Summary

Let's see...I got shit on by a pigeon and I watched a couple of New York cops beat the shit out of some guy on a sidewalk in Soho - I'd say my trip was satisfactory.

Actually the trip was great. I went and I saw. I even took some pictures. You can see them here.

I really dig those wooden water tanks at the top of the buildings, by the way.

So the first day we hit up the the Matisse Exhibit at the Met. I could have spent two weeks there. Here you are looking at a painting by Matisse, it may have even been one you've seen before - say you're looking at a painting of a woman in a purple robe - then you move on to the next display and it's the freaking purple robe that is in the painting. Incredible. The way it was arranged put a whole new perspective on Matisse's work for me. Loved it. Highly recommended if you are in New York any time soon.

Um, so yeah, my cousin that's three years younger than I am - the one that makes the rest of the family seem like infantile slug-like bums - she lives five blocks from the Empire State Building. You can see it from the window in her room. She makes a lot of money. She is smart.

I am not smart, according to some. But I digress.

Moving along...I bought Starbucks in Chinatown. Yeah, yeah yeah I know you're supposed to buy purses and jewelry. But I have an addiction people.

Speaking of addictions, I had some frozen hot chocolate at Serendipity. So. Awesome.

I got to hang with my cousins and aunt and uncle in New Jersey. That was cool because I was really hungover that day and probably couldn't have done much else besides sit and eat and nap.

At the bar we went to my cousin and I were attacked by a flock of pink polo shirts with names including, but not limited to, Winship and Britton. You know those guys that have like five names each. I believe a driver's license was consulted for authenticity of said names. Because really, who the fuck names their kid Winship?

Anyway, I did do a little shopping and I bought this really cool purple bead necklace - my "Wilma" necklace according to one cousin. I also bought Mike a Buddha in Chinatown for $2. I spent the rest of my money on food and alcohol.

HA! I almost forgot about the best part! In New Jersey we went to this shady ass bar called the V.I. for some guido sightseeing. Completely awesome.

There was a guy there wearing this shirt in brown. Rock.

And here's a little sample of the jukebox selections:
Bon Jovi
Bon Jovi
Bon Jovi
AC/DC
Bon Jovi
Bon Jovi
The Cult
Bon Jovi

Burning

That old typewriter - the one that Papa kept forever on the desk in front of the window that faced the giant magnolia tree - was resurrected only to be covered in worn-several-times-and-not-to-be-washed-anytime-soon college t-shirts. You know the ones - the vintage Ramones ringer - the same one now pictured on Jennifer Garner with its sleeves fashionably cut-off in the latest issue of Star or US Weekly. If he knows that he will never wear his again. Back to the times. High Times, collected, the one with HST's journalistic contributions. Gonzo papers, a first edition. Excitement, only for a moment, then it's back to the realistic plans. The LSAT, part-time jobs while waiting to pursue real fortunes. The goddam discount at Sport's Authority. Wanting to get back to the South and defending the need to leave the South. Defending the need to not follow. Failing. Converting. "You can burn if you want to." I don't. He doesn't. We don't. Too much to think about now.

Dude.

I am so not able to do work now. Seriously, I've tried. Just not into it. All I can do is look at apartment listings on Craigslist and check JournalismJobs for the 40th time to see if they've posted any new jobs in the last hour.

I can't even look at flickr photos my brain is so preoccupied.

I applied to be a recipe editor this morning. Rawk.

I had to explain to my sister what rawk meant yesterday. She emailed me that she got a portable George Forman Grill for one of her wedding gifts and I responded with "Portable Forman = rawk."

She did NOT ask about the move. I did not mention the fact that she did not mention the move. This is how we communicate.

My friend Jessica gave her an omelette maker.

Have I mentioned that Jessica's husband has a strange eye disease that prevents him from ever obtaining a driver's license, therefore he is never able to drive a vehicle? Now guess what Jessica's husband's job is. Give up? He is the manager of deliveries for a Barbecue restaurant.

So I'm going to NYC this weekend (yet another reason for unwillingness to be productive). Going to see the Matisse exhibit at The Met, going to Chinatown, hitting up Serendipty and as promised, my cousins are taking me to an authentic guido bar in New Jersey. I will take my camera.

"The next thing I know you'll be calling me up tellling me you want to move to Seattle"

My Dad's response the first time I told him I wanted to move to Chicago.

"Well Seattle is really cool..." I say this in jest, but my Dad does have a point. I haven't exactly planted roots since I graduated college three years ago. I spent a year in Atlanta and a little more than two here in Dallas. In about a month I am moving to Chicago. Like my move to Atlanta, I've only been to the city once. It should be interesting.

"It's cold up there; you won't like it."

My mom. Who surprisingly, after this initial reaction, has been really cool about it. I was expecting otherwise (i.e. total uncoolness). I think it has to do with her new "friend." Thank GOD. His name is Art.

Now, I have to tell the really tough crowd: my sisters. My oldest sister, well, I haven't told her yet because, as with every decision I've made in my life even down to my wardrobe choices she has had a negative reaction. I am afraid. Let me repeat. I am 25 years old and I am still afraid of my older sister.

Wish me luck. I'm hoping the parentals might spill the beans, but then she might get mad at me for not telling her myself. I think I'm just going to go ahead and prepare for another one of those six-month bouts of not talking/passive aggressive emailing.

How sad am I

I've been trying to take my mind off a couple of things lately. One is the unsettling feeling that our country is on a very rapidly moving downward spiral into hell. There are other things - and NO I AM NOT PREGNANT YOU PEOPLE - that have me very anxious and nervous and honestly, a little scared.

If you've paid any attention to this blog, you know about my, well, obsession I guess, with chocolate. It is my ultimate comfort food. So now, as I have just consumed one of the three miniature NewTree dark chocolate pieces I got for an afternoon pick-me-up and am debating about eating another, I'd like to talk a little more about chocolate.

I guess my addiction was inevitable. It is in my blood - it was passed on to me by my father, who can sniff out chocolate from two stories up and across an alley. Seriously. You bring brownies into a building, and my Dad, he KNOWS.

Dark chocolate is my favorite. I particularly love those little baby Ghiradelli squares. Sometimes I buy them at World Market just for myself.

After a visit (with Pags - Hi Pags! Remember the giant Hansel and Gretel made of chocolate?) to the Lindt Chocolate headquarters and factory just outside of Zurich, Switzerland, I developed a liking for those little Lindt/Lindor chocolate balls - particularly the white chocolate ones. Delicious.

Also while I was studying in Europe I forced my "Food and Culture" classmates/project team to do our report on the history of chocolate. They readily agreed when I said research would involve taste testing.

In college I read a lot of books. Being an English Literature major (and a history minor) I probably read about 10-20 per semester depending on my course load. Couple that with a bad memory and I've forgotten a lot of those books. Many of them do stand out in my mind. Flannery O'Connor's Wiseblood, all of Walker Percy's-particularly The Moviegoer, the f-ing Canterbury Tales...One book that I always remember is Edith Wharton's Summer. the thing that I always remember about it - and you guys are probably going to lock me up after I tell you this - is a scene when the heroine, Charity Royall has tried to runaway, she comes to her lover, Lucius Harney all stressed out and shaky and he makes her eat chocolate. That is what I remember about that book.

How sad am I.

OK, I just got some pages to proof. I now have to do real work. But the good news is I've got two pieces of chocolate left!

2 quick things

1. More ways to help, courtesy of Go Fug Yourself.

2. Delicious beverage: Blue Sky Pomegranate White Tea Soda