Archive for the ‘Tasty ‘n’ Delicious’ Category

Important things I have learned recently.

Monday, May 13th, 2013

1. The song “Smooth Criminal” by Michael Jackson, we’re all familiar with it, right? You know there’s a part of the song where he sings, “Annie, are you okay? Are you okay? Are you okay, Annie?” Michael Jackson was taking a CPR class and the doll used for that class is called Resusci Annie and you are supposed to say, “Annie, are you okay?” before you pound on her chest and break all her ribs. Michael liked that and put it in his song. This is true.

2. In France, doughnut holes are called Nun’s Farts. Story goes that a nun had a spoonful of dough and she farted. The other nuns laughed so hard at her that she accidentally dropped the dough into frying oil and poof! doughnut holes were made. I think this story is slightly less true.

3. When I found out the Golden Retrievers that were in Newtown for people to pet were going to Boston, I got all teary-eyed. The tears came to a halt when I found out they are referred to as “Comfort Dogs”.

tumblr_mlgdf4u5An1ruw1vso1_500

Okay. Anyone read up on World War II? Ummm, does anyone immediately think of the Japanese and Korean women forced in to prostitution for the Japanese soldiers? You know they were called “Comfort Women“, right? Did anyone other than me think, “How could they do that to those dogs???” when it occurred to me that they just being petted by sad people and not degraded and made to sell their bodies? Still, maybe they could change the name to Dogs of Amelioration or something.

4. I don’t care much for Twitter. I find it confusing with all the retweets and the shorthand, but whenever I have an opportunity, I check up on “Florida Man”. Florida has a really lax policy on sharing police blotters and therefore all the crazy-pants things that occur in Florida the newspapers can write articles about. Here is a sample of a few of my favorites:

Florida Man Assaulted Boss With Chicken Tenders After Being Fired From Burger King

Florida Man Chugs Half-Pint Of Rum Before Jumping Into Storm Drain In Search Of Woman’s Keys, Nearly Drowns

Florida Man Arrested For Running Onto Field During Powder Puff Football Game, Spraying Silly String In Coach’s Face

Florida Man Used Dog Food To Steal $1,800 Worth Of Razors From Walmart

Police Suspect Florida Man Is Walking Awkwardly; Find Needles Between His Butt Cheeks, Pills In His Anus

Florida Man Tries To Kill Squirrel With Bullet Taped To BB Gun, Ends Up Hospitalized With Shrapnel Wounds

Addendum on 5/17: Did you know how stoats kill rabbits? They do a crazy dance that hypnotizes the rabbit. I adore rabbits, but I am not even slightly bothered by this. If you are dumb enough to be hypnotized by a jumping weasel, you deserve to be dinner. I found some video:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xsGs6oEGxJM

Juice cleanse.

Wednesday, May 1st, 2013

Nessa, my co-worker, has decided to do a three-day detox juice cleanse. She said why don’t I do it with her, and I thought why not? I am clearly an idiot. I now know a million reasons not to do this. Remember chewing? I don’t. I haven’t done it in three days. I want to gnaw on my own fingers. And kale is the worst thing ever. Ground up raw kale tastes like rancid grass clippings. I want to punch all the kale farmers right in the jibbly bits. I feel like I’m rockin’ a stomach virus, with the dizziness and the nausea and the sleepiness. We’ve never eaten so healthy in our lives, and we’ve never felt so crappy. I feel like this cleanse is a secret plot put out by McDonald’s to encourage people to eat more fast food. I want to make a t-shirt that says “I HEART PRESERVATIVES”. Did you know dead people are taking longer to decay? Really. It used to take something like two years, and now it takes about twice as long. They attribute that to all the preservatives we ingest. “Twinkies – helping our deceased keep more meat on their bones so they can more effectively turn into zombies should the need arise” should be their motto. I got to listen to Nessa barf up her dinner shake last night and I can honestly say it was one of the funniest things I’ve ever heard because betwixt the hurling she gave color commentary. “Harghhghgghh… It’s never gonna end oh God why… Huhgghghhhgh… When did I drink this much fluid?… Hughhhururgghhhhh… So many blueberries!” I would have gone and gotten her a glass or water or held her hair or something but I didn’t have the energy to get off the couch. I just lay there laughing at her. It must have looked like something from an experimental film. Did I mention yet that I hate kale? THE WORST. Tonight it’s all over and if I haven’t lost eleventeen-million pounds I’m gonna be so mad. I will try to raise my fist weakly and shake it if I can.

Two things.

Thursday, February 14th, 2013

1. I have discovered a truly delicious combination. You ready? Sweet potato fries and A-1 Steak Sauce. Now you might be thinking, Jessica, what about ketchup? Ketchup is not a good choice because it’s kind of sweet, and sweet potato fries are sweet, and then the whole thing gets too sugary. A-1 has a citrus-like tang to it and it’s far more savory, so it really compliments the fries without overpowering them. The combination of the vinegary spiciness with the neutral starchiness is terrific. My life may never be the same. Try it, I bet you’ll like it.

2. The Internet has coughed up another magical weirdness that I am really getting a kick out of. It’s called The Harlem Shake, and it is odd. Thanks to Know Your Meme I found where it started. There is a song called “Harlem Shake”, it came out over the summer, blah blah blah. Then, three weeks ago, a bunch of guys made this video.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8vJiSSAMNWw

Not especially special, right? I thought so too, but apparently there are now TWELVE THOUSAND different Harlem Shake videos. Three weeks. Twelve thousand. It’s crazypants. The videos have evolved too. Here’s how they work:

1. Person in mask or helmet dances alone. Other people do mundane activities and ignore masked person.

2. Chorus starts.

3. Everyone joins in and dances like lunatics, humping the air and the walls, punching invisible ninjas, etc.

I have chosen some of what I think are the finest examples of this new whatever. I suggest you do what I did, which is watch about one a day because that keeps them fresh. Just copy and paste all the links below and send them in an email to yourself so you can greet each morning with about 30 seconds of complete insanity.

Here’s some Sk8er boys doing it.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=384IUU43bfQ

 

Here’s some college students doing it.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ge4uCNAyjuU

 

Here’s some people named Matt and Kim at their concert doing it.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DABphlXEyW8

 

Here’s the Peanuts Gang doing it.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wqZc2dyClko

 

Here’s the Norwegian Army doing it.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4hpEnLtqUDg

 

Here is an agency I would kill to work for* named Wieden + Kennedy doing it.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cd8Fmh7nIrQ

 

And by far my favorite, here’s a family doing it.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ObHqqLE6zRQ

 

*Not because they do the Harlem Shake, but because the work they do is amazing. Alas, they are based in Portland, so no W+K love for me. Sigh. I must love them from afar.

Superb Owl 2013.

Thursday, February 7th, 2013

Hey, did everyone enjoy that Superb Owl? I was riveted for, oh, I would say three-quarters of that game, which for me is unheard of. I care not for the American version of rugby. I amused the hell out of my co-workers today when I attempted to describe the game to my parents who are in Israel and therefore were not privy to the goings-on of the NFL. It sounded like this:

Well, it was the Baltimore Ravens, so called because Poe and Baltimore and all that, and the San Francisco 49ers… who are called that for reasons I don’t know. I was rooting for the Ravens because I adore giant crows. Remember those times at the Tower of London when I had a long conversation with those big ole birds? Yeah, so I was rooting for them because you gotta root for somebody. I got to Nya’s house at about five because I wanted to stake out a killer spot on the couch so I could work on my embroidery during the boring bits*. Nessa met me there and our butts became fused to the sofa. I don’t think we got up for two hours, and then we got up in turns so as not to lose our dope couch positions. Anyway, I had an embarrassing moment at the very beginning when the Newtown Chorus and Jennifer Hudson sang “America the Beautiful” and I yelled out, “Hey, I thought Alicia Keyes was gonna sing out national anthem!” Nessa had to point out to me that, ummm, “America the Beautiful” is not our national anthem, never has been. My excuse was someone was singing a sweeping patriotic song and I just defaulted. Not a proud moment in my life. Then Alicia Keyes sang the real national anthem which I decided to honor by getting wings because gosh darnit, I like Alicia Keyes as a person but I do not care for her yell-y singing style. She also sang it as slow as physically possible. Glaciers moved three inches while she belted it out.

Then there was some coin-tossing and some running and hitting and I vaguely paid attention while Ravens annihilated the 49ers. The score was like 26 to 7 or something. I was actually really impressed with the quarterback for the 49ers. He has a name similar to that NSync member, Chris Kirkpatrick, something like that. Anyway, he’s really tall, like 6′ 5″ and he’s slim which is unusual for a quarterback. He was running like crazy, throwing the ball, doing all kinds of stuff. CBS did a whole little special on him, turns out he’s adopted. He had a 4.0 GPA. He’s devoted to his religion. But wait, it gets better. I found out he was also on the Cubs (baseball) and I think he also played basketball really well. HOW super-bummed are his birthparents for giving him up? I mean he’s a magical sporty forest creature beamed down from Mount Olympus, for crying out loud! And he seems very sweet as a person.

So after the first half ended (score a billion to two in favor of Baltimore) Beyonce came out! And sang! And danced! And looked amazing! I must say I am totally content to live in the United States of Beyonce, as it has become since the Inauguration / Super Bowl. I am happy to be a serf in her fiefdom. She performed approximately 3.14 lines of each of her big hits, she wore a black lace doily on her butt, it was wonderful. Then the second half started aaaaaand the lights went out in the stadium. Like, out out. It was dark. Since the game was happening in N’Awlins, Nessa took this opportunity to play the unfortunate clip of Wolf Blitzer saying poorly chosen words. The athletes seemed pretty chill about the whole lights-out thing, they just did stretches and jumpy exercises to keep their limbs… limber. It took fifteen minutes for the lights to get bright enough again, so CBS had a few thousand commercial breaks. Did I mention there was a Doritos commercial with a screaming goat? And a cars.com commercial with a bebbeh wolf? Combine that with the Clydedales in the Budweiser ads and it was a good year for me. The lights came back on, and then the craziest thing happened. A player, from the Ravens I think, got the ball in one endzone and RAN ALL THE WAY TO THE OTHER ENDZONE. No one tripped him, no one thought to trip him, it was very odd. Then the 49ers woke up and came to and got a bunch of touchdowns and the game got pretty close near the end. Finally it ended and the Ravens won and one of the players made a snow angel in the confetti on the field. I got three-quarters of a leaf embroidered and ate a pile of seven-layer dip, so I was happy. It was a good game all around.

*Photographic proof.

My resolution and some killer cookies.

Friday, January 4th, 2013

Happy New Year everybody! Did you have a nice celebratory time? I had a moderately good holiday season. I was supposed to go to Publicis’ annual holiday party where there is food and drink and music and merriment, but there was a pitch the next day so I was not allowed to go. It’s probably for the best. I make myself all fancy, all dressed up and get my hair did and put on fake lashes and I think I look like this:

But honestly, I usually look more like this:

Cricket went to Honduras with his sister Mishi to scuba-dive and left me all on my lonesome for New Year’s, so I made a really sad face and finally my friend JR included me in his plans. So I accompanied him and his preggers wife to a fabulous party where they had set up a photo booth. Here is a photo of the three of us.

On New Year’s I like to make super-basic, easily attainable resolutions if I’m going to make any at all. Last year I decided to learn to drink coffee. I now occasionally drink coffee. Hooray for me! This year I decided that come hell or high water, I am finishing that stupid leaf tapestry I started in the paleolithic era. It’s enough already. This year, it’s gettin’ done. I think I first designed it over twelve years ago. I blogged about it four years ago. You’re starting to see the glacial slowness with which I have progressed on this damned thing.

https://design-newyork.com.fwtrading.x10host.com/wp/2008/12/26/stuff-ive-been-making-recently/

I finished all the leaves and now I’m starting the frost. I’m using a silver foil thread which is troublesome because it tends to snag on the fabric and other threads and molecules in the air. But it’s creating the look I’m going for.

In completely unrelated news, I was looking at the various blogs I look at every day and I saw some seriously cool cookies. First, on dessertgirl.blogspot.com, there are adorable, Asian-inspired animal cookies. They are so effin’ sweet.

And then on semisweetdesigns.com, there are amazing steampunk cookies. These look fantastic. Be sure to go to her website and see some of her other designs, like the ambigram Halloween cookies.

Belgium for Thanksgiving 2012, Part 6.

Thursday, December 6th, 2012

Brussels! One of the most important buildings in Brussels is the Saint Cyr house. It’s a odd, extremely narrow swirly art nouveau building that is simply great, and when The Moomins and I encountered it we discovered the best thing. It’s for sale. You can buy it.

WANT. I want this. I will happily sleep on a twin bed forever if I owned this. The house instantly makes you awesome. Coming out in a robe to pick up the paper in your present abode – Lame. Coming out in a robe to pick up the paper in the Saint Cyr house – Exciting! Theatrical! Mesmerizing!

So let’s move onto Ghent. Ghent is a big favorite of mine. What a great city.

Fun fact: in Belgium and possibly all over Europe, the streets tend to curve because if someone shoots at you, you can duck around a corner and not get hit with an arrow or a bullet or whatever they’re shooting. That’s the reason a lot of the streets curve. Good to know.

I saw the same thing in Antwerp. Curvy roads.

When we arrived in Ghent, The Moomins and I promptly headed off to the museum to look at more 15th-century Flemish art, specifically because the best painting EVER, EVER is being restored there. Van Eyck’s polyptych, the Ghent Altarpiece. It’s one of the first oil paintings, so it’s done with a thin layer of oil, and then a thin layer of paint-glaze, then oil, then glaze, so the whole thing has a luminescence that is breath-taking. The whole front part looks like this:

It may not look like much, but the level of detail will cross your eyes.

And it’s that complex and ornate all over. AND the back’s painted as well, same level of intricacy. Mind-blowing. Right outside the grotto-area that they’ve put the altarpiece in is the sweetest attempt at it painted by children (I hope, because if it’s painted by adults, oh dear).

The cathedral that the Van Eyck masterpiece is housed in is not to be ignored.

The stained glass windows were really interesting to me because I had never seen this style before. The bottom part is a tableau with biblical scenes, but the upper parts were little squares with a repeating pattern on it.

Once again, very big with guilds and tradespeople. Look at the strip at the bottom. People doing stuff, maybe sewing or cartography or milling wheat, stuff like that.

This dame. I loved her flouncy head-thing.

Not all the windows were old. I’m guessing these were damaged in the fire or in the war, so they have a modern pattern.

The cathedral had something else I really liked, which was a case of silver body parts. Apparently if, like, your leg was bothering you, you could purchase a silver leg ornament and pray and put it in the case and God would hear you and heal your leg.

After taking in the loveliness of the Ghent Cathedral we went to the museum because our hunger for Flemmy art had not been sated. The museum itself is really aesthetically pleasing even without any art in it.

Now, I know I should cut the 15th century artists some slack because they were just figuring the whole oil painting thing out, but you know there were people in the 15th century. Lots of ’em, just walking around. You could look right at them with your eyeballs. So my eternal question is why, why were those artists so frikkin’ amazing at painting cloth and jewels and so very bad at painting people? Why do all the people look… odd? And don’t get me started on the way they painted babies. Not good. The lion and tiger thing I get, they were going on descriptions that other people told them about fierce beasts from other lands, but people are right there. Here, look at some examples.

The detail work: UNREAL. The people: carved out of wax with lazy eyes and a touch of palsy.

While I was there I also gazed at some impressionist work. I call this one “The Smudgy Smootchers”.

You may be wondering, “Jessica, what trick have you come up with to distinguish between Monet and Manet?*” I’m glad you asked. Impressionism doesn’t really use black or white. It’s a lot of muted pastels, or vibrant tones like oranges and yellows and sky blues. Like this painting, for example.

Well, Manet used black in his work, so black has an “a”, and so does the word Manet. If it looks like the painting above, it’s Monet. Black, Manet. Enjoy this irrelevant tidbit.

Okay, back to Ghent the City. They have a castle! It looks very castle-y.

We went in the front bit where they were filming a movie. British cameramen were milling around, and there was a guy in a Puss-n-Boots outfit drinking Starbucks coffee. We couldn’t really go in further due to the shoot, but as I turned around, the doorway of the castle framed the street in a really photogenic way.

Nearby is the former fish market. They could have just built some kind of structure and tacked on a sign that says, “Fish Market” with an arrow pointing down, but no, it has Neptune carved on the front and all manner of other sea references. They went all out.

The local former meat market was more chill. There wasn’t hula-hooping pigs and cows on the roof or anything.

The inside part was the meat market. Those booths you see outside, they now are little craft stalls but back in the day that’s where they sold offal.

Inside, hams are hanging to cure from the ceiling.

I adore a cured meat product, so I decided that we had to have lunch there. I ordered the local sampler platter which came with a variety of meats, one kind of cheese and the local mustard which is considered by many to be the best in the world.

And that was my Thanksgiving meal. It was delicious. Hooray! Thanksgiving!

Across the street was the mustard shop. It was all olde-worlde-charmy.

The Moomins and I decided to buy a jar, so the lady pointed to the various jar sizes and we picked one. Then the mustard lady did something I did not expect: she walked over to a giant barrel with an empty jar, picked up a wooden ladle with a divot in one side, and poured fresh mustard into the jar. Then we were told that we had to keep it in the fridge and eat it within six months, otherwise it would get stale.

And right next to the meat market was where the gallows originally were. This house is called “The Hanging House.” I can only imagine back in the day. Buying mustard, watching a hanging, just a typical Tuesday in Ghent.

Finally in Ghent, The Moomins and I went to the Design Museum. Which I adored (no surprises there) and I took a gazillion photos that look like this:

But the one piece I would like to share with you is the beautiful wooden chandelier. I’ve never seen a beautiful wooden chandelier. They always looked clunky and solid. This one was really nice. The best part is, if you look carefully, you will notice a Lego pirate at the helm of the ship. I don’t know who put that there, but hats of to you, sir or lady, you are awesome.

 

 

*I am 100% fully aware no one is asking themselves that. Work with me on this.

 

Belgium for Thanksgiving 2012, Part 2.

Saturday, December 1st, 2012

So, Belgium. It’s a weird little country. No one knows it’s there, but it’s actually a big deal. If I could live anywhere in Europe, I would live in Brussels. Why? For a few reasons. One, the food. Maybe the best food in Europe, for realzies. Bread, ham, cheese, pastries, chocolate, salad, seafood, wild game, soup – I ate everything and everything was exquisite. C’mon, they have a restaurant just for mushrooms called Les Spores, how awesome is that? One point five, the beer. I don’t drink beer, but they have really special water that makes really amazing beer. Beer is a food group there. Jem loves beer, and she asked me to take pictures for her while I was there, so Jem, these are for you.

The one being poured out of the little jug is a lambic which is only brewed in Belgium and only in a very specific area. And the one with the Brian Froud drawing on it, Troll Beer, I made The Moomins drink that just so I could get a pic of the bottle and glass (she didn’t mind, she said it was light and refreshing).

Two, the centrality and trains. Belgium was one of the first countries to have a train system going all over the place, and the rails are smooth as butter. It’s like there’s Metro-North all over the country. Some of the trains are double-deckers! Also, Brussels is the home of the European Union, so it is very worldly. And here’s the clincher: It’s got those crazy high-speed trains. A guy we met up with said, “Whenever I want to go clothes-shopping, I leave my house at 8:00 a.m., I’m on a train at 8:30 a.m., and I’m in Paris at 10:30 a.m. Then at night, I take a similar train home and I’m in my house at 9:00 p.m.” One way costs $30.00. So envious. It’s about one hour and forty minutes to London and about an hour and a half to Cologne. And it’s not like a flight, you can show up seven minutes before the train leaves.

Three, the architecture. Belgium is the home base for my favorite art movement, art nouveau. Here is Wikipedia’s definition of art nouveau:

Art Nouveau is an international philosophy and style of art, architecture and applied art—especially the decorative arts—that were most popular during 1890–1910. The name “Art Nouveau” is French for “new art”. A reaction to academic art of the 19th century, it was inspired by natural forms and structures, not only in flowers and plants but also in curved lines. Architects tried to harmonize with the natural environment. It is also considered a philosophy of design of furniture, which was designed according to the whole building and made part of ordinary life.

Translation: Lots of nature and swirly curved lines with tension. I love it. I kept walking all over almost getting hit by cars while gawking at amazing buildings that I wanted to hug. They really love that style. It’s on their buses:

And their bus stops.

But even when their architecture isn’t art nouveau, it’s still beautiful and visually delicious.

By the way, please note that it is overcast in all these photos because in Belgium it rains all the time, which I actually count as a plus. First of all, everyone’s skin is soft and beautiful from the mist. And guess who would never have to squint and wear sunglasses and sunblock ever again? This guy *points to self*. Their winters don’t get as cold as ours here, so there’s no biting wind that chisels your flesh offa your bones.

They also have a Grand Place (Center Square), which is ORNATE. Did I type that in big enough letters? Because it is. Guilds were/are an important thing there. Each one of these buildings is a guild house of some kind. Lonely Planet has a short list:

No 1: Maison des Boulangers (Bakers’ House)- Le Roy d’Espagne, one of the square’s most popular cafés, occupies this building, which belonged to the bakers’ guild. The gilded bronze bust above the door represents their patron, St Aubert.

No 2: La Brouette (The Wheelbarrow)- Faint gold wheelbarrows can still be seen above the door of this house, which was home to the grease-makers. The statue of St Gilles was added in 1912.

No 4: Le Sac (The Bag) This incredibly ornate building was the headquarters of the cabinet-makers.

No 5: La Louve (The She-Wolf)- The archers’ guild topped their building with a golden phoenix rising from the ashes to signify the rebirth of the Grand Place after the bombardment.

No 6: Le Cornet (The Horn)- The boatmen’s guild is easily identified by the stern-shaped gable.

No 7: Le Renard (The Fox) This house served the haberdashers.

No 8: L’Étoile (The Star)- Across Rue Charles Buls from the Hôtel de Ville, this is the smallest building on the square. Everard ‘t Serclaes, the city’s hero and modern-day good luck charm, died here.

No 9: Le Cygne (The Swan)- Adorned with a huge swan and built in classical style, this house originally served the butchers’ guild. Nowadays it’s home to the square’s finest restaurant.

No 10: L’Arbre d’Or (The Golden Tree)- Hops plants climbing columns hint at this building’s former and current role as the brewers’ headquarters.

Nos 26 & 27: Le Pigeon- This guildhall belonged to the city’s artists. Later, Victor Hugo lived here during his exile from France in 1852.

One of the things that we don’t get here in ‘Merka is old things. Really old things. They’re so used to it, they build around it. I came across this walking around. I would love to live in the building next door and give directions. “Yeah, so when you see the chunk of monastery parked in the middle of the road, turn left.”

Same thing in Ghent. Castle hangin’ out in the middle of traffic.

And Antwerp. Castles be everywhere.

So The Moomins and I used Brussels as a base and took day trips to three different neighboring cities: Antwerp, Bruges and Ghent. They are all less than an hour away, so it was no big deal with those fab trains they be rockin’. Antwerp was a must-see on my list because of the buildings there. They have a famous neighborhood that is now a city heritage site and cannot be torn down or modified in any way. See, Antwerp was and still is a major harbor city with goods going in and out all the time. At the turn of the century (and I mean 1899 to 1900, not the recent turnover) a great deal of wealthy German merchants were coming through, so someone had the idea to build an enticing and elegant neighborhood for them to live in. This is what it looks like. Every building is a jewel.

Well, all the buildings except one. When Antwerp got bombed in the Second World War, one of the buildings was destroyed, so this one was built in its place. People were MAD. I would be mad too. Those two houses are not working with the theme at all.

There’s a crossroad that is so sweet. They got the same architect to build all four buildings on all four corners, and each one is named after a season.

While it looks like each building is a mansion, it’s actually three or four houses inside. This cracked me up. Apparently the person on the right paid to have the exterior of their home cleaned and the person on the left did not. It’s like a before and after clip in an infomercial for tub cleaner.

As I said, Antwerp is a harbor city. Since the harbor isn’t in as much use as it used to be, they built the art museum on the banks of the river. While I don’t love the look of it, I like that they made the windows out of woogly glass so it resembled water.

We didn’t go to any of the exhibits, we only went to the roof to look at the view. And then the sun came out, which caused everyone to react like they were either seeing God manifested as man, or to sizzle and hiss.

We passed this cool samurai sculpture on our way up though to the roof.

Tomorrow: more Antwerp.

Belgium for Thanksgiving 2012, Part 1.

Friday, November 30th, 2012

I think I have lived in America too long. I consider myself an open-minded person, but after a week in Europe I realize that the puritanical values America is famous for have rubbed off on me in a big way. Let me tell you about my first 36 hours in Belgium. Remember a bunch of posts ago when I wrote about Tardar Sauce the Grumpy Cat? While walking around the streets of Belgium, I made a specific Grumpy-Cat face every time I was confronted with a big chunk of political incorrectness, which I will place here periodically for emphasis.

I arrived in Belgium at 9:00 a.m., and as soon as The Moomins and I got off the plane we headed to the major train station so we could go to a city called Tongeren. We went because it’s the oldest city in Belgium, but more importantly it has an enormous antiques market on Sunday. The train station we had to transfer in was beautifully-designed and airy:

While we were there we grabbed some late-ish breakfast (fantastic, the food in Belgium is fantastic, more on that later) where I saw a man have a glass of red wine with his meal. At 10:00. I saw a lot of that. I think they are not as miffed by drinking as we are here. I decided that everyone there would be classified in America as a “functioning alcoholic”. So, so very much beer consumption. Holy crap-badgers.

Moving on. We arrived in Tongeren eventually where I fell asleep for the next fourteen hours. I hadn’t really slept in going on four days and I thought I was going to die. Also, I wanted to be rested for the antiques market the next day. At 7:00 a.m., we woke up and toddled off to look around the city center and the various large open spaces where people had set up booths. At this time I was introduced to Swartepiet.

Brace yourselves.

They don’t have Santa Claus the way we have him. If you have been good, Saint Nick the Bishop comes to your house and gives you gifts. However, if you’ve been bad, a black man names Zwartepiet (Black Peter) comes to your house and whips you. Imagine what it must have been like in, say, the 1910s and 1920s. You’re a black man from the Belgian Congo and you come to Belgium, but everywhere you go children who have never seen a black man freak out and scream as you approach. Sounds delightful, no? Apparently, since travel is so prevalent now and there are black people over here and white people over there and everyone’s mixed together, Zwartepiet’s role has been changed to Saint Nick’s helper. Okay, better. BUT, whenever he is performed by a living breathing human, it is always a white person in blackface. ALWAYS. And it’s EVERYWHERE.

I was APPALLED. I wanted to walk up to everybody and say, “Ummm, you know you’re not allowed to do that?” And there was no escaping it. I kept waiting for Al Jolson to come out singing about Mammy, it was so offensive.

During my unavoidable tour of racist imagery, I was walking in and out of booths people had set up on the street. I ended up buying some art nouveau stuff, it was great. And then there were two or three booths selling… Nazi memorabilia.

Tongeren is on the border with Germany, so it’s pretty easy to come by that stuff. It’s just weird to me to see passports and books and medals and helmets with swastikas and scary black eagles on them all out in the open. There was a second-edition copy of Mein Kampf sitting out there, so I thumbed through it. And I was saddened, but not for the reason you’d think. I realized the entire book, every last word, is written in the Olde Englishe typeface. Who can read that? I found a sample page to show you how difficult it is to read (by the way, I recommend not typing in “Mein Kampf” into Google and hitting images – not good):

How obnoxious would it be if, because I am white, I wrote my whole blog like this?

Or even worst, because I’m an Eastern-European Jew, how about this?

Horrible. I quickly shimmied away from the creepy Nazi stuff and had an amazing lunch and then we went to visit the big church in the middle of town. Cricket asked me later in the week how many museums I had gone to and I said, “None.” He was puzzled and asked what I was doing. I said, “Going to churches.” He said, “Why?” and I said, “Because that’s where they keep the art here.” I went to about seven churches/cathedrals in six days. Here’s the Tongeren church.

We got to the church around 12:30 where… the local nuns were hosting a cocktail party in the aisles. At 12:30 on a Sunday.

I turned to The Moomins and said quietly, “Is everyone in the village getting drunk on nun wine in the middle of the day? Aren’t they supposed to be praying or something?” Call me old-fashioned, but I think Brides of Christ should be tending to the poor or teaching children to read, not getting tipsy and jocular at noon in a House of God, in front of a giant wooden sculpture of Jesus on the cross bleeding.

I took a bunch more pictures of the church (very lovely) and The Moomins and I wandered around the city looking at old ruins. It used to be a Roman garrison and there are still bits of wall left over from when there were Gauls and Huns, marauding hordes, all that good stuff.

Speaking of Huns, in one of their squares they have a giant statue of a Hun and he looks exactly like Thor, with the winged helmet and an axe instead of a hammer. The base had boar’s heads and spears all around, it was terrific.

In another square, however, there was another statue and I could not believe my eyes when I saw it. Could not. It was, and I’m not making any of this up, a fountain slash bronze sculpture of three whores, two of whom are arguing and one who is WASHING HER NO-NO PLACE AND YOU CAN SEE HER LABIA OH MY GOD WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE.

Are there no rules in your country? Is everyone just perpetually drunk and in blackface, proudly displaying their Third Reich trinkets while doing genital ablutions in the town square??? Seriously, Europe, get it together.

Not to imply that Tongeren wasn’t lovely. It was. For example, outside the church was a small metal model of the church with braille so blind people could figure out the layout. That is super-thoughtful.

And the local pastry shop was exquisite. The Moomins and I stood in front of the window and almost wept at the beauty of the baked goods.

And everyone was really nice at the antiques market. Really gracious and pleasant. So please don’t get the wrong idea. As I said at the beginning, I think I have become extremely politically correct against my best intentions, so when I encounter things like this, it throws me a bit.

Coming up next: Brussels and some Antwerp.

Fun bits.

Friday, November 9th, 2012

1. Alcoholic spirits are called that because when they distill them, the alcohol (“spirit”) is separated from the fermented base (“body”). When you drink liquor, you are drinking the ghost of potatoes or wheat or corn. Incidentally, “Potato Ghost” would be a cool name for a vodka. Thank you, Modern Marvels.

2. I went to go vote in my district for the first time even though I have lived in White Plains for six years. The last time I voted in my old district. I found out I needed to go to a church down the street from from my apartment. Lovely church. Built in 1923. Everything was going great until I saw their sign.

Does everyone see that?

What’s… what’s with the itty-bitty “h”?! There’s a full-size “h” four letters before! I’m really glad I don’t see that every day because that would really chap my rump. Stupid tiny “h”.

3. It’s really great that I am not a thin fashionable woman because I would spend all my monies on clothes. For example, these sequined pants. Sequins in cool stripes on a nude background. They are SHNAZZY. If I wore them I would feel like I had the backdrop to “Solid Gold” wrapped around my legs.

The Epic Trek.

Friday, November 2nd, 2012

Oh hey everyone, did y’all notice that storm that blew through here? Sandy, I think they called it? Wasn’t that just a blasty-blast? I am considering moving to the Australian outback and living in a hole in the ground where it is nice and dry and never rains. They do that in the Outback, you know. When I was in high school I saw “Priscilla, Queen of the Desert” and there’s a mining town where it’s really warm and people pop up like moles at night from their cool subterranean dwellings to drink beer and loiter. I bet they don’t wake up in the morning to branches everywhere and bleeping disconnected phones and news footage of an entire roller coaster sitting in the ocean.

So here’s my saga: I was sitting in bed eating (because what else are you going to do right after a hurricane that is also a tornado/flash flood/biblical plague?) on Tuesday evening when I got a text from my boss. “How R U”, it said. I, unwisely, said I was fine and I had electricity and internet and phones. He said, “Please contact M. and find out if you can help on this pitch” so I texted my co-worker M. and D. got involved and then all of a sudden C. and B. were contacting me asking me if I could help with this pitch, but I didn’t have a laptop so all my files and fonts were at work. We all agreed that it was a dick move that the potential client wouldn’t change their meeting from Friday to a later date because, you know, the East Coast is so very damp right now, but they wouldn’t and people were flipping out. It became abundantly clear that I needed to go into work on Wednesday, where we had electricity and phones but no internet. There were no trains, no subways, tree branches everywhere, wires down, bridges closed, etc. I called my co-worker Nessa who lives in Queens and asked if I could stay with her, and then I called my dad and had him drive me to Queens. Nessa was thoroughly delightful and showed rom-coms to me. I saw “How To Lose A Man In 10 Days” and I’m ashamed to say that I liked it. Who knew Kate Hudson was funny? Anyway, I asked how we would get into the city and she said, “Oh, we can walk over the Queensboro Bridge. It’ll only take 45 minutes.” I found out later that this was a LIE.

We woke up at 10:00 a.m. Wednesday and started walking with the rest of Astoria and Long Island City. It looked like a mass exodus from an abandoned nuclear wasteland to the one town with a functioning Wal-Mart that has three cans of beans still untainted by radiation.

We walked and walked and finally got to the Queenboro Bridge which was awash with a-hole bicyclists. Yes, I understand that you cycle to work every day, Mr. Bike-Man, but there’s a ton more people on your bike path today, so you think you could stop fring-fringing and yelling at everyone and just walk your bike across the bridge like a civilized member of society? Maybe?

At one point an ancient crusty man who looked like a sailor from a crab boat hollered in Nessa’s ear, “ON YOUR RRRRRIGHT!!!” in a thick Scottish accent and Nessa just snapped. “I WILL PUSH YOU OFF YOUR BIKE, SIR.” Once we got to the Manhattan side and sauntered down Park Avenue we saw a Rottweiler dressed as a skunk (it was Halloween, remember) take a giant mushy dump in front of an apartment building and the owner, a tall slim blonde woman on her phone, made absolutely no attempt to pick it up which caused the doorman in front of the building to chastise her and she ignored him because poop-scooping was beneath her, the entitled snotbag. The whole interaction reminded me how much I hate everyone (except for the skunk-weiler, he seemed to be free of fault). Finally, after walking for 5.3 miles, we got to work and about twenty minutes after I got there I got a phone call that the meeting had been postponed for two weeks. All this for nothing. I grumpily pottered around on my computer organizing files and whatnot, and about three hours later Nessa and I decided, ah, the hell with it, let’s go home. Maybe we can get on a bus. And then we saw the lines for the buses.

Yeah, no bus for us. Since the sun was getting low in the sky and it was chilly and windy, and because I figured I would be walking for another hour-and-a-half, I put on my extremely warm and extremely stupid-looking American Eagle bonnet with knitted horns on it that I kept at my office to startle interns.

As Nessa and I were trudging over to the East Side we tried to cab it for a little while, but that didn’t go too great. Our driver tried to rip us off twice and we were getting car-sick from the stop and go and stop and go and rinse and repeat. So we walked onward. And encountered The Barrier.

I think it’s there to keep bicyclists and walkers from wandering right out into the street. We had a choice: we could walk aaaaaaaaall the way down the block, around The Barrier and aaaaaaaaaall the way back, or we could just climb over this thing like everyone else. I was all for the walking option, but Nessa is sporty and had no problem hopping over this. So I decided to make a go of it. And a horrible-looking go it was. I am many things, but athletic is not one of them. I get winded taking the elevator. In between laughing at me, Nessa took pictures.

Nessa promised that we could have these really good milkshakes at a local joint as soon as we got to Astoria. I felt bad for that bartender. We dragged our sorry tired selves into this nice establishment and the bartender asked us what we want, assuming that we were adults and would want adult beverages. Nope. Milkshakes. Strawberry for me, Salted Caramel for Nessa. Make ’em snappy. Did I mention that at this point I’m still wearing my Hagrid-Hat and Nessa is wearing cat ears and a sombrero on her backpack for no reason whatsoever? And we’re drinking milkshakes at a bar? We are very cool. And I didn’t even feel guilty about this tasty treat since I had walked over ten miles that day. Woo, my thighs were tight for the rest of the evening. Every time I got up off the couch to go to the bathroom, I creaked like a haunted attic.

The next day some of the subways were running, so we took the subway in and sang a big chunk of the time. Harmonizing stuff. I considered putting out my hat to collect change. When we got to work we had email and internet so work actually got done and Metro-North was partially running, so I thanked Nessa for putting me up for two days (thank you, Nessa) and walked to Grand Central to catch a train back to White Plains. It’s still electricity-starved in New York. On 37th and 6th, when I looked left I saw this:

But when I looked right, I saw THIS:

Dark. Dark and terrifying.

Anyway, for me it’s all over now, everything’s back to normal-ish and I feel extremely lucky to have had no permanent damage to myself and my possessions and my loved ones. I got off easy on this one.

Two unrelated photos: Astoria is predominantly Greek? Don’t believe me? This picture really captures the Greekiness, I think.

And while sitting on the couch in the evenings I got to pet Gizzy, my second favorite cat in the whole world. She’s extremely fine-boned but she has a big udder hangin’ from her midsection, so she looks like an elongated beanbag. She’s a love-monster and she lets me pick her up and rub on her udder. Great cat.