P: Diane in Boston, Part III- MIT! Soccer! Miracles of Science!

So Diane and I have an interesting taste in our mouths after this house party Friday night. We leave around 2am, and it takes us 20 min to walk home. Among the characters we met was this girl was very sweet, and I think she happened to be crowned queen of the Space Prom party (I left before they announced those awards). Again, she was very nice, but unfortunately her breath was a bit foul, which led Diane to say her mouth, well, "smelled like a butcher shop.” I thought this was pretty classic. I am henceforth going to use this phrase ALL THE TIME.

So SATURDAY: I head off to running club, while Diane heads off to have a little wandering adventure of her own. She meets me back at the running club house for breakfast, where I once again assault her with a bevy of dorky guys. It turns out one of the characters we met at the party the night before decided to come to running club (I had mentioned it in passing). So he starts running with me, and it looks like he’s faster. So I say: “You can go on ahead if you want,” and he says, “No, that’s okay, I like running slowly the first couple of miles.” Then he proceeds to barrage me with advice on how I’m supposed to work on speedwork. Thanks, but no thanks.

So I tell him, “Actually, believe it or not, I’m now running a minute and a half faster per mile than I was back in November.” I don’t know if this shuts him up, but he tells me he’s going to breeze ahead and he’ll see me back at the house.

Now this kid was no looker. But he seemed nice enough last night. Or at least, socially with it enough last night. But lo behold, in the daytime, it turns out he’s a total social retard! Like, it’s beer goggles for social skills or something. So he continues to follow me at every point of the day. I’m stretching; he’s stretching by me. I go into the house, he follows. I go to the kitchen to get water, he’s right behind me. I go outside to the backyard, he’s tailing me. At this point, Diane comes by, and he’s tailing her, too. What’s worse is that he then starts to say something about how “yeah, we’re all socially smart enough to know when we’re invited to stuff, yadda yadda.” Then when he learns that Diane and I are going to play soccer, he rambles on about his IM league.

“Yeah, I’m not good, but they like me since I’m a runner…” and I say something harmless like, I’m still learning to play D and then he bombards me with yet another speech about where I should be positioned behind my offender, and proceeds to demonstrate. What irks me most is when people are obnoxious about knowing it all, when they don’t even have the goods to prove it! Like, who does this little punk think he is?

So Diane and I start talking with these other guys, but this guy continues to HOVER over us. And he doesn’t quite jump into our conversation, but he just stands there, peering in. This was so unsettling that Diane had to create this Spatial Diagram to demonstrate, which she entitled “Proximity of Hoverer Ratio” or something like that:

In this photo, Diane and I are the yellowish-tawny colored beers, the water glass is this pale white guy we were talking to, and the HOVERER is the pepper shaker.

As Diane and I are trying to leave, this guy is still trying to angle in on our soccer game! He’s like, where are you guys going to play? Okay, I’m going to swing by the MIT fields and see if you guys are there, I’m on my bike, etc. ARGH!!! And there were a couple of other people from running club I’d like to have invited, but the hoverer kept HOVERING in the way, and I couldn’t invite them without inviting him.

So Diane and I snuck out the back of the house, and headed to the MIT fields, where we started to kick the ball around and toss a frisbee. Then I texted my friend J, who’s at MIT for city planning, and even though his thesis is due on Thurs, he came out to toss the frisbee about with us for a few, then kindly gave us a kick-ass tour of the facilities, including the architecture studios.

He and Diane got on swimmingly, talking about structure and modular housing units and all of the like. And when we walked into the architecture studios, Diane was hit with the Proustian aroma of not madeleines dunked in tea, but the smell of stale-cut cardboard.

We had yet another dorky ROBOTIC VOICE moment as we walked all around the campus. More cantilevers.

Then Diane and I headed to Jacob Wirth’s for schnitzel and a pint of Radeberger Pilsner and Hofbrau pilsner. Jacob Wirth’s—to refresh your memory—is the German beer hall that also does a Friday night piano sing-along. Here are some photos of our Saturday afternoon:

This way for Part IV….

P: Eine Kleine Chilly, But Beautiful in Boston

After a fairly balmy weekend in NY, yesterday (Mon) in Boston got pretty chilly pretty quickly at night--I once again resorted to my wool coat, which I nearly sent off to get dry cleaned. Huh. But I did enjoy a beautiful 5 mile loop on the Charles, then headed t othe gym to do some free weights (my feeble attempt to get Michelle Obama arms by the time I graduate) and then I went to CitySports, where I proceeded to spend nearly ONE HUNDRED DOLLARS on God-knows-what. A 65 inch stability ball. One set of 12 pound steel dumbbells (which I would then have to carry home on the 15 min walk back). A soccer ball, for when Diane arrives this wknd (holla!!). A pair of Under Armour running shorts that are long enough not to chafe the inner thights (hopefully. They were 25 bucks, so they better not make me chafe). I ran into this guy from my running club, who happened to be buying cleats for ultimate frisbee with BUDA, the boston ultimate something assoc. One of my Swarthmore friends plays on that league. Anyway, it made me really excited for the summer and for all of the various athletic activities and outdoor things that will invariably take place. Or rather, I'm just super excited for when Diane arrives and we can drink beer, eat burgers, and run around in the park with a ball and frisbee.

I have been getting about zero work done, and I can't shake the nagging guilt. My 90 page thesis needs to be completely reworked, rewritten, and polished. I have to meet with a typesetter who will do the layout and will bind up the book, and then the entirety of my thesis gets bound up into a hardcover book, given an isbn #, and is stored in BU's library archives for posterity. Ha Jin and Jhumpa Lahiri (pulitzer prize winner; author of the Namesake and Interpreter of Maladies, etc) are stored there. I am kind of freaking out, and I have to get all of this done before I take off and leave the country FOREVER. I also have other matters to attend to: renew my credit card, renew my drivers' license, which includes getting an eye exam, going to the Korean consulate to get my visa, but first waiting for my expired passport to arrive in the mail in 4-6 weeks, praying it doesn't get lost in the mail; etc etc. This morning, I woke up at 4:22am (after going to bed at 12:30) and ran through the litany of things to do, then the things I haven't done or did poorly, the faux pas I made, etc etc. I thought more about the stupid things I've said to people, and repeated--with Tourette's-like spasticity--fuck! damn! I hate it!--and couldn't fall back asleep. Reading David Copperfield--a 750 page whopper--did little to assuage my agitated state, because I knew that poory little Davey would be subject to more abuse at the boarding school, and that I'd have 670 more pages of this to come.

I am also plagued with the thoughts of turning in my grades for my students. I want to give them all As and A-'s, just for showing up and participating. But my prof Leslie who runs the program might not be happy with these high grades being doled out; after all, he gave me a B+. I just found out Ha Jin gave me an A-, to which I'm actually really happy about. This will be my first A- in a writing class! Daphne also gave me a B+, and this is all the more discouraging, as I keep staring at the essays I've written in her class, and I can't seem to get things working.

Blah blah babbling on. I've been in the student union for the past 2.5 hours, since 7am, and have gotten no work done yet. so it goes!

cheers, P

Brooklyn in miami and the hot hot heat

Another hot and steamy weekend living in the tropics... Friday after work, Nicole and i went up to 69th and biscayne (right near the beloved eco-car wash and dogma hotdogs) to wine 69, a little wine-shop and wine-bar for a classy happy hour. In an effort not to sound like an alcoholic, ill be brief with this one but say we had a lovely time: they let you try a ‘flight’ of wine, three at a time, and then also conveniently sell the same bottles, which is really a super idea (especially since you can barely trust people in liquor stores about good wine– and ive yet to actually go to a wine store down here).

After that, we stepped over next door to michy’s, for the miami spice menu– a bunch more people met us there, and while i had so-so expectations, it was really delicious. Dinner oddly enough lasted about 3 hours. We were all having a great time so i didnt really notice, until we got up to leave and it was like 11.30pm. Who knew. I figured it was best to simply go home & to bed since Saturday rachel & I have our repeat-plans to do ballet & stretch..

But all night Friday i had these horrible calve cramps. My legs were killing me– so i woke up early on Saturday, told rachel i would only make it to stretch, and then decided i should take a super long run to get my calves moving– except apparently this was overly optimistic, being that it was already 88 degrees, sunny, and hot as hell. I almost had a heart attack. No joke. After about an hour of running i made it to stretch class– only to find that rachel didn’t make it– which turned out to be fine, since i really needed it at that point, and we ended up doing more yoga, which was lovely. Then of course, i had to run home- another 2 miles or so- still in the heat. My body was basically saying ‘wtf’ in every possible way. After I changed, headed down to south beach for lunch with rachel- we headed to the big pink for big salads- but of course it took like an hour to find parking. So I ended up paying $20 to park in a lot. I mean…you can just imagine: I was hot. Hungry. Fussy. I couldnt have been more cranky. We still managed to have a lovely time, and then dealt with the annoying parking sitch all over again when we headed over to a friends house for a minor-pool party (a lesbian pool party. Where apparently we had already missed the “power hour” at 4pm…).

Didn’t stay long, then headed back to rachel’s for some iced tea before we got ready to go out for the night to the wynwood art district– miami’s version of hipsterness. When patty was in town, we headed there for a while too– this time, it was rachel, carla, and justin and i – walking about, drinking our free wine, seeing the art, and marveling at the scene. The best part was one block, literally teeming with people: two dudes were playing bongos, a third was doing spoken word/rap into a megaphone, and a hippie chick was dancing in front of them with a rope that was on fire- swinging it around, doing her interpretive dance thing. It was like we had suddenly come upon a phish show. Next to them were these kids with several typewritters, who, in an effort to raise money to publish their poetry anthology, were asking for donations to write a poem (dont homeless people in ny do the same thing?). we signed right up, but were told to come back in 30 minutes– im sure we dillydallied somewhere else too long, and ended up missing them. Ah well. Hopefully next time...

After checking out the art for a bit, we stopped by joey’s for dinner- the one restaurant in wynwood, literally. It was packed but eventually emptied out, and we got a nice table, ate a bit, and the waiter loved us so much he brought us out desert: some kind of cocktail involving prosecco, strawberry flavoring and…. Milk. It was like a milkshake. I didn’t quite know how to say thank you, or rather, no thank you, but that’s the way it goes. We briefly stopped next door after dinner, at the ‘wynwood social club’- a cool concept really: the place just charges $5-10 cover, you come in byob, and it basically looks like someone’s antiquey livingroom- and there’s live music. So you just hang, they sell food snacky things, and listen to the music. Pretty novel concept for Miami, but we we’re into the scene so we headed over to check out a place called: the electric pickle.

Oddly enough, we had driven by there earlier in the night, before it was open, and I looked out the window and said: I want to go there! It looked like a warehouse from the outside, no windows, nothing, painted black, nothing around- and totally unrecognizable except for a cheesey neon sign above that said “liquors.” You would have never known it was an actual hang out spot at night—reminded me completely of those sketchy bars you see over by port authority, 8th or 9th ave in the 40s around there- no idea whats going on inside. Inside though, its like I had returned to the motherland: for all practical purposes, the inside of the bar looked like any place you might walk into in new york- for some reason im thinking specifically of the magician, but it could be anywhere- the entire layout rang that way, something about the lighting, the placement of things, the décor. Not shabby chic, but almost like that, with a twist of industrial or club, but not quite. There was an outside as well- which makes it as Brooklyn as it felt: its basically a parking lot with lots of picnic tables, where everyone is just hanging outside; theres a silver van or something of that nature in the corner, which is actually a bar- the side of it is opened out; and there was a dj in the corner spinning music. Totally chill, totally random, totally not Miami.

Upstairs there was also a dance floor and some live music, but we were pretty beat so didn’t stay for too long. After some more debate and hemming and hawing, we considered going to several other places in the downtown Miami area- but all of them were charging cover or empty, so we headed back to the beach—yet another random night thrown together, with no one making too many plans, or having too many objectives for the night, just exploring and seeing whatelse is out there.
Sunday was the lazy day of course: lots of cooking, some sun time—the sun time was particularly jarring, because after just laying out for a handful of minutes I started to sweat profusely: it was incredibly hot. Everytime id get in the pool, Id expect to cool down- but it wouldn’t last that long. So intense, and yet, its only may… still, much more enjoyable than a grey grey winter, so ive got to keep these moments while they still last…

Tomorrow is our officially inaugeral “book club”. Im not sure exactly what this entails other than like, 10 girls going to rachel’s house for wine and talking. Both of which I am a supporter of. Ive also heard a rumor that stone crab season ENDS (*gasp*) may 15… this Friday. So hopefully pre-book club, we will grab some joe’s takeout to relish the treasures of our shelly friends one last time…For now though, im totally wiped out- its going to be a long intense week at work for sure, but that’s fine—rumor has it, the boss will be out for most of the rest of the month, so I’ve got to grin and bear the hecticness while its around... honestly though, business is nice from time to time: it gets me going full speed, although has already left me with a major headache… time to go drink more water. xoxo

P: Back in the Madre Terra.+ Brighton Beach Outing

The minute I stepped off the Fung Wah, I could feel my blood boiling.

(photo cred: wikipedia)

There was the usual wahgul, wahgul (a Korean onomatopoeia) of Chinese people crowding up the Bowery, and me and my rolly suitcase were already irritated with the sheer volume of people, as I'm trying to bustle my way to the train station. My frustration was rising, and I could already feel my shoulders and neck start to tense up. After having spent the past eight months in a non 9-to-5 routine, and taking the Boston T about 1 a week on average, I forget that you have to deal with people traffic. Also while avoiding puddles of fish innards oozing out over Canal St.

Who was I? Was I becoming a softie? I felt so discombobulated, and my post-synaptic activity was on overdrive (as a result of the barrage of external stimuli) and I felt like I was going to short-circuit out.

Anyway, I came home Wed for my nephew's 2nd birthday and for Mother's Day. Since I'm only going to be in this country for another three months, I am trying to spend as much time with the fam as I can. I'm also trying to cram in as many "American" experiences as I can (like eating hot clam chowder after running a 5k...because I was in New England!). Incidentally, the night of the birthday dinner (technically one day earlier than little Richard's actual birthday) was the same night that they were announcing the award results for a little writing contest I entered, sponsored by Bukowski's Tavern. First place: $2500. Second place: $1000. Third: a set of steak knives. Plus all 3 entries (and this is really the kicker--I'd have taken this over the money) was getting your stories published in the Weekly Dig, an alt weekly publication here in Boston. So I wrote an essay, a "Beer-Stained Letter to 'Hank," aka Henry Charles Bukowski, aka dirty old womanizing drunkard, whom I was simultaneously repelled and attracted to in high school. The only problem was, you had to be at the bar on that very Wed night to claim your prize...otherwise, they moved onto the next person on the list. And the bar's in Inman Sq, which is a good 15min walk from the closest T station. Kind of out of the way for most people, unless you go to MIT or something. Anyway, the only person I know who lives in Inman is this computer programmer from running club (who happens to have a really hot Indian roommate), but he couldn't make it, and my friend Amy could only get there late... LSS (Long story short), the computer programmer went for the first half-hour, and Amy--long suffering Amy!--went for the next...hour and a half, and it was all moot, because I DIDN'T WIN DOODLY SQUAT! What's the point of wasting time writing these pieces if I don't get them anywhere, anyway. Bah! Regardless, I have to remember to buy each of them a twelve-pack of craft brew as a thank you.

Thurs was more time with my nephew and my sister and bro-in-law, which, I have to say, is going pretty well. My sister thanked me for leaving school early to come to the party, and she said she really appreciated it. As a family that doesn't emote, this is the equivalent of resounding words of mushiness and sentimentality. And there was even a moment where little Richard seemed to motion for something--I thought he meant water--and I gave him a tumbler of water. Which--the little rascal--he plunged his entire fist into it, splashing water everywhere.

"Don't give him water from that cup!" my sister said.

To which I sputtered, "I didn't know--" and I was about to toss back, I thought I saw him drinking from a big cup a previous time!

But instead, I bit back my tongue and said, "I'm sorry. I'll know for next time."

To which SHE then relented with, "I know you didn't know. He just always does that when he has water from a big cup. He's got a sippy cup for water, so you can give him that instead."

So this is about as good as we'll get, which doesn't seem like much, but it actually means we've made quite a good deal of progress since last month (or rather, since the last 2 years).

Later Thurs night, Jessi invited us to her friend's AIDS walk fundraiser, which was a lot of fun. So it was first to a beautiful Chelsea terrace space at her coworkers' apt (where some kind of Maker's Mark and mixer concoction was on the offering), and then Jessi, Diane, and Morgan and I were at Il Bordello, on 23rd and 10th. It was oddly both restaurant and bar, and I felt like we were being intrusive crowding about the diners trying to angle for elbow room to use their forks and knives. But it was an interesting mix, because this was the first time I was at--shock, gasp, i know, yadda yadda-- a black professionals soiree. And might I say, this was a better dressed crowd than any publishing mixer I'd ever been to in my life.

Diane commented, "I feel like the girls here are giving us dirty looks" or something to that effect. This all sounds horribly ignorant/provincial/sheltered, but it felt a little bit like that moment in Save the Last Dance when Julia Stiles is about to get it on with Mikhail Pfeiffer, and the other girls are like, you can't take our men! ....This was all moot, because no one was talking to us ANYWAY that Thurs night. Although I have to say, it was a nice change to be in a happy hour situation where the men actually look like MEN, as opposed to skinny, runty hipsters with beer potbellies and crumpled jeans that look like they're going to blow over at any minute.

In a colliding of the Northeast-Southeast Coast worlds moment, ANNIE!!! calls me, and I put her on speaker phone with the girls! Yay! Although it was so darn loud you couldn't hear anything anyway. Sigh. From there, we headed off to Half-King for burgers and a beer ($14 for burgers and $7 for a Lagunitas IPA? Freakin highway robbery).

Fri was more playing with my nephew and niece, and then I met Morgan for dinner at Cafe Spice, so we could have our little date. Interestingly enough, as Morgan was going to meet me on the street, my sister was like, why don't you just have her come up to say hello? and my jaw nearly dropped. So she did, which meant Morgan got to meet baby Clara (little Richard now being asleep), and we were off to dinner. Then to V Bar on Sullivan.

Sat I asked my mother to take my shopping at Loehman's, so I could finally buy a pair of 7 Jeans, in an attempt to find something flattering to my posterior view. To which we dropped $100 beans on a stupid pair of jeans, and then another tener to get them hemmed. Why can't designer jeans please, please come in inseams other than 36 inches? who has such freakishly long legs, BESIDES maybe Diane? This was killing me.

Sat night I met up with Nick and Jen from Swarthmore, and my friend Paul perfect-square stopped by. Then I crashed with my brother.

Sun: What a beautiful day! Mother's Day! My brother and I attempted to do a Brighton Beach walk he read about in the Times, and as we suspected, when we showed up...we were the youngest people there by about 40 years. There were some people with canes. We took one look at the scene and were like, um, this is going to take HOURS. So thanks to Jessi, who had become something of my Human google that weekend ("Who's Ollie Perez?" "Where're Russian eats in Brighton Beach?") she points us to the boardwalk, and we have a nice stroll, then we turn down Brighton Beach Ave and I felt like I was in a foreign country. It was bona fide RUSSIAN. I mean, there was no signage in English. So, being the children of grocers, my bro and I went to all of the supermarkets, including Brighton Bazaar, (photo credit: village voice)

where my brother was on a mission to get some head cheese.

(Mm, gelatinous. Photo credit: parade.com)

Which, in case you don't know, is not cheese at all, but rather the blasted and amalgamated bits from a calf or pig's head, rolled and compressed into what looks like a cylinder of bologna and sliced as lunch meat. Gross. There were displays of tongues, livers, and then of course five billion different kinds of pastries, breads, blintzes, pierogis...CARB HEAVEN! We also went to M& I International, which was featured on Andrew Zimmerman (which is what spurred this whole head cheese/Brighton Beach trip in the first place).

Then we came carting back our goodies to my sister's apt, where we had a Mother's Day luncheon. Then the Fung Wah home, and I arrived just before 11pm. And...scene.

Cinco de mayo means, in english, "sleepy long week"

Tuesday was the glorious mexican holiday of cinco de mayo. While reports ran rampant that there were no celebrations of the holiday in its birthplace, americans properly celebrated with excessive amounts of alcohol and mexican food items. On the lower half of the east coast, i got an invite to a cuervo-silver-tasting party, sponsored by ocean drive magazine (think; hamptons magazine, but for miami. You know, lots of ads, lifestyle brands, not much in the way of articles, but tastefully put together). Anyway, it was in coconut grove, on a hotel rooftop (which is always nice), and involved margarita martinis (a fancy way of serving, basically, a margarita), tequilla sunrises, some concoction of tequila + red bull (vom) and the basic: on the rocks. There were certainly ridiculous outfits (the cuervo girls walked around in blue sequin mini dresses), ridiculously high-heeled shoes (like every woman in miami), and tons of dudes who looked the same (either the ed-hardy tee-shirts with jeans, or the button down, hair greased– both genres spending a lot of time in the gym). After imbibing too much tequila and laughing ridiculously with some co-workers, as well as some other random friends who also happened to be there (tracy, annie, carla), it was time to go home. First of course, i almost lost my credit card in the pay-parking machine when i mistakenly put it in the non-descriptive money-slot (it literally sucked the card in and i had to wrestle it out with my keys), and then of course, had a hard time finding my car in this dungeon of a hotel parking garage. I mean, things you never have to think about otherwise. Once i got home, it was an orange for dinner (sadly, no mexican feast... although on second thought, i think i also managed to incorporate an avocado into the meal)– and was overwhelmed by complete exhaustion.

To follow things up with some more mid-week activity, last night six of us headed out to see the marlins vs. braves at dolphin stadium. Going to see baseball in ny is one thing: the stadiums are packed (even if a certain local team isnt doing well), the crowd is excited, there are hotdogs for everyone, perhaps you even engage in a miller-light versus bud-light taste test with your girlfriends, then take a super long subway ride back home... but last night? None of that. First difference? there were tons of people tailgating in the parking lot. That is so suburban, i love it. We all regretted that we hadnt thought ahead. Second though, we walk in just as the national anthem is going on, and the stadium is literally empty. A steady trickle of people comes in as the game goes on, and its pretty busy over in the general-lower area by the bases (we were in the outfield ‘terrace’ with all the insane drunk people), but nothing ever really got too packed- you could have easily gone to sit wherever you wanted, granted, so long as it wasn’t behind home plate). Still though, we heartily enjoyed our bud lights and boca burgers. (I know. It’s amazing they had them, but also sad there wasn’t enough of an unhealthy gathering that i would have felt justified in eating a literal tub of popcorn for dinner). The best part of the night, though? When we first got in and were walking to our seats, we passed by... Sandbar. A bar. In. The. Stadium. It was really really... magical. Sadly, no comparison to the real thing.

Which brings us to today. In an effort to be consistent, i preliminarily signed myself up for pilates tonight without really considering how tired i would be by Thursday night. Oh well. I guess it will stretch me out and then i can go laze about and make dinner. I have a beautiful cauliflower from last weekend that is just begging to be eaten. Tomorrow night we’re trying out michy’s, michelle bernstein’s miami restaurant (i believe shes a regular on iron chef america?) as they’re having a miami-spice menu deal; and then this weekend, its second-Saturday again – remember patty? This time, going back to wynwood to see the area’s attempt at hipsters, free wine, and (bad) art. Honestly though, i cant wait to just go to sleep tonight...on the plus side, its already Thursday, right? ... right?

Xoxo

Corpie challenge, MiMo street fair, another random night miami night

last Thursday was our corporate challenge! Ironic since i dont work for a corporation, but nonetheless; downtown miami upped the ante and had all these people running as part of the mercedes benz sponsored event. Like most corporate challenges ( not like i actually know anything here), the annoying walkers somehow get in the front, even though they should be in the back; people think they are super hardcore even though they are slow-running a 5k; and it requires much elbow-manueving and person-dodging. There were 5 of us running (i mean, there are only about three times that amount working here, so i guess thats good...), and i was able to stay with coworkers nicole & amanda as we tried to get out of the midst of the other 17,000 people in our way, bringing it in for a proud time on the clock of like 30 minutes, which was still unclear as to how fast we ran, since it was so non-racey that we didnt eve have time chips nor see a clock before we started. Either way, another shitty race t shirt to add to the pile. Post-race involved a stop at nicole’s husband’s company tent, where we downed some icey-cold miller light and a few chicken wings. (Note: there were company tents all over with food in them, and there were literally groups of people that had eaten and gone totally to town on food before even starting the "race." many of these people were overweight and or technically obese. Its one thing to encourage exercise. Its another to think youre being healthy bc you will slowly walk 3 miles with pre and post devouring food items. Oh, america). Then it was time to go home and drink some vodka sodas alone. The almost-end to a great week! (Dont worry, there was a healthy plentiful dinner of popcorn).

Friday night i similarly didnt want to do anything; i cant remember now if i was in a crank-funk or what, but had pilates Saturday morning at 9am so i didnt want to feel all crappy when my alarm started going off at 8am. Eeek. Without milk for the coffee. Alas, i made it in time to the first-ever reformer class: on Tuesday i had my private lesson on the medieval torture machine, and i must admit, i kind of loved it. It was like mat pilates but much more intense and focused on the muscles you should be using: you basically get on this thing and its got arm & leg straps and you use them as resistance (they’re hooked up to springs). All very cool. The class was super small- maybe 5 of us? - and was awesome, taught by a modern dancer of course. I left feeling so much more relaxed than i would have in any other exercise class, like, no judgments bc it was such a small studio and we were all so different. Who knew pilates could be enjoyable(ish)?

Although i was supposed to meet rachel for ballet & stretch class after that, i could barely lift my arms so i headed home, put on the bathing suit, and lay out by the pool for a few hours until it was time to get her from class. I know, i felt like her boyfriend, it was great: i showed up in my car, with an icey cold diet coke, and said, hi honey! It was kind of cute. Then we headed over to MiMo, the miami-modern art district, which is on biscayne (miami proper) btwn about 68·-75th street. There was a street-festival called "Cinco de MiMo," although of course, it had nothing to do with cinco de mayo. I meant to take pictures but then i didnt. Of course. It involved a random dog costume parade; way spaced-out vendors selling jewelry/art/clothing; two farmer’s markets; and a handful of restaurants that were having little ‘bites’ for sale.

We met up with justin & a friend, as well as nicole & tracy, and all walked along for a while engaging in white-wine out of plastic cups sold at these little bite-stands, until we realized we were all super hot, sweaty, and hungry– so we actually sat at a restaurant and got some lunch *and blood marys,* yes. Then we walked a little more; bought a ton of veggies from the alleged farmers (including some gorgeous cauliflower, yummm), and then parted ways. I took rachel home, and then just as i settled onto the couch to watch puppy porn on the animal channel, nicole called and invited me to a dinner that had been much debated earlier (was it on / wasnt it on) at a famousa cuban place on calle ocho called "versailles." (Although you would think its pronounced the french way, its not. Its more like ver-saill-es, including the ‘es’). Those crazy latins. So i hustled off the couch, without at all changing out of my bathing suit top and dress that i had been in all day of course, put on heels, and out the door. Turns out the much-debated dinner, by the time i arrived, had been cancelled again, so we found some other friends nearby at a small, hole in the wall, vietnamese place which was kind of stellar: this little older woman ran the joint and came over to take your order specifically. The bathroom was in an alley that you had to walk through to get to the kitch. I mean... amazing. The food was delish. And suddenly, it was 11pm.

Leaving the coral gables kids, i headed back to the beach, convinced ashley to go out, picked her up, and then we met justin & his friend larkin for drinks at bowlmor (random), then to the roof of the ganesvort (where kari nic & i had sunned last Saturday). It was beautiful up there: dark, windy, music, bar, etc. after that we attempted to go to their club downstairs, but ashley was in flippyflops, and justin in a t-shirt, and the door-man a douche, so we ended up at some nearby club that i was to call mogwai but i dont know if thats its name or what. Finally the night ended; i took justin & larkin home at about 4.30 and was home by 5, when i decided i needed to text kari & nic profusely to wish them good luck on the pittsburgh marathon. They of course, were just waking up, and i was just going to bed. I think the text-convos went on for like 25 minutes while i wished they were around for ihop, but instead i ate multitudes of saltine crackers and headed to sleep.

Yesterday then, i was lazy because, really, who goes to bed at 6am on Sunday morning? Apparently i do. I wasted some time reading on the beach, ran, and then had a furious effort at cooking and cleaning as if i were productive. Another lovely random weekend in miami, where i managed to not only drink in the middle of the day, but to also get tan. I mean, does it get much better?

xoxo

P: Race in NH, Joe & Maria visiting Boston and Good Eats

Wow, what a weekend! This was pretty much the first weekend in a long time that I let myself have some time off. Like, I pretty much reclaimed the weekend, doing the kinds of outings and day trips and lounging about that I haven't really done since I left NY. Annie, last wknd you had a publishing couple come to visit; this past weekend my friend Joe from Random House and his now fiance Maria came up to Beantown for some good eats and craft beer.

Friday night we met at Cambridge Brewing Company in Kendall Square. Basically, the area's kind of deserted save for some MIT admin buildings and a bunch of biotech company offices. Then you have this little pocket of 4 bars (Tommy Doyle's, Flat Top Johnny's, and something else I forgot) that are kind of tucked away in this office plaza. I got there at eight; Joe, Maria, and Maria's friend Nicky/Nikki were there since 5:30pm. Joe was dorking out with a little scrap of paper a pen, taking notes on the different brews he was sampling. He refused to drink any of the IPAs presented at the table, for fear they would be too hoppy and would itnerfere with his barley wine. I started off with the Spring Training IPA, which seemed to have a popcorn kernel finish, and Joe scribbled that in his notes.

Anyway, we were joined by Joe's best friend Phil, a lawyer at Skadden. (Yay, Annie--your general peoples!) Apparently the company was offering these options for young associates to "take buyouts" and work in the nonprofit sector at like, 1/6 of their pay, but then they forgive your loans and stuff. Have you heard of a lot of firms doing this? It kind of seems like an appealing incentive for those who don't want to be stuck in corporate law forever.

I didn't stay for too much longer-- I left by 11 because Iwas running a 5k race in NH that morning. Which meant I needed to leave my house by 6am. Which meant I ended up getting 2.5 hours of sleep, because I was so paranoid that I would oversleep my alarm! Being up by 3:58am after having had 3 pints of Spring Training (I held back on ordering a 4th), then nachos, then pizza, then fried calamari, and then a turkey sandwich when I got home...I kept worrying about my bathroom strategy. Oh, so part of the reason why I couldn't go to sleep was because I kept getting worried about not being able to go to the bathroom! I didn't want to havea repeat of the Brooklyn half-marathon (where I had consumed 2 pints of beer, a burger and fries, and pasta the night before, and had to go to the bathroom--in a bad way--during the race, and there were no portopotties, so at mile 4 i had to run int oa jewish synagogue and drop off a load). So I kept worrying about it. And I kept trying to make myself go to the bathroom, but NOTHING WOULD HAPPEN!

Finally, on the car ride to Dover, NH, we stopped in a rest stop and the gods were only partly on my side. But as my friend Amy and her friend Tessa pointed out, a 5K would be over quickly enough that hopefully I wouldn't need to go at all!

The race was a benefit for the Children's museum in Portsmouth. It was a run through suburban Dover, and there were some gradual hills here and there. But my legs felt like 100 pounds of lead--each! Like every race, I wanted to stop running during the first mile. And there were no mile markers, so I thought the first mile went on forever, so naturally I slowed down. Finally I saw a Mile 2 marker, but I always get confused--does that mean you're about to enter the start of mile 2 (after having only finished 1 mile) or does it mean you just finished 2 miles? So I kept thinking about that, and how cramped up and sore my legs and arches were (I think I'm due for new sneakers, is the problem). And I was getting pissed at myself because all I wanted to do was run each mile sub-8 (under an eight minute mile pace). I finished the 5k in 25min, 20 sec, or an 8min, 10 sec mile. I ran that 5 miler a few weeks ago at a FASTER pace than that--wtf?

Also, they were giving out free clam CHOWDAH! after the race. THe last thing I wanted to do was coat my esophagus with a cream-based hot stew, but I was like, Hell, I'm in New England!! and I had some. Then the whole day became all about celebrating New England, and doing all of these American things before I LEAVE THE COUNTRY FOREVER!! Boo hoo.

Anyway, Amy, Tessa, and I went to the town of Portsmouth, which is so so cute. We had brunch at a place called The Friendly Toast, which was this totally kitsch place. (photo courtesy of yelp)

And my poached eggs came out overcooked (more than 10 bucks for eggs, sausage, toast, and home fries! for shame). And we walked around the town, and Tessa bought these shoes called Toms, which looked something like dock/boat shoes, but kind of hip, and there was this bookstore called Gulliver's Travels, and it was all picturesque and the perfect kind of New England town.

Then...OUTLET MALL SHOPPING! We stopped off at the Tangier outlets in Maine (hitting up 3 New England states in 1 day), and...I went a little nutso at J Crew. I bought a navy blue pinstriped suit with a skirt and pants. AND a pair of jeans. And a sweater/cardigan. And a white button down . AND a pair of flip flops. When the heck am I going to need to wear a suit? Amy and Tessa pointed out I'd need to have it handy in case I wanted to go on interviews once I got back.

I was then dropped off in Davis Sq, at Diesel Cafe, where I kind of tried to do 1.5 hours of writing/revising on my laptop. To say nothing of the 12 students' final portfolios I need to grade before I leave for NY on Wed.

Back to SAT NIGHT:
Joe and Maria, Maria's bro and wife, Phil (his girlfriend was absent because she's in finals mode), and Phil's law school friend were all at Roadhouse. I showed up after a harrowingly annoying T ride (I am starting t oHATE the T). Got there, had a WHale Tail Pale Ale, and just...enjoyed great company. It was one of those nights where a bunch of people were meeting for the first time, and because good people are friends with good people, everyone got along, and was outgoing! I thanked everybody for funding my year abroad (I swear, it could just be me, but this joke never gets old), and then we talked about how too much choice is a bad thing, referring to the beer menu--re the paradox of choice. It was a fun night, and there were numerous craft brew pints ordered and sampled, and then I made it to bed by 2:30am, after consuming half a package of ramen noodles.

SUN:
Met the gang for brunch on Sunday in Harvard Sq at this place called Arrow St Bakery and Creperie. It was tres excellent, except...are crepes suppposed to be ten + bucks? I know they're savoury and all, and huge, but I was balking a bit at some of these prices, esp as the place was pretty low-key and serve-yourself. But that being said, I had a dynamite Californian crepe (it was like a cobb salad inside a crepe), Joe had thebraised leg of lamb crepe, Maria had a sweet crepe with granola and yogurt. Phil ordered the "proletariat," which was nothing more than chicken, red peppers, tomatoes, cheese, and I made some corny joke about how it had yet to live up to its name. "If a crepe is called the Proletariat, I'd expect some kind of subordinated ingredient to really come to light and shine." And his friend--also a small liberal arts college major--then upped the joke saying, "Yeah, there should be like Cheez-Whiz on top, conquering all" which took me a second to get, but then it dawned on me and I thought it was pretty genius.

Anyway, we all walked around Harvard Sq for their Mayfair fest, which was an extended street fair. Then Joe and I ran into Peter Olson, the former CEO of Random House. His exit from RH was somewhat controversial (he was essentially asked to resign), but Joe and I both had something like platonic crushes on him...or maybe, it's better to say we really admired him and what he did for the company. Like, he would often hold small breakfasts with all the new hires, and he alwayus seemed really approachable. So we flagged him down and said hello. And yes it was a little awkward, but hopefully he got that we were big supporters of him.

Next we headed back to Phil's apt, then a trip to Whole Foods (or, the store that shall not be named) because Joe wanted to cook us this elaborate mussels in belgian ale dinner. with an antipasto plate of marinated olives, smoked gouda and smoked jarlsberg, roasted red peppers, kale and bacon, and Maria made parsley frites, and there was cannellini bean and bruschetta topping, and toasted sesame bread, and then a blueberry pie with ice cream from Toscanini's. Phil's friend had to leave before the feast began, which was too bad, because there was a TON of food. Can we say food coma? The meal took like 3 hours to make, and my arteries were throbbing this morning when I woke up. But you could say it was worth it. There are no friends like old friends and new friends! Good people. But they made me miss Brooklyn. Maybe I'll be back sooner than later after all.