In Which the Brat Pack Remains Timeless

Well. I did it again, folks (that is, of course, assuming there is more than one person in the universe reading this). It's been well over a year since I last posted and, well, it's been a year.

 I stumbled upon that last post a few weeks ago, and was struck by its hopefulness. Not that I'm not hopeful or optimistic now, but I think there's a special class of positivity reserved for those first few weeks after college when you're not quite sure what you're going to do but you know it'll be great and you know that your friends--the ones you've pulled all nighters with and the ones you've went abroad with and the ones that you were not even embarrassed to be seen eating more than one buffalo chicken wrap in the cafe the day after halloween in baggy sweatpants and baseball caps with--will be there with you the whole way.

Now standing on the other side of that year, I can say that not all of that is true. Sure, you'll be hopeful. Of course! How could you not be--around every corner is a new possibility. And sure, you'll know what you want to do. But then the next day, it'll be something different. And the day after that? Who knows. And maybe one day, you'll wake up and realize that the grad program you're in--the one you've dreamed about and seemed perfect on paper--isn't want you want anymore. But maybe you'll luck out and there'll be another program you love and it won't be too late to transfer. Maybe you won't. But the day after that? Who knows.

I'm sitting here at my desk looking around. With few exceptions, all of the pictures I have hanging up are of me & my college friends. In these snapshots, we're abroad, we're wine-touring, we're climbing over one another in ridiculous halloween costumes, we're laughing, we're graduating; we're happy. The same 5 or 6 people pop up several times; when I think about college, they're the first ones that come to mind. They're the ones who really made those four years, they're the ones who literally held me up when I could not stand or breathe or think on my own after getting bad news, and they're the ones whose houses I would just sort of show up at and be welcomed in, even if they weren't having the best day (or, in some cases, even if they weren't even home)to watch movies or eat dinner or just do nothing. They are, unequivocally, the best. Of those 5 or 6, I've only spoken to 3; I've only seen those same 3. I've only had a real conversation with two. I've missed new jobs and new boyfriends and the end of college and the end of grad school for some. Things like that are, of course, a two way street. So they haven't heard my stories of the great triumphs and minuscule failures--and vice versa--of this year. Of the inevitable ups and downs of post-grad life. I'm not bitter, but it's a fact. We all sort of lost out on that one.

So, a year out. And this is where we are. So. What's the point of all of this? St. Elmo's Fire. One of my roommates no, one of my friends has been after me to watch this movie for a year. A full year. And I didn't see it til now. And now, I get it. Now I understand why my roommates greeted me with looks of sympathy and the suggestion that "This year's gonna take a lot of wine." I think, at least, I'm beginning to. Everyone thinks everything just comes together after college. But if it didn't in the 80's, it certainly won't now.

And that's not to say that things don't, just that...a "coming together" implies that things were once apart. And that's where we all are. We're gathering our own things for the first time and figuring out how they fit. And sometimes they won't. Sometimes you just have to give in and realize that the effort you put into something wasn't enough to make it work. But really, isn't it better that way? Why struggle to fit in a piece that won't fit--a piece that would take the place of what should be there?

I'm getting way off point here, I think, but--was there a main point to begin with? Immediately after the movie finished, I wish someone had warned me about this year--not that it would be awful, because it hasn't been! But that it would be difficult and, at times, unbearably volatile. But now that I think about it, a warning would prevent and, maybe, negate the growth. Being debased is uncomfortable, but finding your footing--or even beginning to--can be the best feeling.

So, in conclusion: Stop making up drama, realize that things are gonna change, and remember that although you eventually move on from it, the beginning is the most important part.


 

an old post, revisited; or, the only way to move forward is to look back

Well, I did it again. It's been nearly 6 months since I've written here. Whoops! So much has changed in those months--way more than I can recount (or care to, really). In short, I have a shiny new degree to my name, another few lines to add to my resume and memories of some amazing moments with some wonderful people.

I have a feeling I'll be writing a lot more now, not only because I have way too much free time now, but because the reason I started blogging has resurfaced: keeping the people I love who are far away (maybe not oceans and continents apart this time, but far enough) in the loop about my adventures. They might not be happening right now, but I know they will soon. For all of us.

In looking through my old posts, I found this gem from last summer that I never got around to publishing (I also found out that someone from Mexico has been reading my blog. So cool!), and it seems appropriate, so, here we are:

This is the stuff that binds us
[2012 note: still love this song, appropriately called "Velcro" by Bell X1]

Describing my past week in a word is actually quite simple: Wonderful. Amazing. Enlightening. Life-Changing. (In the words of Ralph Fiennes, it's one word if you say it really quickly!)

I moved back upstate to work at school, and settled in to a house with some of my closest friends. I didn't really think it was possible, but we've all gotten so much closer. Case in point--yesterday. It was reunion weekend here, which culminates in a huge party on the quad. While that was a ton of fun, that's not the point; what happens after is. Did four of us end up sobbing on our front porch at 4 AM? Of course. Did we end up venting about what bothers us most? Yes. But the thing is you can't have that type of conversation with just anyone. And you can't walk away from it feeling better about things unless you are really close. Maybe it was a little bit dramatic, but I think we all walked away knowing that we all cared about and were there for each other.

So, all in all, a very sisterhood-of-the-travelling-pants moment, really--followed by brunch and a day of vegging out watching movies.

I'm positive I had more to say, and I don't know why I stopped writing. But I can imagine. I was probably sitting at my desk in my attic room when there was a knock on my door, or maybe my wall (my next door neighbor and I had worked out a code), or maybe a text from my best friend who lived across the street, asking if I wanted to go out to dinner, or take a walk by the lake, or go get ice cream, or any of the millions of other things that may have seemed insignificant at the time but made last summer truly amazing.

But that story above still sticks out--I think it probably does for everyone who was there. I am still incredibly close with the other three people in that porch conversation--and with those who joined us for our movie marathon the day after. Over the past year, we have seen each other struggle; succeed; fall down; get back up again; get good news; get bad news; not get any news at all; heard each other's names called as we walked across a stage to receive our diplomas--our certificates of young adulthood, and our tickets to...more school, jobs, new cities, the rest of our lives. We've left that proverbial porch and all that came with it--the lakeview, the stacks in the library, the comfort of knowing that a commiserating friend, a much needed hug, a just-out-of-the-oven cookie was a text, a phone call, a short walk away.

That's the irony of this all, isn't it? Things come together and then...they're not. Does drifting count as breaking apart? What about breaking away? Moving away--or up or on? I don't think I'm really qualified to answer that; I'm not sure anyone really is. Regardless, I think there comes a point where you have experienced so much with someone (or a group of someones), so many moments like the one listed above, that time and space and distance sort of cease to matter. They're just numbers, after all. And how could numbers possibly compete with memories, emotions, words, moments of uninhibited laughter?

This, this is the stuff that binds us.

Back to Bl(ogging)ack!

I'm a terrible blogger, I know! So sorry! Just kidding, I don't think anyone reads this, but just in case, hi mom!

The most dreaded time of year has arrived--FINALS. What better way to damper the Christmas spirit of approximately a billion and a half college kids than to make them take exams when it's a) winter b) dark out at 4 and c) after they've eaten enough turkey to knock out a giant? Cruel, right? On the other hand, 25 Days of Christmas programming is perfect for procrastination (why yes, I am watching The Santa Clause now; thanks for asking!).

Also perfect for procrastinating? Blogging. And making lists.

So here, for the first time in print EVER, are my patented calorie rules, guaranteed to make your diet 85% less effective but you 137% happier.

1. Yogurt pretzels don't count. (Yogurt is good for you & pretzels aren't bad for you, so no calories, obviously.)
2. If you share whatever you're eating/drinking with someone, they take all of the calories (this, of course, applies to them as well, so the calories disappear!)
3. Mochas never count.
4. Chocolate doesn't count on Wednesdays.
5. Anything consumed between 5 pm Friday and 3pm Sunday is calorie free.

(ETA #6! How could I forget?! Thanks to the ever diligent Court for reminding me of the most important calorie rule!)

6. Nothing has calories if eaten in pairs (I'm looking at you sour gummy worms & oreos!).


See? They're simple! I have to run to watch Christmas movies and (maybe) write papers, but I have a feeling I'll be back soon...

In Which I Present a Bribe of Delicious Proportions

So remember when I promised to post every day? Yeah, I don't either. Anyway, since it is a glorious summer day (Friday? Check! Payday? Check! [PUN!] 75 and sunny? Check!) I thought I'd share a recipe for my favorite dessert (which I actually meant to post Memorial Day weekend, but hey...bygones!).

So here--in all of its unadulterated awesomeness--is my recipe for BANOFFEE PIE, modified from The Hungry Monk of East Sussex.

Ingredients:



Crust:
1 package of digestive biscuits
a few tablespoons of butter/margarine

Filling:
1 can (12/13 oz) condensed milk
3 or 4 bananas

Garnish/Topping:
1 pt. heavy cream
1 c sugar
Chocolate chips/shavings
Cinnamon


1. Crush digestives in any manner in which you choose. I went the old fashioned way --put them in a ziploc and pound with a frying pan. Not suggested if you like to look classy while you bake.

Before:


After:



2. Melt butter/margarine/lard and stir into crushed digestives.

3. Form crust in pie dish/tin and bake for about 10 minutes at 350 degrees.

VOILA, PIE CRUST!



Now, for the fun stuff--making the toffee. (If you end up liking the recipe, I suggest doing this section in bulk because it's really time consuming/annoying/the finished product has an ridiculously long shelf life.)

4. Remove label from can of condensed milk and put it in a pot of water. (Do not open it; it must stay sealed.)

5. Boil for about 2.5 hours. IMPORTANT: YOU MUST MAKE SURE THE WATER DOESN'T BOIL DOWN. MAKE SURE THE CAN IS FULLY SUBMERGED AT ALL TIMES. IF IT BOILS DRY, IT WILL EXPLODE.*

...riveting.



*Funny story about these cans exploding: I was making a banoffee a few weeks ago, got impatient and decided to take the cans of condensed milk off the stove after 1.5 hours. The cans I had were the easy open kind and I didn't wait for them to cool so when I opened them, piping hot toffee shot out hitting me, the kitchen ceiling, and a friend who was next to me. After an emergency phone call to an EMT friend who was wine-touring in Napa, I put a bandaid on the lovely second degree burn that had sprouted on my arm and asked a taller friend to kindly remove the dessert from the ceiling. She obliged, all was well with the world, and I had a new funny story to tell. But still, this is a cautionary tale so: BOIL THE CONDENSED MILK FOR AT LEAST TWO HOURS AND LET IT COOL BEFORE YOU OPEN IT.

6. Pour toffee (it should be a little thicker than yogurt in consistency...like Greek yogurt, actually.) into the cooled pie crust.

7. Slice bananas and put them on top of toffee (you can also put them under the toffee...or under and on top, if you really like bananas....since you asked, this is definitely what I do).



Also optional: put chocolate chips/shavings IN the pie, too!

8. Make whipped cream---cream+sugar+whisk/mixer. Really simple. Really delicious.


yum.


9. Put whipped cream on pie; garnish with chocolate chips/shavings and cinnamon and enjoy!





Random tip: If the toffee isn't quite the right consistency/it's going to be really hot out, pop the pie in the freezer for a few hours prior to serving.

Kitchen Angst

Over the summer, I am living in a tiny (and by tiny I mean deceptively large) house on a gorgeous lake with 15 other people, some of whom I have known for ages and are among my closest friends. It's fantastic about 85% of the time. The other 15% encompasses time spent cooking and/or eating. You see, even though the house is gigantic, our kitchen is slightly larger than the walk-in beer refrigerator at our local supermarket. (Sorry if that isn't helpful, but I'm no good with dimensions...but if it helps, despite being in a college town, that refrigerator isn't anything to write home about.)
Part of the problem is that there a table in the middle of the kitchen. Cute? Yes. In the way? You better believe it. Only has three chairs? Damn right. (Just a side note on that--really? What sort of place has a kitchen table with only three chairs? Better yet, what kind of house that has 16 people living in it only has three chairs? So many questions!)There are two fridges, which is nice, but they are way overcrowded and one risks bodily harm every time a door is opened. This morning, I was attacked by a pound of pizza dough that has been teetering on the edge of the shelf above mine; this afternoon it was half a gallon of cranberry juice that flew from its perch on the door every time someone reached in for cold cuts.

I suppose part of the problem is crowding--the entire house is in the kitchen between 8 and 9, noon and 1, and 6 and 7, but it's also the type of people, I think. I'm developing this theory in which everyone has his or her own kitchen personality. I am what I like to call a kitchen diva--I need my space, it can't be too hot, there better be counter space, and you better not use my soy sauce. There are a few other kitchen divas in the house, but there are also those practicing for the Olympic pairs figure-cooking competition (invariably takes both parties involved to make a meal. Both must watch pots of water boil, both must be involved in the dumping of weird $2/lb meat down the sink, and both must avoid eye contact with all others in the kitchen), those who lurk (some open the oven door while you are tending to an omelette on the stove, nearly bowling you over without as much as a word; there are others who silently wash three apples, take exactly one bite out of each, before throwing them all out and making their way to the corner to watch you eat your bowl of cereal). Still, there are those who make dinnertime into a competition about wealth ("Oh these are from Chile, you see," they'll explain, accent and all. "I think they're out of season here...") and those who make it absolutely miserable by dumping half of the pasta you had sitting in a collander into the sink itself, ignorning the fact that it happened, and lying about it when asked.

I love cooking, I really do! I have a cart of cookbooks saved on Amazon, just waiting for me to make up my mind (it's tough, really. Bitchin' Kitchen or Traditional Irish Recipes? Options, options, options). And I do have quiet a formidable apron collection, all sitting in storage just waiting to be used. But all of this kitchen drama has given me "kitchen angst" (as some of my friends have named it),and a summer of eating cereal exclusively is starting to look like a pretty decent option.

Yer a Wizard, Harry!

As the title of this post might imply, I am a huge Harry Potter fan. There was an exhibition of costumes and props from the movie in Times Square, so I obviously went. And it was all kinds of fantastic! They had costumes from all of the movies so far, and recreations of the sets-- the Gryffindor dorms, Hagrid's hut, etc. It was so cool to see the costumes up close--and fascinating to see how they have changed throughout the films (the Quidditch stuff has changed a ton!). They also had the life-size models for a ton of the characters/animals that are mostly CGI--including a dragon, Kreacher, Dobby, and a thestral...so cool! The props were also really awesome--most of the character's wands, textbooks, Ron's Chudley Cannons fanboy stuff, the Horcruxes (!!!), Fred and George's Skiving Snackboxes (!!!!), and the Time Turner (!!!!!!!!!!!) It's hard to pick a favorite part, but I can narrow it down to two sections--the recreation from Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban (which is definitely my favorite movie of the series) of this scene outside Hagrid's hut, complete with Harry, Ron, Hermione, and the executioner's costumes and a very large Buckbeak:



and the "Great Hall" set up for the Yule Ball. The Yule Ball costumes were fantastic (Hermione's dress? Gorgeous!), but the best part was the detail that went into some of the props that were never really even seen on camera--copies of the Daily Prophet have actual articles written, and there were really detailed Ministry of Magic reports on the "unfavorable Muggle sentiments" of some characters. Wicked cool.


On a less dorky note, I finally managed to find a pair of black, closed-toe, espadrille wedges that were not approximately 8 feet tall--after going to no less than 7 H & Ms to find them in my size (er...a size smaller than they're supposed to be. It's easier to stretch things than shrink them, right?). Less dorky sure, but still ridiculous. Oh well.

My Running Feet Can Fly

Ugh, less than a week in and I've already broken my promise to post every day...three times? Four? Regardless, awful of me.

Lots of unpacking was done, hair was cut, frozen yogurt was eaten.

Saturday was actually quite busy. I went to a festival down by the harbor, organized by a local company called Atlantic Salt (which is misleadingly nice/fancy name because they really supply salt to be put on the roads in the winter) which was a lot of fun. I guess it was geared toward families/younger kids (the arts and crafts tipped me off for that one) but there was also a Coast Guard ship, complete with sailors to give tours. So, fun for everyone. (Not quite Fleet Week, but I'm not one to complain.) Then I had to leave to "rescue" my aunt from a bridal shower she did not want to be at, which was fun albeit a little ridiculous.

Sunday was lovely by virtue of the fact that it included a trip to Ikea. I don't think I've ever really expressed my love for Swedish homegoods adequately, but here we are: I. Love. Ikea. You know, there's that scene in (500) Days of Summer where Summer and Tom just frolick through the showroom (let's be honest, Ikea does lend itself to frolicking)? Adorable! And all of those really small flats they have set up ("275 sq feet?! Impossible! No one can live here; it simply can't be done!") are semi-miraculous and completely adorable. Plus, finally having a legitimate reason to buy plates and tablecloths and throw pillows? Wonderful.

Alright, I suppose that's about all for now. Next up: lunch with my godmother, shopping and cocktails with my tres chic cousin, and tracking down my prodigal best friend, recently returned from abroad. Should be interesting.

Just for continuity's sake, here is a song that's been on repeat lately:

Florence + the Machine-- "Between Two Lungs"
(the best comment on the video? "This makes me want to run through the forest in a floaty dress" ...I have to say, I concur.)