Someone asked me “why don’t you write recaps of The Bachelor and The Bachelorette when you’re such an avid viewer?”
Good questions deserve good answers.
I don’t know about you, but Spring is making me Spend. Here is where my money is going right now.
These Marc by Marc Jacobs sandals.
High, but not too high. For me, the ankle strap is important for comfort. I booked a fresh pedicure appointment right after they arrived in the mail. Gotta be ready.
Staci and I met in new employee orientation. She was about to start work as a marketing assistant for the magazine. I would be the newest advertising sales assistant, joining a team of twelve. In the beginning, I envied Staci–the other women (and they were all women) in my position were a few years older than me and I found their existing friendships intimidating.
Plus I looked goofy like this:
Staci and I were the low women on the totem pole, just weeks removed from college graduation.
And no, I don’t mean the kind you did in elementary school when your mom sent a tuna sandwich AGAIN.
An excerpt via Bon Appetit:
I discovered that the daily “Lunch Swap” routine began late last year, when associate marketing director Hillary Smith rallied four of her co-workers to alternate making and bringing home-cooked meals to share. Inspired by Julia Kramer’s James Beard Award-nominated “Lunch Al Desko” story in our April 2014 issue, the group wanted to add an element of community to re-thinking the midday meal. Now they can’t imagine workdays without the variety, pleasure, and economy of putting time and care into cooking for one another on assigned days. Since all five swappers are adventurous eaters without dietary restrictions, their food rules are relaxed, and the focus is on enjoying relatively healthy meals rich in flavor and texture.
I love the idea in theory. But as a somewhat picky eater, the notion of putting myself in others’ hands like this makes me anxious.
Have you doing something like this? What recipes would you use?
Sometimes iconic experiences don’t live up to the hype but Peter Luger absolutely did. I loved it.
The restaurant is from another time. It was established in 1887 but is aging quite well.
There are gleaming brass light fixtures throughout, wood paneling and in a little booth, a purple haired cashier (I’m pretty sure her hair isn’t purple out of trendiness). The servers, all men from what I can tell, are no-nonsense. Not brusque, but efficient.
It’s the third time the neurologist has said the list aloud, asking me to repeat the words back to him. I get three words right the first two times and on the third, I remember four of the five.
‘Wagon’ eludes me. It isn’t on the tip of my tongue. I am not close to spitting out the word. I feel as if I am blindfolded in the woods, grasping in all directions for some sense of where I am. I couldn’t even guess what letter that fifth word starts with.
I can feel my brain contracting, pulsing and squeezing like a muscle as I try to jump through the cognitive hoops the medical and psychological professionals present to me.
On the forth round, I hit “sandwich” and then pause. It’s a long pause. I somehow find ‘wagon.’ None of the visualization techniques or mnemonics I would normally use to remember things are working. Instead, I find wagon because I suddenly heard in my head the somewhat awkward way the doctor said the clunky word.
Wagon. Continue reading