God knows I already watch plenty of America's Next Top Model.
Not-so-awesome things discovered over my long weekend in London:
-The $2 to £1 exchange rate is even more painful than I thought it would be.
-The landscape on Oxford Street has changed dramatically since I last shopped there. Most of the high street stores have moved toward Bond Street, leaving the stretch toward Tottenham Court Road with little more than junky tourist shops and totally messing up my standard shopping path.
-Speaking of shopping, Topshop now offers a 10-percent student discount. Where the heck was that when I was a student?
-Other things that would have been nice when I was a student: 24-hour buses. There are tons of them in London now, instead of just the infrequent night buses. Oh, the all-night-clubbing and bus-stop-ditching incidents that could have been avoided if only London had implemented this idea sooner...
-It seems that for me, international travel is destined to go hand in hand with neck pain. Although the soreness this morning is much less painful than the $300 neck injury I sustained when I got back from Bangkok, it still is annoying. I'm not sure what caused it, but I'm going to blame the guy sitting behind me on the flight back, who seemed unable to understand that each time he yanked on my seat back to get up out of his seat, I could actually feel it.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Everybody wants VD
Now that I have been both single and coupled on Valentine's Day, I can report with some certainty that I hate Valentine's Day only 7% more as a single person than I did as a coupled person. OK, so that number is totally arbitrary, but it's true that my hatred as a bitter and jaded single person is only marginally more emphatic than my hatred was as the bitter and jaded half of a couple.
Or maybe my hatred is magnified by 7% this year because it seems lately that everyone selling some sort of product or service has decided they need to capitalize on Valentine's Day. I'm used to the Valentine's propaganda from the usual suspects: Victoria's Secret, Godiva, Kay Jewelers. (Unexpected bonus of the writer's strike: Not watching TV as much means I haven't had to see nearly as many of those vomit-inducing "Every kiss begins with K" commercials, which is good because I'd pretty much reached my limit on those by mid-December.) But this year, I'm getting it from all sides, from cell phones (I can just imagine the ad-concept meeting there: "But a cell phone isn't a romantic gift!" "Ooh, what if we made them red?" "Genius!") to gift certificates to the Hair Cuttery (Worst. Valentine's gift. Ever.). I know this isn't exactly a new phenomenon, but it seems more pronounced this year. However, that could have something to do with the fact that I have to go through a mall to get to both my gym and the Metro, which means I'm being bombarded by this crap pretty much every day.
The good news? In about 12 hours, Valentine's Day will be over, which means the real fun (i.e., spring and Cadbury Eggs) is just around the corner. And in less than 48 hours, I'll be reunited with one of the great loves of my life (i.e., London). So all things considered, it could be a lot worse.
Now that I have been both single and coupled on Valentine's Day, I can report with some certainty that I hate Valentine's Day only 7% more as a single person than I did as a coupled person. OK, so that number is totally arbitrary, but it's true that my hatred as a bitter and jaded single person is only marginally more emphatic than my hatred was as the bitter and jaded half of a couple.
Or maybe my hatred is magnified by 7% this year because it seems lately that everyone selling some sort of product or service has decided they need to capitalize on Valentine's Day. I'm used to the Valentine's propaganda from the usual suspects: Victoria's Secret, Godiva, Kay Jewelers. (Unexpected bonus of the writer's strike: Not watching TV as much means I haven't had to see nearly as many of those vomit-inducing "Every kiss begins with K" commercials, which is good because I'd pretty much reached my limit on those by mid-December.) But this year, I'm getting it from all sides, from cell phones (I can just imagine the ad-concept meeting there: "But a cell phone isn't a romantic gift!" "Ooh, what if we made them red?" "Genius!") to gift certificates to the Hair Cuttery (Worst. Valentine's gift. Ever.). I know this isn't exactly a new phenomenon, but it seems more pronounced this year. However, that could have something to do with the fact that I have to go through a mall to get to both my gym and the Metro, which means I'm being bombarded by this crap pretty much every day.
The good news? In about 12 hours, Valentine's Day will be over, which means the real fun (i.e., spring and Cadbury Eggs) is just around the corner. And in less than 48 hours, I'll be reunited with one of the great loves of my life (i.e., London). So all things considered, it could be a lot worse.
Saturday, February 09, 2008
J'aime Paris
I had no real plans for this evening other than watching whatever was in the Netflix hopper, which happened to be the half-annoying, half-charming Julie Delpy-directed indie flick Two Days in Paris. While the city was more of a background than a star in the film, it definitely got me thinking about Paris. A little while later when I decided I wanted to make some cookies, I took the opportunity to use the Eiffel Tower cookie cutter that my mom put in my Christmas stocking. And then I ate the cookies while reading National Geographic Traveler's March cover story on Paris. So now, despite the fact that this time next week, I will be in another of my all-time favorite European cities*, I am plagued by a desperate longing for Paris. Sigh. I must be the only almost-28-year-old out there who's fervently looking forward to my 30th birthday.
UPDATE: The moment I posted this, my iTunes decided to start playing Edith Piaf's "Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien." Then I looked up and saw the poster of the Montmartre steps that Jeff gave me for Christmas a couple of years ago. Seriously, how am I supposed to quiet the yearning in the face of all of this?
*It's worth noting that the last time I was in Paris, Jeff and I saw an ad on the Metro for a special fare to London on Eurostar, and it was all we could do not to hop a train there for a night or two. Seriously, I don't think I'll ever be able to decide which city I love more. Too bad I can't afford to live in either.
I had no real plans for this evening other than watching whatever was in the Netflix hopper, which happened to be the half-annoying, half-charming Julie Delpy-directed indie flick Two Days in Paris. While the city was more of a background than a star in the film, it definitely got me thinking about Paris. A little while later when I decided I wanted to make some cookies, I took the opportunity to use the Eiffel Tower cookie cutter that my mom put in my Christmas stocking. And then I ate the cookies while reading National Geographic Traveler's March cover story on Paris. So now, despite the fact that this time next week, I will be in another of my all-time favorite European cities*, I am plagued by a desperate longing for Paris. Sigh. I must be the only almost-28-year-old out there who's fervently looking forward to my 30th birthday.
UPDATE: The moment I posted this, my iTunes decided to start playing Edith Piaf's "Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien." Then I looked up and saw the poster of the Montmartre steps that Jeff gave me for Christmas a couple of years ago. Seriously, how am I supposed to quiet the yearning in the face of all of this?
*It's worth noting that the last time I was in Paris, Jeff and I saw an ad on the Metro for a special fare to London on Eurostar, and it was all we could do not to hop a train there for a night or two. Seriously, I don't think I'll ever be able to decide which city I love more. Too bad I can't afford to live in either.
Thursday, February 07, 2008
The bicycle thief
The last time I put in some face time with my bike (whenever we last had unseasonably warm weather; maybe about a month ago?), I kind of expected it was going to get stolen. In fact, I was a little surprised that it hadn't already been stolen, as the lock was missing, and isn't the whole point of stealing a bike lock to steal the bike? Anyway, I rode it to Whole Foods, where I had no choice but to leave it unlocked on the bike rack, hoping that the fact that the bike rack is tucked away in a corner of the parking lot and that I instructed a chocolate lab who was also tied to the bike rack to guard it would keep it from getting stolen. Which it did, although I don't know whether to thank the location or the dog for that. However, I have to admit that my desire for the bike not to get stolen had to do a lot more with not wanting to walk all the way home from Whole Foods than it did a desire to actually keep my bike. I realized some time ago that if I was going to use my bike for exercise, the whole thing would be a whole lot more tolerable if I had a bike that I actually liked riding--you know, one that didn't have crappy brakes, sticking gears and rusty components that made adjusting the seat impossible. So I was already planning to buy myself a shiny new bike this spring.
And yet none of this really tempered my outrage yesterday evening when I went down to the laundry room and discovered that my bike had been stolen! Although again, this had nothing to do with actual love for the bike, but rather a) frustration with myself for not removing the nice components of the bike (cushy gel seat, almost brand-new bell) when I knew it was likely to get stolen, b) a derailment of the evening bike ride I was looking forward to, and c) the realization that I will now have to come up with a new storage solution for the new bike, since clearly the laundry room is not a secure location. Stupid bicycle thieves.
The last time I put in some face time with my bike (whenever we last had unseasonably warm weather; maybe about a month ago?), I kind of expected it was going to get stolen. In fact, I was a little surprised that it hadn't already been stolen, as the lock was missing, and isn't the whole point of stealing a bike lock to steal the bike? Anyway, I rode it to Whole Foods, where I had no choice but to leave it unlocked on the bike rack, hoping that the fact that the bike rack is tucked away in a corner of the parking lot and that I instructed a chocolate lab who was also tied to the bike rack to guard it would keep it from getting stolen. Which it did, although I don't know whether to thank the location or the dog for that. However, I have to admit that my desire for the bike not to get stolen had to do a lot more with not wanting to walk all the way home from Whole Foods than it did a desire to actually keep my bike. I realized some time ago that if I was going to use my bike for exercise, the whole thing would be a whole lot more tolerable if I had a bike that I actually liked riding--you know, one that didn't have crappy brakes, sticking gears and rusty components that made adjusting the seat impossible. So I was already planning to buy myself a shiny new bike this spring.
And yet none of this really tempered my outrage yesterday evening when I went down to the laundry room and discovered that my bike had been stolen! Although again, this had nothing to do with actual love for the bike, but rather a) frustration with myself for not removing the nice components of the bike (cushy gel seat, almost brand-new bell) when I knew it was likely to get stolen, b) a derailment of the evening bike ride I was looking forward to, and c) the realization that I will now have to come up with a new storage solution for the new bike, since clearly the laundry room is not a secure location. Stupid bicycle thieves.
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