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The weekend
So many good things happened this weekend that I hardly know where to start. I went to the farmer's market Saturday morning with Heather and Stella. I had thought things would be winding down, but all the vendors were still there. I scored some apples, some sweet potatoes and some goat cheese.

In the afternoon I went to the Book Thing of Baltimore with Marija, where I found nice copies of Group Portrait with Lady, Housekeeping, Hard Revolution (to replace the paperback Stella chewed) and some French classics for myself, and The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle for Jimmy. After that we met up for dinner with Sylvie, her friend from home who's getting a PhD at Johns Hopkins. She took us to a little Greek restaurant she promised was awesome and cheap. Apparently all the rest of Baltimore thought so, too, because we waited two hours to get a table. In true festive Baltimore style, the place was BYOB and the people who were waiting with us kept going to the liquor store on the corner for reinforcements, so it was a pretty merry waiting area. When we sat down we realized that the holdup was caused by a birthday party of twelve, that had been there when we first arrived and didn't leave until after we got served. I will say, the food was so good it almost made up for the wait. It was hardly their fault that they were hijacked by that monster birthday party.

Yesterday I slept like a pig as my dad says, then I made a pumpkin pie and some corn tortillas (I know, I'm certifiable, but they were pretty easy to make, and soooo yummy without the preservative-and-plastic-bag taste of the storebought ones) and went over to Liz's with that and some chicken green chili I'd made with the Mr.'s secret recipe. We took Stella and Max for a doggie-romp in the park near her house. We found out that the tennis court makes the perfect fenced area for the dogs to run in. It was a lot better being at Liz's house with her. I think maybe restaurants just aren't the ideal environment for the two of us.

Over the weekend I had a bunch of conversations that sounded a lot like this:
"He asked me to go somewhere with him and then made me drop him off at a club where he told me he picked up three women last week."
"At least you went out on a date. I know exactly one guy I'd be willing to date, I mean, one person I'd cling to if the apocalypse came, and he's not available."
Marija says some guys she knows on campus are snickering at her and acting all mysterious like they've been badmouthing her behind her back. Gah. I don't want to give too much credence to Mike Judge's latest movie, but all this makes me wonder how my generation will ever manage to breed, not necessarily the bond traders and real-estate-mongers with their Trixie wives but the cool smart people I know and love. I don't want to hate men. For one thing, I like their company. For another, I just don't believe in gender separatism. My biggest fear is becoming a cat lady in a flouncy pink apartment, and by the same token I don't think it's so good for guys to sit around every night belching in their underwear in front of the TV. Sometimes, though, it's hard to hope.

Mission to America might be one of my new favorite books. It's got it all: road-trip action, lifestyles of the rich and famous, blistering insights on male-female relationships and what it means to be American, plus a bonus tip: how to tell from her hairstyle whether she's a top or a bottom! I can't recommend it enough. And now I'm reading Sightseeing, which includes one of my all-time favorite stories, "Farangs" (don't listen to the NYT reviewer on that one: it's the best).

I'm in my new office. It's pretty nice. I don't have my own window anymore (none of us does) but I've got a good view through my internal window and across the open area. It's actually better than my own personal view had been in the old place since they started building the high-rise condos across the street. I don't have all my plants with me in my office anymore, but they have joined everyone else's plants to make one big display in the picture window. All in all it's a lot brighter and more pleasant, and when the library and the restaurants open downstairs it will be fantastic.

The New York Times is offering free access to all its content this week. I recommend taking this opportunity to read Paul Krugman's election-eve editorial.

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Current Music: The Eels, "I Write the B-Sides"

6 comments or Leave a comment
inkognitoh From: inkognitoh Date: November 6th, 2006 04:38 pm (UTC) (Link)
I've never really been able to accept goat cheese as a viable option :) I understand many people like it. I also understand that I am not one of them.

I understand all too well what you are saying about this generation running on parrallel rails that never seem to meet at even at junctions. For me personally, I think some kind of hybrid cat lady sans pink flounce and belching TV watcher is all I have to hope for :)
islandmomma From: islandmomma Date: November 6th, 2006 05:02 pm (UTC) (Link)
They have the best goats' cheese in my local farmers' market - wish I could send you some! I forgot to go this weekend :=(

Sounds like a fun weekend though. Personally, I seem to be a dog lady in a non-cordinated apartment (have just spent all afternoon trying to arrange furniture and stuff I should have done back in July when I first moved!)

It amazed me when I was in the US how people will queue to eat. It hardly ever happens here, at least not with locals. Foodie that I am at times, I don't think I could wait that long! And why isn't there a bar where you can wait and not have to go to the store? This is one cultural difference which escapes me!
islandmomma From: islandmomma Date: November 6th, 2006 05:03 pm (UTC) (Link)
Oh, and thanks for the tip. I got that message from the NYT too, and was wondering what to dip into, seeing as time will be so limited :=)
florafloraflora From: florafloraflora Date: November 6th, 2006 05:10 pm (UTC) (Link)
And why isn't there a bar where you can wait and not have to go to the store?

This restaurant didn't happen to have a bar. The neighborhood had several bars, but none we felt comfortable going into. Charlene says a lot of restaurants in Baltimore have trouble getting liquor licenses and have to go BYOB. I would guess that the number of liquor licenses is limited, and already taken up by scary long narrow bars with teeny-tiny windows that are covered with Budweiser shamrocks. Not scary if you're looking to get loaded in privacy, but not the type of place to be a chick on Saturday night.
inkognitoh From: inkognitoh Date: November 6th, 2006 05:15 pm (UTC) (Link)
BYO Licensing is fairly common in Australia and to some smaller extent in Britain (for example Muslim restaurant owners won't serve you alcohol but are happy for you to bring it with you). Depending on corkage charges, I often prefer BYO's as I can choose a cheap and tasty bottle of plonk rather than suffer the overpriced 'house' bottle.
islandmomma From: islandmomma Date: November 7th, 2006 08:28 pm (UTC) (Link)
Ah, of course. I've been here too long. Now you guys have triggered memories of a drafty, Victorian Oyster Bar in Blackpool. All wood panelling and willow pattern. The only heating from gas fires (or electric, not sure), which didn't have a license. We used to go (in those well-off, hedonistic days) and have oysters and sea food and take our own champagne. Seems like a lifetime ago. I wonder if it is still there?
6 comments or Leave a comment