Perfect Timing

I used to be blessed with perfect travel karma -- where ever I would go, blue skies would follow while rain poured down or snow fell in my place of departure. Now, it seems that wherever I go, I narrowly miss major upheaval.

BF and I were on vacation in NZ and Australia for the past 2 weeks. We did not have perfect weather. 38° Celsius = FREAKING HOT or 100.4° F. What we did have was perfect timing. We were in Queenstown, NZ and about to leave for Cairns, Australia to go snorkelling at the Great Barrier Reef when we heard about the rioting in Sydney on SKY News. We arrived in Sydney 3 days after the riots ended. While in Sydney, we were again watching SKY News (the only other programming was of either rugby or cricket) and saw images of the Brooklyn Bridge swarmed with pedestrians. We flew back on Christmas Day and missed the strike by 3 days.

More on our travels to the Land Down Under and the Land of the Sheep (NZ) later...

Freaky weather

Last night, I went to S house for Christmas dinner. I arrived in the midst of children unwrapping their extensive Christmas booty. The whole experience was out of a Norman Rockwell painting. S's family had a lovely large spruce, with a model train running along the base. Four generations sat by a roaring fire, as the family just sat in the living room exhausted by the whole days activities. We did what one does on a holiday, eat too much, talk to relatives, take naps, eat some more and watch a little tv. As we sat in the living room, after dinner we chatted, I mentioned to S's sister my love of the hippie organic products. G, S's brother in law, thought it was amusing and said " you can take the girl out of California, but not the California out of the girl."

S's family is from West Hartford a leisurely, hour and a half drive from my apartment. A long drive for people on the East Coast, the commute to work in California. I enjoyed my drive down, catching up on my CD club mixes.

It has been a balmy 45F (7C) this past weekend. So on the drive down I saw something you normally not found in the inland: FOG. Snow and accumulated ice from the frigid days before were evaporating in the sudden warm weather leaving puffs of dense white fog on the roads. On the drive back, it both rainy and foggy. Cars on the interstate were crawling at 40mph. Drivers seemed confused by this odd weather. For me it was like any other winter day in San Francisco. 45 and raining, and on the highway seemed exactly right for Christmas.

Apparently G forgot to mention, "not only can you not take the California out of the girl, but California (weather) will follow her wherever she goes."

Suspicion...

Does anyone else think it is suspicious that Evil Twin #2 is not in Manhattan (not even in this country) during the transit strike?

Mandatory holiday partying

While I do enjoy the occasional holiday party, there is something weird about having to spend this time with your department/office. The holidays should be about home and loves ones, and escaping those you, barely tolerate, everyday. I have two work parties every year. One is a pleasant dinner party thrown by my advisor. He cooks up a feast of exotic Chinese foods, feeds us, liquors us up, and sends us out to enjoy the rest of the weekend.

The bigger less appealing party is the departmental holiday party. In the past, it was homey affair. The party started around lunch time. It was potluck, so there always was a wide variety of exotic (mainly east Asian) dishes, mixed in with a plethora of baked goods. The jovial department chair brought in egg nog, and spiked it with a liter of Jack Daniel's, he smuggled in the building in a french lemonade bottle.

Now, things have gone modern. Our new department chair is a political being and desired a flashier party like the other departments. So now it is catered, beer and wine is served, and there is some form of live entertainment. When I walked into the party with V, we heard the new Chair giving a speech on how happy he was to blah blah blah blah. I almost turned around, but V said not to be ridiculous.

I headed straight to the make shift bar and ordered myself a white wine. Luckily, the bartender understood the situation and filled the goblet to the top. Ah white white wine, stay close to me. (think UB40 circa 1990's)

The live entertainment was salsa dancing. Lessons were given early in the night, but when the instructors were gone so was everyone from the dance floor. H, who has Hispanic blood coursing through him, asked me to dance. Dressed in my large t-shirt, cargo pants, and orthopedic clogs, I was not really suited for a party, let alone dancing. But with enough music and liquor, all inhibitions can be overcome. I'm not sure if my head was spinning from dancing or the 3 glasses of wine I had, but it was fun. So between more glasses of wine, and awkward conversations with awkward scientists, H and I would dance.

Towards the end of the night, our department chair came up to me to chat. He said, "So ET#1, you are a woman of many talents."

"huh?"

"Yes, we did not realize that you could dance and do science."

So 'til next year, in which I am sure to make an ass of myself in some new and disturbing way.

Happy holidays!

X-mas wish list

Dear Santa,

Since I have been only slightly evil this year, I think that I am still deserving of a few things, other than coal, in my stocking. Here is what I want:

1) Peace on earth
2) Luke Wilson
3) My Thesis
4) The HairMax laser comb pictured below. It increases hair growth with low level lasers. $545 on drugstore.com. Hope you and your wife are still enjoying the North Pole and work is going well.

Sincerely, Evil Twin #1

Half-naked girls, clean cut rock 'n' roll, and the O.C.?

'Tis the season for good tidings, credit card debt, holiday parties, and my favorite the multi-act Christmas concert. In December, many radio stations hold a concert with their favorite line up. Often with cute names like, "Rockin' Holiday Jamfest," fans can see 6 bands for the price of one. As seniors in college, Evil Twin #2, W, O and I, sat in Madison Square Garden in the midst of screaming 12 year olds at Jingle Ball to listen to: Fiona Apple, Sarah Machlaughin, Allure, Chumbawumba, Savage Garden, Hanson, the Backstreet Boys, Aerosmith and the Wallflowers. Ah, the names of bands can really date you.

Several weeks ago, I was in my friend's car, and he having OCD like every other boy I know, was flipping through the radio stations searching for something decent. I heard an advertisement WFNX Holiday Show. The ad mentioned that Hot Hot Heat would be playing at this show. Hot Hot Heat is a decent band, and while every song they play sounds the same as the last and the lyrics are unintelligible, they have a catchy sound that makes you want to bop your head. So the next day I e-mailed A, and asked if she wanted to go to the show. A being much more savvy in figuring how to navigate Ticketmaster, bought us tix online and we were set to go on December 6th.

December 6th was a cold Tuesday. Realizing with age comes wisdom, A and I wore fashionable, but warm ensembles of sweaters and jeans. These outfits were a definite bonus as we waited on line to get into the Roxy, next to boys who wore only t-shirts and corduroy blazers, and girls in low slung jeans and a hoodie sweatshirt.

A and I settled into our comfortable balcony spot, in which we could lean against the railing and watch the bands and crowd below. The full holiday line-up was: Morningwood, Hot Hot Heat, The Bravery, and Alkaline Trio.

We arrived as Morningwood was wrapping up their set. For their penultimate song, the lead singer, a woman wearing twenty shades of black, asked if there was anyone in the crowd that wanted to get naked. Of course, twenty eager twenty-somethings stretched their arms up high. The singer choose two blonde ladies from the first row. While I admit I could not watch their striptease act, and spent much of the time looking at the poster of the OC at the other end of the hall, I was a little taken aback by the idea. Yes, I do understand that it was supposed to be an alternative show, and while I am perfectly okay with the occasional F-bomb, this seemed gratuitous. Well, the ladies only got down to their brazeers and unbuttoned their jeans. I guess my puritanical sensibilities were only ruffled, not offended.

While the stage was being set up for the next act, a stream commercials played on a screen above the stage. Why would an alternative station have ads for the OC on repeat? Isn't the idea of rich beautiful Californian teens the antithesis of alternative?

The next band was Hot Hot Heat. Lead by the very energetic very cute very affroed lead singer, their tunes perked us right up. A and I tapped our feet to the catchy hooks and were made happy by their stage presence. No foul language, they revved up the crowd with broad smiles, hand clapping and the lead singers voluminous hair. A said "They are the kind of boys you could take home to your mother."

The opposite of that would be the following band, the Bravery. Their lead singer wore heavy eyeliner, hip hugger jeans, and swaggered as if his pelvis had a mind of its own. He was a little like a less cool Sid Vicious. However, their music was pretty digestible unlike the Sex Pistols.

A and I decided to call it a night. It was 11 on a school night and we had little energy for the last band. As we sat on the T, we discussed our like and dislikes of the night. We came to the conclusion that alternative has gone pretty mainstream, with shows like the OC and movies like Garden State. Bands do not have to be all sexy and gross to be cool, although that is still the favored route. And the radio Holiday concert still lives on.

Patriots vs. Jets

America has a lot of sports to offer. There is baseball, basketball, soccer, competitive eating, fishing, golf, boxing, wrestling, lumberjack olympics, roller derby, candlepin bowling etc.. But the one sport I tend to watch the most is football. Probably out of habit and nothing else. It all started in 1981. My family had just moved to Northern California. In those days, the 49ers were a dominant force. We had a clutch QB, Joe Montana, his go-to guy, Dwight Clark, and an unknown rookie, Ronnie Lott. The whole city was excited about the sport and it was hard to go to the grocery store without hearing how the game on Sunday went. Highways, would be empty on game days, a phenomena Northern California may never again witness.

Well, in 2005 it is slightly depressing being a 49er fan. Being in last place in the NFC west is is a long way from tewnty years ago. With Eddie deBartolo gone, and his sister runnning the show we've wtinessed, management pay ridiculous amounts of money for a rookie QB that does not play. A coach, whose dad was good, whose staff is a mess, which is often reflected on the rag tag team that cannot seem to pull it together. But all of this is not part of the story and I have digressed way too far from the point.

Currently, I live in New England, that is experiencing its own heyday of football. So while I lament my red and gold, I am surrounded by the cheers of the Pats. This Sunday, I watched the New England Patriots battle the New York Jets live at Gillette stadium. I had no idea what I was getting into.

My friend Ti, her boyfriend C, his friends M and To, and myself crammed ourselves into a silver Subaru outback, filled to the brim with tailgating essentials. While chief meteorologist Todd Gross, promised only a slight dusting of snow it, already an inch had fallen by noon. As we drove to Foxborough, it showed little sign of letting up.

We set up camp in a parking lot next to To's friends. They had set up a satelite dish on a tripod along with a television to watch all the football games while they set up their grills for the tailgaiting party of all tailgaiting parties. Picture the whitest, loudest, drunkest, large men and you come nowhere close to what I was amidst.

It kept snowing, as our car grilled up the burgers, chicken, sausages, steaktips. Everyone had brought their own six-twelve pack so the beer ran freely. Ti and I huddled around the grill in hopes to feel our hands and feet again, but that would not happen until 8 hours later, when I was happily in my home. Conversations involved calling various ball players various vulgarities. At some point, M turned on his car stereo, to blast his Patriots pre-game mix. A small sampling included, "Mr. Brownstone," "Runnin' with the Devil," "Thunder," etc..

Other interesting pre-game events included men urinating on a fence nearby, a trashfire, and two people who grilled in their SUV. Before kick-off, we packed up and trekked to the stadium with beers in our hand. (Apparently, open container laws do not apply around the stadium) Yes, I was in some kind of white trash hell.

At the game, we had some fantastic seats on the 40 yardline. Although we were quite high-up, we had a fantastic view of the field. From up above, you could appreciate the strategy and thought that went into the game plan. It was facinating, despite the lackluster performances on both sides.

The one unfortunate thing, was the crowd in parking lot was actually indicative of crown in the stadium. A man one row below me kept yelling about how he hated those virgins who never slept with him. A girl threw up in the aisle. And as I was standing in line, mind you wearing seven layers of
clothing, a man crashed into me attempting to cop a feel.

While I had a fun time, I think that Sundays will be reserved for watching football intermittently through loads of laundry, granding papers, and cooking all in the comfort of my own home.

the inevitable

While washing my hands in the 27th floor ladies room I looked up at the mirror which is behind the sink. I noticed a white hair. It was long and much coarser than the rest of my hairs. I yanked it out. I am getting old.

feeling crafty

I've always wanted to learn how to knit. As a child, my mother taught me how to crochet -- I think that the most complicated item I made was an off-kilter doily and maybe a scarf or two. I was 6. Over a quarter century later, I have finally moved on from one needle to two and am working on a *real* project -- a slightly irregular scarf for BF. What spurred this foray into the world of crafts? Maybe it's the colder weather. Maybe it's my desire to cocoon myself in something soft and warm. Or maybe it's because I was looking for an excuse to buy more crap.

Yesterday, I went to "Smiley's Yarn Riot" for my first yarn purchase. As a side note, I have never seen so many crazy cat ladies in one place. They sure are chatty. Ever the cheapskate, I couldn't resist the bargain basement prices they had on their yarn. The free pattern that I downloaded only required 2 skeins of yarn. I walked out with 18 skeins and am going back for more. I wasn't sure if the prices were really that great since I am a knitting novice, but when I went to Knitting Club last night (my first meeting), the other members confirmed that I did indeed get some bargains. The club's founder, a friend of a friend of BF, only started knitting last year and is now working on a beautiful wrap sweater for a baby -- it looks super professional. She reassured me by telling me that her first project (also a scarf for her bf) was less than perfect. I can only hope that one day I will be as precise as she is in her knitting. A girl can dream, right?

I am not quite sure if this knitting thing will be good for me -- I think I might be too anal to reap all of the stress-relieving qualities that knitting has been touted to have. Last night, I ended up unraveling several rows after I realized that I was off by one stitch. The yarn that I am using is not smooth and is very forgiving. You really can't tell if I add or drop a stitch. But, because I have this insatiable need to make sure that the scarf will be symmetrical, there I was counting stitches and trying to make sure that they were evenly spaced. I have a feeling that BF will be the recipient of many slightly irregular woolen items over the coming months.