Category Archives: Play

Ful Medames

In which we talk about breakfast! Yum! Because while I read a lot of involved, uplifting, active, and self-referential blogs, personally I’m just not that interesting. Plus: there’s a bunch of food porn!

Yesterday I was craving a big old bowl of the Egyptian breakfast food known as ful medames. The stuff is just so delicious I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Since my shift today didn’t start until one o’clock, I got up and took myself to the grocery store this morning. I didn’t go to Loney’s because they don’t carry fava beans and I never can find any pita bread there. Instead, I took my brother’s truck and went over to Super 1. It was gigantic:

Super 1

There, I spent about two million years fifteen minutes looking for fava beans and pita bread. They were there, but not where I thought they would be, and I must have covered two thirds of the store’s square footage before I located them.

Then I went home and watched this video again on my iPod Touch, because it’s my favorite recipe for ful and I couldn’t remember how much lemon juice to use:

After that, I cooked up a big old batch of beans with garlic and lemon and garnished it with olive oil, parsley, tomato, radish, hard boiled egg, green onion, picked vegetables, and olives. It looked really pretty plated up:

Fuul Meddames

And then?

And I eated it! With whole wheat pita bread! OMG teh yum!

Fuul Meddames

(G’ma said the concoction “looked pretty, but didn’t taste all that good.” This is because I did not salt it per about ten recipes I’ve read which don’t call for salt. At all. Apparently you’re supposed to salt at the table. Which I did!)

The last time I had ful was in Brooklyn, in an Egyptian place around the corner from Deboka’s brownstone. It was freakin’ delicious there, too, and came with a giant squeeze bottle of tahini (!!!) and even had green peppers in it.

Foule Meddames

The time before that, I made a batch myself and packed it in a bento box with some falafel:

Bento #94: Egyptian

And here’s an entire gallery of fuul porn, just in case you doubted the status of my fandom for this dish! (Go look. Srsly. I’ll wait.)

Ful is the bestest, cheapest, fillingest breakfast ever. Bonus: it has the added benefit of giving you garlic breath first thing in the morning!

And yes, apparently I did just write an entire post about beans. Guess who needs to get laid?

The Met

In which I’m catching up on my New York posts.

Last Thursday I went to the Metropolitan Museum of Art all by myself.

I went downtown (er, uptown) with Deboka to her school to see if I could get in for an acupunture treatment but the day was fully booked. In the library I got online to figure out how to get to the Met. Deb gave me directions to the subway from her school, and off I went with a few handwritten notes.

I walked the wrong direction after I surfaced from the subway, but eventually got where I was going.

Metropolitan Museum of Art

The museum is gigantic and I wasn’t able to find a map among the leaflets in the lobby, so I simply walked in and started wandering.

I saw the Art of the Samurai exhibition.

I saw a bunch of modern art I wasn’t particularly interested in, but I was kind of tickled to be in the presence of my first real-life Andy Warhol and my first real-life Jackson Pollock. I ended up in the French Art Deco section and had a brief but torrid love affair with a newspaper table:

Metropolitan Museum of Art

Saw a bunch of Greek stuff, some Egyptian stuff, some African stuff… and finally, finally I found the Asian exhibitions. There was an entire room full of Buddha statuary:

Metropolitan Museum of Art

A few rooms later, I found the Hindu deities. Ganesh!

Metropolitan Museum of Art

Lord Shiva!

Metropolitan Museum of Art

Of course, the museum closes at 5:30 on Thursdays, so immediately thereafter I got kicked out.

Deb was taking a mid-term until seven, so I sat on the steps of the museum for awhile and people-watched.

Metropolitan Museum of Art

After that, I found a bar to sit in. I had a drink, rested my feet a little more, and caught up on my Twitter feed. Then I managed to get all the way back to Deb without getting lost, and we went out for Indian food.

Success! I navigated the subway twice and didn’t end up in Queens!

Honey, I'm hoooooooome.

In which I travel for twelve hours and end up right back where I started from a week ago.

I got up at seven this morning (that’s FOUR in the fucking MORNING Pacific time, my babies, but WHO’S COUNTING?) and met my car in front of Jake’s condo at 7:20. Arrived at La Guardia twenty minutes later, checked in at American Airlines and then shambled through security.

Flew to Chicago. Ate a burrito.

Flew to Seattle. Ate a cheeseburger with no burger and extra cheese. (I didn’t order the extra cheez, they just made it that way.)

Flew to Walla Walla. Ate a slice of apple pie.

Kissed my dog. Reset the time zone on my netbook and iPod Touch and realized it was five, not eight. Uploaded and titled and tagged much of the Bodacious New York Vacation Set.

Am truly dead tired, and not entirely sure that I’m glad to be home. Had so much fun in the city, even when it was pretending to be Portland and rained all over me, that leaving was a letdown the comforts of home have failed to assuage. *insert non-age appropriate emo sigh*

Seatac

In other news, I regret to inform you that I have to re-relaunch Operation: Quit Smoking. Again. (Further experience indicates that perhaps the nicotine-replacement faction is right.)

Mush really needs to blog but doesn't have time!

In which your intrepid narratrix is really quite far behind with her material.

zOMG, I have so much to tell you! But I don’t have time to do it properly, so here’s a brief recap:

Wednesday night, Deboka and I went to her neighborhood pub and watched the Yankees game and talked. Thursday I went to the Metropolitan museum of art and ate Indian food in Manhattan… and then Deboka and I went to her neighborhood pub and watched the Yankees game.

Foule Meddames

Friday we went out for foule mudamas for breakfast, and then I packed and went to meet Vuboq. He and I stopped for a leisurely meal and margaritas, then went to Jake’s where we dropped our luggage. Then we took the train to the theatre district.

We saw David, world famous blogger at Someone In A Tree (link is potentially NSFW ’cause there’s occasional pix of near-nekkid menz), in Brigadoon, then joined him and the cast at a nearby pub after the show. Jake showed up, too. So much fun!

Well. Then it took five trains to get us home, but we made it eventually.

Today there was some sleeping in, followed by an excursion for brunch. En route, Jake got a call: his grandmother had passed, and he had to go be with his family. Vuboq and I found food and bloody marys.

Now, two hours of down time. Tonight, the Halloween parade in the Village and meeting up with a few more NY bloggers. Tomorrow at the asscrack I’m taking a cab to the airport and flying home. Such a whirlwind weekend!

Pics and anecdotes to follow… when I get home.

I love New York.

In which I dive into my vacation in earnest.

Sunday I got up at the ass crack and showered and dressed, and G’ma graciously drove me to the airport for my 6:50 flight to Seattle. The flight was as short and uneventful as always. (I like Horizon Air.) At SeaTac, I had a breakfast sandwich at a Wolfgang Puck’s. It cost ten bucks, but the eggs were good.

The non-stop from Seattle to Newark was too long; the flight attendants did three entire beverage services. I did not get my requested window seat on either flight (although on the Horizon flight my long-legged seatmate swapped with me so he could stretch) and sleeping perfectly upright doesn’t really suit me so I napped only briefly. The captain landed us at EWR an entire half hour early, bless him, but it still seemed like I’d been in that center seat between two sleeping men for sixteen hours.

Grabbed my bag, deplaned, followed the signs to Airtran. Eventually got to airport station, caught a NJ Trans train heading toward Manhattan.

p_00515

Deboka met me at Penn station and took me to her place to drop off my luggage. The F went out of service six stops from her own stop (it was Sunday night so I guess they decided to do maintenance) and we had to take a bus to her neighborhood but we got there eventually.

Then we went out for garlic pesto fries (I wanted something greasy) at a pub with the game on (Deb’s a hardcore Yankees fan) and talked our faces off.

It was AWESOME. I slept like a dead person on a nice futon with lots of down pillows. IN BROOKLYN.

Monday: got up and bathed and dressed and went out for Peruvian. Got Deb’s errands run – laundromat, dry cleaners, paper products – bought giant chai lattes, stopped by the apartment, then went into the city to meet her BF and BFF for an early dinner at Olive Garden at four.

IMG_0407

Brooklyn looked so much like Brooklyn that it started to do some kind of self-referential loop in my head and practically seemed like a caricature of itself; I felt almost as if I were on a soundstage rather than a real place because all my previous experience of this place is through media… but then we stood in line at the corner Rite Aid for ELEVENTY HOURS to buy a freaking package of toilet paper because they have no competition and don’t have to offer anything resembling customer service and I snapped out of it.

At some point during the early afternoon, I started having PVCs (arrhythmia) and trying to have a panic attack. I kept having to consciously relax and breathe and get the fuck out of the interior of my body and start interfacing with MY FUCKING VACATION IN NEW YORK.

p_00541

Despite my pushing the turnstile instead of stepping into it, and having to be buzzed into the subway by an attendant who could tell I was a tourist, we got to our four o’clock early and I spent half an hour getting the five-cent tour of Deb’s school. (She’s studying Oriental medicine.)

We sat at Olive Garden for a long time. The conversation was wonderful. (I love Deb’s friends. They’re seriously beautiful fucking people. I’ve never had so much fun at an Olive Garden in my life.)

p_00536

We left to see Love Child. As we walked through Times Square, I told Deb I was trying to have a panic attack. She allowed as to how I didn’t actually strike her as being about to die, which relieved me, but I did keep having annoying PVCs. They’re scary. I don’t like them.

We picked up our tickets at will call. After nachos on a bar patio next door, we went into the theatre – great seats! second row! – and during conversation right before curtain, I began to have something of a personal meaning-of-life epiphany. Then the lights came up and I got sucked into what turned out to be a really great show. (And we only had to pay $4.50 for tix, because Deb’s a member of some club that gets her cheap seats. Bitch is hella cool, yo.)

Afterward, Deb took me to Don’t Tell Mama, a cabaret club. I love that place! So much FUN! I want to fucking work there: the staff consisted of a piano player and three singing bartenders with wireless mics, and they spend their shift doing show tunes and pop songs, with customers sitting in every few songs. An awesome, 60-something French woman did La Vie en Rose, a younger wannabe stage starlet did a hilarious and possibly original song about her gay boyfriend, a guy did some Oklahoma! numbers operatically, I did Skylark (pretty badly – I’ve never actually sung it before in my life) out of the standards book. I met two awesome chicks from the next table and the actor G. W. Bailey. One of the bartenders bought me a drink. It was a really, really fun place. I mean, if you have to tend bar, you might as well get to sing while you’re doing it. In New York. In the theatre district. Srsly.

We finally left the club and headed back to Deb’s neighborhood. We had omelets at a greasy diner at two in the morning and continued to talk and bond and communicate. I wasn’t in bed until after three. Fun, deep, intense, WHOLLY SATISFYING night.

Although my tummy was a little pissed about the late-night diner food. It was all, Um, hello? Why are you acting like you’re twenty-eight? Those Whirl-soaked eggs weren’t strictly necessary, thank you very much. I’m trying to work down here. Quit it.

Prepping for vacation.

In which my eagerly anticipated and long awaited NEW YORK TOUR 2009 is nigh.

Luggage? Well, I didn’t buy a new case like I’d threatened to, but can use the carry on-sized rolly case at the house; it’ll be adequate and it’s smaller than the one I own.

Hair color? Check, I have an appointment after work tonight to get my roots done. Nails? Yeah, they look pretty trashy. I’ll go get a fill on Saturday while my laundry’s in. Will probably shave, too, just to feel cosmopolitan, even though no one will see.

Money? Well, turns out the band still owed me for a gig, so I collected on that today. I won’t be arriving in NY with quite all the extra padding I’d hoped to, but I’ll be fine. (In other words, I’ll be able to buy VUBOQ plenty of drinks on Halloween, and that’s really all that matters!)

Saturday I’m going to sleep in, then do my laundry and pack. (I’ll clean my room, too, so it’s nice when I get home. I really think that’s an important part of travel: making sure the home you return to is clean and welcoming.) Sunday I fly out of here at seven in the morning for a whole week away from my house, away from my job, and out of my routine.

Turns out that Deboka – oldest of friends and most righteous of women, with whom I’ll be staying for several nights – called me to confirm and organize the night before last, but I didn’t notice because I sometimes don’t look at my phone for two days. Gotta call her tonight.

Paper copy of flight itinerary? Check. Copy for G’ma? Yup. Even printed out the names and addresses of the people I’m staying with for her, because it’s old school and she’ll dig it. Confirmation email for the theatre tickets? Check. Better get a little cash to carry. Better make a pile of electronics chargers too, so I don’t forget anything when I pack.

Contact lens solution! Damn. Need to buy a bottle because I’m nearly out. Maybe a small toothpaste, too. My toothpaste tube is probably over 3.4 ounces. Does the limit apply to toothpaste? I hate being delayed in security; it’s such a pain in the ass. Better go check.

Weather! Pay attention to the weather. Isn’t it maybe gonna be raining this weekend? An umbrella might not be an inappropriate article to slip into my suitcase’s external pocket. Probably don’t need a coat, should be able to layer.

Vacation is so, so close. I’m so excited I could just pop! One and a half days left of work. One day of laundry and packing and last minute details. An early wake-up the next day, and then? AND THEN?! Dinner in Brooklyn, bitches!

Weekend

In which I review my weekend.

Mostly it was rainy and chilly, and it’s getting dark way too damned early, and for some reason this year I’m just NOT READY FOR SUMMER TO BE OVER YET.

Caturday:

I slept in. I did laundry.

I got my nails done. Finally. It had been five weeks and I really needed a fill. Aren’t they cute, with the little airbrushed designs on them?

Nails!

I have no idea why my otherwise fairly earthy thing needs to be destroyed with long fake plastic nails, but I love my long fake plastic nails OMG so so so much. They totally don’t go with my look – if I can go so far as to imply that I do in fact possess something as unified as ‘a look’ – but I get such a lot of silly happiness out of them that I keep getting them done.

I mean, hello? They’re pink! AND AIRBRUSHED!

I sang in the Tricities with the boys Saturday night and made a hundred bucks.

Sunday:

Another chilly morning and overcast day, damn it. Sometimes, you just gotta make a big ol’ pot of awesome Indian food to warm up the kitchen and make the house smell FANTASTIC:

Sambar

Sambar, delicious sambar!

Enough said.

I will be watching movies in my room Sunday evening if you need me.

The sci-fi novel I'll never write.

In which there’s a vague overview.

The character that’s been living in my head for the last decade is an alien.

The premise is that extraterrestrials have always been here; a ship (which happens to be self-aware and is currently hidden from human satellite surveillance at the bottom of the ocean) crashed on earth during the time of the pharaohs. The beings on it were capable of extreme self-directed genetic mutation. Being bilaterally symmetrical, they made themselves look like humans and have been here the whole entire time, a secret subculture among us.

They have their own government and social hierarchy. They have wealth, access to advanced tech they can use but not produce, and lab-like enclaves around the globe. They live among us, worldwide. There are about five million of them.

They had their own version of the Prime Directive, but they certainly didn’t hesitate to direct the shape of human science. After all, they had a freakin’ supraluminal spaceship and we didn’t even have steam engines yet, let alone anything that would help them get their boat back into space, so one could argue that they had to help where they could.

Some of our greatest scientists? Are them. Reinventing the wheel.

Languages around the world contain words we’ve learned from them. Insert a lot of sci-fi genre jokes… Roddenberry would have known one of them, for instance, and many Star Trek words and concepts would actually be out of their culture. They’d be the source of Heinlein’s “grok,” as they’d eat portions of their dead in order to avoid genetic flaws.

Human behavior that makes little sense would have been learned from them. They mate for life. When one of the pair dies, the other dies as well, so it turns out that they actually introduced humans to life-long commitments because they have a biological drive to pair up even though we don’t.

They’re dual-gendered like humans, but for reasons unknown to them they quit having daughters a generation after arriving and have been breeding with us for thousands of years. They breed true because they have incomprehensibly long, complex DNA. I have no idea how to explain that, but humor me here.

They’re called T’Kaa (though it would probably be better if I chose a well-known alien race name out of sci-fi cannon). They even go into kemmer (nod to LeGuin), a hormonal/sexual state during which they achieve, say, adolescence, or mate-bonding, or conception.

The character in my head is one of these aliens. His family has been breeding for beauty and intelligence for well over five thousand years; he is an omnibus prodigy and has multiple unrelated PhDs by the time he’s a teenager, including one in music performance of classical guitar. In his early twenties he blossoms into a phenomenon that even his own species hasn’t seen in three thousand years: massive strings of dormant DNA activate and he becomes a walking miracle… or menace, depending on how you look at him.

He can manufacture anything he wants in his own body and secrete it any way he likes; he can compel all members of his own species at will, and humans too (only with less subtlety), by simply sweating or breathing. He could, if he wished, manufacture a plague and exhale it into the world, wiping the face of the earth of all life. He can heal his own body of any illness or injury. He’s a genius. He’s insanely rich. He’s terrifyingly powerful.

He’s also a pop star, who basically keeps himself famous by filling concert halls with excellent pheromones. Everybody loves him. His orgies are legendary.

He’s called a sh’corne, which is a type of creature that only emerges when there’s a great need for one. Past bearers of the title have stopped plagues, healed millions, and changed the course of T’kaa history.

He has authority among his own kind by virtue of his House (although he’s House Mondavi, not Atreides), what he is genetically, and their own biological imperative to obey him because of both, but most of them think he’s fairly ridiculous. No one knows why a sh’corne has manifested since there doesn’t seem to be a particular threat against the T’kaa.

Then it turns out that the ship – repository and Archive of all things known to both species – needs to be moved; seismic activity indicates that she’s about to fall into a terminally deep fissure in the bottom of the ocean.

So a flurry of activity among the T’Kaa occurs and the upshot is that our hero, the pop icon Jake Mondavi, goes on TV amd says, “Hey, I know y’all think I’m a rock star, which I am, but it turns out I’m also not human. Here’s the documentation of my weird physiology etc etc etc. Oh, and we need help from several earth governments to move our mothership before she falls into a freakin’ chasm where we can’t get to her ever again.”

And hilarity ensues as humanity realizes that it’s been manipulated by aliens for all of recorded history, and that a bunch of us are actually them.

New York. And other random crap.

In which I ramble.

Money
Since I’m going to New York, I need money. Which is why I agreed to work on Sunday.

It was quiet. Very quiet. And after the other guy left, it verged on creepy… being all alone in the Drumheller building made me glad I had Bindu with me. I watched two feature-length films and three episodes of Red Dwarf, season one, and took fewer than ten calls all day long. And got paid overtime for it!

All of which is another way of saying that while you may think that today is Tuesday, it’s actually Wednesday for me.

Music
I’m hoarding gig money, too. The band still owes me $200 for gigs paid by check (who DOES that? pays a band with a fucking check?!) and I’ll probably make another bill this Friday (if I’m lucky. We don’t have a guarantee for the Friday gig; if the upcoming Marquee article doesn’t drive traffic to the venue I’ll be walking outta Merchants with maybe fifty bucks).

Reading
I’m reading three books simultaneously. None of them are really doing anything for me.

I discussed this vague dissatisfaction with G’ma and she says that years of reading heavily will make it hard for you to be charmed; you’ve read it all before. The three books that I’m reading are all good, they’re just not giving me that excited rush I have come to miss… maybe this is the period of malaise that will cause me to start actually writing. I’ve noticed myself lately reading about writing, and maybe it’s a sign.

I do happen to have an entire cast of characters in my head… it’s just that the main character, the alien? Would require WAY TOO MUCH RESEARCH to ever write convincingly. And is there any serious science about pheromones in humans? Yeah, my point exactly. Way too much research.

Eh. I’ll find something good to read sooner or later. I hope.

Human Gender
In other news, these are the Wikipedia articles I read today: eunuch, hijra, Brihannala, third sex, GID, proprioception, pomosexuality, and vestibular caloric stimulation.

I looked up eunuch to verify the spelling, then read the article by accident. Which led to reading about Hijiras, and then discovering that Arjuna spent some time as a transgendered male in the Mahabharat, which I totally did not know. I re-read the third sex article ’cause I haven’t done so in awhile, then arced off into the biological-vs-psychological arguments about various gender identifications and ended up at GID and pomo.

VCS was something I just didn’t know about. I mean, who knew that pouring water into the ears was a test for brain stem death? Certainly not I.

I fucking love Wikipedia!
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Big Apple

In which your intrepid narrator will be Out Of The Office.

I’ve been telling everyone I’m going to New York for about four years. This year, I SWORE I’d get there NO MATTER WHAT… but then I changed jobs and thought, well, the job change was all for the good, but I bet I won’t be getting any vacation time this fall, damn it.

But! Since there’s no hurt in asking, I asked the new job if I could take a week off already even though I’m brand new, and they, awesomely, said yes!

out_of_office

I’m so excited. I can’t wait to see Deboka, and Jake, and Derby, and Barbara, and hopefully VUBOQ too, and maybe meet some online friends IRL for the first time! YAY!