Through eyes and ears:

Clarity updated!

2009-03-19T18:37:00.002-05:00

Back in November, I blogged about how good it felt to buy tickets to Jimmy Eat World plays Clarity to celebrate the 10 year anniversary of its release.

Sure the music's great. But I can't even listen to it objectively anymore. All I hear is the last 10 years. The nights in the dorm I fell asleep to Goodbye Sky Harbor. The days I walked around Washington Square Park wondering if I will ever feel like they felt in "For me this is Heaven", and if I would, who would be the one? All the times driving down 287 to a show listening to Lucky Denver Mint. In many ways, it was a lonely decade, but Clarity was always there. This album was instrumental in keeping me who I am, despite having shelved it for a year or two in the middle because I was "too cool".

So back in November, it felt great just buying the tickets. Yeah try going to the show, and you will have Clarity too. It was seriously, for real, one of the best nights I can ever remember, even though I had the flu. It didn't matter, because I was there with my one, my friend, my "for me this is heaven." I was there as myself, which was even better. They played every single note of Clarity, all in order, and all tremendously. They basically played every single sound of my youth, only without the bum notes. I know this is getting a little tautological, but I just drank in every moment.

For me it was heaven.

IT'S SQUIRRELS!!!

2009-03-19T18:29:00.003-05:00

I swear I don't have a squirrel obsession. In fact, if you know my even a little bit you know I was dangerously close to growing into a "bird lady" (similar to a cat lady, only with more parasites).

It's almost spring and nature's abound. Living in a deciduous ecosystem, I see lots of migratory birds, stinkbugs, and squirrels. For a while, in our old apartment, we had a mouse problem. They were everywhere and really difficult to get rid of; quite often I would have rodent-related nightmares. One night, Mike was fixing his keyboard, I was asleep, and I jumped out of the bed and hollered, "IT'S SQUIRRELS!!"

Cranberry Kugel

2009-03-12T20:33:00.001-05:00

I've been on hiatus. And now I'm inspired: http://cranberrykugel.blogspot.com

Enjoy!!

Desperate times call for...

2008-12-16T09:02:00.004-05:00

Lolcats.

more animals

I am George McFly

2008-12-09T20:11:00.012-05:00

How many times have you ever said the phrase to yourself: "I just don't think I can handle that kind of rejection"? I didn't even realize I was George McFlying myself until just recently, and it took such a long time probably because I had been doing this subconsciously. I've been way too much of a chameleon at work and otherwise, and frankly I'm getting sick of trying to be the person I think those in proximity want me to be. It's tiring. I can't pretend anymore I give a shit about American Idol, office newsletters, OR1-4, how people do my job function in other parts of the world, or pretty much anything else at my job. In fact, if I was a little more honest with myself a year and a half ago, I would have NEVER even accepted the offer. I only show this one side of me at work and I'm getting really tired of hiding.

When it gets down to it, there is more in my life like my job than I realize, whether I do things I don't care for to pay the rent, pass the time, or serve as a distraction. I don't think I'm ready to embark on a life overhaul, and I don't think it's particularly necessary, but I guess I can start by being a little less scared of what people will think. I started another blog, Drive Straight Home, which is something I'm SOOO not ready to share with people, but I guess it's my way of trying to change the future, to say to Biff, "hey you, get your damn hands off her." When I am ready to share, I hope it might help one or two people, even if it's just me.

It's all well and good to write about cookies, and I think it's very important to do so, but it's equally important to share the burnt underside sometimes. Plus, I like burnt cookies.

Merde....Il Peut

2008-11-29T18:57:00.010-05:00

Before I continue describing the wonders of last night, I need to reflect on this afternoon. I was just leaving my house to go to the folks' when I found this on my front stoop:

It was a package from Cheri in France!! I quickly opened it and discovered more than I could have ever wished for: awesome candy, a toothbrush, an umbrella from the umbrella capital of le monde (Aurillac), and my favorite: a handwritten letter!

I wish I could have sent her more than just a handwritten list of the contents when I sent her package (sorry Cheri), but I had to get to the post office before it closed. So anyway, I loved the letter, candy, and the toothbrush looks awesome. But here's the thing. This umbrella is the best umbrella EVER for the following reasons:

a. It has a curse

b. It has a curse in a foreign language

c. It has a curse in a foreign language about the rain

d. It hilariously states the obvious.

I LOVE my new umbrella!!!

Merci, Cheri! Je t'aime!!

Speaking of India

2008-11-29T12:11:00.004-05:00

So here are some pics last night from Neha's Sangeet. It was AMAZING!! I had the best time, and I can't wait to have time to write ALL about the amazingness.

"Do they have Thanksgiving in India?"

2008-11-27T22:34:00.007-05:00

Yesterday I overheard one of my co-workers actually ASK someone on the phone if they have Thanksgiving in India. WTF?! I also discovered my plant had been stolen; this makes two plants stolen from me in the 1.5 years I've been there. WHO steals a plant!

Anyway, back to the world which actually matters to me: I had a GREAT Thanksgiving. It started yesterday the second I got home from work, because I got to experience the sheer joy of baking the delicious pie above: It's Pumpkin Praline Pie from "The Best of America's Test Kitchen 2008". SO GOOD!!

It's funny: I started this blog to partly to find my favorite cookie, but what I really discovered is how I love finding new cookies, and new baked goods in general. I mean, I really love baking. I love how you just have random simple ingredients, and after some choice mixing and waiting, you have created something totally new and satisfying. Maybe it's the chem major in me, but I just love the measuring and precision. I love being on my feet and working with my hands. I want to get to a point where I can create new recipes; I want to become a great baker.

So the day was great. I made green beans with pickled onions and this yummy cranberry punch. We hung out, talked, laughed, and all in all it was a great day. More pics and details later.

Clarity

2008-11-10T20:51:00.004-05:00

I had signed up for the Pandora app when I got my iPhone back in March, and I installed it this weekend after a friend told me how awesome it is. Well, she was right; Pandora is amazing. I signed up for the "Clarity" Jimmy Eat World radio station this morning on a whim, which is an old favorite album (ten years old in fact). They are playing the best stuff, culminated with a song from the Get Up Kids' "Something to Write Home about"!!! Those two albums were instrumental in my youth, and going to see those bands 9 billion times in a row was my life. Once again, I re-discovered a lost piece of myself this fall.

Randomly, Mike informed me this evening of a Jimmy Eat World show taking place in February where they are JUST playing Clarity!!! This is amazing! Tickets go on sale this Saturday...wish me luck!

Bubble Gum Ice Cream

2008-11-10T18:33:00.007-05:00

I'm catching up on blogging about the last month and a half, and I'd say the above picture captures a favorite moment of this fall. We went to the Poconos for a friend's wedding October 16-18, which incidentally was one of the best weekends of the entire year. The weekend was filled with friends, laughter, great food, and a day of re-living my childhood in the Poconos. It was incredible; we went to the pretzel factory where you can "take the tour" and watch fun-loving individuals make pretzels. We went to American Candle and Holley Ross and every amazing place I remember from being a kid. I realized on this day how much the Poconos feels like home to me. I never really felt much connection with New Jersey. Sure, it's a fine place with culture and proximity to beaches and cities and blah blah blah, but it's not where my heart is. For the longest time, I thought NYC was my home, but the NYC I know only exists in memory. I never realized it, but my time in the Poconos was when meaning was whispered into my soul; every falling leaf, ski slope, and walk to the lake pumped life into me.

The weekend more than satisfied my expectations. In fact, I didn't even realize a piece of me was missing until I got it back sometime on our journey through the Poconos, and I think it was when I found the "Casino" Ice Cream Parlor and movie theater in Mt. Pocono. My sister and I used to order bubble gum ice cream-the real kind with the actual pieces of bubble gum-and ride the little kiddie rides there. Then, with our tongues bright red, we would go across the street to the weird gift shops full of Native American paraphernalia, wooden gifts with first names etched into them, and large clocks painted with scenes from hunting in the woods, all while chewing tasteless gum. Finding the Casino Ice Cream parlor and seeing it again with Mike was the best. It was Home.

P.S. The ice cream parlor still had the real bubble gum ice cream. It also had a new flavor which I HAD to get: Play-Doh flavored. I mean, it really looked like play-doh. It was bright bright yellow with chunks of bright bright red and blue "play-doh" mixed with it-really cookie dough. I felt 9 years old-I had a scoop of play doh and a scoop of bubble gum-only this time I was actually allowed to have a cone. For those of you who don't know, I may be the only person ever to have been kicked out of an ice cream parlor as a little kid for being TOO MESSY, so growing up I wasn't ever allowed to have a cone. When I went to college, I found one of the many pleasures of being an adult was the ability to order myself an ice cream cone. I still am thrilled to have my ice cream cones!

Sweet-smelling roses

2008-10-10T20:26:00.008-05:00

I wrote this post over a month ago. I promise I will post regularly, but until then I am just catching up.

This evening (October 10) we went to this great hidden rose garden I had been trying to find since I moved here in June. Exceeding expectations, the garden held hundreds of different hybrids of roses. Despite being slightly past season, we found blooms from Redleaf to Cajun Sunrise to roses named after people to something simply called "Playboy." I came across a rose which was a deep cream color and one of the best blooms in the whole garden. It just begged for me to smell it, so I stepped up onto the mulch, carefully leaned in, and inhaled deeply. It sounds so prosaic, but it was one of the most wonderful smells I have experienced in recent years, maybe ever. I thought of all the American and French and any other attempts at recreating this joy, but to this day, my experience proves nothing can come close to the beauty of nature.

The best part of beauty in nature is its ability to surprise. After I moved in June, my commute went from 60 minutes all highway-straight across New Jersey-to 45-50 minutes through farms and small towns. My commute now is much more aggravating, but much better on my car; I just have to get used to it. About 5 minutes from my work, when my aggravation has reached its peak, pink roses line a cream-colored fence of a typical mansion in Old Money Town. Miraculously (well, to me at least), they have been blooming to create an impeccable color scheme since before I moved in June. Those pink roses have consistently and persistently lifted my spirits in a time where it hasn't always been easy to feel joyful.

In addition to lifting my spirits, roses lately have managed to open my eyes. I understand this post is one big cliche, but I'm just going to continue. This week I realized when I get married, I won't be losing my identity by taking his name. I'll still be me, but just Mrs. Me, and this week for the first time, Mrs. Me sounded pretty good.

What's in a name?

2008-10-04T13:42:00.003-05:00

Well, it may not technically be wedding season for most, but it certainly is for me. I will be attending three weddings in the next two months, and the first is this evening. I can't help but go to weddings and imagine what mine would be like: who would attend, the flowers, etc., which is all rather new territory for me. I and most of my girlfriends are of the breed of women who did not grow up fantasizing about our weddings; for us it was dreaming about future careers, whether it was doctor or meteorologist or fruit importer. I'm left at these weddings with no definite idea of what I'd want and no history of my past desires now matter how silly or out of budget; I tend to feel a tad awkward and out of place.

The most awkward part of all of it is the name change. Growing up, there were plenty of times I did not care for my name. I've tried every version of a nickname and none of them really stuck, which is really ok for me right now. I was much more neutral about the last name, but even if I hated it completely, it's still the definition of my identity. To be honest, the real possibility of changing my name makes me frightened. I will be a whole new person when I get married, and someone else's identity, no longer my own.

The whole thing doesn't sit with me very well, not at all. I can't imagine any of this, the wedding, the name change, new signature, passport, etc. Why do the fundamentals of who I am have to change? Do most women want this, or is this something they just feel expected to do? Am I alone here?

People have been asking me a lot lately if we're ready to get married, and I've been answering honestly: I don't know if I'm ready to get married. Shouldn't a bride know these things about flowers and name changes?

My questioning aside, two of the three weddings this fall are my good friends (both brides) who are both very ready and very happy to be getting married. They amaze me because they so calmly know these details and have this picture in their mind of Mr. and Mrs. which is still so fuzzy to me. Congratulations to the Fall 2008 newlyweds! Time to get ready for wedding number 1.

Oh Coffee, why have I forsaken thee?

2008-09-28T15:17:00.005-05:00

There's nothing like a good cup of coffee. It's one of my favorite things in life, and yesterday I attempted to give it up due to stress, heart rate, etc. My attempt lasted all of 90 minutes, then Mike woke up and put on a pot and I just couldn't resist. It was one of the most wonderful cups of coffee I've ever had. Oh coffee, I might not ever leave you, and I don't know if I'd ever want to. Oh coffee, please forgive me.

I remember trying my mother's coffee when I was little, and thought it was good only when dipping a cookie into it. A few years passed before I tried it again, and I started drinking it regularly when I was 17 and moving to New York. My sister used to joke with me about how I would become some beatnik the second I moved to the city, wearing all black, drinking black coffee, being snooty, and talking about Baudrillard and Hobbes and Margaret Mead. To be perfectly honest, she wasn't very far off. When I moved to the city, I lived an amazing life, the life I thought I should be living, but it was missing something.

I thought what I was missing was life experience, travel, and romance, but I still fell short. When I moved out of the city, I thought I was just missing the city. After spending a lot of time in NYC recently, and even visiting my old stomping ground at NYU, I realized what I was missing the whole time: myself. I wrote a blog two years ago about the cookies in the Dr. Seuss cookie jar, and how I just tossed it aside and proclaimed it too juvenile. I think about those cookies often and how I acted, and I always cringe. I realize now my mother was trying to give me a part of myself, and at the time it was something I was desperate to toss aside.

All of this clarity did not come all at once. After all, there is a two year gap in this blog. I started this blog as a quest to find myself, to return to the person I wasn't sure I knew anymore. I decided then to concentrate on figuring out my favorite cookie; once you find your cookie, you find yourself and the richness in life.

The thing is, I knew my favorite cookie all along. I knew who I was, I was just plain terrified. It's been a long two years, but really my favorite cookie was the kind in the Dr. Seuss cookie jar, those extra-extra chocolate morsels with a confectioner's sugar coating, the ones I didn't even finish. It feels so good knowing this about myself, knowing I am only a recipe (and a cup of coffee for dipping) away from who I really am.

I am truly thankful for this clarity, and know I wouldn't have gotten here without Cheri's visit. I hadn't seen her in three years, and it was wonderful to have her around as a reminder of our NYU days, but also as just a good friend who isn't at all enamored with the culture or excitement of New York. I'm not going to lie, I still love New York. I still love people watching, the crazies, and the unexpected. But life is different and much more difficult there as an adult, and I didn't truly realize it until this week. I don't just want to live or work in the city just to do so, I want a good quality of life. It's really good to know this about myself. I may still drink my coffee and talk about Margaret Mead, but at least now I will do it because I love it, not because I'm trying to be someone I'm not.

In pursuit of my favorite cookie, the truth must be told.

2006-11-21T14:36:00.000-05:00

Five years ago, I was living in New York. I had a birthday a month and change after September 11th. It was then that I got calls from relatives who otherwise don't know my phone number, cards, and emails. It was because I was having a "tough time" and needed encouragement. And I received this INSANE cookie jar filled with (mind you really good) chocolate cookies. In pursuit of my favorite cookie, this story needs telling.

The package came a couple of days before my birthday. It was gigantic and cumbersome and I felt oh-so-cool having to sign for it at the dorm (the dorm lovingly labeled the G-spot. I have the stickers to prove it.). Naturally, I had a small crowd opening the package due to its size and not much else going on at the time. It's amazing how my popularity is based on the boredom of others. I unwrapped enough to see the 1-800 Flowers brochure. This was it. This was my dozen roses from a secret admirer, I just knew it. I unwrapped more and I saw red and white stripes, and my heart sank. I knew then that not only was it not from a secret crush, it was from my mother. And my mother forgot that I wasn't six.

Standing in the crowd, I realized that I wasn't alone: none of us understood it. We knew it was a cookie jar, but anyone in the world knew that a nineteen year old college student doesn't want Cat in the Hat paraphenalia. It proved to be the most embarrasing gift on the eastern seabord that fall. It stood about 2 feet tall, and it just did not have a place in my dorm. I tried on my desk, but there were too many books. Then I tried the dresser, but it got in the way of the tv. It was either the windowsill or in the closet. It was eat or be eaten by guilt.

I was torn between two worlds that year. One world was a conceptual one inside that Cat in the Hat cookie jar, containing the love of a mother, the knowledge that she was just trying to make my world better, and the concept of those delicious chewy chocolate cookies covered in powdered sugar. The other was real. It was outside that cookie jar. It was loveless and heartless and filled with guilt. It was a collective New York shopping for size 0. It was family members who claim they love me enough to call on my birthday, but not any other day. It was a sister who swore she believed in me but didn't take the time to find out in what she was believing. It was a building that was still burning and a horizon changed forever.

Those cookies may very well have been the best cookies I ever had in my life, but they went for the most part uneaten. I spent years feeling guilty about not finishing those cookies. Because in not finishing those cookies, I was also not loving my mother enough; my blessings just weren't being counted. In not eating those cookies, I was acknoweding the change in horizon that had happened inside of me. No longer could someone fix my problems with sweets and a smile and a simple gesture. This was real and it hurt.

I threw out those cookies one short day before Thanksgiving. I felt sick. So sick and so guilty that I ended putting that cookie jar on the windowsill, and hoping that the plants would hide it just enough. When I looked at the window that year, if I squinted my eyes enough, the horizon still looked the same.

Something Inrcredibly Impersonal/Uncomfortably Personal

2006-11-20T08:57:00.000-05:00

I don't know about any of you readers out there, but I'm so sick of not telling the truth. Sick of being fake and sick of having to put on a smile just because I feel I should (or some stranger actually tells me to "SMILE" which in my opinion is the worst interaction ever. You can't be polite and say to them, 'look there is a reason why I'm not smiling and right now you're it.'). I've had so many incredibly impersonal "friendships" in my life and I'm just tired. In the event that someone from the past contacts me, I wrote out an uncomfortably personal script, which should save me some time. I'll just send them this link and call it a day.

Hey there. How are things going?

I'm doing well. Yeah, the job's going great, thanks for asking. Yeah it's a great place to work, I'm really lucky.

Oh, I love my new town, it's not difficult at all knowing two people here, one of which is away a lot, and the other I didn't see for three months.

The band? We're on a break what with my moving and needing a new job et. al. Now that things are settled, I'm ready to get back out there! I'm not at all scared of the one thing I want most in this world.

My family? Oh they're super! Yeah it's great that I was so happy about what they did for me on my birthday, I cried literally all day! And I really don't think any of them noticed, which really warms my heart!

Jesus Dolls and Dirty Dancing

2006-11-17T14:53:00.000-05:00

Well, the separation between church and corporation sure is getting small. We have http://www.cnn.com/2006/US/11/17/jesus.doll.ap/index.html. And then there is Wal-Mart saying Merry Christmas to its customers. Even though I celebrate Christmas, I just don't think I'd be one of those people that say, "what's wrong with saying Merry Christmas?! This is a time to spread joy of the season!"

I have worked retail too many Christmases to buy the fact that a Wal-Mart employee is going to define your holiday season. No, scratch that. I have worked retail too many Christmases to buy the fact that a Wal-Mart employee is going to define MY holiday season. There are enough insane frumpy women out there that actually DO care. It's not the Merry Christmas that bothers me, it's the people that made Merry Christmas happen. My answer to them:

The Ladies' Auxiliary. http://www.myspace.com/theladiesauxiliary

On a different note, I have officially decided that I'm not going to pretend anymore. I'm coming out of the closet as an official fan of the movie "Dirty Dancing". I really identify with Baby in a lot of ways. I think that there is some really clever symbolism in the movie (or maybe I'm reading too much into the parallels between Baby's character and the loss of American innocence?). However you put it, I just like it. I like the soundtrack (except of course the 80's song that just doesn't belong at the end). I like the character development. I like Jennifer Grey. I like the fact that I totally understand what it's like being the daughter of someone like Baby's father. I like the cars. And you know what? I think Patrick Swayze is really hot in that movie. Above all, I like that it makes me happy when I'm sad. Call me dumb, call me cheezy, call me a kindred spirit. I don't care, cuz Baby, I'm out of that closet.

Technorati

2006-11-16T15:05:00.000-05:00

Technorati Profile

Freedom Tower

2006-11-16T09:00:00.000-05:00

http://www.nytimes.com/2006/11/16/nyregion/16rebuild.html?hp&ex=1163739600&en=0546884f5d9e3c8b&ei=5094&partner=homepage

The above article is about how construction has finally started at Ground Zero. Here's my favorite part of the article:

Construction is not expected to be interrupted by the search for human remains around the edges of the site, prompted by the discovery last month of bones and bone fragments in an abandoned Consolidated Edison manhole. To date, 210 remains have been found in that manhole and two others nearby.

What?!? I guess they're leaving something for future anthropologists to do? Why aren't people's remains important?

But that's not what evokes feeling for me. What stirs my emotions is the fact that rebuilding is finally taking place; they are starting to fill that big hole in the ground. It makes me realize that I have not started to rebuild my life since then. Sometimes I just feel so locked in my own personal September 11, that it's hard to get out. Much like the remains of the people found in the ConEd manhole.

It's our job as survivors to let everyone out that needs letting out.

A reason to start blogging.

2006-11-15T13:45:00.000-05:00

My cousin Anna http://onetoughvoncookie.blogspot.com made a post on her blog about blogging, and below is my comment. It got me so inspired, I decided to make my own.

Ugh! I just wrote a really long comment on the theory of blogging. It was beautiful, and unfortunately lost to cyberspace. It was all about how blogging is another way to connect with people. It is a hope that you will truly be understood without having to deal with potentially loaded personal relationships. It opens you to an entire world of people. It is a way to say things that actually mean something to you in a profound way in which you may be heard by people you never knew existed. It is a way to take control of your being and to create a new sense of self. There is a line in the movie "You've Got Mail" where he's talking about Starbucks, and how for $3.50 you get a new sense of self in those 6 decisions you make just to get that cup of coffee. When you say grande americano (wink wink), it means something about your personality to the person from whom you're ordering (and if you don't believe me look up the Starbucks Oracle). Basically, by blogging you're saying 'grande americano' only to a lot more people, and a lot more eloquently. You just don't get a cup of coffee at the end of it.

Going to shows solo. Robert Pollard. Mothballs. Second Life. Cookie update.

2006-11-15T13:22:00.000-05:00

I wrote this one today, also on my myspace blog:
I am the type of person who goes places by herself if she really wants to. I don't need someone there with me, especially at shows. Last night I went to see Robert Pollard at World Cafe Live in Philadelphia. First of all, I love the fact that it took me fifteen minutes to get there and back (less than going to New Brunswick from my parents' house). The sound system in that place is wonderful. And I can't believe how old I feel.

Yes, the crowd was just as old and many were older than me, but a lot of people were drunk and acting really stupid. Robert Pollard had this gigantic tub of beer on ice in the middle of the stage, and he had a full bottle of Jose Cuervo, which he proceeded to share with the crowd. I have never seen so many people fall all over themselves just for a taste of alcohol. Is it because it is Robert Pollard's? I really hope so because seeing that kind of behavior made me sick. I just feel so old because I am just not a part of this culture of getting drunk anymore. I don't miss it, and the point of reporting this is that when it comes down to it, I wish that shows were less about booze and more about the music and performance. It makes me realize that when I used to drink, it was 90% about alcohol and about 10% about the music. What I have now is so much better. I don't need the crutch of the glass in my hand, and it's really liberating.

The crowd last night smelled like a mix of mothballs, tobacco, old lady skin, and of course beer. It was really weird. There were these really nerdy guys that were right next to me and I guess they were the ones that smelled. They even brought the liner notes to Robert Pollard's new album to sing along. They all looked like they were really into Lord of the Rings and played LARP.

This was the first show that I went to in a while where I didn't know someone playing. It was an odd feeling watching people I don't know at all. The whole experience was so much less personal. I have my own personal experiences attached to the music played last night, but I can't attach it to the people playing. I have to say I like it a lot better when I know X person playing on stage, even if they didn't write the music. I love knowing the backstory.

The opening band was SO not my thing at all. I can't stand it when people perform and they don't connect with the audience. They could have been practicing in their basement for all we knew. I mean, yeah it's really hard to be an opening band when not many people are there, but it's also not that hard to come out of your shell a little bit and make an impression on someone. And the music was just so long and drawn out and didn't really go anywhere. Ugh!

I just saw this thing on Good Morning America about something called Second Life. It sounds like an internet version of the Sims. The crazy part is that you can make money or spend money on this thing. I don't understand it. People are predicting that we're going to spend our lives on it, it's the new email. Like you can go to "shows", buy houses (with real money!!) and all sorts of crap. I can't wrap my brain around this. It's like video games for boring people.

I still don't know what kind of cookie is my favorite. I got a really awesome mixer for my birthday (From my boyfriend's parents who said "now you can make our son cakes". So funny!). Hopefully with the new mixer will come a new sense of self.

Reflections on the Ivy League and Cookies

2006-11-15T13:18:00.000-05:00

I posted this on my myspace blog a couple weeks ago, I figure this is a good place to start:

I have been associated with the ivies for a little more than three weeks now, and here are some scattered observations:
1. Professors in the ivies really do have Austrian accents, and wear cardigans with patches on the elbows.
2. I keep forgetting my audience. Upper crust ivy people just don't laugh as much as us NYU folk.
3. Academia creates celebrities just as much as any other form of art. Only it's worse. I have a problem with art that isn't accessible, and the ivies are the epitome of that. These academic celebrites probably get just as much ass (and just as many people to kiss theirs) as any rock star I've heard of. Not that I know a lot of rock stars, but you get the point.
4. Those annoying kids in your classes in college who sat in front and asked questions not to ask questions but to sound smart, they turn into professors who either attend or hold lectures for colleagues, and they do the same thing. They're the same people, just older and have gotten laid more (see number 3).
5. Even if men are colorblind and still dress themselves, it's accepted in this culture. Women still have to look hot, even when you're really well-respected. Hot women get further in life. I'm not trying to go against my gender, that's just a fact.
6. This doesn't have to do with ivies, but I'm alarmed to admit that I don't think I have a favorite kind of cookie. Holy shit! I'm like that really bad Richard Gere/Julia Roberts movie where she doesn't have a favorite way of preparing eggs. I don't have a favorite cookie and I should really have one. My least favorite is Snickerdoodles because they remind me of cycle class in the 7th grade when I got made fun of for eating too many (I was LARGE). Dammit!
7. If I had gone to an ivy-league as an undergrad (I didn't even apply, I knew it wasn't for me then. And not because I couldn't get in), I would have been really miserable. Except maybe at Barnard, that place seems cool. But NYU was way more hip. I can play the game 6 degrees of Matador, and stop at 2.
8. One of my bosses looks JUST like Peter from the Guess Who game in the 90's (not the new version). Please tell me someone knows who this is.
9. It rocks that I have off the week between Christmas and New Year's, and I'm getting paid for it.
10. There are now a gaggle of medical students that are younger than me. If it were some other world, I would be a 3rd year med student right now. That means that if you were sick in a university hospital, I might have gone to your bed. Me. One of the first-years at Penn hit on me the other day. He looked like he was 19, and was just so damn congenial. I didn't have the heart to be the one to break his spirit and tell him about the real world.
11. There is a reason why I moved out of my parents' house. There are lots of them. One of which is that now I am a feather in my father's cap over at IVY LEAGUE. Before I was dust swept under the rug. Neither felt good, because neither is really me.
12. People sure are nice where I work. Maybe it's the free tuition? "Only the educated are free?"