Thanks to genius design and decor site Houzz.com for sneaking into my house, reading my mind, and publishing this handy graph summarizing my possessions:
So, has anyone out there figured out how to get rid of all that “Stuff You Hate”? Do share!
Elisabeth Kubler-Ross’s Five Stages of House Hunting
13 MarAfter months of fruitlessly house hunting, it’s easy to despair.
You may ask yourself, “What am I doing? Why should I bother? Why don’t I just grab that empty refrigerator box and move to the New Jersey side of the Lincoln Tunnel?”
You’re not the only one who’s gone through the emotional tumult of searching for a home. It’s one of life’s most stressful events, probably made even more so because it’s a stress that we bring upon ourselves. It may comfort you to know that Elisabeth Kubler-Ross’s five stages of grief are surprisingly applicable to house hunting. May they help you identify where you stand, so you can get through this difficult time.
DENIAL.
“Yes! I’m gonna find a great place! It’ll be huge, and beautiful, in a great neighborhood, with brand-new appliances, and a washer-dryer, and a view, and a butler, and a moat! And I’ll come in under budget, leaving plenty of room to redecorate my new dream home!”
Castle Neuschwanstein at Schwangau, Bavaria, Germany (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
ANGER.
“I HATE EVERYONE. I hate everyone who has a house, who’s selling a house, who’s buying a house, who’s thinking about buying or selling a house, or who’s ever seen a house. I hate Realtors, and stagers, and mortgage people, and banks, and attorneys, and cleaning ladies, and the people who design the software that lets you make floor plans, and Martha Stewart and the horse she rode in on.”
Raiva-Ager-Icon (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
BARGAINING.
“Please… please… I’ll do anything. You can have my money… take all of it… plus my Chanel handbag, and my kids, too… just please, plea-hee-heeeese, sell me your cockroach-infested, water-damaged, moldy, smelly, straight out of 1982, craphole of an apartment…”
Pile of Cash (Photo credit: 401(K) 2013)
DEPRESSION.
“Um, I’m not depressed. I just happen to like spending all my free time under the covers with a bag of Tostitos and a bottle of gin.”
English: A 1-litre bottle of Hendrick’s Gin Deutsch: Eine 1-Liter-Flasche Hendrick’s Gin (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
ACCEPTANCE.
“Hey, this place isn’t bad. Not bad at all. It has a great view, I’ll have a short commute, and it’s surprisingly spacious for a cardboard box on the Jersey side of the Lincoln Tunnel…
“I’ll take it!”
Looking at New York, over the Lincoln Tunnel helix in New Jersey.
(photo: flickr)
How to Eat Just One Cookie
8 MarI know you think I can’t eat just one cookie, but I can. Check it out.
Here’s a Chips Ahoy. I’m putting it in my mouth. Chewing. Swallowing. Mmm, good!
Melodramatic chocolate chip cookie. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
Although… That went down a little fast. If I’m only going to eat one cookie, I should probably savor it more.
Here’s a Chips Ahoy. I’m breaking it into two pieces. Chewing the first half. Swallowing. Repeating with the other half.
Hmm. That was better, but I still don’t think two bites was enough to really slow down and enjoy it.
I should try eating it in tiny mouse-like nibbles. That’ll slow me down so that I can really experience eating the cookie.
Nibble nibble nibble nibble nibble nibble nibble nibble nibble nibble nibble nibble.
The mouse bites were slower, for sure. But I didn’t get a sense of the cookie’s crunchy texture, which is really why I wanted a cookie in the first place – that satisfying crunch.
If mouse nibbles were too small to enjoy, and two bites were too big to savor, I should try a nice medium number of bites: five.
Here’s a Chips Ahoy. I am biting it, chewing, swallowing. I am repeating those steps four additional times.
That’s more like it! The bites were large enough that I really felt that crumbly crunchy cookie in my mouth, and I took enough of them to feel like it was a nice, long, enjoyable experience.
Yes. Five bites.
Though now that I think about it, I swallowed some of those bites a little too quickly. If I’m only going to eat one cookie, I should make sure I chew it, or else what’s the point?
Here’s a Chips Ahoy. I am biting it, chewing it 20 times, swallowing. I am repeating those steps four additional times.
Eureka! That’s it! That’s the perfect combination! One cookie, five bites, chewed 20 times. Delicious, decadent, delightful.
See, I told you I could eat one cookie. It was easy as pie.
Ooh…
Pie…
Don’t Yuck My Yum
5 Mar
Cheese (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
Kindergarteners bring so many things home from school. Mostly drawings of rainbows, germs, and phrases that include the word “butt.” And you’ll all be delighted to know that “Jingle Bells, Batman smells” is alive and thriving in the elementary school yard.
I’m happy to report that – at last! – 5-year-old Pookie introduced us to a saying we can actually use: Don’t yuck my yum.
When snack time in Pookie’s class turned into a series of “Ewwwws!” (“Ewwww! You like cheese??!” and “Ewwww! You like peppers??!”), her kindergarten teacher taught the kids this totally appropriate retort.
I love how those four little words express so much, like that we all enjoy different things and variety is the spice of life. It’s non-confrontational, yet it has a subtle whiff of “Listen up, nosy, I’m having a good time over here. Mind your own beeswax.”
And it works for more than just foods.
Ewwww! You like…
…the Twilight movies??!
…bowling??!
…transcendental meditation??!
You don’t have to take that crap from your indie-cinema-loving, snow-shoeing, type-A frenemies. All you gotta say is, “Hey man, don’t yuck my yum.”
Warning: The only time this expression doesn’t work is when it comes to oranges.
Why?
Because, ewwwwww! You like oranges??! GROSS!!
And don’t bother telling me not to yuck your yum. Because all I have to say to you is: don’t yum my yuck.
Just clicking on this picture made me gag.
photo: Wikipedia
The Platt 101 Project: Conversation and Comfort Food at Sorella (#77)
20 FebWhen you’re attempting to dine at New York City’s top 101 restaurants, at least according to NY Magazine, it’s best to have a strategy.
Mine is to tackle the list based on the rankings’ ending digit (all the eateries ending in -0, then -9, then -8, and so on). This made sense to me because it spreads out the offerings; if I simply ate my way from 101 down to #1, I’d have to dine at the best, most decadent, most indulgent, and - for the most part – most expensive 10 restaurants all in a row, after which I’d be broke and – whee! – get gout.
Of course, sticking to this plan isn’t always possible, and on a recent night Mike and I found ourselves heading to an evening meeting downtown, then to meet a college friend of mine. Our path took us nowhere near any of the restaurants ending in ’0′ or ’9′. So we opened ourselves up to the entire list and settled on Sorella, an Italian eatery on the Lower East Side, with a dining room ideal for quiet conversation.
Here’s what New York Magazine restaurant critic Adam Platt had to say about the restaurant he ranked #77:
At her intimate little restaurant on the fringes of Chinatown, Emma Hearst manages to take a whole variety of trite, tired new-millennium dining concepts (rustic Italian, small plates, wine bar, etc.) and somehow make them feel new. A case in point: her inspired pâté de fegato, an ethereal small-plate homage to the Egg McMuffin made with whipped chicken liver, bits of bacon, and a single, perfectly fried egg set on an English muffin griddled in duck fat. Her well-chosen Italian wines are a bargain for the price.
I say the food was delish, and the space very sweet, but be careful not to get too raucous, lest your table neighbors glare over their bifocals at you.
When you first enter Sorella, it’s everything you’d imagine a hotspot on the Lower East Side to be – a long skinny dark bar area, crowded with bespectacled hipsters who’d flare their nostrils at being called hipsters. (Whatever, hipsters. Funky glasses are the new soul patch.)
Take the path past the kitchen to a lovely back room that’s bright and serene, full of… wait, is that your Grandpa at the next table? Your accountant? Whoever he is, he’s old and gray and grumpy and wearing a tweed blazer with elbow patches. Is it possible we’ve stepped through a portal to the Upper East Side? (Note to self: return to investigate space-time-wormholes.)
Regardless of where we are in the Back to the Future trilogy, the food at Sorella really is a notch above the norm. And I say that as a person who believes it’s impossible to mess up Italian food. And I say that as a person who’s never eaten at the Olive Garden.
I began with the Broccoli Fritto, otherwise known as: plate of fried broccoli with cheese. Does this count as a vegetable? I hope so, but it certainly didn’t taste like the steamed green stuff I make at home. When it’s fried to crispiness and drowning in grana padano, I can’t stop shoving it down. Mmmm.
Broccoli Fritto at Sorella. Yes, there are vegetables under all that cheese.
By the time my main arrived, the agnolotti with beef shortrib, I was so full. (Yes, of broccoli. You see that picture. Can you blame me?) That didn’t stop me from inhaling the little ravioli-esque packages of meat. I wished this dish had been a little warmer, as the room-temperature quality made the pasta seem a touch dry, but the flavor was delicate and nicely balanced.
As for the scene, I think Sorella is best suited for a date night. The dining room’s serene vibe is great when you’re not laughing until Barolo comes out your nose. But if it’s a Barolo-out-the-nostrils kind of night, perhaps a more rollicking boite would hit the spot.
Do tell – do you prefer restaurants that are calm and quiet, or frenzied and energetic?
4 Weird Ways I Kept Our Home Clutter-Free for a Whole Week
7 FebAmericans are stuff-aholics. We have so much stuff. Too much stuff. Oh lord, the stuff…
It’s unfortunate for many reasons, but right now the worst part for me is the clutter. Oh, how I loathe you, clutter… you soul-crushing bane of my existence.
So I decided to really focus on keeping our home clutter-free. I started out by putting things away, organizing, and tidying over the course of a day. That night, we had friends over, and I was so delighted that all the tables, shelves, and cabinets were clean and neat. Then came the biggest challenge: keeping them that way.
I’m happy to report success! But it took some strange strategies to make it happen.
I applied OCD: Obsessive Couch Design.
We’re a family of sprawlers. We love to plop and put our feet up and laze on the couch. We’ve got the accessories for comfort, too. There are nine throw pillows and three blankets adorning our sectional, a snuggler’s dream! And the enemy of order… (Insert ominous music here.)
English: A pile of pillows. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
I used to leave the pillows and blankets wherever they lay the night before. And every time I walked into the living room, all I saw was chaos. In an attempt to create at least an appearance of order, I started arranging the pillows and folding the blankets every night. The change was remarkable, and so was the chain reaction.
When the pillows are strewn and the blankets unfurled, it’s easy not to notice magazines thrown about (three feet from the magazine basket), or kids’ books on the couch (hidden under the blankets), or socks on the floor (a relative speck in a disastrous sea). Suddenly, days of junk have piled up and it’s madness as far as the eye can see.
But when the sofa’s in order, even a stray napkin left on the table is a glaring blight on the living room landscape. And it’s easy to swoop in and toss the offending scrap next time you pass.
I enlisted child labor.
That’s right, you heard me.
You’d be amazed how exciting household tasks can be for a one-and-a-half year old.
Bring my empty cup into the kitchen? Yes, Mom!
Put a macaroni and cheese box in recycling? Don’t mind if I do.
Throw my used tissue in the garbage can? WHEEEE!
Note: the younger the better. Our resident five-year-old will work begrudgingly, not with the same glee as our one-year-old.
I kicked clutter to the curb. Or at least into a pile.
Do you have any idea how much time it takes to bend down and pick a bunch of things up and organizing them into a nice, neat stack?
No? Me neither. But I bet it’s a lot.
You know what takes a lot less time? Kicking things into a pile.
I don’t recommend this method if you’ve got a lot of crystal goblets to arrange. But if you’re just trying to corral your kids’ toys into a corner, there’s really no faster way than via foot.
You think your kids care if all their toy cars are lined up into (my preferred arrangement of) perfectly parallel lines? They do not give a ratatouille. And the moment they play with said cars, they’ll be all over the place anyway. So for those special moments when a big heaping pile is orderly enough, kicking is the way to go.
I beat the clock.
Quick, how long does it take to unload and load the dishwasher?
Your answer probably depends on how odious you find this task.
A dishwasher containing clean dishes (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
As the owner of the world’s puniest dishwasher, I angrily sigh during the three or four times a day I must deal with this task. And it always felt like it took forever. At least half an hour each time. I would shake my fist at the dishwasher for wasting two precious hours of my day.
Then, one day, I looked at the clock. Lo and behold, unloading plus loading actually took less than 15 minutes. If it took 15 minutes while I grumpily performed this duty, maybe I could do it even faster if I focused. I started racing myself, trying to beat by best loading-unloading time and shaved minutes off my time. Five minutes saved per load, four times a day? That’s twenty whole minutes that just magically landed in my lap! Even that little bit of extra time is plenty to take a walk through the apartment and straighten up the stray remote controls and piles of shoes that naturally accumulate over the course of a day.
And now that I have these strange strategies, my tale of clutter management should continue, happily ever after.
Now if I could only figure out how to make my laundry disappear…
So do you have any quick clean-up tips? Do share!
Is Curious George Potty-Trained? (And Other Questions About Kids’ TV…)
11 JanWhen you have two kids under the age of 6, you end up watching a lot of children’s television. A lot.
The first time you watch a program, you ask yourself big picture, parental questions like, “Is this age-appropriate for my kids?” and “Do I approve of the content and message of this show?”
But once a show becomes part of your family’s repertoire, it’s hard not to notice the details. That’s when you find yourself lying awake at night, pondering those deeper, more meaningful, philosophical questions… like, “Is Curious George potty-trained?”
And so, I’d like to share some of our kids’ favorite shows, and the questions I just can’t stop asking.
Sesame Street
The premise: Oh my god, if you don’t know what Sesame Street is, stop reading this and go smack yourself in the head with your remote. If you still need an explanation, Muppets and humans live together in harmony on Sesame Street and teach young viewers about letters, numbers, and life.
Mr. Johnson (Sesame Street) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
I ask:
- Why is Elmo so freaking whiny? How has no one tied cement blocks to his ankles and thrown him in the East River? Was that an unusually specific scenario? If he ever goes missing, will you be my alibi?
- What do the adults do for fun after all the Muppets are asleep? Does Hooper’s turn into a 21+ nightclub, Sesame Street After Dark? Can you imagine having to deal with a hangover and Elmo?!
Curious George
The premise: A naughty – excuse me, curious – little monkey explores the world under the seriously lax supervision of his guardian, The Man with the Yellow Hat.
Curious George (film) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
I ask:
- Is Curious George potty trained? I suppose he must be, since he doesn’t wear a diaper. But does he use a toilet, inside, like a human, or a fire hydrant or park shrubbery, like a dog?
- If I pay a $100 animal fee to my building each year for my 6 pound dog, how high must the fee be for a monkey?
- Why don’t the Man in the Yellow Hat and his bespectacled lady colleague, Professor Wiseman, get together already? Seriously, is any other woman going to tolerate a man whose apartment smells like monkey?
Word World
The premise: A selection of animal friends live in a world where everything is made up of the letters that spell each item. Want to make a hat? Just put together the letters H-A-T and a hat will materialize in your hands. Take the letters B-A-R-N, push them together, and they meld and pop up into a huge red barn where you can still see the letters B-A-R-N in the structure.
(photo: lookoutstudio.com)
I ask:
- Don’t they ever run out or run low on letters? Shouldn’t the more elusive letters be the subject of possessive conflict and hoarding? Why haven’t letters become currency in this world? They don’t even have to think about how to assign values; Scrabble’s already done it for them.
- Since the animals are also made out of letters, what happens if, say, Frog, were to get into an unfortunate accident? Could his friends just find another set of letters and put F-R-O-G back together? Is that how they threaten each other when fights escalate? “Do that one more time, and I swear, I will RIP OFF YOUR ‘G’!”
(photo: zap2it.com)
Sid the Science Kid
The premise: An elementary school boy goes to school, conducts experiments with his three classmates, and applies what he learns to problems and situations in his life.
I ask:
- So… Sid and his friends… they have Asperger’s, right? Four unusually bright and very quirky children, only one teacher, and that’s the entire school? I see no other explanation.
- If the characters are cartoon versions of Muppets and have non-human Muppet qualities - Sid has purple hair, Gerald is light-beet-pink – why do they also celebrate holidays and traditions that suggest human races and ethnicities? Or, as a friend asked, “May’s Asian, right?”
May, Gerald, Sid the Science Kid, and Gabriela
(photo: pbs)
Jakers! The Adventures of Piggley Winks
The premise: Ah, this show is close to our hearts, as it’s about a pig who grew up in Ireland, now lives in America, and tells stories about his childhood on the farm to his three grandchildren.
My questions here are all related to the weird, warped Darwinism of an Animal Farm-esque hierarchy in which some animals talk and behave like people, and others are just plain animals.
Dannan, Piggley, and Ferny – best friends who have adventures in Ireland
And so, I ask:
- How did a family of talking pigs come to have a farm with non-talking chickens and sheep and a donkey and so on?
- Why do the chickens act like regular chickens, but Piggley’s best friend is a talking duck? Why did ducks evolve so they can talk and wear clothes and dance the jig, but chickens didn’t?
- If Piggley’s elementary school teacher is a very bright and articulate goat who walks on his hind legs, why is there also a non-speaking snarling goat on four legs guarding the apple trees? Are there several species of goat, ranging from regular old goat to Goat Vidal?
- Why is there only one talking sheep? And how the hell did they convince Mel Brooks to do its voice (genius)?
Dinosaur Train
The premise: A Tyrannosaurus Rex egg hatches in a Pteranodon nest. Mrs. Pteranodon adopts the T-Rex, names him Buddy, and raises her as one of her own. Buddy’s curiosity about different kinds of dinosaurs leads Mrs. Pt to take the family on regular rides on the Dinosaur Train, a time-travelling steam engine that drives through portal tunnels into different dinosaur eras.
Okay, read that premise again, because it rocks.
Buddy and the “siblings” he’s managed not to eat… yet
(photo: pbskids.org)
I ask (oh, so many questions):
- When will Buddy eat his adoptive siblings? It seems only a matter of time.
- Speaking of time, how did dinosaurs manage to figure out time travel, and yet couldn’t prevent their own extinction?
- If they could crack the secret to time travel, why on earth are they doing it via a steam train and not, say, the Star Trek “beam me up” transport system?
- What species of dinosaur gets stuck with the unpleasant job of mining the coal for these trains? Which ones built the railroads? Are there accountants and venture capitalist dinosaurs backing the program? How did they manage to smelt and shape metals, lay train tracks, and dig tunnels without opposable thumbs?
- What’s with the train’s conductor? Why is he the only dinosaur we ever meet who has a job, or wears clothes? Is the series finale going to be that it was all the conductor’s dream, which rapidly comes to an end when Buddy eats him?
Since my head hurts from thinking about so many tough questions all in a row, I’ll only ask one more:
What questions do you have about kids’ TV shows? Maybe together, we’ll come up with some answers. Or a Dinosaur Train drinking game.
