A few months ago, I wrote in this entry about a story I'd read about a couple that had met during the Holocaust. He was imprisoned in a Nazi concentration camp; she was posing as a Christian in a village nearby. Each day, she went to the fence surrounding the camp and tossed him an apple. He called her his "angel girl."
As the story went, eventually he was moved to a different camp, and the two pretty much forgot about each other until years later, when they were set up on a blind date. He proposed marriage that very night, and today, many years later, the two are still married. The couple has told the story for many years and recently wrote a book together.
Usually one to listen to anything with a healthy dose of skepticism, I believed the couple's story because I wanted to believe it. What's wrong with believing in something beautiful and poetic once in awhile? But even I can't deny that truth is only occasionally stranger than fiction. And neither can the man who told the story: CNN reports today that he now admits it was made up.
Fake memoirs seem to be a growing trend these days, and I find it very disappointing. I almost feel pity for the people who think so little of their own personal stories that they need to make up fake ones so others will be interested. Call me a journalist (go ahead, I dare you), but I think we all have a good, true story to tell.
The man who told the story of the girl with the apples says now that he only wanted to bring hope and happiness to people. And, I suspect, to himself -- he is quoted as saying that in his dreams, the story will always be true. So while part of me feels angry at him for lying, the other part of me sort of understands. Especially now, when we are just winding down from the Christmas season (ironic as that may be, since the man is Jewish). It was only a week ago that, for the umpteenth time, I read and enjoyed a reprint of the classic letter proclaiming, "yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus."
So why can't there be an angel girl too? Things don't always have to be true to be believed. Besides, I think it is almost more poetic that the story that ended up being a lie has such an Adam and Eve-like quality to it. Maybe truth is stranger than fiction after all.
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Monday, December 29, 2008
I'm a Little Bit of Everything, All Rolled Into One
It took me awhile, but I came up with 50 more facts.
51. My first published work was a movie review of The Secret Garden in Penny Power magazine. I think I was about 10.
52. I've often thought Live Bait would be a great name for a band. Especially one that performs in rural areas. Imagine the free advertising!
53. The mascot of every school I've attended has been a person. Growing up, I was a Warrior, and in college, I was a Fighting Scot.
54. My car is missing a hubcap on the right front tire. It fell off the car on August 13, 2007, the day Stella moved in.
55. My toes are almost always polished, even in the winter, because I hate the look of my feet and think the polish pretties them up just a little.
56. I would like to learn some obscure sport and get an obscure country to send me to the Olympic games, just so I could say I am an Olympic athlete.
57. I have never read a book by Stephen King.
58. Although I love to make lists, I hesitate to compile a list of things I want to do "before I die." I feel like if I finish completing all the tasks, I'll have no reason to live. And if I don't finish, I've failed.
59. I hated my first name when I was little, but now I love it and can't imagine myself being called anything else.
60. Despite the fact above, I have always been a little put out that my name can't easily be shortened into a nickname. My mom has a cousin named Ericka who is called Ricky, but no one has ever thought to call me that. I don't think I would make a very good Ricky anyway.
61. I hate Times New Roman font. This comes from an English class my freshman year of college. I hated the class and hated the professor, who insisted that everything we do be printed in this font. So I therefore hated the font. My first job out of college was at a law office where my boss also insisted on the use of this font. I hated that job. It seems that the Times New Roman font is a representation of bad memories for me.
62. I do not know my blood type.
63. I was almost an exchange student to Russia the year after I graduated high school. Because of red tape and finances, I decided against it. I have mostly not regretted it.
64. I have kept a journal since the age of 14. I think I have filled more than 70 books.
65. Earlier this year, I submitted a play to a festival, and although it was not chosen for production, it was a finalist.
66. My locker combination in fifth grade was 32-16-38.
67. When I played Clue as a kid, I was always Mrs. White.
68. I have a thing for novelty songs and novelty tee shirts.
69. I hate volleyball. My eleventh grade year, thanks to a team of really athletic girls (with the sole exception of yours truly) for our school-wide gym class tournament, I had to play in front of the entire school. I won a tee shirt with a graphic of hands making the triangle to hit a volleyball, which, when I put the shirt on, looked like hands on my boobs.
70. I received my SAT scores in the mail the same day as that volleyball tournament.
71. My first 45 record as a kid -- besides the story ones ("when you hear this sound, turn the page") -- was Culture Club's "Karma Chameleon." Eventually, it got a skip in it, and to this day, I still sing it, "lovin' would be easy if your colors were like my dreams, like my dreams, like my dreams...."
72. I love office supplies. The Staples catalog is like porn for me. Okay, I don't love office supplies that much. But close.
73. My favorite work of art is Edward Hopper's "Nighthawks."
74. I always wanted to go to a party where there was a big sandwich (you know, like a three-foot sub). My sister fulfilled that desire at my bachelorette party.
75. I wore a wedding dress to my bachelorette party but not to my wedding.
76. I love containers almost as much as I love office supplies.
77. My parents planned to name my sister Erika. I sometimes wonder what I would have been called had they done so, especially because my mom has told me she was surer than sure I would be a girl and that Erika was the perfect name for me.
78. I knew the very moment I laid eyes on my husband that I would marry him, but we didn't start dating for two whole years after we met.
79. I wrote the obituary of the priest who baptized me.
80. I once received a callback for the part of a prostitute in a play. I was not offered the part, but when the director called to let me know, he thanked me for coming to the callback dressed for the part. I had not done so. Not intentionally anyway.
81. December 23 is my favorite day of the holiday season.
82. I hardly ever sleep through the night without waking up.
83. I can list all of the United States in alphabetical order and name their capitals. I can also list all of the U.S. presidents in chronological order.
84. I missed my class reunion two years ago because I had to perform that night in Grease, which begins at a class reunion. Another reason I missed that event was because they'd sent the invitation a week before, to my parents' house. Because, you know, I still lived there after ten years. Or at least lived close enough to get in time an invitation sent so late. Yeah, not so much.
85. The only famous person I have ever approached is Barry Williams. (Though it wasn't on the street -- he was signing books and CDs at a store one day when I lived in Pittsburgh, and I went there on my lunch break.) I even got a picture taken with him, just so I could say, "and here's me with Greg Brady."
86. I am not a patient person. Oh, I'll wait. But I won't be quiet about it.
87. My favorite donut is peanut butter cream-filled with chocolate frosting on top. I can't eat them anymore, but when I could...mmm boy.
88. I don't like ankle boots. I don't mind them on other people, but they feel funny to me. So I almost always wear the knee length boots, even with pants.
89. I don't care for fireworks. I don't mind watching them, but I won't go out on purpose to see them.
90. My mom thinks I look like Kate Winslet. Most other people say Brooke Shields or Joan Cusack. I don't think I resemble any of those people enough to really look like them.
91. I had a temp job working in the office of a Pop Tart factory for a couple of months.
92. I enjoy asking people random questions like, "if you had a person from each country of the world over for dinner, what would you serve so that everyone would feel welcome?" I find they are good conversation starters.
93. I love music from the 50s and 60s and would rather listen to it than the stuff that's out today.
94. I am not competitive, but I am a very sore loser. Just ask anyone who has ever played miniature golf with me.
95. Whenever I see a license plate from Pennsylvania (unless I am in Pennsylvania), I wonder if the driver is someone I know.
96. One of my favorite things to do when I was little was get the mail. Even now, when my mail is hardly ever that exciting, I still like to get the mail.
97. There are certain songs that will make me smile, no matter what, when I hear them.
98. I have never mowed a lawn.
99. I purposely didn't get too serious on either half of this list, because I find when I start speaking seriously about serious things, I go overboard.
100. It took me about two weeks to compile this entry. Kind of goes to show that even I can't think of that many interesting things about me.
51. My first published work was a movie review of The Secret Garden in Penny Power magazine. I think I was about 10.
52. I've often thought Live Bait would be a great name for a band. Especially one that performs in rural areas. Imagine the free advertising!
53. The mascot of every school I've attended has been a person. Growing up, I was a Warrior, and in college, I was a Fighting Scot.
54. My car is missing a hubcap on the right front tire. It fell off the car on August 13, 2007, the day Stella moved in.
55. My toes are almost always polished, even in the winter, because I hate the look of my feet and think the polish pretties them up just a little.
56. I would like to learn some obscure sport and get an obscure country to send me to the Olympic games, just so I could say I am an Olympic athlete.
57. I have never read a book by Stephen King.
58. Although I love to make lists, I hesitate to compile a list of things I want to do "before I die." I feel like if I finish completing all the tasks, I'll have no reason to live. And if I don't finish, I've failed.
59. I hated my first name when I was little, but now I love it and can't imagine myself being called anything else.
60. Despite the fact above, I have always been a little put out that my name can't easily be shortened into a nickname. My mom has a cousin named Ericka who is called Ricky, but no one has ever thought to call me that. I don't think I would make a very good Ricky anyway.
61. I hate Times New Roman font. This comes from an English class my freshman year of college. I hated the class and hated the professor, who insisted that everything we do be printed in this font. So I therefore hated the font. My first job out of college was at a law office where my boss also insisted on the use of this font. I hated that job. It seems that the Times New Roman font is a representation of bad memories for me.
62. I do not know my blood type.
63. I was almost an exchange student to Russia the year after I graduated high school. Because of red tape and finances, I decided against it. I have mostly not regretted it.
64. I have kept a journal since the age of 14. I think I have filled more than 70 books.
65. Earlier this year, I submitted a play to a festival, and although it was not chosen for production, it was a finalist.
66. My locker combination in fifth grade was 32-16-38.
67. When I played Clue as a kid, I was always Mrs. White.
68. I have a thing for novelty songs and novelty tee shirts.
69. I hate volleyball. My eleventh grade year, thanks to a team of really athletic girls (with the sole exception of yours truly) for our school-wide gym class tournament, I had to play in front of the entire school. I won a tee shirt with a graphic of hands making the triangle to hit a volleyball, which, when I put the shirt on, looked like hands on my boobs.
70. I received my SAT scores in the mail the same day as that volleyball tournament.
71. My first 45 record as a kid -- besides the story ones ("when you hear this sound, turn the page") -- was Culture Club's "Karma Chameleon." Eventually, it got a skip in it, and to this day, I still sing it, "lovin' would be easy if your colors were like my dreams, like my dreams, like my dreams...."
72. I love office supplies. The Staples catalog is like porn for me. Okay, I don't love office supplies that much. But close.
73. My favorite work of art is Edward Hopper's "Nighthawks."
74. I always wanted to go to a party where there was a big sandwich (you know, like a three-foot sub). My sister fulfilled that desire at my bachelorette party.
75. I wore a wedding dress to my bachelorette party but not to my wedding.
76. I love containers almost as much as I love office supplies.
77. My parents planned to name my sister Erika. I sometimes wonder what I would have been called had they done so, especially because my mom has told me she was surer than sure I would be a girl and that Erika was the perfect name for me.
78. I knew the very moment I laid eyes on my husband that I would marry him, but we didn't start dating for two whole years after we met.
79. I wrote the obituary of the priest who baptized me.
80. I once received a callback for the part of a prostitute in a play. I was not offered the part, but when the director called to let me know, he thanked me for coming to the callback dressed for the part. I had not done so. Not intentionally anyway.
81. December 23 is my favorite day of the holiday season.
82. I hardly ever sleep through the night without waking up.
83. I can list all of the United States in alphabetical order and name their capitals. I can also list all of the U.S. presidents in chronological order.
84. I missed my class reunion two years ago because I had to perform that night in Grease, which begins at a class reunion. Another reason I missed that event was because they'd sent the invitation a week before, to my parents' house. Because, you know, I still lived there after ten years. Or at least lived close enough to get in time an invitation sent so late. Yeah, not so much.
85. The only famous person I have ever approached is Barry Williams. (Though it wasn't on the street -- he was signing books and CDs at a store one day when I lived in Pittsburgh, and I went there on my lunch break.) I even got a picture taken with him, just so I could say, "and here's me with Greg Brady."
86. I am not a patient person. Oh, I'll wait. But I won't be quiet about it.
87. My favorite donut is peanut butter cream-filled with chocolate frosting on top. I can't eat them anymore, but when I could...mmm boy.
88. I don't like ankle boots. I don't mind them on other people, but they feel funny to me. So I almost always wear the knee length boots, even with pants.
89. I don't care for fireworks. I don't mind watching them, but I won't go out on purpose to see them.
90. My mom thinks I look like Kate Winslet. Most other people say Brooke Shields or Joan Cusack. I don't think I resemble any of those people enough to really look like them.
91. I had a temp job working in the office of a Pop Tart factory for a couple of months.
92. I enjoy asking people random questions like, "if you had a person from each country of the world over for dinner, what would you serve so that everyone would feel welcome?" I find they are good conversation starters.
93. I love music from the 50s and 60s and would rather listen to it than the stuff that's out today.
94. I am not competitive, but I am a very sore loser. Just ask anyone who has ever played miniature golf with me.
95. Whenever I see a license plate from Pennsylvania (unless I am in Pennsylvania), I wonder if the driver is someone I know.
96. One of my favorite things to do when I was little was get the mail. Even now, when my mail is hardly ever that exciting, I still like to get the mail.
97. There are certain songs that will make me smile, no matter what, when I hear them.
98. I have never mowed a lawn.
99. I purposely didn't get too serious on either half of this list, because I find when I start speaking seriously about serious things, I go overboard.
100. It took me about two weeks to compile this entry. Kind of goes to show that even I can't think of that many interesting things about me.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Gimme Shelter
I often comment to my husband that we make good partners. We complement each other well and are both relatively reasonable people, which makes compromises a little easier when we are faced with conflict.
Usually, we have a calm discussion and come to a mutually agreeable arrangement for whatever is happening. There is one topic, however, that my sweet darling has simply refused to discuss.
The garage.
With our condo, we have one garage space and one outside parking space. He bought the place when we were dating, so he's always used the garage. When I moved in, the outside parking space became mine. I had previously been living in the city and parking on the street, so at the time, I was content to have off-the-street spot. I didn't care whether I had a garage.
Last winter, however, was rough. Nearly every day, it seemed, I was scraping or brushing my windows before I could leave for work. The roads had never been thoroughly cleaned, which made the commute stressful, and then, at the end of the day, I would have to brush and scrape at the office before making the trek home to park in my outside spot, let the snow and ice pile on and do it all again the next day.
This winter hasn't even officially begun, and it's already been brutal. On Monday, there was so much ice on my car that I couldn't open the doors without help, and once I got in, I had to let the car warm up for a good 10 minutes before I could even think about scraping. On Tuesday afternoon, we had snow, which meant a two-hour, 16-mile drive home (or, more realistically, slide home, since there wasn't really exposed pavement to speak of), where my husband was waiting, warm and dry, after his own commute...of four miles.
I hadn't mentioned the garage thing much, because, as I saw it, my husband had squatting rights. Sure, it would be nice to have a garage space, but he's the one who laid down the money for the place. But after nearly three years living there, I figured I had enough tenure to bring it up. He was extremely hesitant to discuss the subject, saying he wasn't sure if my car would fit, as it is larger than his car (albeit slightly) and the garage also contains his motorcycle, two bicycles and a myriad of other stuff.
I took the hint. He wasn't ready.
But on my two-hour drive home Tuesday night, I had some time to think. Why shouldn't I have a turn? I leave for work earlier, get home later and have a longer commute. Isn't that enough? Should I really have to be the one who scrapes and brushes every day too? Is that fair? I worked up a speech, which I presented calmly (no, really) over the phone while traffic was at a standstill. Once again hesitant, my husband begrudgingly agreed to give me a turn. Or at least to consider it. He also shoveled out the outside parking space before I got home, and brushed all of the snow off my car before I left for work yesterday.
I could tell, he really didn't want to get rid of that garage space.
But when I got home last night, I found his car parked in the outside spot, and the garage waiting for me. I called him from my cell phone to ask what was going on, and he told me the garage space was now mine. I could tell he was nervous -- he offered three times to come out and help me get my car in so I wouldn't hit his motorcycle. I refused the offers and parked (quite easily and without coming anywhere close to hitting anything, thank you very much) and went inside, where my husband was, I think, hoping I'd tell him the car wouldn't fit.
I know how much he loved having a garage space; his resistance to hand it over made that clear, as he is not at all a selfish person. I thanked him profusely and let him know how much it meant to me, hoping he would at least feel good about having done something nice. I almost felt a little bad about taking the spot away. And then he opened his mouth.
"Remember, you're going to have to make sure to shovel out all the snow and water that gets on the floor from your car so it stays away from the walls. And don't forget, the pedal for my motorcycle comes way out, so make sure you don't hit it. And don't hit your bicycle."
Nice try, dude. That spot is mine.
Usually, we have a calm discussion and come to a mutually agreeable arrangement for whatever is happening. There is one topic, however, that my sweet darling has simply refused to discuss.
The garage.
With our condo, we have one garage space and one outside parking space. He bought the place when we were dating, so he's always used the garage. When I moved in, the outside parking space became mine. I had previously been living in the city and parking on the street, so at the time, I was content to have off-the-street spot. I didn't care whether I had a garage.
Last winter, however, was rough. Nearly every day, it seemed, I was scraping or brushing my windows before I could leave for work. The roads had never been thoroughly cleaned, which made the commute stressful, and then, at the end of the day, I would have to brush and scrape at the office before making the trek home to park in my outside spot, let the snow and ice pile on and do it all again the next day.
This winter hasn't even officially begun, and it's already been brutal. On Monday, there was so much ice on my car that I couldn't open the doors without help, and once I got in, I had to let the car warm up for a good 10 minutes before I could even think about scraping. On Tuesday afternoon, we had snow, which meant a two-hour, 16-mile drive home (or, more realistically, slide home, since there wasn't really exposed pavement to speak of), where my husband was waiting, warm and dry, after his own commute...of four miles.
I hadn't mentioned the garage thing much, because, as I saw it, my husband had squatting rights. Sure, it would be nice to have a garage space, but he's the one who laid down the money for the place. But after nearly three years living there, I figured I had enough tenure to bring it up. He was extremely hesitant to discuss the subject, saying he wasn't sure if my car would fit, as it is larger than his car (albeit slightly) and the garage also contains his motorcycle, two bicycles and a myriad of other stuff.
I took the hint. He wasn't ready.
But on my two-hour drive home Tuesday night, I had some time to think. Why shouldn't I have a turn? I leave for work earlier, get home later and have a longer commute. Isn't that enough? Should I really have to be the one who scrapes and brushes every day too? Is that fair? I worked up a speech, which I presented calmly (no, really) over the phone while traffic was at a standstill. Once again hesitant, my husband begrudgingly agreed to give me a turn. Or at least to consider it. He also shoveled out the outside parking space before I got home, and brushed all of the snow off my car before I left for work yesterday.
I could tell, he really didn't want to get rid of that garage space.
But when I got home last night, I found his car parked in the outside spot, and the garage waiting for me. I called him from my cell phone to ask what was going on, and he told me the garage space was now mine. I could tell he was nervous -- he offered three times to come out and help me get my car in so I wouldn't hit his motorcycle. I refused the offers and parked (quite easily and without coming anywhere close to hitting anything, thank you very much) and went inside, where my husband was, I think, hoping I'd tell him the car wouldn't fit.
I know how much he loved having a garage space; his resistance to hand it over made that clear, as he is not at all a selfish person. I thanked him profusely and let him know how much it meant to me, hoping he would at least feel good about having done something nice. I almost felt a little bad about taking the spot away. And then he opened his mouth.
"Remember, you're going to have to make sure to shovel out all the snow and water that gets on the floor from your car so it stays away from the walls. And don't forget, the pedal for my motorcycle comes way out, so make sure you don't hit it. And don't hit your bicycle."
Nice try, dude. That spot is mine.
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Then Came You
I could not let my Georgia weekend end without telling the story of my celebrity sighting.
On Friday, Marla took me to a mall in Atlanta, where we did a little Christmas shopping and had lunch (Panera's chicken salad sandwich is dairy-free, by the way). We were walking toward a store she wanted to visit, and she was in the middle of telling me a story. Suddenly, I spotted him, in a cool leather jacket, walking toward me and laughing with a group of friends.
Emmanuel Lewis.
That's right. I totally saw Webster at the mall.
I took a good long look to make sure it was him, though I would think it would be kind of difficult to spot a guy who looked like that and wasn't Emmanuel Lewis. As soon as he passed us, I couldn't help cracking a smile, and Marla stopped in the middle of her story to ask what was wrong.
"I don't know if I want to say, because I might be wrong, and then I'd feel kind of bad," I said. After all, if the guy I'd seen had been someone else, I didn't want to make the generalization that any four-foot-tall-but-fully-adult black man who was not Gary Coleman must therefore be Emmanuel Lewis. (A quick Google search today let me know that Emmanuel Lewis does, in fact, live in Atlanta, and is often spotted out and about, so now I am positive it was him.)
Eventually, I told her who I'd seen, making Marla chuckle, though I am pretty sure that more than anything, she was annoyed that I had tuned out her story. Or she was just jealous that I had spotted an eighties television icon and she hadn't.
But I wouldn't worry if I were her. I'm willing to bet he'll hit the town again soon.
On Friday, Marla took me to a mall in Atlanta, where we did a little Christmas shopping and had lunch (Panera's chicken salad sandwich is dairy-free, by the way). We were walking toward a store she wanted to visit, and she was in the middle of telling me a story. Suddenly, I spotted him, in a cool leather jacket, walking toward me and laughing with a group of friends.
Emmanuel Lewis.
That's right. I totally saw Webster at the mall.
I took a good long look to make sure it was him, though I would think it would be kind of difficult to spot a guy who looked like that and wasn't Emmanuel Lewis. As soon as he passed us, I couldn't help cracking a smile, and Marla stopped in the middle of her story to ask what was wrong.
"I don't know if I want to say, because I might be wrong, and then I'd feel kind of bad," I said. After all, if the guy I'd seen had been someone else, I didn't want to make the generalization that any four-foot-tall-but-fully-adult black man who was not Gary Coleman must therefore be Emmanuel Lewis. (A quick Google search today let me know that Emmanuel Lewis does, in fact, live in Atlanta, and is often spotted out and about, so now I am positive it was him.)
Eventually, I told her who I'd seen, making Marla chuckle, though I am pretty sure that more than anything, she was annoyed that I had tuned out her story. Or she was just jealous that I had spotted an eighties television icon and she hadn't.
But I wouldn't worry if I were her. I'm willing to bet he'll hit the town again soon.
Georgia On My Lips
On Thursday night, I left on a 6:30 p.m. plane to Georgia to visit my friend Marla. (I might have considered a midnight train, but that would have taken a lot longer, so I chose the less musical option.)
Marla and I are both lovers of food; two years ago, she took me on a comprehensive eating tour of the greater Detroit area. So she had a big weekend of eating planned for this visit. She had called her favorite dining joints and checked on what they could offer me that was dairy free, though she already had a pretty good working knowledge, since she had a vegan stint last year. Unfortunately, thanks to my fear of flying (and related violent stomach flips) returning with a vengeance this week, I wasn't very hungry for much of my visit, but I did manage to sample some of Atlanta's finer fare.
I have to say, I was sort of expecting to find only treats smothered in butter (you know, the whole comfort food thing). But I was really impressed with the eagerness of Georgia's eating establishments to accommodate me. Part of it was Marla's pre-visit scouting, but everywhere we went, people were happy to tell me how things were cooked and what I could eat off of their regular menu. It was fabulous. During my visit, I consumed a massaman curry (naturally dairy free and wonderfully delicious), a toasty bagel and latke and an amazingly good piece of apple pie from a bakery that has, on their regular menu, several vegan options.
But the weekend wasn't all about eating. It was also about relaxing, something I needed more than I would like to admit. Thanks to work, getting ready for the holidays and other things going on, I have been crazily busy for the last month (or, you know, year). Add to that the return of my panicky fear of flying, and I was in major need of some therapeutic activity.
Enter Marla. She knows how stressed I've been (and knows even more what an uptight control freak I am), so she planned out a weekend that was nothing but fun. The first thing she said when I told her I was coming down was, "your ass is going to the spa." (Which it did, yesterday, for a mud wrap and massage.) The second thing she told me was to bring comfy lounge pants. Between the shopping, lounging, eating and spa goodness, Atlanta, for me, became a stress-free zone.
It's a good friend who invites you to visit, but it's a great friend who customizes the visit to exactly what you need without even having to ask.
Marla and I are both lovers of food; two years ago, she took me on a comprehensive eating tour of the greater Detroit area. So she had a big weekend of eating planned for this visit. She had called her favorite dining joints and checked on what they could offer me that was dairy free, though she already had a pretty good working knowledge, since she had a vegan stint last year. Unfortunately, thanks to my fear of flying (and related violent stomach flips) returning with a vengeance this week, I wasn't very hungry for much of my visit, but I did manage to sample some of Atlanta's finer fare.
I have to say, I was sort of expecting to find only treats smothered in butter (you know, the whole comfort food thing). But I was really impressed with the eagerness of Georgia's eating establishments to accommodate me. Part of it was Marla's pre-visit scouting, but everywhere we went, people were happy to tell me how things were cooked and what I could eat off of their regular menu. It was fabulous. During my visit, I consumed a massaman curry (naturally dairy free and wonderfully delicious), a toasty bagel and latke and an amazingly good piece of apple pie from a bakery that has, on their regular menu, several vegan options.
But the weekend wasn't all about eating. It was also about relaxing, something I needed more than I would like to admit. Thanks to work, getting ready for the holidays and other things going on, I have been crazily busy for the last month (or, you know, year). Add to that the return of my panicky fear of flying, and I was in major need of some therapeutic activity.
Enter Marla. She knows how stressed I've been (and knows even more what an uptight control freak I am), so she planned out a weekend that was nothing but fun. The first thing she said when I told her I was coming down was, "your ass is going to the spa." (Which it did, yesterday, for a mud wrap and massage.) The second thing she told me was to bring comfy lounge pants. Between the shopping, lounging, eating and spa goodness, Atlanta, for me, became a stress-free zone.
It's a good friend who invites you to visit, but it's a great friend who customizes the visit to exactly what you need without even having to ask.
Monday, December 08, 2008
Set Up Your Microscope and Tell Me What You See, You'll Still Know Nothing About Me
A few of my Facebook friends have made lists like this, of facts about themselves. I wanted to try for 100 things, but that's a lot of stuff, and I'm barely interesting enough for 50 things. Maybe I'll add more later if I feel a surge of fun factness.
1. I am a complete grammar snob.
2. I am always cold. Physically, I mean. Though sometimes emotionally as well, I'll admit. I don't think many people would describe me as a warm, loving person.
3. If I could hire just one person to do just one thing for me, it would be someone who would pick out my clothes. I have no fashion sense whatsoever.
4. I once got a funny anecdote published in Reader's Digest. And I got $300 for it.
5. My husband and my sister's husband were born on the exact same day. Same year and everything. The funniest part is, they have very little else in common.
6. I would love to live in my old hometown, if my old hometown could be picked up and plunked somewhere an hour or less from a major city.
7. I love reading advice columns.
8. The only dairy foods I really miss are ice cream and pizza.
9. When I don't have to drive anywhere, I love a huge-ass snow. I love a hard rain almost anytime.
10. The thought of having children scares the bejesus out of me.
11. I never want a surprise party thrown for me, because I hate the idea of being intentionally left out of something everyone else knows.
12. I hate spending the night in a house by myself. Always have. It's alright if I'm in the bed alone, but I like having someone else close by.
13. My favorite season is Fall.
14. I would love to have a piano in my house and learn to play again.
15. I would also love to have a house.
16. It drives me up the wall when people use "hun" as a term of endearment.
17. I love Starbursts and at one time not so very long ago would eat them until I felt ill. I've toned it down a bit now and only eat them in manageable doses. Mostly.
18. I once dressed up as a Spice Girl to dance for a guy on Valentine's Day. And it wasn't even my boyfriend; it was the boyfriend of an acquaintance. She dressed up as Ginger, and four of her friends rounded out the group. In a stunning display of my acting talent, I portrayed Sporty Spice. However, that was nothing compared to my very white friend Miranda who dressed as Scary.
19. Every single time I watch the last scene of Dead Poet's Society, I cry. I don't even have to watch the rest of the movie.
20. I once played a lady-in-waiting at the Pennsylvania Renaissance Faire. It wasn't a great experience altogether, but someday, it will be novel fodder, so not for nothing.
21. I hate weddings. I don't mind attending them, but I don't care to hear about the planning.
22. My mother has told me that she thinks I am her mother reincarnated. Given what I've heard about my grandmother, this could have been a compliment, an insult, or a little of both.
23. I was a live-in nanny for about seven months. The little girl I cared for is the one and only child who has ever made me think having kids might not be so bad.
24. The other thing on my pro list for having kids is the fact that lactose intolerant women often eat dairy without problems when they are pregnant.
25. I care nothing for celebrity gossip, but I will read about true crime all day long.
26. I didn't like Napoleon Dynamite or Edward Scissorhands, and so many people I know love both of those.
27. If I could have designed a man for myself, my husband looks exactly like that man.
28. He has none of that man's hobbies.
29. Birds freak me out.
30. When I was a little kid, my dream job was to be a "storekeeper," which basically meant grocery store cashier. I fulfilled that dream at 17 with a six-month stint at Greco's Market. It would have been longer, but alas, that was the entire time Greco's was open for business.
31. I can't stand Seinfeld. If I even hear the little twangy guitar noise come from my TV, I will leap over things to get to the remote so I can change the channel.
32. Growing up, I never wanted to go into journalism or writing of any kind. Funny how things change.
33. Even though I live in the Central Time Zone, I start my new year at Midnight in Eastern Time.
34. I have a sewing machine, but all I have managed to sew are wobbly-seamed blankets for Stella.
35. I think it would be fun to sing in an Abba tribute band.
36. Sometimes I think it would be fun to go back in time, Peggy Sue Got Married style. I'd like to try my high school years again knowing what I know now, just to see what would happen.
37. I never liked sweet potatoes until this year.
38. If I ever do have kids, the words of wisdom I plan to make them remember me by is "never pass up the chance to use the bathroom."
39. Unless it is horribly inconvenient, I always always take the stairs instead of an elevator.
40. When I was little, I had an imaginary friend named Pigeon. She lived in my mailbox with her family and grew to regular size when she came out of the mailbox. When my sister's best friend and our neighbor, Dani, moved to Massachusetts, Pigeon moved there too, to live in Dani's mailbox.
41. I love board games.
42. I think I would have fit in great in the 1950s and think it would be fun to time travel there.
43. My handwriting and memory were both a lot better before I got a job as a newspaper reporter.
44. In my acting days, I performed in a toga not one, not two, but three times.
45. If I had to choose a sitcom house to live in, I think I'd pick the Seavers' house on Growing Pains. I'd decorate a little differently though.
46. I've been hanging on to my Doc Martens for years in the hopes that everyone will start wearing them again.
47. I love the Golden Girls.
48. If I could have a famous friend, I would want it to be Christopher Guest.
49. If I ever become super wealthy and start a charitable organization, I'd like it to be a foundation that promotes literacy.
50. I don't care for crass humor, but I truly enjoy a good That's What She Said joke.
1. I am a complete grammar snob.
2. I am always cold. Physically, I mean. Though sometimes emotionally as well, I'll admit. I don't think many people would describe me as a warm, loving person.
3. If I could hire just one person to do just one thing for me, it would be someone who would pick out my clothes. I have no fashion sense whatsoever.
4. I once got a funny anecdote published in Reader's Digest. And I got $300 for it.
5. My husband and my sister's husband were born on the exact same day. Same year and everything. The funniest part is, they have very little else in common.
6. I would love to live in my old hometown, if my old hometown could be picked up and plunked somewhere an hour or less from a major city.
7. I love reading advice columns.
8. The only dairy foods I really miss are ice cream and pizza.
9. When I don't have to drive anywhere, I love a huge-ass snow. I love a hard rain almost anytime.
10. The thought of having children scares the bejesus out of me.
11. I never want a surprise party thrown for me, because I hate the idea of being intentionally left out of something everyone else knows.
12. I hate spending the night in a house by myself. Always have. It's alright if I'm in the bed alone, but I like having someone else close by.
13. My favorite season is Fall.
14. I would love to have a piano in my house and learn to play again.
15. I would also love to have a house.
16. It drives me up the wall when people use "hun" as a term of endearment.
17. I love Starbursts and at one time not so very long ago would eat them until I felt ill. I've toned it down a bit now and only eat them in manageable doses. Mostly.
18. I once dressed up as a Spice Girl to dance for a guy on Valentine's Day. And it wasn't even my boyfriend; it was the boyfriend of an acquaintance. She dressed up as Ginger, and four of her friends rounded out the group. In a stunning display of my acting talent, I portrayed Sporty Spice. However, that was nothing compared to my very white friend Miranda who dressed as Scary.
19. Every single time I watch the last scene of Dead Poet's Society, I cry. I don't even have to watch the rest of the movie.
20. I once played a lady-in-waiting at the Pennsylvania Renaissance Faire. It wasn't a great experience altogether, but someday, it will be novel fodder, so not for nothing.
21. I hate weddings. I don't mind attending them, but I don't care to hear about the planning.
22. My mother has told me that she thinks I am her mother reincarnated. Given what I've heard about my grandmother, this could have been a compliment, an insult, or a little of both.
23. I was a live-in nanny for about seven months. The little girl I cared for is the one and only child who has ever made me think having kids might not be so bad.
24. The other thing on my pro list for having kids is the fact that lactose intolerant women often eat dairy without problems when they are pregnant.
25. I care nothing for celebrity gossip, but I will read about true crime all day long.
26. I didn't like Napoleon Dynamite or Edward Scissorhands, and so many people I know love both of those.
27. If I could have designed a man for myself, my husband looks exactly like that man.
28. He has none of that man's hobbies.
29. Birds freak me out.
30. When I was a little kid, my dream job was to be a "storekeeper," which basically meant grocery store cashier. I fulfilled that dream at 17 with a six-month stint at Greco's Market. It would have been longer, but alas, that was the entire time Greco's was open for business.
31. I can't stand Seinfeld. If I even hear the little twangy guitar noise come from my TV, I will leap over things to get to the remote so I can change the channel.
32. Growing up, I never wanted to go into journalism or writing of any kind. Funny how things change.
33. Even though I live in the Central Time Zone, I start my new year at Midnight in Eastern Time.
34. I have a sewing machine, but all I have managed to sew are wobbly-seamed blankets for Stella.
35. I think it would be fun to sing in an Abba tribute band.
36. Sometimes I think it would be fun to go back in time, Peggy Sue Got Married style. I'd like to try my high school years again knowing what I know now, just to see what would happen.
37. I never liked sweet potatoes until this year.
38. If I ever do have kids, the words of wisdom I plan to make them remember me by is "never pass up the chance to use the bathroom."
39. Unless it is horribly inconvenient, I always always take the stairs instead of an elevator.
40. When I was little, I had an imaginary friend named Pigeon. She lived in my mailbox with her family and grew to regular size when she came out of the mailbox. When my sister's best friend and our neighbor, Dani, moved to Massachusetts, Pigeon moved there too, to live in Dani's mailbox.
41. I love board games.
42. I think I would have fit in great in the 1950s and think it would be fun to time travel there.
43. My handwriting and memory were both a lot better before I got a job as a newspaper reporter.
44. In my acting days, I performed in a toga not one, not two, but three times.
45. If I had to choose a sitcom house to live in, I think I'd pick the Seavers' house on Growing Pains. I'd decorate a little differently though.
46. I've been hanging on to my Doc Martens for years in the hopes that everyone will start wearing them again.
47. I love the Golden Girls.
48. If I could have a famous friend, I would want it to be Christopher Guest.
49. If I ever become super wealthy and start a charitable organization, I'd like it to be a foundation that promotes literacy.
50. I don't care for crass humor, but I truly enjoy a good That's What She Said joke.
Wednesday, December 03, 2008
When There's A Will
As of last night, I have another new trainer at the gym. Jeremiah has left my gym for one in another town.
When he told me he was leaving, I had mixed emotions. I liked working with him from an exercise standpoint, but he was way too quiet. I really need someone who will chat with me while I work out. So when, after our last session, he offered to make me an appointment with someone new, I asked him who was the most fun. He suggested someone named Will and pointed to a guy who was presently sitting on top of the overhead leg press apparatus while one of his trainees strained to move the weights and him.
Perhaps I should have elaborated on what I meant by fun.
But as it happened, Will turned out to be a nice guy, and definitely chatty. When we started the first exercise, he asked me why I'd signed up for training, saying I didn't really look like I needed it. I was flattered, although I took the compliment with a grain of salt. Though I'm sure he was at least somewhat sincere, he reminded me a bit of those guys in movies who are introduced to a girlfriend's mother and, smiling slyly, admonish the girl for not mentioning having a younger sister. We continued working, and at one point, he lowered the weight I was using, commenting that he "prefers form over weight."
"You could use that on your online dating profile," I joked.
"Nah," he told me. "That's not really true. I like a big girl." He elaborated that he likes a girl with "a 60-inch waist and an ass you can rest a coffee cup on."
No wonder he didn't think I needed any training. I'm surprised that he didn't send me out for a double cheeseburger instead.
When he told me he was leaving, I had mixed emotions. I liked working with him from an exercise standpoint, but he was way too quiet. I really need someone who will chat with me while I work out. So when, after our last session, he offered to make me an appointment with someone new, I asked him who was the most fun. He suggested someone named Will and pointed to a guy who was presently sitting on top of the overhead leg press apparatus while one of his trainees strained to move the weights and him.
Perhaps I should have elaborated on what I meant by fun.
But as it happened, Will turned out to be a nice guy, and definitely chatty. When we started the first exercise, he asked me why I'd signed up for training, saying I didn't really look like I needed it. I was flattered, although I took the compliment with a grain of salt. Though I'm sure he was at least somewhat sincere, he reminded me a bit of those guys in movies who are introduced to a girlfriend's mother and, smiling slyly, admonish the girl for not mentioning having a younger sister. We continued working, and at one point, he lowered the weight I was using, commenting that he "prefers form over weight."
"You could use that on your online dating profile," I joked.
"Nah," he told me. "That's not really true. I like a big girl." He elaborated that he likes a girl with "a 60-inch waist and an ass you can rest a coffee cup on."
No wonder he didn't think I needed any training. I'm surprised that he didn't send me out for a double cheeseburger instead.
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