Parallel Lives

Despite living in separate cities, ET#1 and I quite frequently end up doing/buying the same things. Sometimes it's scary. Case in point, ET#1 and I didn't even discuss it until about a month before school starter, but we had both decided on grad programs in old beantown. I had thought that ET#1 was going to be in Atlanta and she thought that I would stay in NYC. Even though we had spoken to each other quite a bit that summer, the topic of where we would be that fall never really came up. And when it did it went something along these lines:

ET#1: So, I'm going to look for an apartment in Boston.

ET#2: No way! I'm going to be in Boston.

ET#1: I thought you were going to Fordham.

ET#2: Nah, waitlisted and withdrew my application.

ET#2: I am going for BU's JD/MA program in law and [finding new uses for architecturally significant old buildings].

Besides choosing the same city for our graduate degrees, ET#1 and I have ended up buying the same earrings, skirts, music--all without each other's prior knowledge. Labor Day weekend was no exception. I too ended up sampling many beers--in Portland, Oregon. More about that below.

BF and I decided to take an extended weekend trip to the City of Roses over Labor Day weekend. What prompted this? I guess all my talk about Portland having the best breakfast anywhere finally got to him--the affordable non-stop flight courtesy of JetBlue, special weekend rate from Westin, and the ridiculously cheap "compact" car thanks to Hotwire. BTW, am I the only person who would rather have a Dodge Neon instead of the Subaru Outback that was waiting for us? With gas prices at $3.00 a gallon and the prospect of parallel parking, I was disappointed with the all wheel drive Outback. Had we been driving off-road, or if the weather had been less than perfect, then the Subaru would have been great. Hertz also failed to mention that when putting the Outback into Drive, you should NOT move the gear shift all the way back and to the left (which is as far back as it goes). If you do this, then you enable the pseudo manual mode which requires you to shift gears manually. Problem is, there's no clutch and it doesn't explain how to shift. I realized this as I attempted to accelerate in order to merge onto the highway and the RPMs were in the *red* zone at only 35 mph. After a brief scare and frantic phone call to the roadside emergency number we were able to shift out of first and were on our way.

It was a great weekend trip--non-stop eating, drinking, walking, driving/sightseeing, generally not enough time in our Westin "Heavenly Bed." Despite our initial plan of having a "relaxing weekend" we squeezed in trips to Cannon Beach on the Oregon Coast (this is where they filmed the Goonies--Haystack Rock is where the pirate ship is supposed to be hidden), the Columbia River Gorge to see Multnomah and other various falls, 5 vineyards in the Willamette Valley (oddly enough, we ended up buying 4 bottles of various white wines, but no Pinot Noirs), and to the Japanese and International Rose Test Gardens.

We managed to have five fantastic breakfasts in only 4 days. Our first meal in Portland was at the Doug Fir Lounge--we washed down our omelets and fried potatoes with fresh blackberry cosmopolitans at 2:00 am. The next morning we went to Zell's (if you're ever in the PDX area, go to Zell's for breakfast!). BF even declared that the lemon ginger pancakes at Zell's were "the best pancakes he's ever had." This is HIGH praise coming from BF. I didn't take a picture of the pancakes, but this dish was also super yummy. With our stomachs stuffed, we headed for the Oregon Coast, did the whole Cannon Beach thing and drove south towards Tillamook where we stopped at the Tillamook Cheese Factory and sampled many types of cheddar, learned all about the history of Tillamook and had several scoops of ice cream that rival Maine's best. Pretty much dairy overload. We ended our day with a trip to a spa for a wrap, vichy shower, and a massage. It's three of my favorite things all at the same time--being massaged while taking a shower and falling asleep during the process. So relaxing. Just what I needed. The downside of all this pampering, we lost track of time and forgot that, unlike NYC, not all places serve dinner at 10 pm. We tried to go to Typhoon but they had already closed their doors. Same thing at Mio Sushi. Our first real dinner in PDX was less than stellar, I can't remember the name of the restaurant, just that it was next door to Papa Haydn's and had really strong drinks.

Day 2 in Portland took us to the Byways Cafe where we once again had excellent eggs and bottomless cups of coffee. The Route 66 theme was a bit kitchy, but you can't knock the food. Plus, Byways had some great people watching. We never did figure out what our fellow diner's tattoo said. Can you? After another hearty breakfast, we set out for the Columbia River Gorge, saw 5 out of the 7 waterfalls along the way and then made our way to the Willamette Valley to taste some wine. Five seemed to be the magic number that day--we went to 5 wineries and ended up buying quite a few bottles. That night, we had tons of sushi at Mio Sushi for dinner.

Days 3-4 involved even more breakfast (Bijou Cafe--best oyster hash around, and Cup and Saucer Cafe--great scones) and actually seeing the city. BF had never been and I took him to see some of my favorite places: Powell's (better organized than the Strand and has clean bathrooms), half + half (my favorite coffee shop in the entire world), the Rose Garden (with great views of the city), the Japanese Garden (which made us feel as though we were back in Japan), wandering around the Pearl District (I can't believe how much the neighborhood has changed since I was last there in 2003, hello gentrification, good bye funky warehouses), dinner at Typhoon (love the miang), Lucy's Table (oh so romantic), and to Rogue Brewery for an afternoon snack of buffalo wings and many many beers.

It seemed fitting that we should sample some beers in the middle of the afternoon--Matt Groening used many of Portland's street names to name many of The Simpsons characters (Montgomery, Burnside, Flanders, Lovejoy and Quimby to name a few). Homer Simpson would have been proud. We tried: (1) Honey Cream Ale, (2) Hazelnut Brown Nectar, (3) Juniper Pale Ale, (4) Chipotle Ale, (5) Shakespeare Stout, (6) American Amber, (7) Morimoto Imperial Pilsner, and (8) India Pale Ale. We also wanted to try the Coffee Stout and the Chocolate Stout, but they were out of stock. I listed these in my order of preference, although it was a toss up between the Honey Cream and the Hazelnut.

I think one of my favorite things about Portland is that it doesn't try too hard to "be cool" and therein lies its coolness. It's laid back, has a great vibe, a great planning ethic, great coffee and even better breakfast, plus, it's CHEAP -- and, here's something you'll never hear in NYC, their version of the MTA decided to expand their subway/light rail system; they finished early and under budget. Even for my sixth trip to the City of Roses, Portland hasn't lost it's cool. As my younger brothers have said, "Portland is like Pittsburgh [a small town with a good heart]; only cooler." What do I have to say? "Yay, Portland!"

Easy listening

Someone has been tuning into the easy listening station (Magic 106.7) in our conference room. Steve Winwood's "Higher Love" came on as I was eating my baked potato. Tasty potato, even better song selection.

Should I get ESPN now?

Boston is a masculine town. It is filled with Irish bars, and too many sports teams. There are the Celtics, the Bruins, the Patriots (Foxborough is close enough), and of course the beloved Red Sox. As much as you want to avoid caring, conversations of sports seem to be everywhere. The boys at work swap stats, strangers in parks high five each other as they listen to their AM radios, and women in the Copley Mall restroom chat about the Boston College football game. What is a girl to do? Give in.

That's right. I'll admit to the fact that the first thing I did when I turned out my computer last night was to check the following 1) Cowboys vs. 49ers (this I would have checked this no matter where I lived) 2) Highlights of the President's Cup (this is more for my father who is obsessed with golf) 3) Red sox vs. Orioles, Yankees vs. Jays 4) Pats vs. the Steelers (was sure they were going to choke as I heard the game at the security guard station as I was signing out of work yesterday.)

On Friday, I went to the Bruins game. The announcer was explaining the new rules and then it hit me. I did not even know the old rules, so the changes were kind of lost on me. The guy next to me told me the game was going to be so much faster and didn't I think that was great. I just nodded my head. His daughter was taking her cues well and clapped every time her dad made a move. I asked her if she was enjoying her pretzel, she said it was good and then moved her head directly to the game. Two beers later, even I was getting into it. Fight! Fight! Fight! I yelled. Just kidding. That would not happen no matter how many beers I had.

As I was watching the news last night, I felt myself kind of wishing I had ESPN so I could see better highlights of all the games played. Thank God "Sex and the City" is in syndication now. Although I normally find the show vapid and irritating, it was exactly what I needed to inject a little estrogen back into my life. I fell asleep to images of Manolo Blahniks and cosmopolitans, not a ball or puck in sight.

Making choices

I don't know how I feel about this.

Confessions of a hypochondriac

I'll admit to having a touch of hypochondria. I like to pick a disease or even better a syndrome with really vague symptoms and go with it. For example, feeling some pain in my leg, I must have fibromyalgia; a headache, a brain tumor. My favorite disease is alopecia, which means hair loss. As ET#2, A and W, my college suite mates can attest to, I am obsessed with the fact that I am balding. When I was 10, I had so much hair it would not even fit in a rubberband. Now a mini scrunchy can go around it several times. Every night I get really sad when I see the huge clump of hair I have caught in the shower trap. One time I read a person loses an average of fifty hairs a day. So I counted the hairs and found 102!

In the few minutes in which I am not completely self involved, I try to be a good citizen. Two weeks ago the good deed was to donate a pint of blood. To prepare for the event, I loaded up on steak and leafy greens to boost my hemoglobin. Normally, I am a tad anemic, and this fact is based on blood work and medical doctor's assessment not just my own insanity. When the nurse said my hemoglobin was 12.5, right at the cutoff, I was very proud of myself. I donated my pint, drank plenty of fluids, and felt fine. They warned me that I might feel a little shortness of breath, fatigue, and dizzy. But I felt none of these things. However, I have been losing an inordinate amount of hair. Could the two be linked?

Of course not. Well maybe. People who are anemic, are slightly more prone to alopecia, which will go away after a change in diet. After much research, I decided to add B12 and iron supplements to my daily regiment of holistic crap. Will this make a difference? Probably not. But for now, I am satisfied with the solution. Wait, I do have this weird mole on my arm....

Conflicted

Good Lord. I have to admit that I have had a crush on AJ since I saw her in Hackers back in college. As ET#1 will attest, my hatred of St. John knows no bounds. I don't know which will win out.

Making friends part deux

Jack London wrote about hating a man with a moon face. Everything about the man drove the narrator crazy. As it so happens my mother used to place her thumb on my nose and make an arc with her pinky sticking out. She said if she had a compass she could trace a perfect circle around my face. "Your face is perfectly round." My father thought that was funny. Once after taking a heavy course of steroids because of a reaction to poison sumac my father said "Oh, look [your face is] just like the moon."

Which is why I cannot understand for the life of me why strangers come and talk with me. Evil Twin #2 and I once had an experiment in college to record the number of time we get asked for directions. I cannot remember the exact figures, but I did get asked a lot more times that she. ET#2 used to think it was hilarious that if we were in a park kids, dogs and old people tend to gravitate towards me. I used to think it was like how cats only rub up against people they know fear them.

One would think that this would diminish with age. I wear headphones often, but that has not seemed to cut down on my approachability quotient. For instance this morning I got three "Excuse me, Miss" from a mother and her daughter pair who needed directions to Children's Hospital.

Yesterday, the weather was a perfect 75 degrees, sunny with not a cloud in the sky. I was a little hungover from the night before as I had forgotten the cardinal rule of not mixing kinds of alcohol. Needing some greasy lunch, I walked over to my favorite Thai restaurant, ordered a noodle dish. I picked up a seltzer and on my way home decided to eat it in a mini seating area on Beacon Street. Although I did not have a mirror, I can only imagine the glazed over look in my eyes as I chomped on my noodles.

"Oh that smells good, where did you get it," said a lady with permed white hair and two Trader Joe bags. She sat down next tom even though there were three other benches empty.

"At the take-out joint over by Summit." I replied.

"I'm taking a break. These benches a perfect half way place to sit with my bags. I live over there on Park Ave." (Okay, crazy lady. Why are you telling me where you live?) "It is a really beautiful day out don't you think?"

"Uh huh," I answer. Normally, I am a little more talkative, but all I really wanted to do was get something into my stomach.

She pressed on, "Where are you from?"

"California"

"I'm from New York, we just moved here six years ago."

"I went to school in New York, " I said. That was there trigger she needed. She lived on 90th and Riverside for 35 years. Now the neighborhood is too gentrified. She went on about how Boston is expensive too and her grand kid are so inappreciative of what they have. She reads a lot. The current book she is reading is "Small Village." But she really loves spy novels. Did I like spy novels? She saw the "Constant Gardner" the other day. It was not a good movie because it was too commercial. Her cousin just called her earlier and said she walked out on "Urinetown" but left her husband there. Don't I think that is funny?

I sat there and nodded my head. My stomach was feeling better though I could not let out the huge belch I had planned. I got up as she was telling me about neighbors that were Chinese.

"Oh look at the time. I guess I have to go. It was nice meeting you," I said.

She replied, "My name is J. I hope I see you around. It's so nice to talk to young people. I'll remember Ludlum and Archer (spy novelists, I recommended)"

I waved and walked home. I kind of hope I do meet with J again under better circumstances, like my head not pounding out its skull. Despite my moon face, guess friends can be made at any time.

Feeling not so pretty

Sometimes being a girl sucks. I wish I could follow the lead of the boys in our society who look in the mirror and think they are fabulous no matter how ill fitting the jeans, dirty the baseball cap, and paunchy their gut may be.

Last night Evil Twin #2 and I were bitching over the phone about our looks. I recieved a bad haircut yesterday and ET#2 was worried about 8 extra pounds she was carrying. We strategized over bobby pin placement and excercise regimens.

This morning I was tidying my room and I noticed the messiest area was around my mirror. I have a shelf nearby filled with different lotions and potions all promising to reduce acne and wrinkles. Too bad they cannot fix my hair.

Making friends

It is hard to write these fluffy stories of my life, as so much has happened in this country. This week I've seen my roommate frantically searching for her grandfather, setting up accommodations for him, and serving as a switchboard operator so members of her family only miles apart can communicate with each other. Another friend is trying to figure out what to do with her life with the sudden loss of her home and job. Others have taken in hurricane refugees with open arms. And of course, who can miss the images that flash on the television at night of all those who are suffering. But a common theme is the need for community and empathy. So after much contemplation, I decided to post this entry even though it is light and fluffy.

My family tend to repeat the same stories over and over, but there are some of which we never get tire. For example, my mother likes to tell this story about my Uncle F. My aunt had gone to Korea for a few weeks leaving my Uncle F to fend for himself in their house in Germany. Now, my uncle had been a bachelor for a very long time before marrying my aunt and was capable of taking care of things. However, he must have missed having my aunt's chattering around the house. He decided to go down to the local pub for some dinner. As he was eating, he noticed two american girls walk into the pub. These girls were probably backpacking through Europe on some summer trip, but they were ill prepared. They struggled in their attempts to understand the menu and communicate with the waiter. Uncle F saw them and their american accents reminded him of me and my sister. He went over to their table and helped translate everything in his broken English. A little later, as he was sipping his beer, he saw the two americans trying to figure out the check. Thinking about me and my sister again, he thought if we were in this situation he really hoped someone would help us. So he paid for the girls' meal. They in turn gave him some really nasty looks and said something to the effect that they did not appreciate being hit on by an old man. Lesson to be learned: sometimes, no good deed goes unpunished.

On Friday night I went to a local pub with my friend C. The weather was beautiful, but the fight for the tables outside was fierce so he and I decided to eat at the bar. At this particular bar they have a beer sampling deal, in which you can try four 3oz. shot of different kinds of beer for 6 dollars. I thought this was brilliant so I tried eight. This tasting sparked the interest of the two gentleman sitting on the other corner of the bar. So we tried their beer, they tried ours. The four of us talked for a while. S and Ch were brothers-in-law. Both were expats originally from Germany. They gave detailed lesson on beer about the difference between kolcht, pilsner, lager etc.. S was a huge fan of the original Budweiser, now sold in the US under the name Czechvar. Anyways at about 10pm, S and Ch say they are hungry and are going to a Chinese restaurant down the street. They invited C and I to join them. So we did. Ch was apparently fluent in Chinese and was good friends with the chef. The meal we get is exoticly spiced and definitely not americanized. It was delicious. We sat talking with our new friends about philosophy, drug manufacturing and geopolitics.

When we left the restaurant we said good bye knowing we would never see these two fellows again. That did not matter, it was just nice to meet new people. It was nice to think that although I have grown a little cynical that there still is a sense of community in everyone.