the march towards decrepitude

The month of April heralds the start of spring and - more importantly - the birthdays of Evil Twin #1 and Evil Twin #2. I tend to be sad around birthday time; I get all weepy because another year has passed and things change and people lose touch and we grow up. But, in reflecting upon my 28th year, I wasn't as weepy as I normally am. Maybe it's because I've been so busy at work that I don't have time to wax nostalgic. Or maybe it's because I have come to accept that things change and, in the immortal words of Steve Winwood, it's better to just roll with it.

Funny how much things can change in just one year. This time last year, I was licking my wounds after a very painful breakup and as a result was certifiably "boy crazy." I had crushes all over the place--work, clients, old friends--and even did some embarassing things while under the influence. Never again will I tell someone how I "feel" after tequila. That's all in the past. This year, I had one of the best meals I've ever had (and that's saying a lot) on my birthday, with someone that I am head over heels for. Dinner was a surprise and I had no idea where we would go.

He took me to L'Impero which is a beautiful italian restaurant in Tudor City. We each had a lovely glass of wine--I had Riesling and he had a really yummy Montepulciano. I had sweetbreads for my first time--they were fried and we all know that everything fried is good--and were served still warm with white asparagus and mushrooms I've never heard of. Even though I know what sweetbreads are, they were really tasty and I am a big fan. I would eat that salad every day if I could. For my main course I had lobster risotto. And our dessert was a heavenly banana and giandua tart. I can't even begin to explain how sublime the food was. I guess for $100/person it had better be freaking good. And I can even say that it was worth it. To top it off, he gave me the sweetest card ever that I read over and over. And, on top of a fantastic meal, he got me fancy schmancy artisinal chocolates and fancy schmancy bath gel. He really does know me too well. All in all, a fantastic birthday.

Since my real birthday was during the week, I had to wait until the weekend to celebrate with friends. While Evil Twin #1 celebrated at the lovely Silhouette Lounge, I decided to host a soiree at Kashkaval, which is not exactly comparable to the Silhouette, but is just as much fun. Kashkaval is my favorite wine bar in New York. It's one of the few unpretentious spots where you can go, order a bottle or two, choose from a fine selection of cheeses, play some scrabble, get to know the waiters and owner, and have them give you free olives. In other words, I love this place. Oh, and the exposed brick and rustic table and benches which the owners made themselves doesn't hurt either.

After many bottles and much cheese, my worlds (work, law school and life outside work and post-law school) and I went to another one of my favorite places here in NYC... K-town for some karaoke. It always seems to come back to karaoke. Evil Twin #1's bday celebration ended at Do-Re-Mi in Boston. My night ended at Chorus in K-town along with 7 others, 2 of which had never been karaoke-ing before. I'm pretty sure that they'll go again. I even scored 100 with my rendition of Dancing Queen. Ahhhh. Gotta love the scoring. So, after 4 hours drinking wine and eating stinky cheese and 2 hours belting out songs we headed home at 4 am. Even though I am now 29, I was able to stay out later than I did when I was in college. The biggest difference is that it now takes me 3 days to recouperate...

It's just a matter of plane etiquette

Back in the eighties, the plane ride from New York to Los Angeles took about 4 and a half hours. You would board these jumbo DC-10's or 747's that had two aisles and three columns of seating, projected movie screens, an unenclosed smoking section, and attractive stewardesses. When the plane reached its cruising altitude, moving about the plane was a true option as the drink cart never completely obstructed an aisle. Riding a plane was an event, and customers would dress for the occasion in nifty polyester pantsuits and or at least khakis and an izod.

Flash forward 20 years and things have changed. Now, more fuel economic planes make the cross country trip. Space is limited on the plane on the aisles, in the seats, and in the cabin in general. But worst of all the passengers have lost all sense of good manners. I empathize with the fact that air travel can be a hassle with added security, but that in no way explains the complete lack of decorum adopted by the passengers.

As I was boarding flight 189 to LAX, I witnessed a mother and daughter conversing about clothes. What was the daughter going to where to the reception, probably the strappy dress with the gold heels. I understand a girl's need to dress sexy, well actually I do not, because this girl was wearing one of those coordinating sweatsuit outfits with the words "too low" in hot pink letters displayed on her ass. And yes, they were too low as I saw ass crack and she was not even bending. This mooning incident should have been an omen for a not-so-great plane trip.

I sat in my window seat ready for my 6 hour flight to LA. I had my Glamour, mp3 player, a papers to read, and my sandwich (as lunch is no longer served on flights). Sitting next to me was a 10 year old kid and his father was on the aisle. His mother and two sisters were in seats on the other side of the aisle. At first he was kind of spazzing out trying to put on his seat belt and in the process of tightening it managed to smack me in the chest. I thought he would settle down as time rolled along. Through out the flight he rocked back and forth in his chair. He shouted across to his sisters. He got up ran down the aisle. Smacked me a couple more times. Should we pity this poor kid with ADHD? No, because the root of his problems was came out right after take off. As he was spazzing and yelling at his sisters, his mother said, " Malcolm, just sit there and eat your candy." His parents passed him a ziplock bag filled with Jolly ranchers, DumDums, Tootsie rolls, mini Snickers and more.

Now on my way back, the flight was also slightly uncomfortable. I sat next to a man that was so large he could not put the arm rest down. While I grudgingly gave up half of my seat, my problem with him was his constant need to eat pistachios the whole way to Boston. Shells and little pistachio skins flew everywhere.

So this is my plea to anyone out there to please practice some decorum when trapped in a cramped space with strangers for 5-6 hours. Chill out. Bring some tunes. Control your children. Eat quiet self contained foods. And we all will be happy.

A bit o' trivia - the answer (actually the question)

People Who Became Household Words

Answer: This type of product was named for Japanese businessman Shojiro Ishibashi.

Question: What are tires? (Ishibashi translates to 'stone bridge' in English, which was reversed to "Bridgestone" to market Japanese manufactured tires. In 1988 Bridgestone purchased Firestone, one of its major competitors.)

I found this interesting...I am probably just longing to be on vacation in Japan...

students, doctors, and scientists....oh my

The American Association for Cancer Research Annual Meeting is currently on its way in Anaheim, California. The meeting hosts 16,000 attendees among them being heads of pharma, Nobel laureates, hot shot doctors and one evil twin. I fled the schackles of the lab to this scientific oasis on the sunny west coast. Well, one can assume it is sunny because most of my time is spent in dark rooms squinting at slides. There is much to be learned, much to be ignored, and a hell of a lot of outfits to ridicule. Science people may not be the sharpest dressers, but what they lack in style the make up in really awkward small talk. These are my people and I guess this is where I belong.

I am taking a little break now. My brain hurts. Not to worry only two and a half more days to go. Hopefully, when I get back to Boston I'll be able to process this whole experience better.

Good luck to all of you running the Boston Marathon today. I'll be monitoring you all via web.

A bit o' trivia

People Who Became Household Words

Answer: This type of product was named for Japanese businessman Shojiro Ishibashi.


This is your opportunity to use the comment function to prove if you are a smarty-pants, so get to it.

Spring is here!

The changing of the guard; to every season turn, turn, turn; winter is over. Spring finally arrived. This change is more than just the weather, though that is a big part of it. While Denver may be hit with a blizzard this week, here in Boston the sun has been shining and most of the snow piles of melted away. Actually just one snow pile has been stubbornly clinging to life but yesterday's mid sixty degree weather should put an end to those shenanigans.

The signs of spring have been cropping up everywhere. DC has the cherry blossoms, and in Boston spring is heralded in by its residents. People have been smiling a lot more. The young ladies of Boston University and College are exposing their midriffs again. The homeless have staked claims to their street corners. And, of course, one can hear the constant chatter about the beloved Red Sox everywhere.

Last week, I put away my winter sweaters. Like the young coeds, I greet the new season with a different wardrobe. No longer will I be forced to wear a button down shirt with a wool sweater and a pair of jeans. Now I can wear a button down shirt with a cotton sweater and a pair of jeans. I also put away all my courdory pants, they served me well, but it is time for my khakis. For shoes, I had decided to try something a little wild. Keds. My friends, A and R, and I went out on Thursday to buy these retro sneakers, and we talked endlessly about all the cute skirts and capris that would match them.

But it is more than just clothes. I have spring fever. I am extremely restless and have no ability to concentrate. I have even curbed the amount of TV I have been watching. I cleaned my room and had urges to excercise. (Normally, exercise is achieved by looking in mirror with poor self esteem not by excess energy.)

Spring is here. Wahoo!

Closing the door

I've finally done it. I've deleted my ex's numbers from my cell phone. I don't know why I waited so long to do it--for those of you who do not know, the ex and I broke up over a year ago. We had been together for 1/4 of my life before I realized that the relationship wasn't going anywhere. That, and my increasing suspicion that the ex was perhaps playing for the other team. Hmm... living in SF with his Oscar Madison-like room mate (the ex was the Felix Unger of the pair), riding around on a scooter with his roomie, and spending a little too much time with their gimpy cat. I really should have figured it out earlier. Anyway, it felt really good to delete his digits from my cell. It was as though I finally closed the door on that part of my life. And, not to jinx it, but LIFE IS GOOD right now.

Behind the new door that has opened for me is my current boyfriend (who is much better suited for me). He is a godsend compared to the ex (not that I am comparing). Case in point--while I was in Beantown for Part 2 of the Evil Twins Reunion, he did the nicest thing that anyone has ever done for me. He cleaned my apartment. While this sounds like a nice thing to do, if you have ever seen the state of chaos that I live in, you will realize that what this man did for me was an incredible feat, some would even say a miracle. He has done the impossible; he has literally swept me off my feet.

A local bar review

According to Korean tradition I am 30 years old, but we are in the freakin' US of A and so I say turned 29 on Saturday. Originally, I had planned a big party with a disco ball and everything. But like many good ideas I have, it was thwarted by a clueless transexual. (story for later) So I opted to have a simple night of bonding with my friends at my favorite bar.

The Silhouette Lounge is a fantastic establishment at the end of a row of swanky college hangouts. While long lines of tube top seven jean wearing girls and steroid popping tight black pant wearing boys shiver outside waiting to get into these dance clubs/bars, outside the Silhouette you will find a group of 30 somethings with frosted hair, tattoos and their cigarettes lit. Inside the bar is fairly bright with leatherette booths and sticky high wooden tables. Keno and video poker screens with half nudie ladies are at the ends of the bar. On a big screen TV, the UNC vs. Michigan St. game was playing silently. You can play pool and darts for free. Music is provided by a juke box filled with late eighties early nineties classics such as John Cougar Mellancamp's "Jack and Diane." At quarter a song, you are never disappointed even when the wrong song pops up.

What makes the Silhouette my favorite bar are two things: free popcorn and the clientele. The popcorn is served on wax paper in plastic baskets. It is popped behind the bar in an old fashion kettle popper you see at the movie theaters. Each kernel is salty and is the perfect complement to the drinks. The drinks are not special, except for the fact you order all drinks in two sizes large or small. Irene, the bartender, assures me that in her 30 years, she has only seen a handful of people order the small. "It's just not economical."

The people at the Silhouette are mighty friendly. At first, they are a little intimidating with their thick Boston accents and gruff exteriors. But the Silhouette is a neighbohood hangout, and everyone talks to each other as if it was a local gathering of the PTA. Political opinions or fashion tips are swapped with anyone with a drink in hand. I told Irene and Liz that it was my birthday and they said happy birthday. We also did a few shots of Jaegermiester together to celebrate the happy day.

No, the Silhouette Lounge is not the hippest place in Boston, but it is great place to share with your friends. Actually, it is a way to test your friendships as you force loved ones to hang out at a place they would never frequent and add to their growing concern that you are not quite right in the head. Everyone passed.

On this very special episode of Blossom...

While I had made a vow to only to post on Mondays, I have made an exception today to share last night's event.

I have a crush. While I understand that I am in my late twenties and adulthood and maturity are supposed to take over my life, neither of these qualities have deterred me from my teenage-like fantasies. I am referring to girly fantasies, in which your imaginary boyfriend holds your hand while you walk down the street. The kind in which your at a meeting and mind just drifts away to your imaginary boyfriend helping clean the kitchen with you. Yes, I need to really get a smuttier imagination, but it is the G-rated day dreams that make the crush so enjoyable.

As the greatest birthday present ever, my friend V arranged a movie outing with my crush. We decided to go see "Millions" a children's movie that has an indie edge because of its director, Danny Boyle. Well, actually we had a choice of three movies to watch and let my crush decide which one we would see. He chose correctly. (Yay!) He arrived a little late, so we had bought tickets, a small price to pay to hang out with my future stalkee. As we filed into our seats, I found out that V is fantastic, as she somehow fixed the seating order so that I would be sitting next to him.

He did all he was supposed to: laughed at the right times, made witty hushed comments, and passed the bag of sourpatch kids over to me on occasion. Now I like sour patch kids, but I hate the green ones. As I reached into the open bag, I seemed to keep getting lime ones and was forced to trade with him for a better flavor. It was as if destiny or at least Cadbury Schweppes Inc was trying to bring us together. In one moment of the movie, my mind wandered from the screen and I took a deep breath. He smelled like a mix of musk, woodsy boy, and artificial lime. Heavenly.

The best part of the crush is knowing nothing will ever come of it. My crush is a nice guy. He picks the right movies, is willing to give me his sourpatch kids for my lime ones, and is an all around good person. I think knowing him better would ruin the perfect images rolling in my head. Sooner or later, I'd get irritated and hurt and that that giggly swirly thing I feel when I see him would disappear forever.

Right now I am at my desk thinking about him building wells for poor children in Costa Rica and he looks...heavenly.