Image courtesy of CKramer. Licensed under CC BY 2.0. I spent most of this past weekend in Nashville, which was a delightful way to experience vast quantities of local beer, art, and musical theatre from a state other than my … Continue reading
Image courtesy of Bertknot. Licensed under CC BY SA.
My car–the hybrid civic which someone once described as “atypical color (one word, not two)”–is no more. Last week, coming back from an out-of-office lunch, someone left turned into the car and drove off.
This was the first time I’ve left the office on my own for lunch. Clearly, I never should again.
Thankfully, I am fine and insurance is covering it, but I got word over the weekend that the car has officially been declared totalled. This means that my next week or so will be full of a few of my least favorite things: legal paperwork and large consumer purchases. Hooray, anxiety sweats.
There are some folks who fall in love with New York City the first time they visit–they decide that whatever it requires, they will find some way to move there and live their best life/work in publishing. I’ve never felt that way about New York: every time I’ve visited, I’ve found it to be overwhelming, and expensive, and cold. Instead, I think I feel those feelings (or the closest I’m ever going to get to them) about Chicago–every single time I’ve visited, I’ve been enchanted by it.
It is also overwhelming, expensive, and cold, but in a way that apparently speaks to me. Perhaps it’s just my love of deep dish pizza.
So, when I wound up with a few days of vacation time that I needed to burn, I flew out to Chicago for a combination family visit/tour of the city. It was ridiculously, stupidly, photoshopped-this-onto-a-postcard delightful (if you don’t believe me, check the photo above), and that’s even with it snowing on the first day. Continue reading
Image courtesy of CleverGrrl. Licensed under CC BY SA 2.0.
Little Five Points is Atlanta’s Haight-Ashbury equivalent–it’s the neighborhood where you can, as a teenager, wander unsupervised to buy we-swear-it’s-just-for-tobacco pipes and crystals for magick before making a stop in the natural food co-op and heading out for pizza. As an adult, it’s a place where you can go access several of the city’s theatres and performance spaces, and get drunk (while sadly ignoring the pizza in favor of the natural food co-op). Halloween is, of course, the neighborhood’s favorite time of year.
That’s why there’s a Little Five Halloween parade each year, where the neighborhood’s art organizations, theatrical troupes, and general weirdos gather together to march a mile down the road with floats ranging from hastily-assembled to elaborately-planned (credit goes to this year’s Godzilla entrants, whose paper-mache beast was 30 feet tall). As part of my volunteering with the improv theatre, I found myself marching in the parade this year. Continue reading
Image courtesy of Jramspott. Licensed under CC BY 2.0.
I tend to think of myself as not particularly memorable–I’m quiet, average height, and brunette, and none of those things keep me fresh in folks’ minds. As such, it’s always kind of startling when someone does, in fact, remember that I attended something.
Earlier this weekend, I spent a few hours passing out shirts at the Atlanta Pride Festival, which was great fun. The Pride crowd are a friendly bunch, and everyone loves free t-shirts. Unfortunately, our popularity meant that our most-loved swag items (hats, this time) went quickly.
One of the folks who missed out on a hat knew what was up with the Atlanta festival scene, and asked us if we would be at the Chomp and Stomp. chili cookoff. We assured her we most likely would be, and she should be sure to come and see us–and our fresh batch of swag–there.
Chomp and Stomp is pretty much my favorite Atlanta festival, as it focuses on my favorite general part of festivals (food) and is in an utterly charming residential neighborhood named Cabbagetown. (I’ve always assumed the name was a slur towards an ethnic group, but the truth of that has faded to history.)
I had previously heard two versions of last year’s festival.
The first was mine. I was there with my parents, and I had just a week or two before applied to work at my current company. When we passed the swag booth I was delighted. It seemed like a good sign, and I was worried since I hadn’t heard back from them yet.
Image courtesy of Greencolander. Licensed under CC BY 2.0.
When I first moved into my apartment, I thought that the fridge–three quarters the size of a normal fridge–has the worst vegetable crisper ever. The presumed crisper drawer was weird and narrow, and was really only suitable for eating a lot of cucumbers and carrots. If it had turned out that I really liked cabbage, I would not have known what to do.
I thought this about that draw for several months. It hadn’t occurred to me that the drawer could be anything else.
Then, a few weeks ago, I bought some beer. I ran into the main frustration that my 3/4 size fridge presents: namely, none of the shelves are really actually tall enough to hold a standard beer bottle. Given that I needed to store 12 of them, this was an issue.
Image courtesy of Myriam M. J. Rondeau. Licensed under CC BY SA 2.0.
I managed to graduate college without ever having pulled an all-nighter. This was accomplished with lists, advanced planning, and a fundamental dislike of being up very late, because I am a Little Bit Boring.
Then, I switched shifts at work from my previous, beloved evening shift to an 8pm-6am gig. It has benefits–I work fewer days a week, and I receive extra money to compensate for being a nocturnal wee beasty–but living an entire life of all-nighters has exposed me to some unexpected situations. Continue reading
Image courtesy of DianaMoon. Licensed under CC BY 2.0.
I have a complete fascination with the processed foods of other nations (see, for example, my love of choco paste). So, when a friend and I found ourselves in a grocery store late at night this Friday and looking for breakfast taco supplies, we took some time to explore the Jamaican/Mexican food selection next to the tortillas. Part of what makes that aisle section interesting is that it is so small, and varies from store to store–why, exactly, is Goya ginger beer always in stock at my local Publix, but not at the Kroger down the way, for example? Why this particular brand of Mexican hot chocolate, or corn masa, over another?
I’m always curious of Jarritos really is so common in Mexico, or if it’s just a Cheerwine equivalent that’s gained a really good distribution deal. (The internet informs me that it really is that popular, and also that in Mexico the hibiscus flavor is sold as “Jamaica.”)
We came away with three new things to try: the alarmingly-named Big Bamboo Jamaican Irish Moss Peanut Drink, Aloe Drink, and a bottle of sorrel and ginger juice.
Fortified by pumpkin beer, we decided to dive head into the taste testing with the peanut drink. We were not totally sure what to expect from something that had both “iron” and “peanut” on the label, came in an aluminum can, and instructed us to shake “gently.” Continue reading
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Living in Atlanta as an adult can be strange (,” she retitled her blog). I’ve been here since I was 12–I just passed the 10 year mark–and it is so, so easy for me to feel stuck here when I run into teachers at festivals or OKCupid matches me with my middle school academic bowl teammates*. Atlanta is a large city, but my own personal inertia makes it hard for me to break out of old behaviors and hangouts. Add to that the fact that many folks I went to high school stick around town into adulthood, and it’s easy for things to feel a little more small town than they have any right to.
I’ve been trying to move away from that, and this weekend seemed like the perfect time to do so. The weather this weekend was a particular, lovely kind of early autumn–mid-70s, a little breeze, bright sunlight and everything still green (which in Atlanta is no mean feat: we’re a city an ent would feel at home in). We’re lucky to get a month of it each year–six weeks if we’ve been very good–and it seemed like a crime not to be out and about in the city. Soon enough it will be cold again–or 90 degrees, Atlanta weather is fun like that–and we won’t be able to be outside.
I started by walking (slowly) a corporate 5k on Thursday night, the first I’d ever done. My company, knowing what motivates its employees, had a keg of beer for us to tap into at the end of things (or, in the case of a few of my more adventurous coworkers, at the beginning of things). It’s always funny to see everyone at the company together in one place, as we all wind up pairing off into shifts like high schoolers. Perhaps not surprisingly, most of the runners that we fielded came from the crew that works 6am-3pm every day. My own people–the late-night crew, who have exactly the sorts of personalities and health habits that you might expect of people who are basically nocturnal–did no such thing. I was perfectly happy to amble along with the smokers in the group, so it suited me. Continue reading
Image courtesy of Gotardo. Licensed under CC BY 2.0.
While out at a Local Watering Hole with friends this weekend, there was a brief moment of discomfort when my friends realized that the folks standing nearby were a former middle school classmate and a former middle school teacher. My main reaction was one of delight: for once it wasn’t me running into someone from middle school! I am all about looking on the bright side.
The rest of the evening passed in a pleasant, uneventful way, but the run-in got me thinking about my K-12 education. Despite being a grade-a nerd, I had a perfectly pleasant time of public school. Because my memories of that time are mostly fond, it’s easy for me to forget that public education is occasionally completely bizarre. After all, it wasn’t so long ago that I spent 8 hours a day locked in a building where I had 22 minutes to eat lunch and the bathrooms were locked during that period to prevent people from having sex in them.
Which, by the way, did not ring any bells as weird during that time.
The moment that came to mind last night, however, came from high school. As a wee adolescent nerd, I was bussed over to a local science facility with others of my kind to learn about a variety of sciences for two periods a day. It was a good program, which allows for the best science teachers in the district (many of whom had been research scientists at some point) to talk to kids who actually cared about the subject. Continue reading
Dances With Nerds 