The 12th Player

BOCA JUNIORS X CRUZEIRO (LA 12)
Originally uploaded by LUCHO :9.

On Saturday between Meatfest 2009 and meeting friends for dinner (I honestly don't think I've ever been *less* hungry before a meal), Ken and I were in our natural habitat: lying on bed and surfing the internets. We'd just heard from another expat friend that he'd scored coveted tickets to the Boca Juniors-River Plate football match at the Bonbonera on Sunday, and Ken had fan-envy. The UK Observer lists this match as the #1 sporting thing you must do before you die and here we were, a short bus ride away from the stadium, sin tickets. So he did what any capitalist-loving American would do: Hit up Craigslist for people selling tickets at exorbitant mark-ups.

A few emails later, Ken received a call from an English-speaking guy (Martin) to tell us that his (non-English-speaking) friend, Uli, had tickets for sale at 500 pesos each. They arranged for an exchange the next morning, wherein Uli would come to our apartment on his motorcycle and give us the tickets and we would give him half a months' rent. I was... suspicious. I agreed to play bad cop and called Martin back to ask him how we'd know the tickets were real. He sounded nice, I guess, and sincere, and he said, "Oh, they're real, don't worry. My friend is a member of the... I don't remember the word in English, but it's the guys who are the fighters, you know, the fan section?" I hung up feeling OK about the transaction, and a few minutes later Martin texted Ken with: "hooligan. thats the word, haha- enjoy-"

I was not reassured.

We'd both read much about the dangers of attending a Boca game; about how the fans were just crazy and that a couple of years ago at this same match some fans were shot. We'd read not to bring more cash than we'd need and to leave our cameras at home. When we mentioned to our porteño friends on Saturday night that we might go, the general reaction was, "Es muy peligroso" ("it's very dangerous").

Later Saturday night Ken emailed Martin to ask him more about the logistics of the game - how we'd get in, etc. The response:

I just talked to Uli and in case you end up not understanding each other tomorrow morning he wanted you to know that if interested (cause some people are obviously not ) he'll be meeting all ticket buyers at a McDonald's in Almirante Brown St. & García Av. ( this is a few blocks away from the stadium) to get everybody inside using his friend's van. I know this might sound scary since you don't know him yet, but that's just why; I'm sure you'll end up really liking him tomorrow when you meet up.

He was right: Giving someone 1000 pesos then meeting him in a McDonald's parking lot to get in his friend's van DID sound scary since we didn't know him yet.

Uli showed up at our apartment at 9 a.m., as promised. Ken gave him 1000 pesos for the tickets which we then learned was a mere SEVENTEEN TIMES the face-value of 30 pesos. He gave Ken advice on what to wear to the game (Boca colours: blue or yellow) and what not to wear: jewelry or anything that looked Richie. Since we we'd spent mucho dinero to go to the game and weren't even sure if the tickets were real, we figured, what the hell, and decided to meet him at McDonald's. On the way to the bus I said to Ken, "Do you think we should have called our parents?" He laughed nervously in response.

We arrived in the parking lot at noon sharp, waited for about an hour, and even tried to call Uli to no avail. Finally, we walked to the stadium.

The first line (well, crowd) we ended up in was for members of the club only, and we made it to the entrance only to find out that we were in the wrong place. We walked another couple of blocks, past a few choripán stands and dudes selling empanadas for 1 peso (about 27¢!) until we found the line for people with tickets only. The crowd there was calm and we passed security without incident. We found our gate and climbed into the stands to learn that the general admission seats were not actually seats - just a bunch of steps that we'd stand on for the game. We crammed in with the other fans and watched the reserve players scrimmage for about an hour until the game started.

The game start was one of the most phenomenal things either of us has ever witnessed. Just before the players came onto the field, people near us were handing out wads of torn newspaper which we would later throw as confetti. In the stands directly across from us was the Jugador N^o 12 - the fans who are the 12th player (the team has 11 players on the field at any time). It was fandom beyond any that I've ever seen, with giant banners and flags and amazing, contagious chanting and drumming. We didn't bring a camera but there are lots of photos online that capture the energy of this section. Toward the end of halftime blue and yellow balloons were distributed in our section, and as the second half began we released them into the air (and onto the field).

Boca scored in the second half, and the crowd's reaction was indescribable, and that, along with the festivities that opened the game, made the experience well-worth the money we'd spent. Unfortunately, River Plate answered with a quick goal and the game ended in a draw, which might actually have been for the best in terms of our safety walking back to San Telmo to catch our bus.

Carne Times

Vegetarians, caveat emptor: This post contains a lot of meat.

A few weeks ago at the gym, our trainer, Adrián, proposed a trip with us and our friends Dave and Mersal to what he deemed the "best parrilla [grill/BBQ] in the universe." Of course I agreed that Ken and I would love to go; after all, who am I to argue with a porteño about meat? (It didn't hurt that he also said that we wouldn't have to count any food we ate at the parrilla. Free calories!)

The parrilla in question was Los Talas del Entrerrianos, located about 45 minutes from our neighbourhood. Adrián arranged for a taxi to drive us there and wait while we consumed copious amounts of meat. Los Talas started out as a choripán stand for labourers and grew into a huge, comfortable restaurant that feels kind of like an Oktoberfest tent. Apparently all of the meat at Los Talas comes from their own estancia (ranch).

We started with house-made chorizo sausage, then ordered the lechón, or suckling pig. It's the specialty of the house, and it was beyond delicious. We sampled some of the crispy skin of the pig (which Adrián called the "galleta" or cookie) - it was crispy and salty and very, very yummy. The chicken was the best I've had so far in Buenos Aires - cooked just perfectly to be tender and juicy all the way through. We shared an order of mochillas (sweetbreads), then moved onto the beef: vacío (flank steak) and asado. While asado refers to roasting or barbecue in general, it's also used to describe a cut of meat (short ribs or spareribs).

Suffice to say we were pretty much sweating meat by the end of the meal. The ol' meat sweats didn't stop us, however, from sharing a couple of desserts, and we managed to squeeze some ice cream into our bellies somewhere between the pork and the spareribs. I swear the taxi groaned a bit when we piled back in for the drive home.

More pics on Flickr.

El Mejor Estudiante De La Clase

Since we started Spanish classes four weeks ago (minus a weeklong Easter holiday), our class size has dwindled: The first week, there were eight students, and the second week we were down to five. We started this week with only three, but the third student was only in class on Monday and so for the rest of the week Ken and I had Alejandro all to ourselves. We both, but especially Ken, became much more comfortable speaking in such a small group.

To mark the end of our third week of classes, yesterday we had our first exam. I've been (very gently) teasing Ken all week for making flash cards for his iPhone, and generally nerding out about (read: studying for) the test, but guess who got perfect?



¡BRAVO! indeed! ¡Qué bellisimo! I got 88, and next time I'm going to give him a run for his dineros.

Belated Easter Greetings

¡Hola amigos! As life settles down here in Buenos Aires and we feel more like we're living here and less like we're on vacation, I've become a bit remiss in my blogging. I've invited Ken to join the festivities here at UFF as a contributor, but as he has yet to put pen to paper, so to speak, you're stuck with me. Suckas.

As last Sunday was Easter and I have latent Catholicism, I'd planned to attend Mass. However, we spent Saturday evening with the aforementioned Frenchy and Dutchy (aka The Europeans) and on Sunday morningafternoon when I woke up I was in no shape to be awake, which is usually a requirement, at least to get to a church. Also, Mass was over. So we leisurely started our day with oatmeal and coffee, and just after 1 p.m. Audrey called to tell us they wanted to go to the Feria de Mataderos, which I'd mentioned the night before as a possible Sunday activity.

Against all odds (odds that included hangovers and miscommunicated meeting places) we managed to meet the Europeans at the Retiro train station and find the bus that would take us to the feria (market). It was about an hour from the city centre. Once we arrived and found our way into the market we were not disappointed. In addition to the usual market stalls, there was a large group of Argentine folk singers, and another group of folk dancers who looked like they were having a grand time. We watched them for a while, then continued our tour to find a gaucho horse racing contest called Carerra de Sortija, or the Race of the Ring. The Buenos Aires Argentina Guide describes the race:

Gauchos race their horses at breakneck speeds towards a small ring hung onto a raised metal frame overhead. The gauchos stand up in their stirrups as they race, and try to spear the ring, which is no larger than a normal piece of jewelry, with a small pointy stick.

See the little pen-like thing in this guy's hand?He was trying to put that through a ring about the size of a keychain that was hanging just above his head as he galloped by. Not only did some of the cowboys actually achieve this feat, we didn't see one person fall off his horse!

Despite all this excitement, the best part of the day, and maybe of our whole time in Buenos Aires so far, was our chance wandering into a restaurant beside the market. As we were walking by we noticed a couple of guys playing guitars inside, and since we were looking for a place to eat, we thought it might be a good bet. The place was pretty full but the waitress found us a table at the back, and we sat for hours listening to the most beautiful Argentine folkloric music. To top it all off, a litre of beer cost a mere 10 pesos (about 2.72USD/3.28CAD). I'm not sure the short video I took will do the music justice. The main performer had both amazing guitar skills and a powerful, operatic voice, and he was joined in rotation by other people in the bar. The guy who we think was the head honcho welcomed us openly and tried to explain the meanings of the lyrics to us (pain, love, and imprisonment were amongst the themes). He even insisted that we pose for a photo!

Finally, I can assure you that this guy's reaction was not representative of the rest of the crowd: He'd obviously just been taking advantage of the 10-peso beers.

A Frenchy, a Dutchy, an American, and a Canadian Walk Into a Bar

During our first two weeks of Spanish classes we had the pleasure of meeting Audrey, a woman from France who is traveling with her Dutch boyfriend, Eric. (When they're not touring the globe they both live in Amsterdam.) We had dinner with them one night a couple of weeks ago and got home at 4 a.m. Since then we've shared countless* bottles of Quilmes, stories about our homes and native lands, and maybe one or two pizzas calabresas. Audrey and Eric are leaving Buenos Aires tomorrow to continue their travels into Uruguay, and last night I convinced Eric to retell his story about ordering a cheeseburger in France. With Audrey's permission, of course.



*On Saturday night we put down 15L of beer. I think they're trying to kill us.

Merienda

The honeymoon is, as they say, over, at least when it comes to enjoying delicious Argentine foods like steak, empanadas, choripan, and provoleta. This afternoon when I put my jeans on I noticed that eating so much beef over the last few weeks has caused me to develop some beef of my own. On my thighs.

Both Ken & I have professed to wanting to lose weight, and today, our trainer Adrián sent us a spreadsheet to keep track of what we eat. The spreadsheet has space for meals and snacks:

Desayuno (breakfast)
Snack
Almuerzo (lunch)
Snack
Merienda
Snack
Cena (dinner)
Snack

As soon as Ken looked over the spreadsheet, his eyes lit up. "Oh! Merienda! What is this?" A few seconds passed, then he read joyously, "'Merienda is a midday meal had in Spain around 5:30 p.m. to fill in the meal gap between lunch at 2:00 p.m. and dinner at 9:00 p.m.' I am going to like merienda!"

I'm not sure this spreadsheet is actually going to help us.

Steak & Eggs

A day that starts out with this breakfast - at 2 p.m., no less - can't be all bad, now, can it?

No Entiendo

Last night after sharing a few chunks of bife de lomo, a bottle of wine, and several (read: about 10) litres of beer with a couple of new friends from school, we hopped in a cab in San Telmo to get back to our neighbourhood. Full of liquid courage, I decided to try to carry on a conversation with the taxista (driver). At first it was going OK - he asked where we were from, and told us about a few places he's been in the States. He spoke very quickly and I was having some trouble hearing him from the backseat, so at one point I asked him to speak more slowly so I could understand.

The taxista said 2 or 3 words at a slower pace then sped right back up. I listened as intently as I could (it wasn't easy, being both meat- and beer-drunk) and mostly tried to pick out words that were important for me to my end of the conversation, like "dónde" or "por qué." Ken & I took turns participating in the conversation, because I really didn't understand most of it, and saying, "No entiendo" ("I don't understand") over and over gets old fast. I guess it didn't go too badly because by the time we were back in Palermo the driver (Hugo) was playing his favourite tango CDs for us and even gave us his business card so that we could email him if we had any questions about Buenos Aires.

At least, I think that's why he gave it to us.

Baking in Buenos Aires

In honour of our Spanish teacher Alejandro's birthday next week, I decided to bake cookies. Tyler recently tagged a delicious-looking Smitten Kitchen recipe for me, so a few days ago I decided to give it a go. The only hitch: I couldn't find what I've always considered the most basic of baking ingredients at either of our local supermarkets. The stores only carried artificial vanilla extract, and brown sugar was nowhere in sight. While our package of oatmeal has a recipe for oatmeal cookies with chips de chocolate, I couldn't find those, either.

Since today was a holiday and we didn't have school, we decided to check out the widely-lauded and appropriately-named Jumbo Supermarket. You can read more about Jumbo on other sites, but it was pretty much akin to Wal-Mart or the Real Canadian Superstore. The produce at Jumbo was better than our local stores, but prices were more or less the same and the selection was almost overwhelming. I did manage to find baking soda and settled for artificial vanilla extract and baking chocolate that I could chop into chunks for the cookies, but was unable to find brown sugar, which I suspected would be key to the chewiness factor in this particular recipe. I finally bought a bag of azucar negra, or black sugar. Even though it looked much darker than standard American light brown sugar, it had a similar "sticky" feeling when I squeezed the bag (i.e., it didn't feel as granulated as white sugar).

When I poured the sugar into a bowl to measure it, it looked a LOT darker than I'd expected. Behold:

Sparkly!

Aside from this substitution, the rest of the ingredients were as written, except I measured by weight instead of volume because we have a kitchen scale but no measuring cups or spoons. When I creamed the butter and sugars the resulting mixture was the colour and texture of used coffee grounds, and I was skeptical as to whether the recipe would actually work. To add to my skepticism is our oven dial (the one in the middle). Can you spot what's missing?

If you said a temperature setting, you're right! I set it somewhere in the middle and watched the first 2 batches of cookies very carefully to figure out the correct baking time.

And...? Success! I'm happy to report that we have a delicious batch of (very dark) chocolate chip cookies. We think they taste delicious; I'll let you know what Alejandro thinks.

Miscellaneous Updates

1. The internets work! I have to tell you, I'm particularly proud of this one. Last night I called the management company again to ask about the repair. The woman there spoke mostly Spanish, so I muddled through the conversation en español. This morning she called us to set up a time to have at technician come by. When I answered in English, she said, Podés hablar español, si? (You can speak Spanish, yes?). I think I said OK, and we (mostly she) then continued the conversation (which involved her explaining that the tech couldn't come while we were here, but that she would come with him in the afternoon and would be responsible for everything, etc.) entirely in Spanish. THEN, I even left her a note IN SPANISH about our oven maybe not working, and she left us another note IN SPANISH with instructions on how to light it manually. Now we know how to use our oven (el horno, in case you wondered, which cracks Ken up because he is adolescentes), and I can bake cookies. ¡Hurra!

2. Dave solved the mystery of the baguette question for us. To recap: When we buy a baguette, the cashier at the grocery store usually asks us a question. We stare blankly. She looks annoyed. Dave explained, "she's asking if you want her to break it in half or put it in the bag in one piece. Broken makes it easier to carry home!" Smart fellow, that Dave.

3. We have acquired another set of keys! Now we can actually leave the house alone. Good times, people.

4. We are one day into Cuerpo Caliente Abril (CCA). We've both started working out with Adrián, a personal trainer who came highly recommended by Dave. I had my first session with Adrián this morning, and I suspect he's going to kick our asses.

5. When you join a gym in Buenos Aires (Bs.As.), you have to have a short physical exam. I met with the doctor at the gym this morning and learned that not only is he a heart specialist who has lived in Manhattan and Cleveland, he's also a magician! He wants to practice his English so I told him that Ken & I would meet with him for conversation exchange. He said he would also show us magic tricks. I love this city!

6. Speaking of conversation exchange, tonight after school we met with someone we met on the internets (I love you internets! Please never leave me again!) to practice our Spanish. He was the nicest guy ever and we had a great time talking to him. ¡Hola Gonzalo! ¡Queremos encontrarnos con vos otra vez, por favor!

7. Tomorrow is another federal holiday, and all of next week is a holiday for Easter! Yes Adam, even us unemployed folk appreciate a good holiday. Four hours per day of language studies is exhausting! Particularly when followed by steak and red wine at 10 p.m., and clubbing until 5*, you feel me?

8. I was accepted into the CELTA TEFL course! But I don't know if I want to go. More on that coming soon...

*I don't really go clubbing until 5. But apparently some people do. Tonight around 9:30 we arrived at a parilla (grill) for dinner and waited over an hour for a table. When we walked home at 1 the neighbourhood bars were just getting started.

Worth The Cost Of Entry

On Sunday afternoon Ken & I walked about an hour to a bar downtown to watch March Madness with a bunch of other expats (mostly Americans). We arrived home in the evening to find the wi-fi in our apartment was down. We tried the ethernet cable as well, to no avail. Our Spanish school has internet access but it's painfully slow. I managed to read my email during a break on Monday only to learn that my BFF Sirrah! might already be in labour - 10 days early! - with her second bebé. We arrived home on Monday eagerly hoping to have everything all fixed so that I could call Sirrah! (using Skype, natch), but it was still down. I tried to distract myself with a half-hearted attempt to read my latest acquisition, "Becky prepara su boda," part of the "Loco por las compros" series. (Yes, I'm reading a Shopaholic book in Spanish. Borges can wait.) After much internal debate about whether I really *need* the Internet (...I do), I finally called our flat's management company to tell them about the problem. They assured me it would be fixed this morning. I then had a minor breakdown in which I felt extremely disconnected, somewhat unattractive, and badly wanted to eat a cookie.

Several sympathetic hugs and a good night's sleep later, I felt better. Still web-less, this morning before class we finally went to buy vegetables from a verdulero, thus staving off scurvy another day. An aside about vegetables: While the grocery stores near us are mostly great, the produce sections are terrible. There are, however, many verduleros (vegetable sellers) nearby, who sell excellent produce. We bought a bunch of beets, a package of zucchini stuffed with other chopped veggies, a generous package of crudités, 2 apples, 2 tomatoes, and a great-looking bunch of basil for only 13 pesos (around $3.50 US or $4.40 Cdn). We've been kind of intimidated to tap one of these places because of our inadequate vocabularies. Anyway, fear conquered! And I ate more healthily today than I have in 2 weeks.

Tonight our internets are still down, but we're chillin' at a groovy little wi-fi-equipped resto-cafe-bar a few blocks from our flat. I'm washing down my web-surfing with a 10 peso glass of vino tinto that's totally worth the cost of entry.

P.S. I miss you guys.

¡Hola! Me llamo Gillon.

Hooray! We finally figured out our phones! As an added bonus, my old Razr works here, thanks to AT&T providing the unlock code. (T-Mobile can suck it: They wouldn't provide the code for the phone I used when I had service with them for YEARS, because it has been more than 90 days since I was a customer.) As another added bonus, Ken used the wonderous information on the interwebs to figure out how to unlock his iPhone. I'm not doing that yet because I'm still too nervous to carry mine around (see: CRIME).

Anyhoots, we also muddled through the phone company's Spanish website to figure out how to add credit to our phones. However, on logging in, we learned that our names didn't translate very well. I've already discovered that my name is particularly difficult here. If you were to pronounce it in Argentine Spanish, it would sound something like "Hee-zhee-an," where "zh" is kind of the "s" sound in "casual." In phonetic Spanish, I'd probably have to spell my name something like "Chilian" or "Jilian." When I bought my SIM card I wrote my name down to make it easier for the guy working at the store, but it still ended up on their website as "Gillon." Hee.

With our newfound cellular technology, we can actually leave the house separately now! We might even figure out how to get another set of keys made at some point. Exciting times indeed.

Whew.

I just returned from Spanglish, a language exchange gathering that happens three times a week in Buenos Aires (one of which, on Thursdays, is at a bar just a few blocks from our flat!). I arrived shortly after 7:30 and paid 15 pesos (around $4 US) in exchange for a drink ticket and a table assignment. I traded my ticket for a glass of vino tinto from the bar and headed over to table 16. I was soon joined by two porteños (Buenos Aires locals) and we were instructed to converse for five minutes in English, then five minutes en Español. After 10 minutes, the Spanish-speakers rotated tables and I was joined by another one or two porteños. For the most part the whole 10 minutes of each group conversed in both languages, with each person practicing their language of choice.

Everyone I met was incredibly friendly and patient with my Spanish, which is still muy despacio (very slow). The Argentines explained phrases in both English and Spanish. I really didn't need to help anyone much with their English, as most of the people with whom I spoke were already quite fluent!

I have to admit, I was a little nervous walking over to the bar, even though it's only a few blocks from home. This evening was the first time Ken and I have been separated since we arrived a week ago. We only have one key to our flat, and the key is needed both on entering and leaving the apartment, as the doors can only be locked from both the inside and the outside with the key - so we've gone everywhere together since we got here. Codependence much? Anyway, tonight Ken went to meet our new friend Dave at an event for techies (Palermo Valley, "la Comunidad Web 2.0 de Argentina" (I'm sure you can figure that one out without translation!)) so I was on my own for Spanglish. It was a blast, and I can't wait to go again next week - if not before, in a different neighbourhood.

P.S. These are our keys. Ken especially loves them because they are old-timey.

Spanish in Buenos Aires

This afternoon our Spanish teacher, Alejandro, wrote the following on the board:

Please avoid the verb coger* in Buenos Aires, just say "tomar."

to be excited: estar emocionado/a
(Never say "estoy excitado/a," except in sexual occasions.)

to be embarrassed: tengo verguenza
(avoid estoy embarazado/a except in the case you're pregnant)

Someone then asked if "estoy embarazado" would ever be correct, because a man can't be pregnant. (A woman would say, "Estoy embarazada.") We then got into a discussion about the pregnant man in Bend, Oregon, who my friend Aaron met once while Aaron was waiting with his wife for an ultrasound.

Oh, and to those who inquired after my subway-fainting incident, tengo verguenza pero no estoy embarazada.

*In Buenos Aires, coger means, in the immortal words of Ralphie in "A Christmas Story," the "Queen Mother of dirty words." In other places it means "to take" or "to catch," like a bus. Noted.

Fun Stuff!

To make up for yesterday's holiday, our Spanish school offered a free conversation class this morning at a café in San Telmo. An instructor from the school came to give us an explanation of mate, the traditional beverage of Argentina. Mate is a very strong herbal drink that is served in a gourd and mixed with hot water (in Argentina, although in other countries it may be drunk lukewarm or cold) and sometimes sugar, depending on taste. (Mate is very bitter and we both liked it better with sugar.) The gourd is passed around a group. When it's your turn, you drink through the bombilla (straw) until the water is gone, then you pass the gourd back to the "cebador" (the person serving the mate) to refill. And you never say "gracias" until you don't want any more at all.

After class today, we walked back to our neighbourhood (about an hour) and stopped at a sanwichería for a snack and a cerveza. We followed that up with the best deal on helados (ice cream) in Buenos Aires: A very small cone for only 2 pesos! That's 54¢ US. The best part is that this particular heladería is just a block from our apartment, and the guys working there are extremely friendly (I think they might have had a boy-crush on Ken, or at least his hair). Needless to say, we'll be back. We also need to get our asses to the gym, because the cerveza and helado are starting to take their toll!

P.S. Pics soon; I'm still a little gun-shy about carrying about carrying and using a camera since the CRIME incident.

Las Cosas Pequeñas

We've been here for almost a week, and despite a spate of travel adventures like crime and fainting, most of our time has been spent navigating the most basic tasks of setting up our lives here.

For example:

- We bought a SIM card for our cell phone, and we think it works (we have a signal), but we don't know how to buy minutes for it. The website is entirely in Spanish. Our landline works, though, and we can make free local calls and receive calls.

- Every time we buy a baguette at the grocery store, the cashier asks us a question. We respond by looking confused. So far we've always managed to walk out having bought the baguette, but we're still not sure what we're being asked.

- One of the girls in our Spanish class has a birthday today. I wanted to bake something easy, like cookies, but I couldn't find baking soda or chocolate chips in the grocery store. I bought a cake mix instead, but I have yet to find a pan in which to bake it.

- We're going to join a gym tonight, based on the recommendation of anther expat, Dave from NY. We met Dave and his girlfriend Mersal last night. They moved here in August of last year and their blog is a great reference for us!

Improving our Spanish will help with all of these challenges, and we have a couple of supplementary conversation classes to attend this week that will hopefully help move that process along.

In other news, the weather continues to be insanely beautiful, hovering at 25-30°C (80-90°F) for the foreseeable future. Today was a federal holiday and we spent the afternoon lounging in a park (Plaza Palermo Viejo) near our apartment.

Subte Blackout!

This morning Ken & I got up bright and early to start our first day of Spanish class. We'd signed up for classes daily from 9 a.m. to 1 p.m., which meant waking up quite a lot earlier from our new norm of getting up when the lord wakes us, or when one of us flushes the toilet (which makes a very loud groaning noise not unlike a bagpipe). We found the subway ("subte" en español) and boarded at what I assume was the peak of rush hour. It was hot and packed. Having lived in NYC for almost 10 years, I'm no stranger to a full subway car. This morning, however, some combination of heat and crowd and low blood sugar led me to feel dizzy enough to tell Ken that we needed to get off at the next stop.

I started to collapse while we were still on the car and he noticed and immediately wrapped both arms around me so that I didn't fall, and when the train stopped I made it a few steps onto the platform before I went down. I came to with about six people standing over me, fanning me and holding my legs perpendicular to the ground. The were all super nice and besides feeling embarrassed about the whole thing, I felt very safe. Don't freak out, Mom, I'm fine. Really.

We postponed our trip to the Spanish School and joined an afternoon class from 1:30-5:30, which I suspect will be much more compatible with our current sleeping schedule!

Helados, Gatos, Y Un Conejo Blanco

After a late dinner last night at an excellent restaurant/wine bar, that, for appetizers, entrees, desserts, and wine, topped out at a whopping $35 per person (a splurge for those of us who are unemployed, but hopefully incentive for you people with jobs to visit!), I finally slept in this morning until after 10. We lounged around in our pajamas, drinking coffee and eating bread and cheese until around 2, when we finally ventured out to complete our previously-thwarted attempt to buy a SIM card.

On our outing we met a big albino bunny who lives in a Chinese restaurant a few blocks away. We named him Ferdinand. We then walked over to the Botanical Garden where porteños [locals] leave their unwanted house cats. I wanted to pet them all, and Ken wanted to hose me down before I came back into the apartment. We ate some delicious ice cream, and picked up a few bottles of cerveza which we're now enjoying while we kill time before dinner, which won't be until 9 or 10 p.m.

I also learned that neither of the 2 old cell phones I had are unlocked, but it turns out that quick phone calls to AT&T and T-Mobile yielded the requisite unlock codes, for free! Good times. So now we have a phone! We also have a landline and Skype, so we're all kinds of connected.

Pocket: PICK'D!!1!

While we were out this afternoon, my wallet and (small) camera were stolen from my purse. We were walking home along the busy Avenida Santa Fe, and when we stopped to buy SIM cards for our phones I realized that both my wallet and camera were missing.

Getting robbed or otherwise ripped off is pretty much my biggest fear when I'm traveling. I've been lucky in that it hasn't happened very often, given the amount of traveling I've done. I felt like a moron, because my purse isn't the most secure and I certainly wasn't carrying it as well as I could have to prevent such a thing. Despite a few moments of EXTREME frustration, I surprised myself by not freaking out (I didn't even cry!) and just spent about two hours canceling various credit cards (thank GOD for Skype!). It wasn't the most fun thing I could have imagined doing, but it also wasn't the worst thing ever. And since my cards won't be replaced until next week, Ken has to buy me dinner!


P.S. Suck it, Crime.

La Cucaracha

Setting: Last night, after a few beers, Ken & I are lounging on the bed, philosophizing. I look up at the loft and notice a large black bug flutter and settle on the railing.

G: There's a big bug up there.
K: Where?
G: Second railing. It's crawling up.
K: Oh. Oh, yeah. Oh god! It's big.
G: Yeah. Now it's on the top of the railing.
K: Oh god. I think it's getting bigger.
G: It's looking at us.
K: I can see its antennae. I can see its antennae moving from all the way over here.
G: Can you please go kill it?
K: I don't like it. Remember how I was calm about the other ones? I don't like that one.
G: Please? You're the boy.
K: Stupid penis.

Armed with a glass and a paper towel, he climbed the ladder to the loft.

K [looking at the gigantic bug]: We shall call it "El Grande."
G: Oh god, can you get it?
K: Oh. It's fast.
G: Please tell me you can get it.
K: I lost it.

Apparently El Grande figured out that he was being hunted and scurried off. This story does have a happy ending, as later on Ken trapped El Grande under a glass and released him into the night. Unfortunately he landed on the wall right next to our kitchen window. We closed the window and are hoping that El Jefe doesn't show up to avenge him.

Mis Tobillos Estan Hinchados

¡Hola desde Buenos Aires!

We arrived safely this morning after an uneventful 11-hour flight. It was the longest flight I'd been on; Ken has flown to Asia a few times so he's a pro. It turns out 11 hours on an overnight flight when you haven't slept for more than 5 hours in the two previous nights is cake. I was asleep before the plane took off, and aside from a brief period of being awake around midnight, I slept until about 2 hours before we landed.

Our apartment is in Palermo Soho, a neighbourhood laden with shops, restaurants, and bars. The apartment itself is super-sweet - it was describe as a studio but I think will be plenty of room for us and the occasional visitor. I noticed a couple of roaches when we first got here and christened them Wally and Eva. On our return from dinner this evening we found that Wally and Eva have a whole family who apparently live in our walls, and didn't scurry away quite quickly enough when we turned on the lights. We added roach traps and spray to our shopping list for tomorrow.

On our post-nap venture this evening we found the local supermarket (at which we purchased the requisite jar of dulce de leche) and a gym that's quite reasonably priced at around $35/month.

Tomorrow afternoon I have an interview with the school at which I'm hoping to take a certificate course so that I can teach English at some point, and tomorrow night we have our first social engagement! Friends of ours from San Francisco are here on vacation and we're meeting them for dinner. Porteños [locals] eat late, so we're meeting them at 9 or 10.

Both of us are kind of stunned, like, holy crap, we live in Buenos Aires.

Things That Can Suck It

1. Justice: I just spent an hour at the Brooklyn Borough Traffic Whatnot to contest a parking ticket I got the day we left for Canada. It was Sunday afternoon and we'd parked under a "no parking during street cleaning on Tues/Thurs/Fri" sign. What I didn't see was the sign at the end of the effing block that indicated that the whole block was for commuter vehicles only, all days and all times. The judge didn't buy my reasoning ("So, that street-cleaning sign only applies to the commuter vehicles?" "No, it applies to everyone." "But only commuter vehicles can ever park there, so really, it's only for them, right?" "Just pay the ticket."). Suck it, Justice.

2. National Grid (formerly known as KeySpan): Earlier this year they sent us a bunch of notices saying they were going to shut off our service. When I called about those, they were all, "Oopsie! We forgot to send you a bill, here's one for $400." Apparently they haven't sent us a bill since then because our final bill is for $500. Suck it, National Grid.

3. AT&T: I just called AT&T to invoke the "I'm leaving the country" clause that should waive the $175 early termination fee. Great, no problem! I just have to send them a utility bill or a bill from a new cell phone carrier with my new address on it. THOSE ARE THE ONLY TWO OPTIONS. Oh, and I can't fax it, because they only have a toll-free fax number that won't work outside of the U.S. Suck it, AT&T.

T-Minus 14 Hours

Our flight leaves tonight at 10. Our stuff is in a state of loosely controlled chaos. The only thing I can't find is the bra without underwire that I bought specifically for traveling. It's plaguing my mind, of course.

Guest Blogger: Memphis

This afternoon I received an email update from SunnyMemphis.
NB: This is Sunny's third time sending email, ever. She is 77.

from Sunny
to Gillian
date Sun, Mar 15, 2009 at 1:02 PM
subject memphisupdate

ivetried to get the old woman to do this but she just gets that glassyeyed look as if to say '' a computer oh my no t me.....i ain't doin' that... soooo i guess i'll just have to play little red hen..this isn't such a ba place---just lonesome without you. The old woman talks to me ,feeds me on time, cleans my litter box, brushes me daily but IT'S THOSE CONFOUNDED OTHER FOUR LEGGEDS. The other day they went downstairs for their before bed treat. SO I went down and sat on the steps.When they tried to come upstairs I gave them my best hissy hiaay.They both backed off and I smiled happily. They both went into the bathroom with the old woman.Then Duke came out and started up the stairs----I hissed and hissed---H just totally ignored me and breezed on by.So much for hissing--he's a saucy brat. So Ill keep you up to date. Miss you both and love you Memphis.

Update on Gillian's Failing Health

Turns out the cleanse was not the cause of my malaise this week.

Turns out it's another kidney infection.

Yay!

On the plus side:

- I paid for extended health insurance this month and actually used it, which makes me feel virtuous (or something)
- I won't be toting a defective kidney to South America
- I am incapable of lifting our heavy boxes labeled "Sort in March" out of storage [minus for Ken]
- Given my recent experience I was able to maintain some dignity (I only cried a couple of times today [minus for Ken])

This is like pre-South America "Land of Milk and Honey" purgatory.

Don't Try This At Home

Reader Discretion Advised: This post contains information about bowel movements. You've been warned.

Still with me? GREAT! If you've been following along at home, you know that last Sunday (and Monday, for that matter) involved a little roadtrip and an introduction to a certain feline to two barky canines. It marked the first days of a year of unemployment and followed much celebration. After a fun week in Waterloo (during which not one, not two, but THREE entire pans of Rice Krispy Squares were consumed), on Saturday I found myself in a health food store. I was just looking for almond milk, but a 7-day herbal cleanse (for the low low price of $19.95 Cdn!) caught my eye. I flipped through the accompanying recommended meal plan and it looked pretty comparable to my regular menu, so I decided to give it a go.

The "kit" contained 2 different herbal pills: one a colon cleanse, to be taken twice daily before breakfast and dinner, and the other a "multi-system cleanse" to be taken twice daily WITH breakfast and dinner. The ingredients lists were quite long and all-natural and honestly, I was skeptical as to the efficacy of something like this, but I was thinking, new beginnings, detoxing, Spring, etc. OK, I was also thinking, wouldn't it be great to lose 5lbs before we get to Buenos Aires?

I started the regime on Saturday morning, and all was well until I woke up Monday feeling a little under the weather. I'm going to be honest with you here: On Monday morning, I pooped three times. Before breakfast. I'd had plans to meet various people in the morning, one of which I cancelled and the other of which was blessedly cancelled. I managed to get myself showered in time for a lunch date, only to have that cancelled as well. At least I was clean, because I promptly went home, curled up under a blanket on the couch, and, much to the chagrin of the people who are used to see me Tiggering around Waterloo, slept for the entire afternoon. Like, for six hours, through ringing phones and barking dogs and a hissing cat. I woke up for dinner, ate a piece of chicken and a few grains of rice, then went back to the couch, at which point I decided to immediately retox because cleansing? Totally not worth it, and I don't care how great I was supposed to feel by day 5.

I can only hope that tango will have all the benefits without the discomfort. And the pooping.

A Supposedly Fun Thing

Last Sunday, following two nights of no-holds-barred alcohol consumption that included Ken and our friend Aaron consuming a 1.5L bottle of White Zinfandel (...for real), we managed to clean out the remaining piles of crap from our apartment and load a bike, several boxes full of the aforementioned crap, an angry cat (complete with litter box!) and two tired, hungover people into a rented Chevy Impala for a roadtrip to Canada.

We (read: I) had originally set a goal for 8 a.m. departure because the drive is 10 hours and our unemployed selves can't afford a fancy motel. However, after another trip to storage, a stop at IHOP to stave off our collective increasingly low blood sugar, and various drop-offs in Brooklyn, we finally hit the road at 5:30 p.m., if by "hit the road" you mean "sat in standstill traffic waiting to enter the Holland Tunnel". At first I was optimistic: As we finally settled into a comfortable speed on the interstate, I suggested that maybe we could drive straight through.

About an hour later we were both done, and we spent the night in a Super 8 Motel in Binghamton. The Super 8 Motel very responsibly keeps the heat off in unused rooms. Given that the outside temperature was around 3F (-16C) and we could see our breath in the room, we cranked the heat. Before we turned in Ken lowered the heat so we wouldn't sweat ourselves out of the room in the middle of the night, but apparently it wasn't quite low enough because at 3 a.m. I had to get up to throw water on the rocks.

During the drive Monday Memphis was calm enough to ride on my lap. The side effect of her being uncontained was a lot of cat hair in the car. Everywhere. By the time we crossed into Canada my left eye was swollen shut and I could only hope that the border guard wouldn't refuse me entry because of suspected pinkeye or because he thought I was a pirate.

We finally arrived in Waterloo about 3 p.m. on Monday. Memphis has been... well, she's been a total bitch since we got here. I get that she isn't thrilled about the dogs (who, incidentally, are about half her size) but enough with the leaky tire routine! I'm sure she'll adjust, and her M.O. this week of waking us up at 5 every morning has made it just a little easier to bid her adios for the year.

Up next: Ken learns Canadian! We kiss babies! Dinner at Swiss Chalet!

Internet > Packing

As the history books will show us, more packing means more blogging! [Ref: August 2007, February 2008.]

There's a lot more purging happening this time around, and in the process I've unearthed some choice bits, like this mixtape outline I made circa 1997:


ANGST MUCH?

Speaking of mixtapes, I also found one that Dos made for me around the same time, for my Route 66 roadtrip. It contains such classics as "Barbie Girl" by Aqua ("come on Barbie let's go party") and "Bandito" by The Refreshments ("Everybody knows/ that the world is full of stupid people") and is appropriately entitled, "Super Funky Driving Tape."

Eat A Cookie

Eating a cookie is my response to all dilemmas this week. For example:

Dilemma! What should I do with my GameCube that hasn't been played since 2003?
Answer: Eat a cookie!

Dilemma! Someone offered me $20 more for a bookcase I'd listed on Craigslist AFTER I promised it to someone else.
Answer: Eat a cookie!

Dilemma! The TEFL school I applied to in BsAs hasn't written me back.
Answer: Eat a cookie!

Dilemma! The cookie I'm eating isn't even that good, but I keep eating it.
Answer: Eat it anyway!

By the time we get to South America I'm going to weigh 400lbs.

Always On My Mind

There are a number of things that I've been thinking about way too much in the last few days.

1. The book Wife of the Chef by Courtney Febbroriello, which has lived up on my bookshelf beside myriad other chef-wannabe books including Michael Ruhlman's The Making of a Chef and The Soul of a Chef. Ruhlman's books are engaging and inspirational and I expect I'll read them again. Febbroriello's... not so much. And yet, YET, that book has lived on my bookshelf for years, as I tote it around from apartment to apartment because in my mind it has become part of the set. Last weekend I even packed it into a box of books to store, along with biographies of Julia Child and Jacques Pépin, because it "goes" with those books. Since then I keep thinking about it how it isn't that good and how I probably won't read it and why am I keeping it, again?

I'm putting it the donate pile.

2. My clothes. Do I really need that new sweater from the Gap? How much stuff should I bring to Argentina? Will I buy stuff there? What if I bring the wrong stuff and I don't look cool and as a result I don't make any friends and I just sit around our flat watching telenovelas and eating dulce de leche out of the jar?

Eff it, I'll keep the sweater.

Also on the subject of my wardrobe, after last week's careful curation we took a couple of boxes to Beacon's Closet this weekend in the hopes that we'd be able to get a few bucks for our castoffs. When we returned, we were informed that they couldn't buy ANY of our clothes because they fell into some grey area, which I suspect is somewhere between "good" and "Goodwill". Bitches.

3. Memphis, with whom I am so in love that I had her tiny face emblazoned on my new credit card: I'm going to miss that beast.

4. Oh my god in less than a month I'll be living in Argentina.

Yay! A Running Update!

For the first time since I started running in 2006, I'm training through the winter. Well, sort of. I've kept up running, even though I'm not training for anything in particular. I've mostly been running on the treadmill, including a fun interval workout that I've outlined below for your training pleasure. This morning I ran a 5k in Prospect Park. (Yes, a week before I leave this fair city New York Road Runners starts having races in Brooklyn. Bitches.) Anyway, it turns out that no matter how much you'd like to think your 5k pace is 8:30/mile when you're running on the treadmill, the great outdoors has a harsh reality for you. And that reality is hills, and also temperatures in the 30s plus wind chill.

I averaged 9:33/mile this morning to finish in 29:37. I was feeling OK about it, too, until my friend Kerner, who had also run this morning, texted me to see how I'd done. He then told me that he "might have won [his] age group" - which of course prompted me to look up his finish time and HOLY SHIT - the dude ran 5:32 miles!

He finished in 11th place. I finished at 2711.

Here's that interval workout I mentioned (from the March issue of Runner's World.

Run intervals of decreasing length, from 7 down to 1 minute. Run the first interval at your marathon pace and work your way up to your 5k pace. Recover at an easy jog between each interval for half the length of the previous interval. For me, this means starting at 10:30/mile for 7 minutes, and increasing my speed by 20 seconds per mile until I hit 8:30 for the 1 minute interval. The whole workout takes 42 minutes plus cooldown, and it has kicked my ass every time I've done it!

But maybe you should ask Kerner what he's doing, because apparently it's working.

99 Boxes of Clothes on the Floor

Tonight Brianna came over to help me sort clothes.

s/help/drink wine and watch/g

OK, that isn't entirely true -- she was also tasked with taking a hard line on any item of clothing on which I was wavering. Our mission was to end up with 4 piles: Keep and take, keep and store, donate, sell*. Guys, I have a lot of clothes, especially considering that I've moved 3 times in the past 2 years and each time I've taken bags - plural! - to Goodwill. Based on the size of the piles we built, I only wear about 1/4 of the clothes I own. And based on the items in the donate and sell piles, I should never, ever buy anything from the J.Crew Final Sale.

Counts so far: 2 boxes to take to Beacon's Closet (to sell, hopefully), 3 boxes and a bag for Goodwill, and 1 box each to take and store.

*Beacon's Closet prices your items and gives you either 35% of their asking price in cash, or 55% as store credit. Some of this stuff is brand new (with tags still on it - I KNOW, don't judge me) so I'm hoping to get a little something for it.

Leaving New York, Never Easy

Since I moved to New York nine years ago, I've traveled countless times, visiting cities as near as Boston and as far away as Nairobi. And even though I've considered moving away, every time I left NY I knew I'd return, because I had a home here.

Until now.

Next month, Ken and I are moving to South America. We plan to make Buenos Aires our home for the better part of a year; to speak Spanish and dance Tango and eat dulce de leche.

In two weeks we'll both be jobless and homeless. I couldn't be more excited.

Between now and March 1, we're whittling down our lives to fit into a couple of suitcases. We're catching up on dentist visits and applying for credit cards without foreign transaction fees (there's only one). We're listening to Pimsleur Spanish lessons on our iPhones and considering the merits of a Kindle.

On March 1, we'll pack up the beast and drive her to Waterloo, where she'll spend the year with two old ladies, two rambunctious toy poodles, and the occasional toddler. We'll be back in NY to bid our farewells during the week leading up to our March 18 departure.

Last weekend I finally did my taxes, and I hesitated ever-so-slightly when TurboTax prompted me to finalize my state return:

More Incentive to Vote

Don't be coy. I'm sure you have *one* more email address that isn't subscribed to DailyCandy yet.

Have you forwarded this link to your friends yet? It's not too late. And I bet that Facebook status is still sitting there idly, waiting for you to tell the world you're voting for Ken. Go on, update that - I'll wait.

I can wait all night.

Rock The Vote!

Readers,

As you know, last year's election was a pivotal one. You donated your time and money, you called voters in the swing states, you crossed your fingers, and you voted. And now, thanks in part to his charisma and intelligence, and in large part to your perseverance and dedication, the leader of the free world doesn't suck.

It's time to elect another smart, charming fellowhottie: Ken has been chosen as one of the 10 finalists in Daily Candy's Get With The Programmer Contest! Get over there and vote for him. He'll make you a caipirinha and dance all Milli Vanilli for you. Girl, you know it's true.

P.S. If you're not already a DailyCandy subscriber your vote will sign you up, but it's actually a really awesome service, and the only one of its kind to which I subscribe! If you hate it you can pour your caipirinha on my shirt (and then just unsubscribe).

P.P.S. Guys, you can vote too. No homo.

Groundhog Controversy!

Early this morning, Groundhog Day, several portly rodents were draggedcoaxed from their lairs to satisfy our collective need to know: When can we seal up our woolies and break out that kicky new spring cardigan?

Near Pittsburgh, the beast made famous 16 years ago by Bill Murray, Punxsutawney Phil (yeah, I had to look up the spelling - "Phil" just isn't a common name these days), saw his shadow this morning and presumably scurried back into his hole. If his night was anything like mine, he'd gorged on 7-Layer Dip and liberally consumed special Steelers-edition Bud Light, then had choked down an Iron City Beer after Santonio Holmes' game-winning touchdown. I'm not feeling the whole "being awake" thing either, Phil.

Here in New York, however, Staten Island Chuck didn't see his shadow and Mayor Bloomberg has declared winter officially over.

WHO SHOULD WE BELIEVE?

I looked to Canada's own Wiarton Willie to be the tiebreaker, but Willie doesn't have a strong Web presence and I couldn't find anything about his prediction this year.

For now, I'll keep the hefty sweaters at hand, but move the cardigan to the front of my closet - you know, just in case.

P.S. Happy Birthday Mom!

For Goodness' Sake

I've been eating these super-hippy shakes lately for breakfast and sometimes even for dinner! I mocked Ken for bringing home protein powder a few weeks ago, but it turns out that stuff is my friend, and when you put it in a blender with some berries and yogurt and milk, you can throw in a handful of spinach and not even notice.

Hippy Hippy Shake
(adapted from Clean Eating Magazine)

- 1/2 c skim milk
- 1/2 c nonfat plain yogurt
- 1 scoop vanilla protein powder (we have Designer Whey, but you know, whatever you like)
- generous handful of spinach (I probably throw 2 cups in there)
- 1 T ground flax seeds (here's where it gets all hippy-like)
- 1/2 c frozen berries (I like strawberries best)
- 1 T agave nectar (mmm... hippy sweetener) (optional; you could also use honey or maple syrup)

Directions: Blend. Drink.

I'm also waaaay into oatmeal these days, and pretty much just thinking about it makes my mouth water. I make McCann's Quick-Cooking Irish Oats (mmm... endosperm).

Gillian's Mouth-Watering Oatmeal
(adapted from Clean Eating Magazine)

- 1/2 c oats
- 1/2 c skim milk
- 1/2 c water
- 1 tsp almond butter
- 1 tsp honey
- 1 T ground flax seeds
- cinnamon
- salt (get the good stuff for this - it's expensive but so worth it)

Combine the first 3 ingredients in a small saucepan and cook over medium heat, stirring, until it turns into oatmeal. Remove from heat and stir in almond butter, honey, and flax seeds. Sprinkle with cinnamon and salt. Enjoy with a cup of Earl Grey tea in your favourite mug.

Happy Inauguration Day!

Happy, indeed.

Inspiration

A friend put a link on Facebook to one of his friends' most amazing Flickr photostream (seriously, I could spend days looking at her pictures, which are mostly of pages from her illustrated journal). That inspired the treatment of this photo of Hermosa Beach. I used Poladroid (via Amy) to get the Polaroid effect, then added the drop shadow in Photoshop. Fun!

DYKWIL?* Volume 5

1. Hot chocolate (especially the spicy kind!) on a cold January afternoon.

2. Psyching myself up to run for 30 minutes and stepping on the treadmill just as a new episode of "30 Rock" is starting.

3. This little beast:


* Do you know what I love?

Feline Bliss

Feline Bliss
Originally uploaded by Kitty LaRoux.

Some friends came over today to eat eggs and waffles and apparently, to pet Memphis. She wasted no time in coopting Jessica's lap and stayed there for most of the afternoon. As it was a mere 9°F (-12°C!) outside, I'd be quite happy to spend the afternoon napping as well.

Stop, Collaborate and Listen

For the last few months I've been trying to become a better listener. A friend of mine (who is my inspiration for lots of things lately, holla Ali!) told me that she did this a few years ago, consciously, and I've been trying since she told me.

It turns out that listening is harder than it sounds.

When someone tells me a story, I have a tendency to want to share a similar experience. I've always thought of this as a form of commiseration, almost like I'm giving the other person *permission* to feel however he or she feels. I considered it a way to let him or her know that it's OK to have experienced that, because I have too! Like, I felt the same way once, so it's totally cool that you do - let me tell you about it!

In most cases, however, I interrupt you to tell my own story. And I've realized that when I do that, you don't usually finish your story, and the conversation derails (thanks in part to my compulsion to add at least 50% unnecessary backstory/detail to any story I tell). Not much permission there, and not much listening going on either.

So, I'm working on that. If you notice me interrupting you, let me know - I promise I'll try to listen.

Christmas Hangover

After many festive Christmas celebrations in Waterloo, we're back in NY just long enough to unpack, catch the Rockettes tomorrow night, then repack for a quick trip to Los Angeles for New Year's. Then we'll start Hotbody January to burn off the Bailey's. It was all worth it, of course.

P.S. Remember Charlie, the young lad for whose birth I undertook the Amazing Race almost two years ago? He's becoming quite a character.

Merry Christmas Eve!

Snow Globe
Originally uploaded by Kitty LaRoux.

We're flying to Toronto for a few days and will return Monday with bellies full of Mom's homemade cookies and a CF card full of pictures of Charlie. Merry Holidays everyone!

Christmas Cookies!

Christmas Cookies!
Originally uploaded by hickswright.

I didn't take any pics of this year's Christmas Cookie-Baking Festivities, but as it was one of my finest showings I'm very grateful that Tyler did! At one point I had not one but TWO KitchenAid stand mixers whirring away. Good times. If you haven't yet made the Chocolate Toffee Cookies over at Smitten Kitchen, hie thee to the kitchen! And save a couple for me, because they sure didn't last long around these parts.

Still A Runner!

I just returned from a 4 mile run. I'm pretty sure that's the first time I've voluntarily gone running in close-to-freezing temperatures, especially with a plethora of excuses not to go (it's almost dark, the sidewalks are icy, there's a container of eggnog in the fridge that will almost certainly go bad if I don't drink it, mixed with rum, in the next 10 minutes). After all, I did drop a benjamin on a pair of fleece-lined Lulu pants for days like these.

Happy Winter Solstice!

A Very Special Caturday

My company generously gave everyone everyone a Flip MinoHD for Christmas, and I will be using mine to do what any self-respecting cat-owner wielding a camcorder would do: Put video of my cat on the internet.



Featuring a sonata composed by Ken!

Not A Creature Was Stirring

The following is an annotated series of text messages from Ken earlier this evening.

Success!*

Plus I saw [ex-coworker #1] AND [ex-coworker #2].

Plus I found a dead mouse in my shoe.

Plus it may have been there while I was seeing them last night.

s/seeing/wearing**

Plus I'm eating a Vietnamese sandwich.***

*He'd been picking up a package at the post office for me! What a guy.

**Geek for "I meant wearing, not seeing, in that last message."

***Hanco's bánh mì. I was very jealous.

I don't even know how to follow all this up, except to say that when I asked him more about the mouse, he said he found it as he was taking his shoes OFF. He'd had his shoes on WITHOUT SOCKS and had been wearing them for approx. an hour before he investigated a lump in the toe only to discover the rodent in question. AN HOUR. His toes were touching a dead mouse for SIXTY MINUTES.

No wonder Memphis was so interested in his shoe earlier this morning.

Treats!

A couple of weeks ago I finally made good on my promise to pay it forward: Brianna, Kajal, and Tyler were all recipients of Chocolate Chip Cookies 2 Ways: The heavily-blogged NYTimes recipe (which I have to admit, totally lived up to the hype), and Martha Stewart's Thin & Crisp variety (very different from the NYT recipe, and also very delicious).

Tyler's now playing over on his blog, and there's still one comment up for grabs. I suggested he gift a pack of postcards showcasing his amazing photography, and he's also an excellent baker. So if you're a blogger, you might want to head on over to leave a comment for Tyler!

Up And At Them

Thanks, friends, for all your supportive comments! I'm happy to report that I felt much better today, and even went outside, where I learned that Winter had started since I'd been inside, and I was tempted to return to my den to hibernate until Spring. By now I'm sure all interested parties have googled my affliction, so I'll spare you the details. (It really isn't that exciting, although the treatment is a hoot.)

Here are some things I learned while spending five days at home. Please note that I spent three of these days in bed, and two of those I was delirious.

1. My upstairs neighbours have a cleaning person who comes on Wednesdays. Their vacuum is very loud. And the cleaning person is very thorough. And may wear clogs (like, the Dutch wooden kind).

2. I am a terrible, terrible housekeeper. I saw so many cat-hair tumbleweeds and dust bunnies while I was huddled under the covers in a ball, staring at the radiator, that today I texted my neighbours to get the name of their clog-wearing cleaning person. [Richie.*]

3. CBS.com has 4 seasons' worth of the original and awesomer "90210"!

4. The fourth season of the original and awesomer "90210" is not enough to entertain a person through a week of being sick, evenespecially if that person is delirious for two of the days.

5. Memphis sleeps behind a box in the closet. I don't even know how she can get back there. Weirdo.

We now return you to your regularly scheduled programming.

P.S. Meredith said "Richie." on "The Office" tonight which is totally a shoutout to this blog. Holla!

Me, My Kidney, and I

I have a kidney infection.

I wasn't going to blog about this but by now any of my co-workers who read UFF know why I haven't been at work this week anyway, and since my diet of apples and chocolate milk hasn't caused any sort of remarkable weight loss (which, really? that would have been the one upside to this whole ordeal), they won't suspect that I've been away at a spa retreat. Trust me, it's been no retreat.

Last night I felt particularly crappy and Ken was out at class, so I called my mom. When she answered the phone I promptly reverted to being seven years old by blubbering, "Mommy, I'm so sick!" [-10 Dignity Points] Anyway, she was awesome. She gave me all the best Mom-advice possible.

Mom: You need to drink lots of water. Are you drinking lots of water?
Me: Yes.
Mom: Gillian, *promise* me you are drinking lots of water.
Me: I am. And apple juice, and chocolate milk.
Mom: Well, the apple juice is good, but not too much chocolate milk.
Me: I'm drinking two half-cup servings of chocolate milk per day.
Mom: Oh that's fine, as long as it's not a quart a day!

Apparently she'd mistaken me for her other child.

Also, I wasn't kidding about eating *only* apples and chocolate milk. Last night I spread some almond butter on the apple slices 'cause I was feeling wild. So I talked to Mom about whether she thought getting some Ensure or something like it would be a good idea.

Mom: Yeah, sure, that can't hurt.
Me: OK, I think I'll go get--
Mom: Oh no, you won't go get it.
Me: It's OK, I'm going over to Leslie's in a bit--
Mom: Oh no, oh no. You're not going anywhere. You're not to leave the house today, and I think not tomorrow either.

Which, yeah, considering I hadn't been out of bed for more than two hours at a time, and considering that I get a massive pounding headache every time I turn my head... She's probably right.

So then, for the first time in 15 years, I had to call my friend and tell her that I couldn't come over "because my mom won't let me."

[I do feel better this afternoon, and even though I stood her up last night, Leslie was awesome enough to send over dinner for tonight! Which is good, because I think we're out of apples.]

Caturday Plotting

I knew it.

via Gill

Geriatric

When I showed my friend T the picture of my hot hot sock, he immediately laughed and said, "Oh my God, you're SUCH a geriatric!" Then we ran home from work tonight, and oh my God, I am *such* a geriatric.

I haven't run since the half-marathon last month, save for 20 minutes here and there on the treadmill, which doesn't really count. For the first two of tonight's four miles, I felt like I haven't run in a year or more.

I've said it before and I'll say it again: That ain't me no more. Hotbody November is ON, People! In fact, I'm off to the gym for a little lifting and then a yoga class. Stay tuned.

I Can't Remember the Last Time This Happened

Sometimes, Not Always

I'm Too Sexy For My Sock

Lately I've had a bit of pain in my heels, especially the left one. I'd chalked it up to the shoes I'd worn to run the marathon in September, which had already run too many miles before I went and added another 26.2. While we were in Berlin, I mentioned it to Meredith and Philip, both experienced runners and triathletes, and Philip suggested I might have something called plantar fasciitis. I'd never heard of that and figured that when I finally replaced my shoes I'd be A-OK. A few weeks and a pair of new running shoes later when I still had pain, Ken pulled out the ol' sports medicine bible and looked up PF. It described athletes at highest-risk for the condition as long-distance runners [check!] with high arches [check!], and worn-out shoes [check-o-rama!]. It might just as well have added, "especially if you are a red-haired Canadian girl with a penchant for red wine and things that are orange."

Yesterday I saw a sports medicine dude to have my hooves checked out and sure enough, I have plantar fasciitis. Thankfully, contrary to the advice in the sports medicine book, I don't need to take a break from running. Among other things like ice massages, I need to stretch my calves a lot. Fortuitously, last night I hung out with friends who are also runners. They told me about their experiences with plantar fasciitis and shared with me a neat little device that helps keep tension on the plantar fascia and alleviate symptoms.

And that, dear Reader, is how I came to be lounging on the couch wearing one of these:
I know. I'm turning myself on, too.

Anyone Else Predicting a Baby Boom in August 2009?

And a huge Democratic victory in 2028?

Oh Hell Yeah!

I've never been so happy to call this country home.

Democracy Is My Homeboy

This morning my American boy roused himself out of a deep slumber at 5:30 to hit the polls. For a few minutes I lay in bed considering my Canadianism (yes, I did vote in the recent federal election), and at the last minute decided to join him in line at the polling station.

Outside the polling center, the line wrapped around the corner and well down the next block. It looked insane, but moved quickly, and once we were inside the elementary school gymnasium, we only waited a few minutes. We saw a few voters still wearing pajama pants and even a bathrobe at that early hour.

It was awe-inspiring to see that many people out to cast a ballot. Democracy is good times.

Vote.

Because you can.

Chicken Squash Action

As is oft the case, last night I was ambitious. We wanted to go to First Saturday at the Brooklyn Museum (British rock! Fun!) and in honour of the NYC Marathon this morning, I had supportive signs to make (Go Tiernan! Go Dawn! Go Jim! Go Robert! Go Paula!*) and plans to make a batch of Sticky Cinnamon Rolls to share with my fellow cheerleaders.

Two out of three ain't bad: We danced to Blur and Elastica and I managed to eke out a couple of Bristol board signs, but the cinnamon rolls remained at their first rise overnight. I completed them later this afternoon with great success. Really I should be blogging about those, but I also made a delicious meal tonight that involves all things Thanksgiving, things which happened to be in our fridge even though there are 3 weeks until the culinary event of the year. And despite previously detailing how to create a Bunny Cake, I've never posted my very own recipe. And so, without further ado, I give you:

Chicken Squash Action (named by Ken)
Makes 4 servings

2 tsp olive oil
1 onion, sliced
2 cloves garlic, minced
1/2 c sliced mushrooms
1/2 c celery, diced
1 T fresh sage, minced
1/2 c red wine (I used Vampire Pinot Noir)

3 c butternut squash, in 1/2 inch dice
1 c chicken broth

1 c cooked wild rice
6 oz cooked boneless skinless chicken breast, sliced

In a large pan with a lid, sautée the onion, garlic, mushrooms, celery, and half the sage over medium heat until onion is caramelized, about 10 minutes. Stir in remaining sage.

Deglaze the pan with the red wine (this part smells delicious). Add the squash and the broth. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat and simmer, covered, until squash is fork-tender (this will depend on the accuracy of your dice), about 10 minutes. Stir in the rice and the chicken breast and simmer a few minutes more, until chicken is heated through. Salt & pepper to taste.

Serve with wine and, optionally, a purring cat nearby. A few toasted sliced pecans would also be a delicious addition, or a few dried cranberries (in fact, I think I'll go add a few of those to the leftovers right now). Bon appetit!

*We met Paula on the subway on Friday night. I didn't see her running today but I'm sure she did very well!

NaBloPo... Something

Two Novembers ago I participated in National Blog Posting Month, and since I'm not doing anything silly like running a marathon this November, I'm going to give it another go. Aren't you excited? Unfortunately, I remembered to write this post at 12:15am on the 2nd. Fortunately, tonight is the night the clocks go back! So I'm rolling my clock back and timestamping this for the 1st. And I can assure you that at least one of the next 29 posts will be more interesting than this one. Two, if you're lucky.