Have you ever heard of King Cake?
I hadn't until this Tuesday, which was Fat Tuesday, and the party was in honor of Mardi Gras.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Baby Torso
On Tuesday, a friend of mine and I showed up at a party in Brooklyn with a plastic baby, some dough rising in a bowl, some sprinkles, and a walnut-cinnamony-brown sugar sauce.
Have you ever heard of King Cake?
I hadn't until this Tuesday, which was Fat Tuesday, and the party was in honor of Mardi Gras.
Have you ever heard of King Cake?
I hadn't until this Tuesday, which was Fat Tuesday, and the party was in honor of Mardi Gras.
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Ew, jerky.
I usually wrinkle my nose when I think of jerky. It's so vulgar to me to be popping dried meat in your mouth like potato chips. Meat, especially dried, is NOT for snacks on the go.
But! I am capable of seeing things in a new light given the correct circumstances.
We were in Kentucky, the sky was blue, the geese were flying (south?), and we had just made it through some rough days of filming. 12 hour days, down to 2 degrees fahreinheit, and the only thing that had kept us going through it were the Toasti Toes foot and hand warmers you could hide in your mittens and boots. (Plus the 5 layers of wool. Oh, and of course the deadline of getting all the footage shot on schedule. But that's secondary.)
But! I am capable of seeing things in a new light given the correct circumstances.
We were in Kentucky, the sky was blue, the geese were flying (south?), and we had just made it through some rough days of filming. 12 hour days, down to 2 degrees fahreinheit, and the only thing that had kept us going through it were the Toasti Toes foot and hand warmers you could hide in your mittens and boots. (Plus the 5 layers of wool. Oh, and of course the deadline of getting all the footage shot on schedule. But that's secondary.)
Monday, February 2, 2009
Everything Happened at Once
I haven’t written for a while because all of a sudden, everything happened at once.
As promised, my two Norwegian friends arrived in the States about two weeks ago. They’re going to be in the US for a year, living out the dream. They’ve spent a long time planning, contacting Norwegian newspapers and magazines, who they’ll be freelance-writing for while they’re here. They basically just up and left their day jobs to experience and write about New York for a year, much to my happiness, cause now I’ll have two amazing roommates.
We found an apartment pretty quickly, and we just moved into a beautiful (affordable and large by NYC standards, but expensive and small by any other) apartment on the Upper East Side, just a few blocks from Central Park. Or, that is, my friends and my stuff moved in, I haven’t actually had a chance to live in our new apartment yet.
As promised, my two Norwegian friends arrived in the States about two weeks ago. They’re going to be in the US for a year, living out the dream. They’ve spent a long time planning, contacting Norwegian newspapers and magazines, who they’ll be freelance-writing for while they’re here. They basically just up and left their day jobs to experience and write about New York for a year, much to my happiness, cause now I’ll have two amazing roommates.
We found an apartment pretty quickly, and we just moved into a beautiful (affordable and large by NYC standards, but expensive and small by any other) apartment on the Upper East Side, just a few blocks from Central Park. Or, that is, my friends and my stuff moved in, I haven’t actually had a chance to live in our new apartment yet.
Friday, January 16, 2009
Mischief Managed
The day before yesterday, I drove out to the airport with my half-brother and his nephew to pick up my other brother who was coming back to the States after the holidays in Norway.
In the car ride back into Manhattan from the airport, my jet-lagged brother asked my six year old nephew how things were going at school. He answered that things were going well at school and that he often got stickers for his good work. "What do you do with the stickers you get at school?" my brother wondered. He answered that he usually puts them on his shirt. My brother thought it'd be funny if my nephew would put the stickers on the teacher's butt instead. My nephew thought this was a hilarious, but odd thing to do. But he's 6.
In the car ride back into Manhattan from the airport, my jet-lagged brother asked my six year old nephew how things were going at school. He answered that things were going well at school and that he often got stickers for his good work. "What do you do with the stickers you get at school?" my brother wondered. He answered that he usually puts them on his shirt. My brother thought it'd be funny if my nephew would put the stickers on the teacher's butt instead. My nephew thought this was a hilarious, but odd thing to do. But he's 6.
Monday, January 12, 2009
I am... a very thrifty broad
I've been back in New York for exactly a week after the holidays, which were passed in Norway, and I've spent most of that time answering phones for Corporate America.
"Thank you for calling [insert Company Name here]!"
I say that sentence a lot. I'm really glad I went to college.
"Thank you for calling [insert Company Name here]!"
I say that sentence a lot. I'm really glad I went to college.
Friday, January 2, 2009
A Sporkife!
I've always thought of the name of this blog as three separate important eating utensils.
My friend Andreas (who you'll be hearing a lot more about since he and another friend, Lasse, are moving to New York in 15 days), found a slightly different interpretation when he was in a sporting store a while ago. He bought it for me, and presented me with it, .blogspot.com and all.
I give you, in A SINGLE utensil, a Spoon, a Fork, and a Knife:
My friend Andreas (who you'll be hearing a lot more about since he and another friend, Lasse, are moving to New York in 15 days), found a slightly different interpretation when he was in a sporting store a while ago. He bought it for me, and presented me with it, .blogspot.com and all.
I give you, in A SINGLE utensil, a Spoon, a Fork, and a Knife:
Sunday, December 28, 2008
Secret Santa
For years and years, my Norwegian friends and I have exchanged holiday gifts via the pseudonym Secret Santa.
Since there are so many of us (I think there were 15 participants in this last one), we decided long ago to opt to give one larger, useful, well-thought-out gift to one person rather than 15 tiny, useless ones to all 15 people, even though everybody loves everyone else just as much.
One designated individual, the only one who knows the whole spiel, usually draws names out of a hat and links them to the receiving end sometime in early December. On December 22nd or thereabouts, the whole gang gets together. Each person puts their parcel into a huge burlap sack, making sure no-one else is watching to see what kind of wrapping paper he or she used, and then the gifts are distributed, but not opened. Everyone must wait two more days until Christmas Eve to open the gift at the proper time. Secret Santa is not a game.
Since there are so many of us (I think there were 15 participants in this last one), we decided long ago to opt to give one larger, useful, well-thought-out gift to one person rather than 15 tiny, useless ones to all 15 people, even though everybody loves everyone else just as much.
One designated individual, the only one who knows the whole spiel, usually draws names out of a hat and links them to the receiving end sometime in early December. On December 22nd or thereabouts, the whole gang gets together. Each person puts their parcel into a huge burlap sack, making sure no-one else is watching to see what kind of wrapping paper he or she used, and then the gifts are distributed, but not opened. Everyone must wait two more days until Christmas Eve to open the gift at the proper time. Secret Santa is not a game.
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