Unapologetically Mundane

Cheese Belly Spleen Face Redux

plumpdumpling — Thu, 02 Sep 2010 16:30:38 +0000

Kamran had the top GPA in his law school class for the third straight year, so we went last night to a reception celebrating his genius.

There were other students there to receive certificates just for being on the Dean’s List, and I felt such disgust for how pathetic and lowly they were that I wanted to comfort myself with a cured meats cookie sandwich, but my best friend and I are blogging about our love of low-carb eating these days, and I didn’t want to disappoint all of the people whose lives we’re changing.

So instead I amused myself by making Kamran reenact these amazing photos from another awards ceremony last year:

Then

Now

You think, “Slightly less creepy,” right? But then you see it up close:

It’s no wonder I have nightmares about showering in front of Simon Cowell.

Dumpy Butt

plumpdumpling — Wed, 01 Sep 2010 16:30:50 +0000

I don’t mean to jab at anyone’s sense of style, because I live in granny sweaters, but I spent a lot of my time in NYC thinking, “It is so sad that she spent so much time and effort to look like that.”

Most interesting designs, I think, look wonderful in theory and terrible in practice.

But even I surprise myself sometimes with the things I like these days. Like t-straps and saddle shoes, which my mom used to force me into against my will when I was kid.

Even lately, I’ve found myself not totally hating the idea of things like harem pants, which appeared in jumpsuit form in this season of “Project Runway”, looked pretty amazing, and won a challenge to end up on a Time Square billboard:

photo by Modelinia

But last night, on my way to the subway, I walked behind this girl, who proved my “terrible in practice” theory:

But I applaud her for trying.

Music and the Early Days of the Internet

plumpdumpling — Mon, 30 Aug 2010 16:15:45 +0000

This morning, my best friend, Tracey, sent me this:

click to enlarge

Can you imagine all the sob stories we’ll tell our children when it comes to music pre-Internet? Like how for years, I thought the lyrics to The Bellamy Brothers’ “If I Said You Had A Beautiful Body” were “if I said you had a beautiful bonnet, would you hold it against me?”, and I wondered why anyone would be offended by a friendly hat-related compliment.

And what about music not pre-Internet but pre-AWESOME-Internet? I remember hearing The Connells’ “’74-’75″ on the radio in high school and thinking it was mind-blowing, but of course Google didn’t exist then, so I couldn’t find the song using the three or four words I knew. I had to actually call the radio station to ask.

And even better, when Tracey and I were in high school, Bush’s album Razorblade Suitcase came out, and we were dying to know the lyrics to “Insect Kin“, so we taped their “Saturday Night Live” performance on her VCR and sat watching and pausing, watching and pausing, writing down the lyrics from the closed captioning. AMAZING.

It’s funny how looking back, that seems so romantic. It seems like music really mattered back then, because bands actually had to have a whole album’s worth of material before they were allowed to record one, and we actually had to buy that music–or record it with our VCRs–to hear the song we liked whenever we wanted to.

I’m not really complaining, because I love being able to call that Justin Bieber song up on MySpace whenever I want to and not feel bad about it because I’m not contributing any money to his freaky fame, but still.

The Only Reason to Ever Listen to Justin Bieber

plumpdumpling — Wed, 25 Aug 2010 16:00:24 +0000

Most exciting things in my relationship with Kamran happen between 8:30 a.m., when we should be leaving the house for work, and 8:45 a.m., when we actually leave.

Yesterday morning at 8:30, he loaded a Justin Bieber song on his computer. I’ve accidentally caught live performances of this particular song on several occasions just because I watch so much crappy reality TV, but it turns out the album version is actually pretty incredible.

Kamran called it pure bubblegum pop bliss. It’s the song “U Smile”, and in a perfect world, it’ll load automatically when you click on that link.

Next, he showed me the 800%-slowed-down version, which New York magazine likened to Mogwai but I think is straight up Sigur Ros:

Isn’t it beautiful? Parts of it made us look up from our lipstick-applying and flexing-in-the-mirror-for-the-18th-time-that-hour at each other like, “Whaaaaaaaa?”

And then I had to tell Kamran this story, which I’m telling you now so I can remember it when I’m 80 and still be pissed off:

When I was a junior at THE Ohio State University, I took a poetry workshop that was supposed to lead to a career in song- and jinglewriting. I actually liked the professor’s poetry, which is kind of unheard of for me, and although it was clear she didn’t think any of my poems made any sense whatsoever, she always blamed it on herself and encouraged me to keep trying.

One of our assignments was to take a song, pretend like we didn’t know what the lyrics really were, and re-write them based on what we actually hear. So I used Sigur Ros’s “Vaka”, which was sung in Hopelandic, an entirely made-up language:

“How clever!”, I’m sure you’re thinking, and I was thinking it, too.

Only the professor said it didn’t count, because the lyrics not being in English meant I didn’t have to use any imagination to make up new ones. Well, you can guess how personally I took that, seeing as how I thought I’d used all of my imagination in coming up with such a unique song to explore. I never took another poetry class again, never started my indie rock band, and never wrote a single jingle.

What’s funny is that while writing this, I wanted to look at the Hopelandic lyrics for the song, but on almost every lyrics site, they’re in English, and they look veeeeeeeeeeeeeery similar to what I wrote for my poetry project. Which means that:

1) Lyrics sites are retarded.

2) I really must not be imaginative.

Who Would’ve Guessed that Laguna Beach is Better than Coney Island?

plumpdumpling — Tue, 24 Aug 2010 16:00:54 +0000

The day before we left California, Kamran finally took me to The Beach. He’d been consulting his friends all week long about which of their favorite beaches he should take me to, and I was under the impression that these beaches were each something we’d need to drive to.

Like in Ohio, where you have one beach to choose from. Or NYC, where you have a handful of beaches but only one you’d actually touch with your bare skin.

But it turns out that when you talk about Laguna Beach, you’re talking about the Main Beach and these smaller beaches separated from it by cliffs. CLIFFS!! I thought the Hamptons and its beaches that stretch for miles were pretty, but cliffs are way more beautiful and make for way more interesting waves.

Of course I didn’t take that into account when choosing a bathing suit, which I haven’t owned for approximately 10 years now. I bought a tankini with a halter on top and these ridiculously tiny bottoms with strings on the sides so you can make them even shorter. Taking a note from my friend California-turned-Chicago friend Beth, I decided to wear opaque black underwear as bottoms to hide some of my trunk-junk, only I went ahead and put the regular swimsuit bottoms on over the underwear.

Don’t ask what made me think that had any chance of being successful.

The waves break unnaturally close to the shore at Crescent Beach, so I wasn’t even in up to my waist when a wave grabbed me, tossed me, and dragged me ten feet back. It was totally fun–if totally scary–and I was about to dive back in for more when I realized that both of my bottoms were around my knees, the bottom of my top was up to my neck, and what was supposed to be covering my boobies was not.

This happened over and over again for the next two hours as Kamran politely reminded me that small children in body-covering wetsuits were hovering around us on surfboards. I couldn’t help it, though, and I didn’t really want to. The water was way too cold for it being August, so the water was practically ours, and it was so much clearer than East coast water is. The waves were huger than any I’d ever seen, and Kamran taught me to dive underneath the crests to avoid, you know, dying. I found it much more fun to turn my back to them and flail my legs as they overtook me, which sometimes resulted in me riding them but more often resulted in me washing up on shore like some sort of unclothed whale.

Not that whales wear clothes. So some kind of regular whale, I guess.

And then we walked around for hours, buying one of everything at The Candy Barron, drinking horchata at the wonderful La Sirena Grill, and generally reliving all of Kamran’s high school and college memories.

I was so amazed at how Laguna Beach is really indie and artsy and exactly opposite of how all of those reality TV shows portray it. When we pulled up to the beach, parking was nonexistent, but we happened to come across a guy who was cleaning off his surfboard by his car. I called out, “You don’t happen to be on your way out, do you?”, and he said, “Yeah, but I’ll be about five minutes.” I said, “We’re happy to wait!” and we sat back patiently with some Beach Boys. But we looked up a second later, and he had pulled his car forward in front of someone’s driveway so we could have his spot right away. Swoon.

More to swoon over:

The day started off cloudy,

and I thought it was going to rain,

but apparently this happens every morning

and burns off by afternoon,

revealing the bluest sky

and the brightest-but-not-hottest sun.

And here’s Kamran in a phonebooth for no good reason.

NYC is Toooootally Just Like L.A.

plumpdumpling — Fri, 20 Aug 2010 19:01:30 +0000

I remember visiting my then-boyfriend while he was in grad school at NYU in NYC before I actually moved here. We were on our way to Panna 2–which is easily the best Indian restaurant in the East Village, both for its suuuuuuper cheap food and its crazy photogenic ambiance–when I saw this dog on the sidewalk. Its owners were dining at another Curry Row establishment and had tied it to the leg of one of their chairs so he could stand and watch them eat.

Coming from Ohio, I thought this was the most incredible thing I’d ever seen next to the butter cow at the state fair.

Last week in Santa Monica, we saw this dog doing the same thing:

Only this dog was TEN TIMES BIGGER THAN ANY DOG THAT HAS EVER LIVED IN NYC. Because L.A. apartments are ten times bigger than NYC apartments. And that is the only difference between the two cities.

Haha, just kidding.

Kamran and I were hanging out with his friends Gary and Diana one night and were talking about where we’re going to live when we inevitably move to the Southland, because while I used to put up a fight when Kamran talked about reuniting with his parents someday, I now understand that IT IS HEAVEN OUT THERE and that having lived in the two best cities in the U.S. would make me the best person in the U.S. Right?

We checked Zillow just for an idea of how much a 2-bedroom in Irvine would cost and found that for what the two of us are paying now, we could easily get 3 bedrooms in new builds with gyms and pools and parking.

I asked Diana if apartments in L.A. include dishwashers or washers and dryers, and she said, “You can find an apartment here that doesn’t have appliances.”

I die.

Run and Tell THAT, Homeboy

plumpdumpling — Mon, 16 Aug 2010 16:30:29 +0000

The day before I left for vacation, my co-worker Steve came to my desk and said, “Type ghetto bed intruder into YouTube.” Obviously you can’t go wrong searching for videos with those keywords, so I wasn’t surprised to laugh out loud while watching this interview (which I’m sure you all saw weeks ago, because I’m 100 years behind everyone else when it comes to the Internet):

Then Steve showed me the Auto-Tuned remix of the footage, which was so ingenious I found myself basically putting it on repeat:

I made Kamran pause his 17th viewing of an “It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia” episode that night so he could watch the videos, and even though he was skeptical at first, because I never find the right things funny, he actually laughed out loud, too. And we sang bits of the song to each other over the next couple of hours as we did laundry and packed for California, but I kind of figured that was it.

It happened, though, that the song would become the focal point of our entire 10-day trip. We were whispering quotes from it on the plane. We were watching it on Kamran’s iPod under the table while out for lunch with his parents. We were pretending to show it to his friends just to have an excuse to watch it again ourselves. One night, I woke up to it and thought I was going crazy until I realized Kamran was listening to it in the bathroom while pooing. And last night, a full 11 days since I first saw the thing, I couldn’t sleep because “hide your kids, hide your wife, and hide your husband, ’cause they’re rapin’ everybody out here” kept running through my head.

I’m Going to California, and I May Not Come Back If the Grilled Cheese Truck is Good Enough

plumpdumpling — Thu, 05 Aug 2010 16:00:08 +0000

I sing Phantom Planet’s “California” nearly every time my friends and I do karaoke. I’ve loved the song since 2002, long before it was the theme song to a stupid teen drama, long before teen dramas about California were a thing, and long before I met Kamran.

By the time you’re reading this, I’ll be sharing a snackbox with him on our way to Orange County for 10 days of:

• In-N-Out burgers

• quality time with his family, which hopefully will include plenty of watching “Bonanza” and eating Persian dishes full of pomegranate and blackened pickled vegetables

• DISNEYLAND! with his friends Gary and Diana (but not their kids mwahahahaha)

• his friend Diana’s wedding, which I assume will not involve homemade moonshine, UNLIKE OTHER WEDDINGS I HAVE RECENTLY ATTENDED (god bless you, Ohio)

• trying out my Farsi on his parents (so far, I can say poop, pee, hungry, and thirsty, so obviously they will be impressed)

• hot dogs from Pink’s, where the line is apparently as long as it is here for Shake Shack

• Alberto’s carne asada burritos

• touring the San Juan Capistrano Mission (and reenacting scenes from The Birds using the Barbie my best friend bought for me)

• anything from Del Taco (because, come on, it translates to of the taco)

• a day-long tour of L.A. that includes Roscoe’s House of Chicken and Waffles, the Santa Monica pier, maybe not going to the Chinese Theatre unless someone tells us we have to, and a very adult dinner with his uncle that will include quiet conversation

• generally being in Laguna and acting like a semi-retarded teenager

Obviously I’ll be singing “California” while we do every single one of these things, too. Look forward to the videos.

Why Life is So Great Right Now

plumpdumpling — Fri, 30 Jul 2010 16:00:49 +0000

1) Last weekend, I was out all afternoon on the hottest day of the year, and Kamran texted me at one point to say that he thought the air conditioner had stopped working. I arrived at his apartment later with a couple of iced coffees just to make fun of him and his overactive imagination, but no, there was definitely warm air coming out of his vent. We spent the remainder of the night sitting perfectly still on the couch, afraid that moving would allow the sweat rivers dammed in our hair to unleash on our foreheads. It. Was. Miserable.

Way wore than the night we lost power in my apartment, because Kamran lives in a studio with windows on only one side of the room, so there’s no way to create a cross breeze unless you open the door. And I wouldn’t have been entirely opposed to propping the door if New Yorkers weren’t so infamously curious about other people’s habitats; you know every single person who walked by would’ve stopped dead to watch us gnawing on ice as we watched Manhunter.

I texted my best friend, Tracey, about it, and she suggested I fly to Ohio and enjoy her central air. I also considered going back to my own apartment, figuring that a single wall unit for all 900 square feet was better than nothing, but I didn’t want to leave Kamran alone with his take-home law school exams. We went to bed around midnight, but Kamran woke up at 2 a.m. feeling like he was having trouble breathing and thinking we’d need to go to a hotel, which made me EXCITED. But then he remembered a box fan hidden in the back of one of his closets and aimed it right at us so we could at least not die during the night.

Two days later–after his exams were all finished, of course–his landlord graciously had a guy come and install a brand new unit with a timer and remote control so we never have to leave the couch again.

2) You may think of me as some huge important chef thanks to my starring role in Julie & Julia and my wildly popular food blog, but the truth is that about the most I do is heat up some hotdogs for breakfast in Kamran’s convection oven. But his oven went out in March, and we kind of didn’t bother to do anything about it, which means I’ve been heating up my hotdogs in skillets.

Skillets.

But early this week, when the new air conditioner went in, the landlord also sent him a new microwave. A huge one, with a light underneath to illuminate the stovetop, and a vent on top to keep the apartment from smelling like pigparts.

3) Last night, I met Kamran to go shopping for toilet paper (romantic!), and as we were leaving Duane Reade (a pharmacy that got its start in NYC at the corner of Duane Street and Reade Street–clever!), I realized that it was my chance to buy my favourite generic lipgloss, which I’ve been without for several months now but have been too lazy to walk an extra block to the Duane Reade for because the CVS near his house is so much nicer. I forget sometimes that the littlest things can make such a huge difference to my happiness.

4) I’m in Ohio for the weekend for my stepsister’s wedding! This means I’m the only one of the five of us kids who isn’t married. Last time I was home, I told my grandmother that Kamran and I are going to California to visit his parents early next month, and she said, “Oooooh, are you going to pin him down while you’re there?” And I said, “Um, haven’t I done that already? We’ve been together almost four years now. The only thing we haven’t done is move in together.” She didn’t like that.

And you?

The New Kindle is Coming!, and the Best Cover for Kindle 2

plumpdumpling — Thu, 29 Jul 2010 20:30:19 +0000

My friend Jeff pointed me to Engadget’s article on the new Kindle today, and it got me thinking about how my Kindle has been so life-changing and will only be more life-changing for other people now that it’s available in different colors, has an even faster refresh rate, and is selling for $139.

Have you looked at my Shelfari shelf recently? It’s exploding. Now that I’m never without a book, I’m flying through them like never before. Even crappy books like the Sarah Silverman one. Even books I thought would be crappy but turned out to be engrossing, like Tracy Chevalier’s Remarkable Creatures. If I get 20 pages into a book and don’t care about it yet, I don’t have to wait until I’m home or at the library to get something else; I just click over to my home screen and choose another one. There’s literally nothing I miss about real books.

I assume you’ll all run out and buy the new version when it’s released on August 27th, but in case you decide to buy the Kindle 2 on eBay for even cheaper, let me recommend the cover that I have. I shopped around for days and finally decided on the TrendyDigital MaxGuard Leather Cover in purple. It’s so sleek and feels so good in my hands with its leather shell and soft suede-like interior. The Kindle slides into its pocket and fits so snugly that it doesn’t need any elastic bands or metal prongs to hold it in. The magnetic closure makes this great little snapping sound when you flip it closed that sounds so smart I can’t help but feel as if everyone on the train has heard it and is envious of me.

I’ll tell you who I’m envious of, though: these people who carry their Kindles without any case at all. I see them on the train with their 1/3rd-inch-thick readers, and I think, How rich must you be to not care about scratching that thing up? I’ll bet they’re all reading The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, too.

(Okay, fine, I read it and didn’t hate it.)

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Everything That’s Good in Life Should Be Mine and Mine Alone

plumpdumpling — Thu, 29 Jul 2010 16:00:52 +0000

I went apartment-hunting this weekend with my friend Jack, and this was the view from one of the units we saw:

(click here for the uncropped version, which is so much more impressive)

In the larger version, you’ll note the group of identical buildings in the lower righthand corner. That’s government housing. For poor people. Poor people with a great view.

It just ain’t right.

Thuh

plumpdumpling — Mon, 26 Jul 2010 16:00:24 +0000

One of my office pet peeves is when people call me and end the conversation with, “What did you say your name was again?”

It’s always after I’ve been super-unhelpful and/or snarky with the person, because he’s always a telemarketer. I’ll say, “Oh, we don’t have an IT department in this office,” and he’ll say, “Well, where is it?”, and I’ll say, “At your mom’s house.”

And then he’ll say, “What did you say your name was again?”, and of course I haven’t given my name, so I’ll say, “The. Office. Manager.” And I’ll pronounce the like thuh to make him feel stupid.

He actually probably thinks I’m retarded, but I’m okay with that.

I Was Making Fun of Her Behind Her Back, If That Helps

plumpdumpling — Fri, 23 Jul 2010 16:00:08 +0000

I was making fun of a co-worker this morning for having something from a company called Model in a Bottle Inc. delivered to the office.

And then the mailman showed up with my Frederick’s of Hollywood package.

I still contend that mine is less embarrassing.

4th of July in Ohio (Featuring Bethany!)

plumpdumpling — Wed, 21 Jul 2010 18:45:19 +0000

I’m notoriously bad about doing really exciting things and never posting about them, but luckily, I have my cousin to write me e-mails that say things like, “When you’re expecting to STAR in a WORLD-FAMOUS BLOG on the INTERNET, it’s tough to be patient.” This is for her:

Tracey shows off a sparkler amidst a backdrop of our matching Mmmerica! shirts with a flag made out of bacon and waffles.

Crazy Aunt Dort™ dishes up a slice of her famous chocolate cake and homemade ice cream in her deliciously 1970s kitchen.

Off-center fireworks shot posing as art

My cousin, Bethany, gets her punishment for coming in last at our game of croquet.

My cousin Alex displays his “muscles” while playing Cornhole with his dad.

A view of my childhood home from my grandparents’ backyard

Despite their stinkiness, dogs totally redeem themselves by looking forward to seeing you way too much.

Despite her stinkiness, Bethany totally redeems herself by talking her mom into committing heinous acts like this.

Like I said . . . Really. Exciting. Things.

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These Boots Were Made for Walkin’

plumpdumpling — Tue, 20 Jul 2010 16:00:41 +0000

I do not run for things. Like, physically. This is perhaps the reason why the gym doesn’t work out for me. I would much, much rather be late to something than to hurry myself, to rush across the street on a flashing Don’t Walk sign to catch a fleeting bus or to plow down some station stairs to catch a train sitting with its doors open for an extra second. I think people who run for things look stupid. I hate people who are too eager. I hate people who care about things too much when they’re things I don’t care about.

Yet last Friday morning, I found myself turning the corner onto 42nd Street, seeing the bus waiting at the stop, noticing there was still a long line of people waiting to get on, and actually breaking out in a run. I have no idea why. I was running late, but why would I care about running late? Maybe it’s that I knew I would be getting to the stop just as the bus was pulling away and that everyone on the bus would know I had meant to get on it and that that would be more embarrassing that bothering myself to run for it. I’m irrational like that.

So I took off in the fastest jog I could in a pair of really rubbery flip-flops, and things were going pretty well. I probably could’ve walked just as fast if I really wanted to put in the effort of swinging my arms and rolling my hips and all, so I figured I was still looking fairly nonchalant to anyone who might be judging my eagerness, yet I hopefully looked like I cared enough about making it onto the bus that the driver would take pity and wait on me if everyone else loaded quickly.

But then, halfway down the block, the toe part of one of my flip-flops suddenly somehow doubled under itself and messed up my rhythm, and I had to stop to straighten things out. Just then, this beautiful brown-skinned woman went gliding past me in a summery black dress, her natural hair highlighted with a white faux flower. Her long, slender legs, fitted with soft black ballerina flats, flitted in front of her one at a time like those of a more-graceful gazelle. I somehow expected that she’d stop, that we’d laugh about me trying to run in my stupid shoes, and that we’d walk arm in arm to the bus. Instead, she probably laughed as my shorter, stouter legs, bound in too-tight, too-hot jeans pounded the pavement in comparison, and while she boarded the bus nimbly with a bounce, I hoisted myself up, out of breath and windblown with the entire bus glowering at me for making them wait.

That’ll teach me to try.

Almost Getting Hit by a Car Really Shows You the Darkest Parts of Your Soul

plumpdumpling — Thu, 15 Jul 2010 16:00:32 +0000

I walked up to the corner of 40th Street and Tunnel Exit Street (really, that’s what it’s called). The dreaded electric company had its trucks blocking 40th while the crew worked on something buried beneath the street, and a man in a blue vest and hard hat kept moving orange cones to allow cars out of the parking garage. The walk light was blinking red, so I decided to hang back, what with the confusion over the street closure and all.

The cars on Tunnel Exit Street got their green light and flew past me in the way that only cars in NYC can when getting stopped by red lights every block, and then the light changed. I stepped out onto the street, and though I saw a cab ready to turn the corner out of the corner of my eye, and even as his bumper literally touched the leg of my pants, I thought, Of course he’s going to stop.

But he didn’t, and before I knew what was happening, I was leaned over the hood of his car, both hands on it like I was going to be able to push it away from me. Without evening thinking, even before I stood back up again, I screamed, “I HAVE A FUCKING WALK SIGN!!”

I never thought I’d be a person who yells at other people. Growing up in Ohio, I never raised my voice to anyone but my little sister, and she totally deserved it. I don’t think I said a single curse word until 8th grade, and even then, I just did it because some kids said I wouldn’t. I was raised to give people the benefit of the doubt, to think before I speak, and to feel guilty when I don’t.

The cab driver leaned out his window and said, “The light! The light!”, pointing to the stoplight above his head. I thought for .02 seconds that he may have had a green arrow, but then I realized that:

1) the sign wouldn’t have turned to Walk if he had a turn arrow,
2) that light isn’t ever an arrow, and
3) I AM A PEDESTRIAN AND ALWAYS HAVE THE RIGHT OF WAY.

So even though this cab driver had totally been polite about yelling at me, I looked him in the eye and bellowed again,

I HAVE A FUCKING WALK SIGN!!

And then I crossed the street with my head held high as the electric company crew laughed at me and a couple of guys made fun of me in an Asian language, called Tracey to tell her how I’ve turned into an angry New Yorker, and spent the next 20 minutes hiding out in the grocery store in case he decided to pull around the block and club me with his tire iron.

Have I mentioned I hate cabs?

Hamptons Photodump!

plumpdumpling — Wed, 14 Jul 2010 17:30:31 +0000

No, we actually did go to the Hamptons. And here are the pictures to prove it:

An amazing array of incredible photos should be displayed here. Click to open the post in your browser to see the gallery.

Most of these were taken by my friend Anthony, who I want to be when I grow up. He took more than 1000 photos during the trip, if that’s any indication of what a good time we had. The pictures of us playing drunken Cranium (which I don’t even like) for five hours every night have been omitted. As have the pictures of me crying for another five hours after I fell down Rollerblading.

How to Water Plants in NYC

plumpdumpling — Tue, 13 Jul 2010 14:30:36 +0000

You should’ve seen the look this guy gave me when he saw me taking a picture of him.

People in some foreign countries don’t have any water at all, and we spray ours all over the sidewalk. I find it kind of sad and kind of awesome.

(Mostly awesome.)

Truly the Heart of It All

plumpdumpling — Mon, 12 Jul 2010 16:00:23 +0000

Last night, Kamran and I were walking down his hallway after putting the laundry in downstairs, and I said, “It smells like Johnny Marzetti up here!”

And then I was like, “Whoooooooa.” Because I haven’t said the words Johnny Marzetti in probably 16 years, which was the last time I ate an elementary school lunch. And I certainly haven’t thought about it since then, because I didn’t even like it at the time.

Kamran Wikipediaed it for me, and the entry says:

Johnny Marzetti is a baked pasta dish, or casserole, consisting of noodles, tomato sauce, ground beef, and cheese. Other ingredients and seasonings may be added to adjust the taste. The dish originated in Columbus, Ohio, at the Marzetti restaurant, and spread to other parts of the United States as variations of the recipe were published in magazines and cookbooks during the mid-20th century. The dish is still served in Ohio, especially at social gatherings and in school lunchrooms.

How great is that?! It started in Ohio and is still served there! Things like this fill me with such sentimental feelings for Ohio. I know that other states have culture that’s specific to them, but Ohio’s seems so much better to me: Euchre (which is supposedly from Pennsylvania but is only played by Ohioans), Cornhenge, Marilyn Manson, the U.S.’s first traffic light (in my hometown!), the world’s largest horseshoe crab, Bessie the Lake Erie Monster and now, Johnny Marzetti.

Had you heard of it?

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What I Talk About When I Talk About Reading at the Gym

plumpdumpling — Fri, 09 Jul 2010 17:30:49 +0000

I only downloaded Haruki Murakami’s What I Talk About When I Talk About Running because of its super-romantic-but-maybe-only-to-me title. I figured it was figurative, because obviously a book about running would never actually be called This is Totally a Book About Running. But it really is a memoir about training your body for marathons and how that relates to training your mind for writing, and I decided to go ahead with it because I like Murakami so well.

It’s fine reading it on the subway and all, but where I’m really getting the most joy out of it is in the gym. I used to seriously dread waking up at 5:45 to go to the basement of Kamran’s building, and I tried hard to make it more tolerable with books and movies, but I always bounced around too much to concentrate on tiny text, and I always got too easily bored with intense indie plotlines. But now that I can pump up the text size on my Kindle, going to the gym seems like a small sacrifice for having quiet time to read (because obviously I would never wake up before 6 just to challenge my intellect), and it makes me feel so much less hateful toward the elliptical machine when the person I’m reading about is working hard, too.

The first book I read in the gym on my Kindle was Bill Bryson’s A Walk in the Woods, and I actually found myself wanting to hike the Appalachian Trail while I read it. And now I actually find myself wanting to run while reading What I Talk About When I Talk About Running. This morning, I went an extra .3 miles just because Murakami told me my muscles will cooperate with me if I push them harder little by little. Before, I would purposely go .3 miles less every day just to spite Kamran and his desire for me to love working out.

So, now that I’m on this activity-themed book kick, anything you’d recommend?

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