I didn't actually celebrate Banana Bread day, although a few weeks later I almost started a fire while trying to warm up some frozen banana bread Eggos. After purchasing said waffles, I realized that my apartment has neither a toaster nor a baking sheet, so I stuck a few of the waffles on a broiler lid and popped it in the oven. A few minutes later, the smoke detector started shrieking. I turned off the oven, fanned the detector until it calmed down, then enjoyed my perfectly crisp Eggos. This happened on the day before Daylight Savings started, which is when you're supposed to check/change your smoke detector batteries, right? Well, mine works. Nothing like doing things the hard way.
I bring this up because it means we've made it! After this post on President's Day, I'll finally be finished blogging about my many celebrations during my extended "holiday season," and I can resume blogging about whatever I want, in a non-pigeonholed way. Several holidays have come and go since President's Day (Leap Year Day, the Oscars, Pi Day, St. Patrick's Day, Easter, March Madness, etc.), and they may get mentioned, but it won't be in a systematic way like I've been doing the past few weeks. So on to President's Day...
As I've mentioned, one of the keys to a good holiday is not working. I could've worked if I had wanted to--for some reason the Lehman Library at Columbia was open that day, even though a former U.S. President was once the Prez at CU, and Columbia has even recently hosted the president of a hostile nation. But I had better stuff to do, like get a haircut.
(This was my first haircut since late November, much longer than my usual haircut gap, but I had no choice. For that previous cut, I visited Richard Gore's Barbershop, a few blocks away from my apartment. When I first walked by it, I thought the sign said Richard Gere's Barbershop, and that's why I decided to go there.
If you try to imagine what Richard Gere's Barbershop might be like...I'm pretty sure Richard Gore's is the exact opposite. It was a very surreal experience. If you've ever seen the movie Barbershop, it was a lot like that, except the floors and the language were much dirtier, and there was no one in that shop that looked anything like Eve.
My barber, Marlon, asked me what I wanted, and when I told him "a 2 on the sides and scissors on the top," he basically told me he was philosophically opposed to using scissors, and that he could do anything with clippers that other barbers can do with scissors (this may be true, but he didn't demonstrate it on me).
That was pretty much all he said to me until he was about finished, because he was always either on the phone while buzzing me (from what I overheard, it seems Marlon had recently been released from prison, and was involved in some shady business dealings), or running out the door to talk to friends he saw passing by (I don't think I want to know what they talked about), and my haircut ended up taking about 45 minutes. Amazingly, my wallet was still in my jacket pocket when I went to pay him after (I've actually been paranoid about having my wallet stolen since I started using one in junior high, but it's never happened).
Because he used clippers instead of scissors, my hair was way too short in the front, a sort of modified Caesar. It actually looked decent for the first day or two, but that quickly changed. It took forever for it to grow out, and it was finally semi-ready to be cut again on President's Day. I'm not sure if I topped my pal Joey for longest blog parenthetical statement, but mine did include three interior parentheticals. Anyway...)
This time I went to Supercuts. I walked in and asked for the Millard Fillmore, and rather than try to explain my lame President's Day joke, I actually didn't make it. I got my hair cut the way I usually do, and was reasonably satisfied.
That night, I went on my first date since arriving in New York (no, I'm not embarrassed about it, I just had a lot to say before I got to this part). The "lucky" girl was Rosemary, a really nice girl in my ward, the one who wasn't repulsed by the haggis (that wasn't a test or anything, although it certainly didn't hurt). Monday is not a typical date day, but it was a day we were both available. We got crepes at a place near where I work (but not that day! Holidays rule!), then went to FHE, where I taught my group some improv exercises and the game "What Are You Doing?," an old LOL crowd-pleaser. My favorite moments were Sarah's "nosing octopi" and Rosemary's "hugging Joeys" (you had to be there, especially if you've never seen the game played). After FHE, she went home with her sister, and I went back to my place--kind of strange, but I'm sure no more awkward an ending than there would've been had I walked her home. Again, Monday dates are weird. But I had fun.
And isn't that what President's Day is all about? (Well, that, and honoring the great men who have led our country. And Warren Harding.)
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Saturday, March 29, 2008
Someone, someday, will choo-choo-choose me
I missed my ward's Valentine's Day party because my visit to The Colbert Report went long, so V-Day was just a single celebration this year. Actually, Valentine's Day has always been a "single" celebration for me (I honestly didn't set out to make a joke in that last sentence, but it worked out well, like the one I made about Bill at Amy's wedding reception a few years ago--probably only David and Will know what I'm talking about, and it's going to stay that way).
Holly and her roommates were kind enough to host a Valentine's party for all of us half-couples. They even made cool heart-shaped cakes. It was a standard munch-and-mingle kind of gathering, a tried-and-true format that most people (myself included) seem to enjoy, but a few rounds of Spin the Bottle or even a Teen Wolf-like "seven minutes in heaven" closet would've been awesome.
I'm not a big believer in karma, except in Culture Club songs, or when it works out in my favor, and I got some good karma on Valentine's Day. While at the party, I got a call, and as soon as I saw that it was Quiana, I knew what it must be. I've been letting Quiana drive my car back in Provo while I've been out here (I actually mean it when I ask my home-teachees "Is there anything I can do for you?"), and as I guessed, she was calling me to let me know there had been an accident.
As soon as she told me, my first thought was literally, "Great! No car to worry about when I get back to Utah will make me even more likely to move to NYC permanently." Even better, though, she told me that nobody was hurt and that the damage was relatively minor (remember, I said this was good karma), and the other driver was the one at fault.
It's been a lengthy process, partly because I'm thousands of miles away, but the other guy's insurance is giving me almost $3000, and Quiana got an estimate of about $700 on the repair from a body shop she's taken her old car to, so I actually stand to make some money when all is said and done. It's actually strange how good being in New York has been for me financially, since it's so much more expensive than Provo. On Valentine's Day and every other day, I love New York!
Holly and her roommates were kind enough to host a Valentine's party for all of us half-couples. They even made cool heart-shaped cakes. It was a standard munch-and-mingle kind of gathering, a tried-and-true format that most people (myself included) seem to enjoy, but a few rounds of Spin the Bottle or even a Teen Wolf-like "seven minutes in heaven" closet would've been awesome.
I'm not a big believer in karma, except in Culture Club songs, or when it works out in my favor, and I got some good karma on Valentine's Day. While at the party, I got a call, and as soon as I saw that it was Quiana, I knew what it must be. I've been letting Quiana drive my car back in Provo while I've been out here (I actually mean it when I ask my home-teachees "Is there anything I can do for you?"), and as I guessed, she was calling me to let me know there had been an accident.
As soon as she told me, my first thought was literally, "Great! No car to worry about when I get back to Utah will make me even more likely to move to NYC permanently." Even better, though, she told me that nobody was hurt and that the damage was relatively minor (remember, I said this was good karma), and the other driver was the one at fault.
It's been a lengthy process, partly because I'm thousands of miles away, but the other guy's insurance is giving me almost $3000, and Quiana got an estimate of about $700 on the repair from a body shop she's taken her old car to, so I actually stand to make some money when all is said and done. It's actually strange how good being in New York has been for me financially, since it's so much more expensive than Provo. On Valentine's Day and every other day, I love New York!
Friday, March 28, 2008
Another holiday post...in bed
Once I started my blog, I stopped taking detailed notes of stuff I wanted to blog about, which presents a problem when I'm writing about something that happened a while ago, but not so long ago that I have a rough draft of sorts.
Case in point: Chinese New Year. This is my kind of holiday--it officially last two weeks. I attended two Chinese New Year's parties, but as I hinted at above, I don't recall many specific details.
There was a party at the Lincoln Square chapel hosted by the Chinese branch, and it was very well done. Excellent food, booths where you could learn how to use chopsticks or write your name in Chinese, and a program featuring songs, skits, trivia contests for the kids, and a lion dance, which was introduced by a man clearly of Chinese ancestry but possessing a strong Brooklyn accent. I found that very amusing.
I was also eVited (I told you, I've been getting tons of those things) to a party hosted by Amy and Becca. These ladies go all out when it comes to parties; check out the plan for their combined birthday bash I'll be attending tomorrow night.
Again, the food was great and plentiful, and I got to pretend I can use chopsticks until I could no longer use them as a shovel, then I had to get a spoon to finish my rice. But I had a good time.
So we're now in the Year of the Rat. I thought that was why I saw them all the time in subway stations and various locales throughout the city, but I've been told they're there all the time. Yuck.
Case in point: Chinese New Year. This is my kind of holiday--it officially last two weeks. I attended two Chinese New Year's parties, but as I hinted at above, I don't recall many specific details.
There was a party at the Lincoln Square chapel hosted by the Chinese branch, and it was very well done. Excellent food, booths where you could learn how to use chopsticks or write your name in Chinese, and a program featuring songs, skits, trivia contests for the kids, and a lion dance, which was introduced by a man clearly of Chinese ancestry but possessing a strong Brooklyn accent. I found that very amusing.
I was also eVited (I told you, I've been getting tons of those things) to a party hosted by Amy and Becca. These ladies go all out when it comes to parties; check out the plan for their combined birthday bash I'll be attending tomorrow night.
Again, the food was great and plentiful, and I got to pretend I can use chopsticks until I could no longer use them as a shovel, then I had to get a spoon to finish my rice. But I had a good time.
So we're now in the Year of the Rat. I thought that was why I saw them all the time in subway stations and various locales throughout the city, but I've been told they're there all the time. Yuck.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Super Blog XXXV
Groundhog Day doubled as Super Bowl Sunday Eve. I don't have a TV out here, which overall has been good for me, and most shows I can see online a day or two after they air, but the Super Bowl was live or nothing. At least this year there was no crisis of conscience--no CES Fireside conflicting with the big game.
On the train on the way home from church, I cleverly (but certainly not subtly) got myself invited to a Super Bowl party. It was in an apartment at the building affectionately dubbed "Harleman Halls" because there are at least six apartments in it with one or more of my ward members living there (plus, the size of a typical NYC apartment could easily remind someone of a BYU dorm room). I knew less than half of the people there (although now I know a lot more of them), but that made it easier to focus on the game and the commercials (both much more entertaining than they've been the last few years).
The only thing that put even a slight damper on an otherwise enjoyable party was not having a rooting interest in the game. I didn't care who won, although by the end I was sort of cheering for the Pats, because the room was filled with new Giants fans (not sure if it's because they're good all of a sudden, or if they've adopted them since moving to New York, but none were long-time fans) except one guy who wanted New England.
My favorite part(s) of the night: impressing a whole new group of people with my witty jokes and observations. I've done improv and a very little bit of stand-up, but I'm really in my element as a reactionary comic. I'm quick-witted, clever, and have great timing, plus I'm really humble. If I could get a job as a talk-show host, I think that would be the ideal way to showcase my comedic talents.
Anyway, I was be-bopping and scatting, making great jokes about Tom Petty's halftime performance here, the commercials there, even joking about potential uses for the made-but-can-never-be-sold Patriots "Super Bowl Champs" merchandise. I was on fire! At least, that's how I remember it...
Seahawks all the way in '09!
On the train on the way home from church, I cleverly (but certainly not subtly) got myself invited to a Super Bowl party. It was in an apartment at the building affectionately dubbed "Harleman Halls" because there are at least six apartments in it with one or more of my ward members living there (plus, the size of a typical NYC apartment could easily remind someone of a BYU dorm room). I knew less than half of the people there (although now I know a lot more of them), but that made it easier to focus on the game and the commercials (both much more entertaining than they've been the last few years).
The only thing that put even a slight damper on an otherwise enjoyable party was not having a rooting interest in the game. I didn't care who won, although by the end I was sort of cheering for the Pats, because the room was filled with new Giants fans (not sure if it's because they're good all of a sudden, or if they've adopted them since moving to New York, but none were long-time fans) except one guy who wanted New England.
My favorite part(s) of the night: impressing a whole new group of people with my witty jokes and observations. I've done improv and a very little bit of stand-up, but I'm really in my element as a reactionary comic. I'm quick-witted, clever, and have great timing, plus I'm really humble. If I could get a job as a talk-show host, I think that would be the ideal way to showcase my comedic talents.
Anyway, I was be-bopping and scatting, making great jokes about Tom Petty's halftime performance here, the commercials there, even joking about potential uses for the made-but-can-never-be-sold Patriots "Super Bowl Champs" merchandise. I was on fire! At least, that's how I remember it...
Seahawks all the way in '09!
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Another holiday themed post? Seems like I do the same thing over and over...
I'm finally back! Did you miss me? Last week the Internet service in my apartment was sporadic at best, so I wasn't able to post. I have one of the good Internets at work, but it wouldn't feel right to spend big chunks of time blogging while on the clock (plus, it would really eat into the time I spend playing minesweeper...if my boss is reading this, that was a joke. Kind of).
Chugging right along on my holiday season recap, we've reached early February, which of course means Groundhog Day. It was a very subdued "celebration" for me--I spent the night at home alone, watching the traditional Bill Murray classic (I had made it known the night before to the dozens of people at Rosemary's "literary salon"--another NYC LDS singles eVite event--that I would be watching it, but nobody seemed too keen to join me). Someday I may actually make it to Punxsutawney like Kim and Ryan did, but until then I'm content with just the movie.
As much as I love Elf, it's not nearly as good as Groundhog Day, one of my favorite movies ever. It's great just as a comedy, but it's also highly philosophical and has plenty of "heart" (I get a little misty-eyed when Phil tries to save the old homeless man). Plus there's Ned Ryerson. Bing!
Watching the movie was more meaningful this year because of what happened earlier in the day: Pres. Hinckley's funeral. The video package they aired right after the service ended also got me slightly weepy, which likely means Feb. 2, 2008, was the most emotional day I've had in at least a dozen years (not counting when I've been sick, and it's harder to control bodily functions, I don't think I've actually cried--tears actually escaping my eyes--since elementary school).
I found the juxtaposition of the two very interesting: a fictional story of a man who is forced to live forever and eventually learns to devote his life to making others' lives better, and a true-life story of a man who seemed like he would live forever, and who always put the needs of others above his own. Both Phil Connors and Gordon B. Hinckley showed that one can be content and fulfilled when surrounded by good friends and opportunities for service, but that the greatest happiness only comes when united forever with the one you love most. This year, at least for me, Groundhog Day wasn't just a frivolous holiday, and Groundhog Day wasn't just a really smart and funny movie.
Chugging right along on my holiday season recap, we've reached early February, which of course means Groundhog Day. It was a very subdued "celebration" for me--I spent the night at home alone, watching the traditional Bill Murray classic (I had made it known the night before to the dozens of people at Rosemary's "literary salon"--another NYC LDS singles eVite event--that I would be watching it, but nobody seemed too keen to join me). Someday I may actually make it to Punxsutawney like Kim and Ryan did, but until then I'm content with just the movie.
As much as I love Elf, it's not nearly as good as Groundhog Day, one of my favorite movies ever. It's great just as a comedy, but it's also highly philosophical and has plenty of "heart" (I get a little misty-eyed when Phil tries to save the old homeless man). Plus there's Ned Ryerson. Bing!
Watching the movie was more meaningful this year because of what happened earlier in the day: Pres. Hinckley's funeral. The video package they aired right after the service ended also got me slightly weepy, which likely means Feb. 2, 2008, was the most emotional day I've had in at least a dozen years (not counting when I've been sick, and it's harder to control bodily functions, I don't think I've actually cried--tears actually escaping my eyes--since elementary school).
I found the juxtaposition of the two very interesting: a fictional story of a man who is forced to live forever and eventually learns to devote his life to making others' lives better, and a true-life story of a man who seemed like he would live forever, and who always put the needs of others above his own. Both Phil Connors and Gordon B. Hinckley showed that one can be content and fulfilled when surrounded by good friends and opportunities for service, but that the greatest happiness only comes when united forever with the one you love most. This year, at least for me, Groundhog Day wasn't just a frivolous holiday, and Groundhog Day wasn't just a really smart and funny movie.
Saturday, March 15, 2008
Some hae meat and canna eat...
...because that meat is haggis.
Ok, that's not how the Selkirk Grace really goes, but that's how a lot of people view haggis.
I brought my Scottish treasure to the "Night of Champions," organized by Amy Middleton and some others and hosted by Jessica and her roommates. It was a social gathering/impromptu talent show unlike any I'd ever been to.
For starters, I found out about it through an eVite. I'd been invited to things via e-mail before, and had heard of eVites, but had never actually received one before (and I've been sent three or four more since then--people in New York use eVites. Who knew?).
Also, at one point we had about 50 people crammed in a small NYC apartment living room, while leaving enough space for a small stage for the talent show. I was amazed at how many people showed up, and how many fit in such a cramped space. You can get some idea of the crowd in this photo of Amy hula hooping while reciting a sonnet, although there were even more peeps there that didn't fit in the shot.
We had some serious performances by some seriously talented people (mostly singer-songwriter stuff by the likes of Yancy and Cousin Rachel, plus some poetry), some guys doing the splits and other crazy physical stunts, Oscar rapped, Gabby spit out an amazing toungue-twister, and lots more. I did my Apollo audition routine (which is why Soo now calls me George or Brother Clooney whenever she sees me).
But the highlight of the night, at least for me, was the person who had clearly been planning their talent the longest. Becca Shim donned a papaya sandwich board, brought up Richard Gordon-Smith as the hot dog (he was just eye candy, really), and belted out "I'm a papaya," her tribute to the fantastic hot dog shop Gray's Papaya sung to the tune of Destiny's Child's "I'm a Survivor." It brought the house down.
Even though it was very informal, and except for maybe Becca nobody even knew there was going to be a talent show until just a few days before, I think this one was better than any BYU ward talent show I've been a part of--and I've been a part of some good ones. This is probably one of my top three or four favorite days in New York so far (I haven't made an official list, hence the probably). It was just a really fun day, especially when combined with my earlier search for haggis--oh right, the haggis!
Before I started my "talent," I announced that there was a bowl of haggis in the kitchen, and that everyone should try a spoonful, and then peruse the ingredients on the can.
In case some of you don't know...haggis is basically the insides of a sheep (heart, liver, lungs, etc.), mixed with oatmeal, cooked in the sheep's stomach. When it's ready, you cut open the stomach and eat what's inside. It's similar in texture to meatloaf, it's very greasy, and it's usually a little spicy. I wouldn't say I love it, but I definitely like it, despite how unappealing it sounds.
Well, there weren't many brave people at the Night of Champions. I'm not sure if any guys took a bite. Richard, who is English, recognized the haggis when he saw it, and began loudly talking about how gross it is. That probably scared a few people away. Several girls tried it, but none were big fans. As far as I saw, only Rosemary did more than just taste it. She actually scooped a small serving into a cup and dug in (but I don't think it's her new favorite food either).
I was glad that some people were courageous enough to give it a try, but I didn't mind that I didn't convert any new haggis fans, because there was a lot left over for me to take home at the end of the night.
So, again, all in all a truly memorable day. A verse from "Tam O' Shanter" sums up pretty well how I felt at the end of the night:
"Care, mad to see a man sae happy,
E'en drown'd himsel amang the nappy.
As bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure,
The minutes wing'd their way wi' pleasure:
Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious,
O'er a' the ills o' life victorious!"
Ok, that's not how the Selkirk Grace really goes, but that's how a lot of people view haggis.
I brought my Scottish treasure to the "Night of Champions," organized by Amy Middleton and some others and hosted by Jessica and her roommates. It was a social gathering/impromptu talent show unlike any I'd ever been to.
For starters, I found out about it through an eVite. I'd been invited to things via e-mail before, and had heard of eVites, but had never actually received one before (and I've been sent three or four more since then--people in New York use eVites. Who knew?).
Also, at one point we had about 50 people crammed in a small NYC apartment living room, while leaving enough space for a small stage for the talent show. I was amazed at how many people showed up, and how many fit in such a cramped space. You can get some idea of the crowd in this photo of Amy hula hooping while reciting a sonnet, although there were even more peeps there that didn't fit in the shot.
We had some serious performances by some seriously talented people (mostly singer-songwriter stuff by the likes of Yancy and Cousin Rachel, plus some poetry), some guys doing the splits and other crazy physical stunts, Oscar rapped, Gabby spit out an amazing toungue-twister, and lots more. I did my Apollo audition routine (which is why Soo now calls me George or Brother Clooney whenever she sees me).
But the highlight of the night, at least for me, was the person who had clearly been planning their talent the longest. Becca Shim donned a papaya sandwich board, brought up Richard Gordon-Smith as the hot dog (he was just eye candy, really), and belted out "I'm a papaya," her tribute to the fantastic hot dog shop Gray's Papaya sung to the tune of Destiny's Child's "I'm a Survivor." It brought the house down.
Even though it was very informal, and except for maybe Becca nobody even knew there was going to be a talent show until just a few days before, I think this one was better than any BYU ward talent show I've been a part of--and I've been a part of some good ones. This is probably one of my top three or four favorite days in New York so far (I haven't made an official list, hence the probably). It was just a really fun day, especially when combined with my earlier search for haggis--oh right, the haggis!
Before I started my "talent," I announced that there was a bowl of haggis in the kitchen, and that everyone should try a spoonful, and then peruse the ingredients on the can.
In case some of you don't know...haggis is basically the insides of a sheep (heart, liver, lungs, etc.), mixed with oatmeal, cooked in the sheep's stomach. When it's ready, you cut open the stomach and eat what's inside. It's similar in texture to meatloaf, it's very greasy, and it's usually a little spicy. I wouldn't say I love it, but I definitely like it, despite how unappealing it sounds.
Well, there weren't many brave people at the Night of Champions. I'm not sure if any guys took a bite. Richard, who is English, recognized the haggis when he saw it, and began loudly talking about how gross it is. That probably scared a few people away. Several girls tried it, but none were big fans. As far as I saw, only Rosemary did more than just taste it. She actually scooped a small serving into a cup and dug in (but I don't think it's her new favorite food either).
I was glad that some people were courageous enough to give it a try, but I didn't mind that I didn't convert any new haggis fans, because there was a lot left over for me to take home at the end of the night.
So, again, all in all a truly memorable day. A verse from "Tam O' Shanter" sums up pretty well how I felt at the end of the night:
"Care, mad to see a man sae happy,
E'en drown'd himsel amang the nappy.
As bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure,
The minutes wing'd their way wi' pleasure:
Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious,
O'er a' the ills o' life victorious!"
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Great Chieftain o' the Puddin'-race
Nine years ago today I received my mission call to Scotland (which has been just enough time for me to learn to correctly pronounce "Edinburgh"), so it's appropriate that I've reached Burns Night in my holiday season recap.
Burns Night, commemorating the great Scottish poet Robert Burns, is technically on January 25, the day of his birth, but many hold their Burns suppers on the weekend nearest the day, so I don't feel bad about celebrating a day late this year.
The night may have slipped my mind completely this year if not for Jenny Hansen reminding me in a comment she left on an earlier blog post. Jenny (back in her Maloney days) accompanied me to a Burns supper at BYU several years ago; the year before that my friend Emily and I got into the supper for free so we could cover it for NewsNet (I can only find the preview for some reason).
Burns Suppers at BYU are pretty similar to those held all over the world, except there's no Scotch, so they're really not that similar at all. You can find a more detailed description of a traditional Burns Supper here. If you're not familiar with Burns' work, you should be, and you can remedy that here. Most people have probably heard more of his stuff than they realize--Auld Lang Syne, for example.
(Quick mission story: when I lived in Johnstone my companion and I taught a crazy middle-aged man named Michael Bonner. He claimed that his house was once the home of Robert Semple, who he claimed was the original author of Auld Lang Syne; Burns supposedly visited Semple, took his poem and changed it up a little. Michael also gave me a rock from Mt. Sinai, which I believe I still have somewhere, and he told us he once caused an earthquake by snapping a twig off of the burning bush. A real "nutter," as I would've said in Scotland, and it would've sounded funny in an American accent.)
Back to Burns Night '08...I knew I wouldn't be attending an actual Burns Supper, but I wanted to come as close as I could. I knew of a place called A Salt & Battery, an authentic English fish and chip shop; I knew they wouldn't have haggis, and some Scots would probably rather have me eat pizza on Burns Day than go to an English chippy, but I thought it might be the best I could do. I had some fish and chips, and it was great, but the highlight was dessert--this place sells battered Mars bars, which are definitely more of a Scottish (and American) thing than an English thing.
I wrote about battered Mars bars on the old LOL blog, so I'll forbear going into much detail here. Just know that they're great. Here's a picture of my friend David "enjoying" one when he was in town with his wife Marlene visiting me two weeks ago.
Marlene took one bite and described it as "a carnival gone wrong." But I still love it.
The chip shop is in Greenwich Village, an area I hadn't been in much, so I decided to walk around a little. I was pleasantly surprised to see that I was in NYC's not-so-famed "wee Britain" (yes, I stole that from Arrested Development, but it's a way better name than "Little Britain"). It's not nearly as extensive as Little Italy, Chinatown, etc.--pretty much five shops in a row--but the entire Village has kind of a British feel to it.
Next door to A Salt & Battery is a little sweet shop (the doorway is actually an old British phone box, which I found cool), and I went in and bought a Galaxy bar, the finest pure chocolate bar there is (having just consumed a battered Mars bar, I saved it for later). Expecting either a "no" or directions to some super-pricey deli, I asked the clerk if he knew where I could get haggis. Surprisingly, he directed me to Myers of Keswick, a small grocery store a few blocks away.
The place had everything! Well, lots of stuff...all the chocolates and biscuits that the other place had, plus "staples" like beans, brown sauce, dilute juice, golden treacle, spotted dick, Scotch broth, Weetabix...and there, on the top shelf, for a mere $9.50, haggis in a can.
Yes, in a can. I'd never had it that way before, or paid that much for it, but it's pretty much a once-a-year food, so I didn't mind. I bought a can, plus some Penguin biscuits (one of my favorite treats on the mish, in part because there are corny jokes on the wrappers--"What do you call a penguin in the desert?" "Lost."). Biscuits are cookies, by the way.
This all happened during the day, so Burns Night technically hadn't happened yet. Fortunately, I had an event to go to that night where I could share my treasured meat by-product. Next time, I'll relive the Burns "Night of Champions" for you and let you know if anyone was brave enough to try the haggis.
Burns Night, commemorating the great Scottish poet Robert Burns, is technically on January 25, the day of his birth, but many hold their Burns suppers on the weekend nearest the day, so I don't feel bad about celebrating a day late this year.
The night may have slipped my mind completely this year if not for Jenny Hansen reminding me in a comment she left on an earlier blog post. Jenny (back in her Maloney days) accompanied me to a Burns supper at BYU several years ago; the year before that my friend Emily and I got into the supper for free so we could cover it for NewsNet (I can only find the preview for some reason).
Burns Suppers at BYU are pretty similar to those held all over the world, except there's no Scotch, so they're really not that similar at all. You can find a more detailed description of a traditional Burns Supper here. If you're not familiar with Burns' work, you should be, and you can remedy that here. Most people have probably heard more of his stuff than they realize--Auld Lang Syne, for example.
(Quick mission story: when I lived in Johnstone my companion and I taught a crazy middle-aged man named Michael Bonner. He claimed that his house was once the home of Robert Semple, who he claimed was the original author of Auld Lang Syne; Burns supposedly visited Semple, took his poem and changed it up a little. Michael also gave me a rock from Mt. Sinai, which I believe I still have somewhere, and he told us he once caused an earthquake by snapping a twig off of the burning bush. A real "nutter," as I would've said in Scotland, and it would've sounded funny in an American accent.)
Back to Burns Night '08...I knew I wouldn't be attending an actual Burns Supper, but I wanted to come as close as I could. I knew of a place called A Salt & Battery, an authentic English fish and chip shop; I knew they wouldn't have haggis, and some Scots would probably rather have me eat pizza on Burns Day than go to an English chippy, but I thought it might be the best I could do. I had some fish and chips, and it was great, but the highlight was dessert--this place sells battered Mars bars, which are definitely more of a Scottish (and American) thing than an English thing.
I wrote about battered Mars bars on the old LOL blog, so I'll forbear going into much detail here. Just know that they're great. Here's a picture of my friend David "enjoying" one when he was in town with his wife Marlene visiting me two weeks ago.
Marlene took one bite and described it as "a carnival gone wrong." But I still love it.
The chip shop is in Greenwich Village, an area I hadn't been in much, so I decided to walk around a little. I was pleasantly surprised to see that I was in NYC's not-so-famed "wee Britain" (yes, I stole that from Arrested Development, but it's a way better name than "Little Britain"). It's not nearly as extensive as Little Italy, Chinatown, etc.--pretty much five shops in a row--but the entire Village has kind of a British feel to it.
Next door to A Salt & Battery is a little sweet shop (the doorway is actually an old British phone box, which I found cool), and I went in and bought a Galaxy bar, the finest pure chocolate bar there is (having just consumed a battered Mars bar, I saved it for later). Expecting either a "no" or directions to some super-pricey deli, I asked the clerk if he knew where I could get haggis. Surprisingly, he directed me to Myers of Keswick, a small grocery store a few blocks away.
The place had everything! Well, lots of stuff...all the chocolates and biscuits that the other place had, plus "staples" like beans, brown sauce, dilute juice, golden treacle, spotted dick, Scotch broth, Weetabix...and there, on the top shelf, for a mere $9.50, haggis in a can.
Yes, in a can. I'd never had it that way before, or paid that much for it, but it's pretty much a once-a-year food, so I didn't mind. I bought a can, plus some Penguin biscuits (one of my favorite treats on the mish, in part because there are corny jokes on the wrappers--"What do you call a penguin in the desert?" "Lost."). Biscuits are cookies, by the way.
This all happened during the day, so Burns Night technically hadn't happened yet. Fortunately, I had an event to go to that night where I could share my treasured meat by-product. Next time, I'll relive the Burns "Night of Champions" for you and let you know if anyone was brave enough to try the haggis.
Saturday, March 8, 2008
I have a dream...of a short blog post
Next up in the queue of holiday-season flashbacks is Martin Luther King Day. As I've previously described, I met up with my friend Amy for the first time in either six or eight years, I'm not sure which. We had a great time walking the length of Central Park, occasionally ducking into museum lobbies to get a brief respite from the bitter cold.
I ended up going in to work for a couple of hours, because I temporarily forgot that, as Chris Rock has said (fifth video down here), all you have to do to celebrate MLK Day "is not work." (I mention Rock on my blog a lot, don't I?)
I hosted FHE at my apartment that night. We had about a dozen people show up, which meant I had to run up and down the stairs over and over (my buzzer opens just one of the two outer doors). In case you forgot, that's 48 steps each way. I should've had them use the fire escape, like my friend David did while staying with me last week (a good story worth blogging about; I'll probably get around to it in June, at this rate).
And that's all I did. I guess some dreams come true.
I ended up going in to work for a couple of hours, because I temporarily forgot that, as Chris Rock has said (fifth video down here), all you have to do to celebrate MLK Day "is not work." (I mention Rock on my blog a lot, don't I?)
I hosted FHE at my apartment that night. We had about a dozen people show up, which meant I had to run up and down the stairs over and over (my buzzer opens just one of the two outer doors). In case you forgot, that's 48 steps each way. I should've had them use the fire escape, like my friend David did while staying with me last week (a good story worth blogging about; I'll probably get around to it in June, at this rate).
And that's all I did. I guess some dreams come true.
Auld Lang Syne
I arranged my Christmas trip home so that I would be back in New York for New Year's--the first time other than my mission I'd welcome in a baby with a sash anywhere but Utah. I thought it might be a once-in-a-lifetime chance to see the ball drop in person (not sure why I thought that was something desirable--New Year's Eve is probably the most overrated holiday there is).
Several things happened to change my plans: 1) every week my desire to move out here on a more permanent basis gets stronger, and if that happens it would become a twice- or thrice- or more in-a-lifetime chance; 2) I heard from people at church that have done it before that you have to be in Times Square by about 3:00 in the afternoon, and that after that you're pretty much stuck there, and people are going to the bathroom in the street and stuff like that, and it's generally not a pleasant place to be; 3) I had nobody to go with; 4)most importantly, I got a better offer.
Back in Provo, I share a wall with Mariana (we both have upstairs bedrooms on opposite sides of our duplex). Not long after I got to New York, she e-mailed me to say she'd be spending New Year's with relatives in Connecticut, and that I could come hang out if I wanted.
So, on New Year's Eve, I hopped on the Metro-North (so much cleaner and more comfortable than the subway) and rode it for an hour or so to Brewster, Connecticut. Mariana (Mo from here on out--that's what her family calls her) , her niece and her uncle Moroni were there to pick me up. The night before I had envisioned one of Mo's young cousins, upon meeting me, asking "Is Mariana your girlfriend?"
"No, we're just friends," I would answer.
Then the follow-up: "Do you have a girlfriend?"
Cleverly, I would respond, "In my life lately, girlfriends are about as real as Santa." (Mo had already told me they "knew the truth" about St. Nick.
This didn't happen. Thanks for NOT setting me up for a good line, kids.
Mo is about my age, and her five cousins range in age from about 5 to 17, so I thought she had invited me out at least in part so she'd have someone to talk to. I was wrong--she loves her family and has a great time with them, and I quickly saw why. The Taylors are a great family, and like Mo are among the most unpretentious people I've ever met. They're smart and funny and really nice, and I had a great time with them.
They were actually having a pretty big party at their house--probably at least 40 people (including kids) were there at some point. It was a fairly standard New Year's Eve party: lots of food, talking, card games, kids getting tired but wanting to stay up, watching the ball drop on TV, then setting off some fireworks and drinking Martinelli's, and eventually everyone goes to bed until noon the next day.
But there were a few notable incidents from my 24 hours in New England:
Mo and I went with her oldest cousin and one of his friends (I remember Mo's aunt and uncle are named Sue and Moroni, but I can't remember the kids' names--sorry, guys) to Walgreen's to pick up more playing cards. On the way, the friend was saying it was cool that Mormons would let non-Mormons come to their party, because he didn't think they were allowed. This led to a pretty good conversation about the church and what we believe in and how Mormons ought to treat people who aren't in the church. The tone of the car ride shifted dramatically, though, when the kid saw someone he knew (not a friend, just someone he knew) in the car next to us at a stoplight. He hopped out of our car and banged on the other guy's window, yelling "Happy New Year." The other guy was startled, but once he had recovered enough to realize he wasn't being carjacked began cussing at us. Kind of a weird scene.
While we were waiting for the rest of the party guests to arrive, Mo and her family introduced me to Flight of the Conchords, a comedy duo who have a show on HBO. They are hilarious, and you can find tons of their videos on YouTube. The video I linked to is clean, but some of their bits are a little PG-13. So proceed with caution.
Most of the people who came to the party brought food with them; one of the Taylors' friends brought something much more entertaining: copies of the American Free Press. I had never heard of it before, but I looked through it a little and discovered that it's like a political version of the Weekly World News (for you kids out there...like a political, non-electronic version of The Onion). One issue had an article about fears of New Hampshire voter tampering among Ron Paul's supporters, another issue went one step farther and predicted assassination attempts against Paul. Conspiracy theories, anonymous sources, anonymous authors...this paper has everything you need to feed your paranoia habit. (I could be wrong, but it seemed like Moroni and Sue were just humoring the guy while he talked about this stuff; if you guys take it seriously, sorry for ridiculing it.)
All in all, it may have been my most memorable New Year's Eve ever. Thanks again, Mo and family, for showing me such a good time. Christmas in Connecticut may be good for Arnold, but for me New Year's in Connecticut is where it's at.
Several things happened to change my plans: 1) every week my desire to move out here on a more permanent basis gets stronger, and if that happens it would become a twice- or thrice- or more in-a-lifetime chance; 2) I heard from people at church that have done it before that you have to be in Times Square by about 3:00 in the afternoon, and that after that you're pretty much stuck there, and people are going to the bathroom in the street and stuff like that, and it's generally not a pleasant place to be; 3) I had nobody to go with; 4)most importantly, I got a better offer.
Back in Provo, I share a wall with Mariana (we both have upstairs bedrooms on opposite sides of our duplex). Not long after I got to New York, she e-mailed me to say she'd be spending New Year's with relatives in Connecticut, and that I could come hang out if I wanted.
So, on New Year's Eve, I hopped on the Metro-North (so much cleaner and more comfortable than the subway) and rode it for an hour or so to Brewster, Connecticut. Mariana (Mo from here on out--that's what her family calls her) , her niece and her uncle Moroni were there to pick me up. The night before I had envisioned one of Mo's young cousins, upon meeting me, asking "Is Mariana your girlfriend?"
"No, we're just friends," I would answer.
Then the follow-up: "Do you have a girlfriend?"
Cleverly, I would respond, "In my life lately, girlfriends are about as real as Santa." (Mo had already told me they "knew the truth" about St. Nick.
This didn't happen. Thanks for NOT setting me up for a good line, kids.
Mo is about my age, and her five cousins range in age from about 5 to 17, so I thought she had invited me out at least in part so she'd have someone to talk to. I was wrong--she loves her family and has a great time with them, and I quickly saw why. The Taylors are a great family, and like Mo are among the most unpretentious people I've ever met. They're smart and funny and really nice, and I had a great time with them.
They were actually having a pretty big party at their house--probably at least 40 people (including kids) were there at some point. It was a fairly standard New Year's Eve party: lots of food, talking, card games, kids getting tired but wanting to stay up, watching the ball drop on TV, then setting off some fireworks and drinking Martinelli's, and eventually everyone goes to bed until noon the next day.
But there were a few notable incidents from my 24 hours in New England:
Mo and I went with her oldest cousin and one of his friends (I remember Mo's aunt and uncle are named Sue and Moroni, but I can't remember the kids' names--sorry, guys) to Walgreen's to pick up more playing cards. On the way, the friend was saying it was cool that Mormons would let non-Mormons come to their party, because he didn't think they were allowed. This led to a pretty good conversation about the church and what we believe in and how Mormons ought to treat people who aren't in the church. The tone of the car ride shifted dramatically, though, when the kid saw someone he knew (not a friend, just someone he knew) in the car next to us at a stoplight. He hopped out of our car and banged on the other guy's window, yelling "Happy New Year." The other guy was startled, but once he had recovered enough to realize he wasn't being carjacked began cussing at us. Kind of a weird scene.
While we were waiting for the rest of the party guests to arrive, Mo and her family introduced me to Flight of the Conchords, a comedy duo who have a show on HBO. They are hilarious, and you can find tons of their videos on YouTube. The video I linked to is clean, but some of their bits are a little PG-13. So proceed with caution.
Most of the people who came to the party brought food with them; one of the Taylors' friends brought something much more entertaining: copies of the American Free Press. I had never heard of it before, but I looked through it a little and discovered that it's like a political version of the Weekly World News (for you kids out there...like a political, non-electronic version of The Onion). One issue had an article about fears of New Hampshire voter tampering among Ron Paul's supporters, another issue went one step farther and predicted assassination attempts against Paul. Conspiracy theories, anonymous sources, anonymous authors...this paper has everything you need to feed your paranoia habit. (I could be wrong, but it seemed like Moroni and Sue were just humoring the guy while he talked about this stuff; if you guys take it seriously, sorry for ridiculing it.)
All in all, it may have been my most memorable New Year's Eve ever. Thanks again, Mo and family, for showing me such a good time. Christmas in Connecticut may be good for Arnold, but for me New Year's in Connecticut is where it's at.
Friday, March 7, 2008
A Christmas Story 2: Ralphie's Revenge
Despite the best efforts of TBS, I didn't actually watch the fra-jee-lay, "you'll shoot your eye out" classic last Christmas season.
I did, however, watch several other significant Christmas movies during the week I was back in Utah. Besides eating chocolate and playing Wizard with my family, watching TV was about all I did while I was home (big surprise).
I saw Miracle on 34th Street (the newer one) with my mom and sister. This is a remake that actually compares favorably to the original, although I wish they hadn't changed the sacks and sacks of letters ending. But the little girl is adorable, the Jurassic Park guy does a good job as Santa, and it's retroactively weird to see Horatio Sanz as a psych ward orderly talking about "Santy Claus." But mostly you just feel good after watching it.
I also made it a point to watch Elf, probably one of my top five favorite movies of this century (admittedly a smallish sample size; I don't see too many movies--I'm much more of a TV guy). It's hilarious, it's clean, it has the same feel-good quality as 34th Street, and my enjoyment of both movies I've mentioned has been enhanced by spending time in New York. Plus, I'm kinda in love with Zooey Deschanel (more so for her performance in Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy--another of my new millenium favorites--but she's good in both). I'll fight you for her, Will.
But the main event--the movie I have to watch at least once every Christmas until the tape wears out--is the one mentioned in my last post, the 1986 made-for-TV version of Babes in Toyland starring young Keanu Reeves, even younger Drew Barrymore, Eileen Brennan from Clue and Murder by Death, Richard Mulligan from Empty Nest as the evil Barnaby Barnacle, and, of course, Mr. Miyagi as the Toy Master.
The summer of 2004 was magical--I was working for Marie Osmond, playing cribbage with friends at Sonic or Denny's almost every night, driving a ghetto '93 Ford Tempo, and staying up late to watch live race walking at the Athens Olympics (I should've had a blog back then!). But what is now my fondest memory from that time is finding a preowned VHS copy of Babes at the MTC (not THAT one--the Movie Trading Company). By far the best $2 I've ever spent.
Watching it this year wasn't as good, because I watched most of it alone (my sister Ju fell asleep after just a few minutes). This is a movie that has to be watched and mocked with a group of friends. It is agonizingly awful, from the ridiculous costumes, to the cheesy special effects, to the terrible acting, to the creepy relationship between Georgy Porgy and Drew Barrymore's Lisa (11 years old), to the inexplicable fascination with Cincinnati and Pete Rose...and let's not forget the awesome car chase that ends with a crash that defies the laws of physics.
On top of all that, there's the singing! ("I--come--from--C-I-N-C-I-N-N-A-T-I Cincinnati. The best town in O-H-I-O Ohio USA!"). They all sing, even Miyagi. It's so awful, in a weirdly wonderful way (I'm so glad I found this link--by the way, did anyone actually watch that entire Star Wars link from my last post? It's aggravating, isn't it?). If any of you still have a VCR and want to borrow it, I'll see what I can do.
All three of these movies do a great job of displaying the positive effects of believing in Santa Claus, even into adulthood. When I was in high school I was on the Deseret News' "teen editorial board;" the only piece I ever had published there was a column on why, as an 17-year-old, I still believed in Santa. As I've gotten older, the world has made me slightly more jaded, and now I'm not sure what to believe. I hope Santa is real, but if he's not, at least I have plenty of other sources to turn to for Christmas cheer every December.
I did, however, watch several other significant Christmas movies during the week I was back in Utah. Besides eating chocolate and playing Wizard with my family, watching TV was about all I did while I was home (big surprise).
I saw Miracle on 34th Street (the newer one) with my mom and sister. This is a remake that actually compares favorably to the original, although I wish they hadn't changed the sacks and sacks of letters ending. But the little girl is adorable, the Jurassic Park guy does a good job as Santa, and it's retroactively weird to see Horatio Sanz as a psych ward orderly talking about "Santy Claus." But mostly you just feel good after watching it.
I also made it a point to watch Elf, probably one of my top five favorite movies of this century (admittedly a smallish sample size; I don't see too many movies--I'm much more of a TV guy). It's hilarious, it's clean, it has the same feel-good quality as 34th Street, and my enjoyment of both movies I've mentioned has been enhanced by spending time in New York. Plus, I'm kinda in love with Zooey Deschanel (more so for her performance in Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy--another of my new millenium favorites--but she's good in both). I'll fight you for her, Will.
But the main event--the movie I have to watch at least once every Christmas until the tape wears out--is the one mentioned in my last post, the 1986 made-for-TV version of Babes in Toyland starring young Keanu Reeves, even younger Drew Barrymore, Eileen Brennan from Clue and Murder by Death, Richard Mulligan from Empty Nest as the evil Barnaby Barnacle, and, of course, Mr. Miyagi as the Toy Master.
The summer of 2004 was magical--I was working for Marie Osmond, playing cribbage with friends at Sonic or Denny's almost every night, driving a ghetto '93 Ford Tempo, and staying up late to watch live race walking at the Athens Olympics (I should've had a blog back then!). But what is now my fondest memory from that time is finding a preowned VHS copy of Babes at the MTC (not THAT one--the Movie Trading Company). By far the best $2 I've ever spent.
Watching it this year wasn't as good, because I watched most of it alone (my sister Ju fell asleep after just a few minutes). This is a movie that has to be watched and mocked with a group of friends. It is agonizingly awful, from the ridiculous costumes, to the cheesy special effects, to the terrible acting, to the creepy relationship between Georgy Porgy and Drew Barrymore's Lisa (11 years old), to the inexplicable fascination with Cincinnati and Pete Rose...and let's not forget the awesome car chase that ends with a crash that defies the laws of physics.
On top of all that, there's the singing! ("I--come--from--C-I-N-C-I-N-N-A-T-I Cincinnati. The best town in O-H-I-O Ohio USA!"). They all sing, even Miyagi. It's so awful, in a weirdly wonderful way (I'm so glad I found this link--by the way, did anyone actually watch that entire Star Wars link from my last post? It's aggravating, isn't it?). If any of you still have a VCR and want to borrow it, I'll see what I can do.
All three of these movies do a great job of displaying the positive effects of believing in Santa Claus, even into adulthood. When I was in high school I was on the Deseret News' "teen editorial board;" the only piece I ever had published there was a column on why, as an 17-year-old, I still believed in Santa. As I've gotten older, the world has made me slightly more jaded, and now I'm not sure what to believe. I hope Santa is real, but if he's not, at least I have plenty of other sources to turn to for Christmas cheer every December.
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
A Christmas story
"What do you say to a big kiss?"
"Hello, big kiss."
--exchange between Jack Horner (Keanu Reeves) and Mary Contrary (Jill Schoelen, who wasn't able to turn her bad acting into as lucrative a career as Keanu, but did manage to date Brad Pitt) from the 1986 classic Babes in Toyland
I didn't celebrate Life Day or Festivus last December, because Christmas--again, like all the good holidays--is not really just a single day. It's more like a month. There are tons of non-Christians in the city, but Christmas stuff still seems to dominate. Here's me standing by the "holiday tree" outside Rockefeller Center.
I didn't really like it. I thought there was too much blue, and too many lights generally. It looked tacky to me, as does my shirt hanging out the bottom of my coat.
I did a lot of fun stuff with people in my ward in the days and weeks before Christmas. Here are some highlights:
A few of us went to NYU's Skirball Center to see a girl in the ward perform as the Sugarplum Fairy in the Joffrey Ballet School's production of Nutcracker. She was amazing. After, we wanted to go eat at Max Brenner (which I like to call by its more fun subtitle, Chocolate by the Bald Man), but it was too busy. I've since been back there four times, though, so you should definitely plan on reading about this fabulous chocolate restaurant in future blog posts. We ended up wandering to Grand Central Station, where we saw the Christmas light show they play every half hour. It was no laser Pink Floyd, but it was not bad, and a funny old man came and asked someone in our little group to dance with him. I can't remember who it was--it's in my head that it was Jen Nuckols, but I don't think she was with us that night. Oh well. Whoever it was, they put on a good show.
My last Sunday before coming home for Christmas was very memorable. We had a really good Christmas musical program in sacrament meeting (there are a ton of super-talented musicians and singers in my ward), including an unusual but enjoyable tuba-trombone duet of "O Come, O Come Emmanuel." Before church started, I was standing with some people in the lobby when Marcus walked in with his tuba bag strapped to his back.
"What does Marcus have on his back?" someone asked.
"I think it's his tuba," said Jessica Allred.
Quickly, in my best Schwarzenegger, I replied, "It's not a tuba."
Dead silence.
I asked Jessica if she got the joke. She said she did. But she didn't think it was funny. I don't care; I think it's one of my best jokes ever, which is why I'm making a point to include it here.
After church ended that day, we had a hot chocolate munch-and-mingle linger-longer chat-and-get-fat or whatever you want to call it. I had a few conversations there that were very meaningful to me, where something clicked and I really felt like I had integrated into and been accepted by this ward. (I was enjoying myself and generally happy during my first month in New York, but I also felt really lonely most nights. Those feelings have been gone since this after-church social.) I'd go into more detail about these things, but I don't like to get sappy or serious on this blog. But I really love this ward that I'm in out here and am going to be sad when it's time to leave. I've become attached to every singles ward I've ever been in, but never as quickly as this one.
When the hot chocolate was gone, a bunch of us ended up on the same train home. Jen had her violin (it was definitely her this time), which she had played in sacrament meeting, and we put on an impromptu subway concert, singing Christmas hymns while she played. We thought about trying to collect money in the violin case, but decided that might be considered Sabbath-breaking.
As many of you know, the LDS lyrics for "Joy to the World" are slightly different than those used by the rest of Christendom. As we left the train, the Demos sisters told me that, while we sang that hymn, they heard two women behind them talking:
"They seem really nice."
"They use different words than I'm used to."
"I think they're Canadian."
It's not a tuba...eh?
The next night was our ward Christmas party/service auction/gingerbread house contest. I suggested that my table do a gingerbread roller coaster. But I'm really just an idea man, so I sat back while Aja and some others turned my vision into reality. It was pretty cool and deservedly won the best-gingerbread-structure award.
Rachel and I, still several weeks away from learning we're related, auctioned off very similar items. She put up an original song about the buyer, because she's very talented musically. I'm only good with words, though, so I could only offer a personalized song parody, which Corina bought. It's going to be a Beatles medley, I think. I'm working on it, in the same technical way that I'm working on my Apollo routine. Please be patient, Corina; you'll get your song before, let's say, next Christmas...
The highlight of the night was the one and only Ryan Simmons performing "Happy Holidays" in one of his trademark crazy suits. It was outstanding (I've heard that he got a $60 tip for that Stardust performance; if so he earned every penny).
Basically, my ward rocks. But Utah's pretty great too, and a few days later I packed up my cool spinning-face Santa Claus gumball pack (thanks, Secret Santa!) and flew home for a week. Next time I'll detail all the movies and TV I watched (including the beauty quoted at the beginning of the post) while I was home. Seriously, that's pretty much all I did, besides eat chocolate. Like I said, it was a pretty awesome Christmas.
"Hello, big kiss."
--exchange between Jack Horner (Keanu Reeves) and Mary Contrary (Jill Schoelen, who wasn't able to turn her bad acting into as lucrative a career as Keanu, but did manage to date Brad Pitt) from the 1986 classic Babes in Toyland
I didn't celebrate Life Day or Festivus last December, because Christmas--again, like all the good holidays--is not really just a single day. It's more like a month. There are tons of non-Christians in the city, but Christmas stuff still seems to dominate. Here's me standing by the "holiday tree" outside Rockefeller Center.
I didn't really like it. I thought there was too much blue, and too many lights generally. It looked tacky to me, as does my shirt hanging out the bottom of my coat.
I did a lot of fun stuff with people in my ward in the days and weeks before Christmas. Here are some highlights:
A few of us went to NYU's Skirball Center to see a girl in the ward perform as the Sugarplum Fairy in the Joffrey Ballet School's production of Nutcracker. She was amazing. After, we wanted to go eat at Max Brenner (which I like to call by its more fun subtitle, Chocolate by the Bald Man), but it was too busy. I've since been back there four times, though, so you should definitely plan on reading about this fabulous chocolate restaurant in future blog posts. We ended up wandering to Grand Central Station, where we saw the Christmas light show they play every half hour. It was no laser Pink Floyd, but it was not bad, and a funny old man came and asked someone in our little group to dance with him. I can't remember who it was--it's in my head that it was Jen Nuckols, but I don't think she was with us that night. Oh well. Whoever it was, they put on a good show.
My last Sunday before coming home for Christmas was very memorable. We had a really good Christmas musical program in sacrament meeting (there are a ton of super-talented musicians and singers in my ward), including an unusual but enjoyable tuba-trombone duet of "O Come, O Come Emmanuel." Before church started, I was standing with some people in the lobby when Marcus walked in with his tuba bag strapped to his back.
"What does Marcus have on his back?" someone asked.
"I think it's his tuba," said Jessica Allred.
Quickly, in my best Schwarzenegger, I replied, "It's not a tuba."
Dead silence.
I asked Jessica if she got the joke. She said she did. But she didn't think it was funny. I don't care; I think it's one of my best jokes ever, which is why I'm making a point to include it here.
After church ended that day, we had a hot chocolate munch-and-mingle linger-longer chat-and-get-fat or whatever you want to call it. I had a few conversations there that were very meaningful to me, where something clicked and I really felt like I had integrated into and been accepted by this ward. (I was enjoying myself and generally happy during my first month in New York, but I also felt really lonely most nights. Those feelings have been gone since this after-church social.) I'd go into more detail about these things, but I don't like to get sappy or serious on this blog. But I really love this ward that I'm in out here and am going to be sad when it's time to leave. I've become attached to every singles ward I've ever been in, but never as quickly as this one.
When the hot chocolate was gone, a bunch of us ended up on the same train home. Jen had her violin (it was definitely her this time), which she had played in sacrament meeting, and we put on an impromptu subway concert, singing Christmas hymns while she played. We thought about trying to collect money in the violin case, but decided that might be considered Sabbath-breaking.
As many of you know, the LDS lyrics for "Joy to the World" are slightly different than those used by the rest of Christendom. As we left the train, the Demos sisters told me that, while we sang that hymn, they heard two women behind them talking:
"They seem really nice."
"They use different words than I'm used to."
"I think they're Canadian."
It's not a tuba...eh?
The next night was our ward Christmas party/service auction/gingerbread house contest. I suggested that my table do a gingerbread roller coaster. But I'm really just an idea man, so I sat back while Aja and some others turned my vision into reality. It was pretty cool and deservedly won the best-gingerbread-structure award.
Rachel and I, still several weeks away from learning we're related, auctioned off very similar items. She put up an original song about the buyer, because she's very talented musically. I'm only good with words, though, so I could only offer a personalized song parody, which Corina bought. It's going to be a Beatles medley, I think. I'm working on it, in the same technical way that I'm working on my Apollo routine. Please be patient, Corina; you'll get your song before, let's say, next Christmas...
The highlight of the night was the one and only Ryan Simmons performing "Happy Holidays" in one of his trademark crazy suits. It was outstanding (I've heard that he got a $60 tip for that Stardust performance; if so he earned every penny).
Basically, my ward rocks. But Utah's pretty great too, and a few days later I packed up my cool spinning-face Santa Claus gumball pack (thanks, Secret Santa!) and flew home for a week. Next time I'll detail all the movies and TV I watched (including the beauty quoted at the beginning of the post) while I was home. Seriously, that's pretty much all I did, besides eat chocolate. Like I said, it was a pretty awesome Christmas.
Saturday, March 1, 2008
In Living Color
A short break from the holiday-themed posts...
You'd think that, in the first week in four years that's included an EXTRA day, I'd have more time to blog, but that hasn't been the case. I wanted to get something up here, though, to get me back on track.
My Apollo performance is now officially "next month," so I'd better get serious about getting funny. I found something that could help me out. If any of you were wanting to get me an early birthday present, this tape would be a good idea (someone else would need to get me a TV and a VCR).
"It's true, it's true, we're so lame!"
You'd think that, in the first week in four years that's included an EXTRA day, I'd have more time to blog, but that hasn't been the case. I wanted to get something up here, though, to get me back on track.
My Apollo performance is now officially "next month," so I'd better get serious about getting funny. I found something that could help me out. If any of you were wanting to get me an early birthday present, this tape would be a good idea (someone else would need to get me a TV and a VCR).
"It's true, it's true, we're so lame!"
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