The elevator tragedy:
"You wanna know something messed up? That was Mike's elevator."
-overheard in Herald Square
15.12.11
2.12.11
Catsgiving
Everyone knows Thanksgiving is really all about cats.
My parents' kitty
...
Things I'm thankful for, in no particular order:
-not being a waitress
-having a great family (especially mes soeurs)
-living with my best friend and teammate
-having the strength and the means to stay healthy in the face of cheap death-foods and La-Z-Boy mentalities
-having a fantastic job that I love
-living in the best city in the world
-being in school
-the 99%
Would it be too much to add Tofurky to the list? Or would that be liberal lovey-dovey overkill?
WTFNYC
"You know, you're going to have to bury them eventually."
-one well-dressed Italian-American man to another (Astoria)
-one well-dressed Italian-American man to another (Astoria)
15.11.11
Nothing more real than the memory of the great outdoors.
Landmannalaugar, Iceland, 2011
Les Pyrenees, France, 2010
Luxembourg, 2010
Les Vosges, France, 2009
Maine, 2009
Sanibel Island, Florida, 2009
White Clay Creek, Delaware, 2008
Mount Rainier, Seattle, 2007
Rotorua, New Zealand, 2007
Fraser Island, Australia, 2007
Bear Mountain, NY, 2006
London, 2006
Long Island, 2005
I am one lucky lady.
26.10.11
Personhood
Posted from the New York Times:
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/10/26/us/politics/personhood-amendments-would-ban-nearly-all-abortions.html?hp
And while we're at it, I'd like to add a few components to this amendment:
Extended Personhood. Unfertilized eggs and sperm will also be granted special "pre-personhood" rights, as they are fundamental to building the nucleus that eventually becomes the zygote that transforms into the little person that is the image of God. Women are now required to save the results of their menses and submit monthly reports to the Mississippi Association for Christian Advocacy for Personhood (MAsCAP). Failure to do so will result in a $600 fine and 5 months in jail. Men who donate their sperm will be charged with murder.
Anti-PETA Personhood Addendum (APPA). Animal rights advocates who claim poultry eggs must now be outlawed are to be ignored by all state and federal governments. Animals don't have souls, and thus we can eat their eggs without remorse.
Incest and Rape Vital Care. If a child is created as a result of rape or incest, health officials will now make sure that that child has a complete, healthy family life by mandating that the raper or the incestful family member join in matrimony with the rapee. They will be required to live together until death do they part.
Minor Changes. All changes made to this amendment will be decided on by prayer.
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/10/26/us/politics/personhood-amendments-would-ban-nearly-all-abortions.html?hp
And while we're at it, I'd like to add a few components to this amendment:
Extended Personhood. Unfertilized eggs and sperm will also be granted special "pre-personhood" rights, as they are fundamental to building the nucleus that eventually becomes the zygote that transforms into the little person that is the image of God. Women are now required to save the results of their menses and submit monthly reports to the Mississippi Association for Christian Advocacy for Personhood (MAsCAP). Failure to do so will result in a $600 fine and 5 months in jail. Men who donate their sperm will be charged with murder.
Anti-PETA Personhood Addendum (APPA). Animal rights advocates who claim poultry eggs must now be outlawed are to be ignored by all state and federal governments. Animals don't have souls, and thus we can eat their eggs without remorse.
Incest and Rape Vital Care. If a child is created as a result of rape or incest, health officials will now make sure that that child has a complete, healthy family life by mandating that the raper or the incestful family member join in matrimony with the rapee. They will be required to live together until death do they part.
Minor Changes. All changes made to this amendment will be decided on by prayer.
22.10.11
#occupyWINNING
My cousin Matthew has come down from Rhode Island to attend the Wall Streets protests. He's a pretty experienced and organized activist, and his site, BeyondTheChoir.org, has some nicely developed essays and arguments for the cause. Check him out!
18.10.11
16.10.11
ROBYN MELLO HAS BEEN REPORTED MISSING.
She was last seen at the site of Occupy Philadelphia, at 10pm on Friday, October 14th. If you hear ANYTHING at all, please contact me or her friends or her family or the police or ANYONE.
Robyn, I really, really hope you're okay.
Robyn, I really, really hope you're okay.
15.10.11
Occupying Wall Street, Briefly
The entire Smucker clan went to Zuccotti Park last Sunday.
Sure, we enjoyed ourselves -- the atmosphere was festive, there was a drum circle, lots of organized centers for distributing food, clothes, paint -- but it was humbling, too. It was an organized mess full of angry people, young and old, yelling and marching with no one listening but their compatriots. The policemen looked jaded; tourists watched blindly from the tops of double-decker buses (as they passed by, we screamed, "Welcome to New York!" and shook our signs above our heads). I would chance it to say that every single person in that park had something important to say, and I'm not sure if anyone was really paying attention.
Understandably, though -- it's hard to listen to a group of people with 101 demands, ideas, and complaints. Though that might be the defining characteristic of our generation, plagued with options and opportunity as we are; the Internet has allowed us to say whatever we want to say, when we want to say it, and find a group, however small, that wishes to participate in our same conversation. We've also been subject to a dizzying array of decisions that have been made -- or felt like it, anyway -- generally without our consent (i.e., George W. Bush was not an elected president). Sure, we don't have a draft, but the cost of higher education and the threat of poverty make joining the Army something just short of mandatory for a lot of people. We're living in an age of upside-down reason and backwards judgment, where some of the brightest people of our generation end up at Starbucks, and soapbox preachers can pretend to be politicians. (There was a great cartoon in the New Yorker a few weeks ago: a mama polar bear and her baby were perched on a tiny iceberg, and the baby polar bear asks, "Is Rick Perry real?")
There is so much awry that I understand the sometimes cacophonous chorus of voices screaming until they are hoarse from Zucotti Park. There is no clear to way to define what's wrong, or how to fix it. It's like getting to the end of an awful math problem and checking your math and finding your answer completely off and trying to figure out if it was your original math or the checking math that was off and the process itself is so convoluted that you just have to start the whole thing over from scratch. Except in this case, I'm not sure if there is a scratch, so that complicates things. (The people who do believe there is a scratch point -- usually somewhere in the 80s -- are typically male, and white.)
All of which makes my own stance in regards to the Occupy Wall Street protests a little interesting.
I have a great job, and I want to keep it. I work for a non-profit company that treats its employees well, whose proceeds improve the quality of higher education, and whose products help people around the world communicate with one another. I'm a straight-up, New York City yuppie who lives comfortably in a decent one-bedroom apartment with a loved one and a cat. I couldn't ask for more, or a different or better life.
I guess what I'm trying to say is: I don't exactly feel like I've got any clout when it comes to complaints. But does that matter? I want to stick with the protesters because of my sentiment, not because of what I do (or what I don't do -- believe me, if I were unemployed I'd be down there a lot more often). I want more people to have jobs like mine. I want more companies to be more like the one I work for. And just because I'm fortunate enough to have it doesn't mean I should be resting on my laurels -- I need to be working (harder, if anything) than the rest of the protesters because of where I'm coming from.
The curious part about this Occupy stuff is how broad the movement is. Hell, even my dad was there, and he's been working for the Man for more than 20 years! I'm sure we could all jump ship for one reason or another, including the 1% themselves. But if we all jump, who's steering the boat? Who is in charge here?
Sure, we enjoyed ourselves -- the atmosphere was festive, there was a drum circle, lots of organized centers for distributing food, clothes, paint -- but it was humbling, too. It was an organized mess full of angry people, young and old, yelling and marching with no one listening but their compatriots. The policemen looked jaded; tourists watched blindly from the tops of double-decker buses (as they passed by, we screamed, "Welcome to New York!" and shook our signs above our heads). I would chance it to say that every single person in that park had something important to say, and I'm not sure if anyone was really paying attention.
Understandably, though -- it's hard to listen to a group of people with 101 demands, ideas, and complaints. Though that might be the defining characteristic of our generation, plagued with options and opportunity as we are; the Internet has allowed us to say whatever we want to say, when we want to say it, and find a group, however small, that wishes to participate in our same conversation. We've also been subject to a dizzying array of decisions that have been made -- or felt like it, anyway -- generally without our consent (i.e., George W. Bush was not an elected president). Sure, we don't have a draft, but the cost of higher education and the threat of poverty make joining the Army something just short of mandatory for a lot of people. We're living in an age of upside-down reason and backwards judgment, where some of the brightest people of our generation end up at Starbucks, and soapbox preachers can pretend to be politicians. (There was a great cartoon in the New Yorker a few weeks ago: a mama polar bear and her baby were perched on a tiny iceberg, and the baby polar bear asks, "Is Rick Perry real?")
There is so much awry that I understand the sometimes cacophonous chorus of voices screaming until they are hoarse from Zucotti Park. There is no clear to way to define what's wrong, or how to fix it. It's like getting to the end of an awful math problem and checking your math and finding your answer completely off and trying to figure out if it was your original math or the checking math that was off and the process itself is so convoluted that you just have to start the whole thing over from scratch. Except in this case, I'm not sure if there is a scratch, so that complicates things. (The people who do believe there is a scratch point -- usually somewhere in the 80s -- are typically male, and white.)
All of which makes my own stance in regards to the Occupy Wall Street protests a little interesting.
I have a great job, and I want to keep it. I work for a non-profit company that treats its employees well, whose proceeds improve the quality of higher education, and whose products help people around the world communicate with one another. I'm a straight-up, New York City yuppie who lives comfortably in a decent one-bedroom apartment with a loved one and a cat. I couldn't ask for more, or a different or better life.
I guess what I'm trying to say is: I don't exactly feel like I've got any clout when it comes to complaints. But does that matter? I want to stick with the protesters because of my sentiment, not because of what I do (or what I don't do -- believe me, if I were unemployed I'd be down there a lot more often). I want more people to have jobs like mine. I want more companies to be more like the one I work for. And just because I'm fortunate enough to have it doesn't mean I should be resting on my laurels -- I need to be working (harder, if anything) than the rest of the protesters because of where I'm coming from.
The curious part about this Occupy stuff is how broad the movement is. Hell, even my dad was there, and he's been working for the Man for more than 20 years! I'm sure we could all jump ship for one reason or another, including the 1% themselves. But if we all jump, who's steering the boat? Who is in charge here?
9.10.11
Winter Warmer
Cooler weather means more beer! Don and I were a little more ambitious this time and decided to make a high-gravity ale -- meaning one with a higher alcohol percentage, more flavor, and more intensity. We used about twice as much grain as we would have for a normal-gravity ale (about 20 pounds of American two-row malted barley!), twice as much yeast, and added lots of spices: ginger, fresh orange zest, cloves, cinnamon sticks, allspice, and nutmeg.
What all this "twice" business means is that the yeast has more sugar to eat, allowing more of the wort (the proto-beer) to be converted to alcohol. Extra grain also means more malty flavor, since we only used the normal amount of liquid (5 gallons). The beer is already in its secondary stage of fermentation, and will be ready for bottling next week. It'll be bottle-conditioned for about a month or more, making it drink-ready by Thanksgiving.
I used up some of the spent grain (you typically strain out the grain and throw it away, using only the liquid for the beer) to make bread, grinding it up in my tiny food processor. After having been boiled for so long, the grain's starches have all been converted to sugar, making the grain sweet and chewy like oatmeal. The bread was dense and sweet, almost like a pumpernickel.
1.10.11
Iceland: Emstrur & Thorsmork
I didn't quite understand the Emstrur landscape. Some of it looked like the surface of the moon, just lava rubble and craggy cliffs; some of it was gouged-out canyons and mossy mountains; a great deal of it was just plain desert, straight-up black sand dunes complete with what looked like beach grass. We were lucky we didn't encounter a sandstorm, which are common there. Don took all of the photos on this page.
Leaving the desert and entering a hilly valley
Our first bug! (besides gnats)
We found a good spot for bouldering
This is the moon
The next day took us through Thorsmork -- or, more appropriately, Þórsmörk, named after the Norse god, Thor. It was the end of the journey: a grassy, birchwood forest, an alluvial plain, the Ejafjallajokull glacier (EYE-ya-fee-YA-la-YO-kudd'l -- the one whose snow-submerged volcano exploded last April). Don and I relaxed and took showers and found striped river rocks and made breakfast burritos with all of our leftover food. The bus ride back was dreamlike and all too familiar, making the trip seem as if it had never happened.
A view of the Mýrdalsjökull glacier
It was actually very refreshing to see trees and shrubs -- they softened the landscape dramatically!
The campsite at sunset
The springtime snowmelt sometimes floods this valley, making it a giant riverbed
Seljalandsfoss
Behind the waterfall
As if all this weren't enough, our last night in Iceland was marked by the presence of none other than the Aurora Borealis. I can only describe it using drug words and techie-terms: neon, flowing, amorphous, ethereal, ephemeral. I can't explain how a part of a visual image can move and disappear without you noticing, but somehow the Northern Lights achieved this. You would concentrate on one spot, and then suddenly -- but not suddenly, because it was all moving and shifting slowly -- it was gone. Like someone creeping slowly out of a room, inch by inch. After a few minutes of staring, I ran outside to take some pictures, but by the time I got there, it was gone.
The below video gives a pretty good impression of what we saw, except ours was a brighter green and more concentrated.
I'm definitely going back.
23.9.11
Little Mundane Updates
1. I chopped all my hair off with a kitchen scissor!
Not great shots, but my beloved camera recently bit the dust, so I'm excusing the shoddiness with my unfamiliarity with Don's camera. Also I was lazy. We made these pickles nearly a week ago, to enormous success (Don's dream is to sell jars of them at Union Square Greenmarket and "make a mint"). We had three jars: marinated mushrooms, with our "standard" pickling mix (water, white vinegar, bay leaf, mustard seed, juniper, pimento, etc.) and pearl onions; a batch of whole and sliced cucumbers, also using the standard mix but with added cumin seeds; and a "sushi" mix, of cucumbers in a ginger-garlic brine with a bit of soy and leek (my personal favorite... will be adding wasabi next time). All three versions are absolutely restaurant-worthy and I'm not ashamed to admit how proud I am of these magnificent snacks of the vinegar brine world!
It pretty much looks like crap 7 year-old's haircut but I think after a week or so of growing out, it should be okay. I've been meaning to do it for awhile, though the true decision came about a week ago in yoga class when, while tilted sideways during a twisted trikonasana, I felt my neck straining to hold up the 2-pound bun of hair piled atop my head. Hair shouldn't be hard.
2. Don and I made pickles.
Not great shots, but my beloved camera recently bit the dust, so I'm excusing the shoddiness with my unfamiliarity with Don's camera. Also I was lazy. We made these pickles nearly a week ago, to enormous success (Don's dream is to sell jars of them at Union Square Greenmarket and "make a mint"). We had three jars: marinated mushrooms, with our "standard" pickling mix (water, white vinegar, bay leaf, mustard seed, juniper, pimento, etc.) and pearl onions; a batch of whole and sliced cucumbers, also using the standard mix but with added cumin seeds; and a "sushi" mix, of cucumbers in a ginger-garlic brine with a bit of soy and leek (my personal favorite... will be adding wasabi next time). All three versions are absolutely restaurant-worthy and I'm not ashamed to admit how proud I am of these magnificent snacks of the vinegar brine world!
22.9.11
Iceland: Hraftinnusker & Alftavatn
Days two and three of the hike: the surface of the moon and the mossy green valley, glacial lake included. Leaving Hraftinnusker (hraft = obsidian, which was scattered everywhere in postapocalyptic chunks) was almost frightening in its nakedness; barely a living thing, nothing but sulfur and evidence of million year-old explosions from volcanoes past.
Not a glacier, but a snow-covered ravine...
Tired in my space pants (photo by Don)
(photo by Don)
...until we came upon this valley, at Alftavatn:
Vatn means water, or lake. The entire valley was moist and cool and felt like a sheltered paradise compared to the black starkscape of the Hraftinnusker area. Hraftinnusker is also the highest peak on the Laugavegur trail (around 1095 meters), the ascent of which was all done on day one -- so physically and mentally, we welcomed the mossy, moist change.
14.9.11
Iceland: Landmannalaugar
I'm still not done sorting through my pictures yet (i.e., am waiting for Don to finish finalizing his fancy HDR photos), but I do have some lovelies that are worth posting regardless.
These are from the first day of our hike, starting at Landmannalaugar (in Fjallabak National Reserve).
These are from the first day of our hike, starting at Landmannalaugar (in Fjallabak National Reserve).
Frostastathavatn
One of our initial ascents
Things quickly turned barren
Don looking tough and sweaty on a snow patch
A jolly group of German clinical psychologists
Standing in the midst of a steamy spring (maybe later I'll post a video of the savage, spitting thing)
All of the moss everywhere was this color green!
And I just really love this picture
The first day was stunning and steep and hard. We climbed about 3,300 feet over 12 kilometers, which I don't know if that's a lot but it certainly felt like it with a 20 kilogram pack on my back. The volcano ash/soil held fast even in the rain, allowing us to scramble up pretty steep slopes without having the ground skid away underneath us. There were no trees, shrubs, plants, animals, or insects (didn't see those until the third day) -- just moss, water, and rocks. The water was clean to drink right out of the stream, assuming it wasn't stinky with sulfur or laced with mineral-happy algae; mostly it was just glacial snowmelt, freezing cold and clear. We reached our first hut at Hraftinnusker (see below) exhausted and a little damp, but were greeted with geothermal warmth and a silver-haired Icelandic hut warden who I thought was the coolest old lady in the world.
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