Being Young is Embarrassing

I found a small little notebook. I guess I considered it my diary for a hot minute in fourth or fifth grade. Here is its first entry:

October 3, 1990 (this would make me about 9)

Dear diary,
As you will soon know I don't know if I like a boy named R. (this was not in a romantic context ... I was really unsure as to whether I liked him as a person). People call me a dweeb, stupid and dumb girl. Sometimes that hurts but other times I just know they are in a bad mood.

PS1 It is halloween
PS2 S.I. said if we go to Sligo (the local middle school) he will invite me to dance. I have to go.


It seems I was often full of rage and at odds with my friends (at least in my head).

For example, December 1st's entry

Dear Diary,

I am in a bad mood. I just slept at N.'s house. (I am now real angry) last night. Now she is coming here! But this is what I hate her for. R. invited me over yesterday I couldn't come she invited me today I couldn't come and I owe it all to N! Bye

PS. I made a note and when mom opens it I will hide (it is a trap).

Alas so many of the entries are like this. The secret petty slights I felt and whatnot. No one was immune. This is something I've gotten much, much better at over time. Now you usually really have to try to hurt my feelings or just be really, really dismissive for me to get riled up.

December 5, 1990

Dear Diary,
We are going to have a open house for Christmas plus a party! Yesterday I was sick. Now I feel better not that I like feeling better (what sense does that make!?). Also last night my dad sat on me. Mom did not do a thing.

Sigh.

Here's what I had to say on the eve of the first Iraq war:

January 14, 1991

Dear Diary,
I think I'm in love with P.F. (I wasn't) but I am not sure. Any way we United States might go to war tomorrow with Iraq. I think it is depressing.

January 16, 1991
Dear Diary,
We are probably going to war. I am depressed and sad. My dad is not even here!
PS. I don't want to die young (!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

I will spare you and myself any of the latter posts, as they are...so very special.

Just a Few of my Best Looks

This, I fear, may have been a first day of school ensemble. But maybe not, because usually those photographs were taken at the bus stop.

Words

"Words used in context by C. 3-16-85"

Surface
Director
Comfy
Attached
Golden
Winner
Museum
Infection
Buckle
Without a trace
Plumber
Cheerleader
Protection

"I don't like to paint when I'm in a sad place.' Not dated.

The Way I Was

So I'm in Tennessee, trying to make a little dent in some of my mother's things. The easy part, clothing, was concluded yesterday. Now I'm sifting through boxes that include not only my mother's collection of photographs and memories, but also my own childhood relics. I was especially delighted by the highlights from my nursery school teacher's evaluation of my development circa 1985, I would suppose:

Outdoors: not locked into any one group or game, different things on diferent days.

Indoors: really does absolutely everything - housekeeping/dressups/art/playdoh/sand room (esp)

Peers: Plays well with quite a few different children. Especially attached to S. R. and C. very different and she plays differently with each one. There are a few children she ignores completely. Tries to solve conflicts herself - begins with words - may then cry or ask for adult assistance; feelings may be hurt.

Adults: Really comfortable with adults and will seek them out, volunteer info. Ocasionally seeks out for companionship but not cling on.

Group: Very enthusiastic/loves stories (complains if books don't qualify as stories. Likes songs, dramatizing and participates etc but can share floor.

Style: Some surprisngly good coping skills (figuring out way to get her favoritemat) plays well in group but may be a little on the fringe...and then can suddenly assume leader role. Probably best with one or two at a time. Structures time well indoors, better than outdoors.

Frankly, I think this could still pretty much describe me.

Another Magical Meal c/o Modo Mio

Back when Ak was here in May, on the night of fried things, L., Ak and I decided that when she returned to the area in June that we were going to Modo Mio it to infinity and beyond. That day finally came last week. I think it was last week? I was uncharacteristically not at all early, while L. and Ak were properly early .It was a strange feeling, to know that the rest of my party was just sitting there, waiting for me to finally arrive. Anywho, the menu wasn't all that different from the last time I had gone with K. But some things were slightly different so I wasn't totally bummed or anything. I started with the suid with raisins, almonds, dates and tomatoes. I had a similar dish with C. in February, though in this rendition there were less greens. I believe L. had the chicken liver bruchetta, which was really quite something. And Ak had the pork tenderloin with greens and tuna maonaise, which looked just as good as when I had it when I was with K.
Though I was tempted to stick with the hollow spaghetti and fresh tomato sauce (amertiaciana or something) I decided to try something new since I had brought a red wine that I thought would go well with a heartier, meatier dish. So I went with the rigatoni with chicken liver ragu. It was hearty and very tasty. I was a eensy weensy bit disappointed that the red was either not opened ... no that wasn't the problem, they hadn't brought out glasses. Point: I had hoped to enjoy the wine and pasta together and tried to eat slowly so that that could happen, but there was a lag time. Nonetheless. Did I clear my plate? Yes I did.
So I brought a bottle of Chateau Caroline, a wine my father found in Maryland and now gives to me whenever he's been through that area to resupply. The next two photographs are L. putting it together...


For my main course I went with the pork special with fried egg, capers and provolone cheese. And magic. Did I mention the magic?
Our waiter, as all the Modo Mio servers have been, was fantastic and friendly. Willing to spend an extra minute to share details about the menu or tell a funny but relevant story. L. was, as she can sometimes be, very gestural in her appreciation of the food and our waiter l-o-v-e-d this. So he decided it would be pretty great to just bring out all five dessert options to us instead of asking us which ones we would prefer. This absolutely blew L.'s mind and made it entirely worth it from the perspective of the waiter.
Ugh. So. Freaking. Good. Tirimisu. Flourless magic chocolate magic cake with strawberry. A vanilla pudding kind of thing with chocolate bites. A figgy cookie thing you can't see. And a panacotta with cherry compote/preserves?
We did not fool around when it came to consuming these treats. No fooling when it comes to dessert. It's as true a way to live your life as no crying in baseball. Or when you're being robbed. What? Robbery? Oh yeah, guess what happened to me on Thursday. I was robbed an potentially gun point. I'll probably blog about it later. This was your non sequitur teaser on the subject.
And we finished the meal with decaf cappucinos. Well, L. had an espresso.
I will continue to sing the praises of Modo Mio for time immemorial. It's just the facts.

Pizza c/o Rustica

At some point lately I went over to L. and C.'s for a little catch up and pizza. Cowboy the puppy is now Cowboy the dog. All you see of Nevada is her back side, but she's a sweet one she is.
We ordered from their go-to pizza spot, Rustica. I was very interested by their pico de gallo option and though L. was a little hesitant, we ended up getting a small one and then a large cheese pizza. The pico de gallo pizza was less a pizza and more a crispy shell laden with fresh and tasty pico de gallo. I liked it very much.
And the cheese pizza. My lord. It was so good. I only ate one slice because I felt full, but looking back on it, I should have really powered through it and had a second slice.
Thanks to L. and C. for the company and dinner!

Spatchcock!

Last week I picked up a whole chicken at Whole Foods. Initially I planned on just roasting it, but I became more and more interested in the possibility of somehow grilling it. I turned to the wonders of social media and asked about the possibility of grilling a whole bird on Facebook. A few key responses were given, most of which involved the word 'spatchcock,' though one late reply discussed the beer in chicken method (my secondary question was whether I could grill a chicken with a can of Cheerwine inside of it). Spatchcock is a delightful word, and basically means 'cutting the backbone out of a chicken so you can grill it flat.' Or that's how I define it. My first task, after lighting the grill, was the actual spatchcocking. Thank goodness my roommate has good knives or that would have been a far messier and grizzlier process. As it was, it took about two minutes. Was it professional or perfect? No. Was it completely a mess? No. I deemed it a success. Because I was so impatient and we didn't have a lot of available space in the fridge, I opted not to brine the bird and simply dried it and then gave it a light sprinkle of salt and pepper.
I also grilled corn. One ear of which I ate that night with a little mayo, salt and lime juice ... the other three I turned into a great salad.
So the grilling went pretty well. One commenter had suggested that I could combine my spatchcocking with the Cheerwine through making a glaze kind of thing. He mentioned sherry vinegar, butter and the Cheerwine. I slapdashed something that vaguely fit that mark (red wine vinegar instead of sherry) and whenever I turned the bird, brushed on a fresh coat of the stuff.
I always take my chicken out of the oven too soon, and this grilling occasion didn't change that record. This was the first time I took it off. The breast meat was done but the dark meat - not so much. Another five or so minutes over more direct heat did the trick, though patience from the start and non-direct heat would also have worked. This is a method I hope to use again in the future. It's really easy, gives you lunch/dinner pickins for days and gives you an excuse to yell spatchcock in crowded movie theaters and at weddings.
I would, however, brine the bird next time.

Cherry and Peach Cobbler Attempt

On my drive north I stopped at a pretty fancy farm stand and bought a bunch of peaches and a bucket of cherries...and pickled green tomatoes. I had hoped the green tomatoes would be all vinegary and spicy, but they are sweet and will stay in my refrigerator forever because I do not like them. In any case, after meeting up with my old friend G. at the gallery we soon returned to my home where I consigned him to a life of pitting cherries. Well, not a life as much as 20 minutes or so. I had in mind making the same cobbler that C. had made so successfully just a few days before. But I can't say that was an entirely successful venture. I used vanilla soy milk instead of real milk, which may or may not have contributed to the soupiness. Or how the peaches cooked down? Who knows. The fact is that even if it didn't really have a bready/doughy component, it was still pretty delicious. Thanks to G. for his labor.

Morning Scrabble and Brunch c/o Fathom Seafood House

Last Sunday I had a few plans, and these plans ranged from what I was going to eat to what I was going to see to what I was going to cook. It promised to be a jam packed day of leisurely activity. But a surprise start ended up with Mr. Ass at my house at 10 or 11. See, one of my later activities was going to be going to see his newest show (scroll down a little) but he was already in Philly and in between activities so he did what any sensible person would do...well I assume he called other people and they were busy and then thought Scrabble with me would do pretty well...and that's what we did. I won, but it was close. I am a bit of an impatient Scrabble player and Mr. Ass likes to take his sweet time, and then some. So if we were to play with unlimited pondering on his part I do concede that maybe I wouldn't win. Maybe.
Then Mr. Ass was off to his next thing while I prepared for brunch with A.S. She and I hadn't seen each other in a while. Not since, if I recall correctly, she had her first Village Whiskey Burger. So that had been some time between our faces meeting. The plan, which was carried out, was to meet at Fathom Seafood House, as I had been reading and hearing terrific things about it from all sorts of sources. I got there a little early and ordered a virgin bloody mary. I realize that I really don't need the vodka to enjoy it, so why pay the price? This beverage was nothing to shake a stick at. Nope. Olives? Yes. Pickle too? Uh huh. Cloudy with horseradish and more complex than just a shake of Tabasco? Yes sir. It was delicious.
I couldn't help but order three Kumomotos, just because I love them. And they were good. Though my slurp technique with one led to my inhaling a shallot from the mignonette, which caused me to choke. I had a moment of clarity in which I managed to - as demurely as possible given my choking - deposit the unbitten upon oyster into my hand while I continued to combat the foreign particle half way up my sinus. Too much information I know. I just wanted you to understand my commitment to that oyster.
There were a number of brunch possibilities that appealed to me, but in the end I couldn't get around a sincere interest in the lobster grilled cheese with truffle aioli and green tomatoes. A.S. also felt the sandwich calling her name.
I believe we were both quite pleased. The aioli was on the side and that actually was for the best, as it was potent stuff and a little bit went a long way. The tomatoes were chopped as opposed to sliced, and on the whole I appreciated that approach, though a bit of the usual tang one gets from a green tomato was not in full effect. I quibble, but it was really a satisfying meal.
Afterwards A.S. and I took the Broad Street line and walked just a bit to the gallery. And I, like a jerk, took not a single photograph of the occasion. But I should note that Mr. Ass' newest works are lovely and range from portraiture to, um, fantastical? This is why, among the many other things I am not, I am not an art critic. It was a good show. Mr. Ass has a style but the way he applies it to the subjects he chooses to paint remains fresh. Fresh I tell you. Cheeky even. Well. Maybe not cheeky. I'm going to stop trying.

Philadelphia International Beer Expo 2011

Last year C. and I went to the big beer expo. This year L. and I went. We took the broad street line down the the stadium stop, disembarked and got into a bus, which then took us the rest of the way to the navy yard. And then much beer was had. I'm hoping L. will comment on this post and say insightful things about the beers she liked. One of the first beers we tried was this one.
This was one of my favorites. L. will know the brewery. White River?
We thought it would be wise to eat something. I tried their chicken sausage and wasn't at all impressed. L. ordered their cheeseburger and threw it out way before it was finished.
This beer seemed to be all right.
There was also a jerky vendor. I got the jalepeno, teriyaki and spicy venison kinds. They were good.

I thought I would like this beer.
But I was wrong. Bananas. All over the place bananas. The other Weyerbacher beer, however, was quite nice.


L.'s notebook.
The people. There were a lot of short men.
And definite 'bros.
We made momentary friends with these two security guys. The dude on the right was 27, the dude on the left 23?
L. asked this man if she could have the remaining pretzels on his pretzel necklace. He said yes.
Sunglasses. Upside down!
Beer.
It was a good hair day for me. Face day too.
Then once our allotted time with unlimited 2-4 ounce pours was complete, we boarded another bus and made our ways to the subway and to our 'hood. You may not believe it but after that we went to McCrossens.
The wheels on the bus go round and round. Round and round. Round and round. Well. You know how they do.

On my way back north I stopped at Jockey's Ridge State Park and took a quick walk to the massive dunes.
They were very high.

And rather breathtaking.

Later on my drive I had a Dairy Queen Butterfinger blizzard.