the real jakarta

ummmmm what on earth was i thinking when i opted for the cheapest hotel option near the office? now that my colleagues are gone i can't mooch off the 5-star hotel anymore so i had to switch. ok, i admit it, i didn't want to come off as posh american lady who only stays at the fancy park lane hotel, ...this place had the nicest name of them all, the maharani! it may have been grand back in the day, but i tell you it is loooong past it's prime.
take for instance, the 5 clocks behind the front desk for new york, jakarta, bangkok, london, tokyo. 4 of them have the same time and tokyo is hanging by a thread of a wire. and i think it's kept there to hide a ghastly brown stain on the wall. the daily rates board is missing half the letters, and there's a day rate for my SUPER OR J NIOR ROOM. a DAY rate. who would want to be here other than under the cloak of darkness?
to pay my bill i had to walk 3 feet from the front desk and give the man in the plexiglass box my credit card. the bedsheets have dried blood stains yet the king mattress is actually pretty nice and new. i get 2 complimentary pairs of foam flip flops! but there are burn holes everywhere, on the couches and shower curtain, along with price tags on everything. and not in a "would you like to purchase this maharani ashtray as a souvenir" price tag, but in a "break it you buy it" kinda way. sheets are worth a buck, i might steal those to get new ones.
i do get animal planet (sea otters!!), and i did a thorough check for bedbugs and found nothing. there's a mosque outside my back window uhhhllllllllugullllluuuuuuuhhhhhhhuggggullluuuuullll and check out the night stand:
the scariest thing about it - is that the buttons actually work. this is how i change channels and turn off the lights. so uber modern...for the 60s.
it stopped being funny when i noticed the special button inside the room that switches a little light outside the door - do not disturb or make up the room. i know the types of places they have these....shudddder.

part II

ok, so i'm switching to the uber fancy hotel later this week, though the maharani actually isn't that bad. it's sort of grown on me. the staff calls me Obama-lady! and they're pretty nice. i sleep extremely well and there's a tv channel that shows nothing but steve guttenberg movies in bahasa (he's gotten buff in his later years!).

in the morning there's a tasty buffet with a make your own soup station - they supply the broth and you put in all the fixins. they have newspapers on those long wooden sticks like in a public library. the other day i was rummaging in the rack for the english paper, the jakarta post, and i couldn't find it and the hotel dude is like wait wait wait! and he goes off, and returns to hands me a paper on a stick. i bring it to my table and it's the Koran Times or something in arab. he was so proud of himself, he smiled and nodded at me the whole time i pretended to read it. this happens almost every morning now.

but the maharani is in this killer neighborhood with all these tiny side streets with cats and people who skin chickens on their bike stands. i walked around the other morning and tried to take pictures, but it was pretty dicey, they were definitely yelling bule! a lot (whitey!) and there was a lot of angry grunting.

the hotel i'm going to is top notch, and we get a ridiculous corporate rate so it's only $10 more a night, totally worth it. but it's where all the foreigners stay, and in an uber fancy embassy part of town. so, it's also sortof lame, but i need a gym or a pool or something or i'm going to go stir crazy, not to mention fat. i broke the news of the switch to pak tri who's staying across the street and he says, all sadly with this big frown, "you can stay there, but you'll have to take a taxi to get to the real jakarta."

if you want to know the true value of your life, ride a scooter taxi in jakarta.

sorry mom and dad you may not want to read this.
so i reserved a little cottage on an island in the thousand island chain. i really hope that's where the salad dressing comes from. i found a travel agent online because i couldn't be bothered to figure this out by myself and travel alone so i ordered a package deal that includes round trip boat, meals, drinks (non-alcoholic, did i mention i'm not drinking on this trip? feels good!) and my own little hut on the beach. royale.
so they tell me a courier is coming to the office to pick up the $100 bucks i owe and i sure hope this isn't some sort of scam where they take my money and i spend my long weekend at the pier. anyway, i need a million rupiah, stat. i was going to just stop somewhere on my way home but pak tri insisted on taking me right away. we walk to a few ATMs nearby and they are out of order. the ambassador mall is nearby, i'll stop in on my way home. no! he says, let's go now. we'll take a scooter! it's only 5,000 we'll be there and back in 10 minutes. so, now i know what all those guys what's 10 times cheaper, 5 times faster and a million times more scary than a regular taxi? a scooter taxi.
i'm all let's do it! pak tri takes off on his scooter, and it's like a race. i'm a total amateur and hop on before the guy even starts the thing or gets it off the kickstand and he's like, duh. i reach out to take the helmet he's holding and realize it's his, not mine. i get nothing.
i hold onto this smelly guy like we are bracing for war. i figured his intent really wasn't to kill us, but he sure tried. but then again, if i die he doesn't get paid so...let's just get there really fast so he can make his money! i don't think i saw his head turn once, even slighty, to look for oncoming traffic when we crossed four lanes of speeding traffic or were stuck in the middle of 3 merging cars. we leaned around curves (i'm real bad at this) and i would lift my arms and bring my bag in every time we almost clipped a rearview mirror.
pedestrians ran across the street and we would keep the same speed and just beeeeeeeeep and swerve. at one point he was walking the scooter with me on it between a stopped bus and truck and we just blindly zipped into a lane of traffic without even knowing what was coming. the motor was a loud wheeeeeeee as my life flashed before me, my parents, my brother, my cat and my softball team, all waving at me in some sort of dream. we caught up to pak tri who pointed at me and thought this was hilarious, probably because my skirt was flying everywhere.
we totally beat him to the mall, yet he made it there just in time to end my haggling with the driver who was trying to charge me triple. he kept saying more! more! no fucking way dude! my heart was beating a million times a minute. it was awesome!
we cross the messy snarled traffic to the mall. the jakarta traffic signals are like this: police officer with cool white helmet with long red pole (i found out they light up, like the toy light sabers) waves cars across, when he wants to let pedestrians go he walks out onto the street and holds out his arms and tries and stop the cars - many of them sneak through, especially the mopeds and as he screams at them, it's your chance to cross. you run quickly and when the cars start to get anxious and the mopeds start revving he screams loud and fast balbalalalbalala and shakes his red pole in the air. that's when you run or get run over.
after all this i must have looked a little stressed out when pak tri asked, do you want to take a taxi back? hell no!
i got an even smellier dude this time, and he had one of those cool old skool vietnam era bowl helmets and was smoking a cigarette. we were back in the office in 10 minutes, just like pak tri said. i thought of all the people who risk their life for the thrill of bungee jumping, sky diving, race car driving, and thought, suckers, that only cost me 50 cents!

mmmmm dessert!

for lunch today we went to a mall nearby and ate at chowking. chowking is your totally awesome indonesian fast food, where everyone has red and black uniforms. your order at a counter with computers and the people upstairs make your food. pak tri gets served this crazy dish with what looks like ice cream, beans, corn, corn flakes, flan and red and green jelly. i'm like, is that an appetizer? it looks like dessert. quite quickly and surprisingly he responds with "is there a rule against eating dessert first? i don't see my mother here, do you? and besides, if i wait, my ice cream will melt." all good points.
then, and i realize i shouldn't have done this, i ask and point - are those beans and corn? and the ice cream flavor, that is..."avocado." wow. and corn flakes? the jell-o? "mint and fruit punch. and these candied mango, all on top of shaved vanilla ice" this is something a 6 year-old would come up with. he crunches away and then i get my wonton noodle soup and his second course, mie goreng. yums. we have a little nerd talk and pak tri disappears briefly and comes back with a smile on his face. 5 minutes later i get my own dessert. i have to say...it was exquisite. i plan on eating this for breakfast. every day.

it's not jakarta without...the traffic

It's taken me a little while to actually ingest the Jakarta traffic (literally and figuratively) and figure out how to adequately describe it. i'm trying to recall what movie it is, when there are people driving and they get surrounded and overwhelmed by a swarm of loud motorbikes and freak out and swerve off the road? that's basically it, now just add buses, 3 wheeled scooter taxi things, trucks and a million other cars and multiply by 11 million people.
these scooter mobs are NUTS.
sometimes, there's a lady in a miniskirt, sitting sideways on the back, no helmet, maybe holding a baby or doing her makeup and not even hand around the driver as they meander and swerve and beeeeeep in between everything i don't know how i haven't seen someone get decapitated yet. i refuse to sit in the front seat anymore because i get too stressed out, like eeeeeeee! i'll bring my knees to my face when a truck bumper is within inches of the rearview mirror or my taxi driver runs a red light with 50 other cars in front of a dark mass of mopeds speeding towards us and you can't even differentiate them. i wonder if they do it on purpose to see my reaction.
then there are the buses, which are on the inside of 4 lanes (if you can call them that) of traffic, which are supposed to be some special busway HOV thing, but that's not really enforced and so there are mopeds and other stuff sneaking in there are the time so it defeats its purpose. when people get sick of being on a not moving bus they just hop out and frogger between everyone with a death wish. sometimes bus ticket guy will get out and wave people along with his wad of money, like yeah, that's helping 8 random lanes of cars smoosh into 2.
i've thought about walking but there are barely any sidewalks and you can just feeeeel the pollution. and i don't know how i would cross the street. until now i've glued myself to a local but still it's a terrifying experience. you just RUN.
on the quieter streets you have the bike people. this is outside the office. the sleeping guys on the sidewalks are scooter taxis, or Ojeks. some of them are like, 10 years old.
i love the bike people. they move pretty fast and i haven't been able to catch them with my camera yet. they all have homemade contraptions out of bicycles, either a big attachment to the back, something straddling the seat or a front thingie. there's the most common: mie goreng guy with a full indonesian kitchen with burners and woks, soup guy with two perfectly weighted pots on either side of the seat, and today i saw sewing machine guy, with a counter top and antique black and gold singer sewing machine on his handlebars that was somehow powered by the pedals (there's a special stand that mobilizes the bike, so no, you don't sew and ride, duh). i think he rides up to you and tailors your clothes while you wear a sarong or something. there was water bottle guy - you couldn't even see his head it was just a bunch of empty water cooler bottles. and best of all, goldfish guy: with a two-tiered rack with rows of colorful goldfish in plastic bags, pretty topheavy. now that's ballsy.

food: day 1

today i ate breakfast at the expansive buffet at my hotel. there was omelette man, waffle man, fresh fruit guy...and fried rice, noodles beef curry and chicken porridge lady! i also had some chicken dumplings and an asparagus soup that was served to me even though i politely declined several times. white asparagus, egg, and it was not broth it was goo. clear, goo.
we spent the day at this corporate meeting place. the office is so cramped in jakarta, they rent out space in this building next door for meetings larger than 4 people. it's way better than the old storage room that has no windows and a barely working air conditioner.

so this meeting place was a posh high rise with uber modern architecture, glass, and fake wood like the house of sweden.

they served sweet and savory snacks on the same plate at the coffee break, you didn't know which was what, but the savory was like a fried macaroni and cheese muffin. with bacon! YUM. next to it, the dessert but the custard was not at all custard, i can't name any possible ingredients. so i ate more macaroni muffins. i need this recipe.at lunch there was a chicken (skin and all) soup with little seafood crunchies, hard boiled quail eggs. double yum. and those big cripsy shrimp cracker things, some indonesian style lasagna, fried chicken with waffle cut fries (?) and curry beef.

back at the hotel i sat and worked by the pool and traded in my free welcome drink voucher for avocado juice, mixed with chocolate. now this is a drink, people!

at night we had mall food, which i found is about the quality of food you'd expect at a place that sells Polexes at the watch store, next to the 50 cent pedicure joint. we strolled through all 5 food courts looking for the perfect noodle place. it's funny how quickly i've become accustomed to the cheapness. we looked at one place where a lady passed out the menu and i was like, 15,000 Rp for goreng?? no way! (that's like, $1.50). we settled for a fru-fru uber mod noodle cafe with fluffy red couches. total ripoff, my meal was $4 with starfruit juice. i'm going to keep it under 10,000 from now on.

starting tomorrow i will be solo here...my first few days were planned to overlap with some people from my office, so as to have a smooth transition, and follow up on some of their work. those colleagues consist of a kenyan, a sweet blonde british girl, and an indian guy named nirmal (cutest kitten in the world!) who has two PhDs and big cheeks you just want to pinch - so we make a pretty odd crew. i am trying to convince them to go to dinner at sizzler for their last night, followed by a karaoke bar, but they are resisting. not for long...

communication

the indonesians are fantastic communicators.
pak tri, how many people will be attending my training (i have been asking this for weeks via email, and the response has always been "a couple")
"oh, you know, we have a number of people who would like to learn how to use satellite imagery"
so how many?
"we have interested people from Sumatra, Borneo"
can you give me a number? maybe between 2 and 5?
"i think i will join you as well "
and so i give up. i tripled a couple to 6, but it turns out it's 9.

so we start our day, people are chatting, talking on the phone, i'm trying to get us started on time.
"we cannot get started without aurelie!"
i am aurelie
"aurelie is a man"
no i'm not
"yes, you are a woman, but aurelie is a man's name"
really? well i am not indonesian
"but we are in indonesia" [huge smile]
fine, you win.

the gargantuan mall

my hotel in jakarta is located in a giant mall.

8 endless stories with a popeyes, pizza hut, a sizzler, fake reebok store, fake dolce & gabbana store (pretty much everywhere there are total knockoffs), a taco joint, hoka hoka bento! which i would have eaten at if it didn't have a ridiculous long line, and the rest are all teeny tiny stores, such as sexxx symbol and playboy that sell shoes. there was some sort of bazaar on the bottom floor - i could have bought everything i needed for my trip. i should get a sweater because the A/C is so damn cold.

i almost ate at a "crepe" place that had real french crepe makers - but they fill them with fried beef, tuna and mayonnaise. almost french, uhhh but not really.

i wandered through the wasabi pea aisle of the supermarket, smelled the wafting air of the durians. in the pharmacy, all the face creams are whiteners. maybe that's why everyone was staring at me. the place was packed at 8pm on a sunday, everything open. i was overwhelmed by the choices and wouldn't know where to start if i wanted to buy something, which is pretty much why i hate malls. here, every thing is bright, super intense and loud, like a japanese webpage - not exactly what you're looking for after 50 hours of travel. every kiosque and restaurant has someone who grabs your arm to lure you in. apparently, this is only like, the 4th largest in jakarta. i'm terrified to see what the others look like. i could only get half the floors in this picture. unreal.

meet my boyfriend: abdul

i met him on the plane. he can blow up my lifevest anytime. meowwww.

yes, if your sound is on you'll hear the little rugrats who kept me up all night. why their parents didn't put muzzle swine flu masks on them i don't know.

airplane idiot

well that was fun.
12 hour flight to doha, qatar and i'm in the middle seat between a bangladeshi, and wisconsin guy who you see on tv lifting cars and pulling airplanes, dragging kegs through water.
the row in front of me is the loudest indian family of 4. to our left, french babies they don't say a peep, but it seems indian mommy and daddy are deaf, as they don't even flinch when their 3 year old screeches at the top of his lungs CLOOOOUUUUDDDDDSSSS!!!!!!!!!! and didn't stop for 8. fucking. hours.
before boarding they gave us our little care package - eye mask, toothbrush, super silky slippers, ear plugs (the package reads "can't hear!"), and the home depot 3M anti-swine flu mask. i wore the thing for two seconds before nearly passing out from breathing my own teacher's whiskey breath. i somehow ordered a vegan meal, which is actyally plenty times worse than the actual vegetarian food they were serving, a delicious korma. i got rice and super crazy spicy vegetables that cut off my breath. i poured what i thought was salad dressing on my lentils and it was some even more spicy hot sauce. finished off the meal with those little indian spices that taste like wetnap.
they were so stingy with their water i felt like i was actually in the qatar desert, i was having hallucinations of crawling along licking the dirt and hoping for moisture. i kept hitting the call button and the lady with the surgical mask would come, roll her eyes and pour me no more than a shot glass of water. i would knock it back, hold it out for more, but she sternly drove her cart back in a way that looked like she was preparing to enter an operating room to remove someone's organs. at one point i couldn't take it anymore i had to get some water and bohemith guy is totally passed out, i don't want to wake him. so i pull the foolproof step over him on the armrest thing. it's never not worked, as i'm agile as an oryx in this maneuver! but i didn't expect the super silky socks to to be so slippery on an ergonomically curved armrest. i quickly lose my balance and go flying over the seats face first into a big fat indian man's belly, two rows back. i scare the bejeezus out of him and as i use his enormous man boobs to pull myself up, i taste blood coming from my nose, this is a mess. i race back to the bathroom and try to pull myself together, humiliated. i manage to sneak a few shots of water and head back to my seat and everyone has fallen back asleep, seems to have forgotten. big guy still passed out, kids are still screaming, did that really happen? only 8 hours to go.
my nose is a puffy shade of blue, and i think i deserve the qatar gold club lounge. i took a shower, i'm going to drink vodka, eat falafel balls and watch the simpsons with some army dudes to pass the 6 hours before my next leg. the airport is all head coverings and shieks, i saw a woman in a burka glaring as my exposed elbow, i briefly considered buying an astin martin at duty free, but i think i'll wait for the way back.

the world according to qatar

so i think i'm about to be the furthest i've been from home in a long time.

i wonder if the big heads at qatar airlines realize the earth is not flat? you could fly the other way, ya know, like over the pacific, and i bet it would probably be cheaper on gas and take less time. though they call themselves a 5-star airline, i'm not complaining. and isn't qatar one of those oil money countries so i bet they don't even care? i'll see what it's all about,probably titty bars and steakhouses, when i'm in Doha from 2-6 am tomorrow. i'll bring my little globe with me - here, ya see?

everyone needs a bike messenger dude to motivate them in life

so i'm biking to a friend's house in georgetown the other day and i'm going up one of those really steep hills north of M street. outta nowhere comes one of those bike messenger guys- but not the angst-filled fixed gear hipster with tattoos who smells like pee and weed it was one of those black guy messengers, you know, hate to generalize but these guys are pimped out in lycra, wear a helmet, have sick bikes and the clicky shoes. those guys are badass and take their jobs seriously and i'll tell you, those are the dudes i'd trust with bringing my passport to the indonesian embassy, not the sorry mess with an orange mohawk who sauntered into my office yesterday. i mean really, do you walk into a bank looking like that? for shame.
so serious messenger dude is biking with no hands, drinking from his water bottle tour de france style, and strikes up a conversation over the snowy noise from his walkie talkie. here i am in my business casual attire, struggling with a messenger bag full of wine bottles.
he's all "nice bike dude! i have a fixed gear too, but it doesn't look that nice." then he's all "let see what this girl can do" and switches gears and takes off, and i am supposedly meant to follow him. so i step on it!
i catch up and i'm all yeah whatsup? and he's all you go girl, comeon, faster, you can do it! and then we bust through a red light and get honked at, go up this crazy hill, swerve around taxis and trucks and it was the best 5 minute alleycat race ever. i was so outta breath, my heart jumping out of my chest and when i got to my friend's house it literally took me 20 minutes to be back to normal. but it was the best workout ever and the next day, when i was sitting at my desk, soooo unmotivated to edit the references of this paper i'm working on, i was thinking, where is messenger guy? why isn't he standing here on my shoulder saying come on girl! step on it! pedal to the metal! in fact, i think we all need one of those guys.

painfully obvious quote of the day

my cublicle neighbor who talks like a surfer dude and reads online articles all day instead of working decides to annoyingly talk over my cubicle divider:

"hey, aurelgrooves, so, like, this swine flu stuff is like, real scary huh?"

me, typing, facebooking, ignoring him

"i think what's most scary, is like, how people are like, dying, you know, and like how, they're like our age, and how we can like, get diseases, like, transmitted to us from pigs"

me, rolling my eyes, realizing this is golden blog material here

"you know, because, like, pigs are pretty similar to humans, you know? like, we get their organs transplanted into our bodies and stuff."

me, transcribing his each and every word

"pigs are like way more similar to us than birds, and bird flu is like, totally scary. but totally not as scary as pig flu"

hey hey vidalia happy hour

you're so sneaky vidalia - your tasty happy hour that features wine tasting and free hors d'oeuvres ends at 6:30 pm. i mean, who actually gets out of work early enough to start drinking before then? are you catering to the jobless? i don't think so, you're just luring me with your comfy pleather couches and pillows you can lounge on, the quiet fancy ambiance and the prospect of $3.50 maker's mark, those home made corn nuts and bready things and then, after my 5th drink you slap me the bill. you clever thing, you. no, i don't regret paying $10 for that awesome mushroom and goat cheese flatbread, or that charcuterie plate with those tangy chutneys that puts so many others to shame. but for the drinks and some potentially free food, i'll just know better next time...and start, end my workday earlier!

air france mileage program totally sucks

yes, i'm a mile whore. i bet you i have three times as many miles as you have. ha!

and i have 14,000 times as many miles as you do on Air France, and i have to do something about them before august, or they expire. which has made me remember why i hate the air france mileage program in the first place.


first of all, the air france flying blue page is total shit. their FAQs don't answer a single useful question, so i'm going to re-write them.

Q: why does your website suck so much?
A: becauz our webmasteur has fewer good eyeballz zan your zombie-eyed cat! who eez not only blind, but cross-eyed too!

Q: why don't you ever count any of the miles i fly on air france?
A: becauz deez tings take time and effort, oh lala

Q: why do the people who answer calls to customer service try to speak french when they are obviously indian? or even worse, from Quebec?
A: it is charming, no?

Q: why do you give out paper menus on your flight when the choices are always chicken or pasta? it's a huge waste of paper
A: glossy paper menus, are so classy! like ze french. and it is not just chicken, it's roasted chicken provencale avec rosemary and garden vegetables! each and every one of our customers need to know this!

Q: why can't you buy miles if you need them, or give them away like every other mileage program. i can't even buy a train ticket or flowers with them, i'm totally stuck with these lame-o miles (i'm picturing the rollover minute commercial).
A: we are not everyone else, we are air france! our stewardesses are former fashion models, we do not subscibe to equal rights or silly anti-discimination laws.

so that's it. i either have to take a trip before july or i lose my halfway to a free flight miles. so i looked up skyteam flights to London and got a creepy message that maybe i shouldn't.

you want a one-eyed cat

i know you want to adopt this zombie-eyed cat.

i recently embarked on a mission to amass blackcats. so far i'm doing pretty well, with three under my roof: the old one, the new one, and the one-eyed one. at any point in time one i can scan the horizontal surfaces of my apartment and see some snoozy cats sighing and whipping their tails, staring out the window, or licking their butts. they are clean creatures, you know.

so the benevolent side of my quest is helping a local rescue organization, homeward trails by fostering a series of mutant animals until they get adopted into permanent homes. we had the one-eyed pomeranian pom, the dog who melted hearts faster than you could say 'beggin strip'? there was the cat that managed to knock over everything and creep into my ceiling and hide there and meow, then archie the mangy old grey gal who did nothing but drool, purr and shed, and now magic, aka sandy duncan, a wiley little girl with only on eye (a paintball story with a unhappy ending), yet magnificent depth perception.
she can't ruin your furniture (tho she tries) as she has been declawed. declawed and de-eyed - isn't that a sad story? but she doesn't seem to mind...she's what i would call a guy's cat. she's not especially cuddly or friendly, but she's there to greet you at the door and get her ears rubbed, she's the first one to explore your grocery bag and find peanuts to kick around on the floor, she talks, she eats only the crappiest of canned food (anything over 32 cents she turns her nose at) she has her spot on a chair never on the bed, is not afraid to mingle with loud houseguests, she'll stare at the microwave until it beeps, eat your plants and pull socks out of their drawer. she's basically your dog in cat form. and i have to say, it's a weird ghostly left eye, but she more than makes up for it in character.

won't you take her home with you? she'll be at the Laundromutt in adams morgan monday april 20th, 6-8pm.

energy wasting day is tomorrow!

we are cooling not warming

i really got a kick out of this quote from Michael Steele, Republic National Committee Chairman this week. i won't go into how he looks just like my dad dipped in chocolate (who has also started voicing similar skepticism over climate change), but here it is:

"We are cooling. We are not warming. The warming you see out there, the supposed warming, and I am using my finger quotation marks here, is part of the cooling process. Greenland, which is now covered in ice, it was once called Greenland for a reason, right? Iceland, which is now green. Oh I love this. Like we know what this planet is all about. How long have we been here? How long? No very long."

you can read this article about how greenland and iceland actually got their names.

and with that, not counting 12 years of experience in the environmental science field, i can still say that i know a little more about this planet than Michael Steele does. thank goodness.

my future ex-husband

there he is, the man of my dreams! he sells roast bratwurst on the corner of the friedrichstrasse every weekday. he has a jetpack with some sort of gas mechanism which cooks the brats, and a little frontal countertop with mustard and ketchup. an umbrella shields him from the weather. he is perfectly independent, portable, functional, unafraid of danger.
the initial attraction is quite strong, a match made in heaven! his business is my utter favorite tubular food. alas, i just don't see it working out in the long term. the empenada man i fell in love with in panama city, well he at least had a motorbike. at 1.20 € a pop, bratwurstman has many friends, but how will he support my recently fueled birkenstock addiction?

oh it IS foul play indeed

i'm coming to this weird realization at the end of my stay that not a single german has initiated conversation with me. i'm not saying i haven't met anyone, i chatted with some real nice australians, english, french, scottish...but the germans keep their distance. and i'm not the only one to notice, ihave witnesses! there's something about me - is it my frenchy half jewishness? that automatically gets the cool stare. i've tested it, several times with friends "watch her reaction when i order a red wine" it's totally true. my colleagues try to say it's the german way, they are shy, don't want to bother someone who is reading their book in a restaurant (which is me almost every night) but would it kill someone to ask me how i'm doing? ask me if i want another drink? anything? ask me if i want change from the 50 euro note i just gave you? not even the restaurant staff are kind. it's a little weird i have to say. and don't get me started on my bike nemesis.

i parked my bike inside my courtyard again the other night. this is my NEW bike, the one that replaced the one with two flat tires. i took a mental picture, checked the pressure - these tires are fine - and went to bed. and the next morning, once again!! flat tires. i seethed with rage. i went back to my bike shop, got all the stares on the street from pedestrians thinking "what did she do to deserve that?" and this time, instead of getting a replacement bike, i repeated, sabotage! sabotage, ya! and simply pumped up my tires.

so what to do? i don't know how to write "why do you keep messing with my bike?" in german! so i drew a cartoon. it was the only solution.. skeevy person empties the air from my tires, i'm angry. what to do? call the polizei? purchase a pump? POISON?? well, whatever choice i have, they understood from it. my bike has been safe and sound without as much as a trace of a fingerprint. i guess that's how you show the germans what's UP.

i suspect foul play

for college friday a.k.a. thursday i had planned on bringing mr. coffeepot (what i call the guy whose last name is krups) on a little bender in fredrichshain. it seems i already know this city a little better than him and have shown him quite a few hip spots he's never known about. our evening would start in a hipster karaoke bar and vaguely follow this lead.
going to friedrichshain is the equivelent of heading to crystal city, VA for a rager. it's a bit out of the way, you have to switch trains and stuff, so biking is really the only way to go.
but to my utter shock and horror, i find my rented bike, my wonderful city bike with a basket and lights, who has been calmly parked in my courtyard has not one, but two completely flat tires. this is incomprehensible. i have never, in my life gotten a flat, much less two [knock on FSC certified wood desk]. we had even been talking about flats earlier that day, and how i never get them. and i love my bike. it's a BBF brand, but i call it my BFF.
so what i'm most worried about though, is having to explain to east german bike dealer what has happened. i feel that he's going to yell at me, he already has. i nearly jumped out of my skin when he came up behind me as i was checking out my BFF and screamed "dis is dein klinger!!" and rang the little bell on the handlebars.
anyhoo, the night before my tires were fine - i biked to the berlin philarmonie. my colleague's mom gave me a free ticket, it was awesome. i showed up late, just after intermission and kicked some old hag out of my seat in time to hear famous pianist radu lupu play some bartok. i reveled in the sound, giggled at the 380 pound tuba player and swooned at the hottie young second violonist. who! on my way back home totally cut me off, on his own bike! he was pedalling in his tux, with his instrument buckled up in a baby seat. i would have caught up with him but he was too fast. and presuming he has a baby no longer made him interesting to me anyhow. i was on his tail for a while - do you think he laid down some defenses? some microscopic nails that would flatten my tires?? he wouldn't dare...
more recently though, i've come to the conclusion that my neighbors are simply jealous of my awesome BFF. but they will not stop me. oh they will not.

i make the perfect latte machiatto

so one of my favorite things about working in Germany is how serious they take their coffee. they don't brew one giant pot in the morning and let it sit around all day - that's uncivilzed. here, every floor has one (and sometimes a second super secret one) ridiculously expensive espresso machine.

this week i have been mastering my skills on the delonghi primadonna, which retails for 2,000 Euro.

what with its "patented autocappucino system" and "silent integrated professional burr grinder" i make a latte machiatto that would put your starbuck's barista to shame. i even started making personalized espresso designs in the foam, simply delectable. you should all be ashamed of your boring drip coffee with hazelnut creamer!

drinking in public: it's the law

so it seems it's pretty much accepted, nein, it's the law that you must drink in public. here i am on my bicycle, the only one in this entire city who isn't swigging a beck's or a bottle of merlot. you know how much easier (and cheaper) my life would be in DC if i could drink my prosecco on the darn street instead of at some foofy wine bar?
adults, oldies, juveniles, people in uniforms, pretty much anyone has a drink in their hand when going from a to b. and especially on the train. it's become standard that after any out of town meetings, i get the pretzels or chips or chocolate and my colleague hits the beer store for no less than 4 litres of hefeweisen per 1.45 hour of train. only drag is that if you don't drink it fast enough, warm hefeweisen can make you pretty gassy.
if you happen to be late, or are waiting on the platform with someone kinda high up in the organization and so having your bag clink with bottles is sorta awkward, well then you don't byob, you buy your tall glass of draft weissbier in the train. it comes in the huge tall glass, just like in the bar. unfortunately, it seems we're always seated in wagen 1, and barcar is wagen 12, so you and a few unhappy passengers are wearing some of it.
so we take turns going on the adequately called "beer run." each time you buy one, the bartender guy goes, "please, please, please bring this glass back?" you mean this wonderful, sturdy tall pint glass that has a picture of a drunk monk named francis on it that would make the perfect souvenir? ummm...
so the train turns into a sortof 245km/hr bar. one day, there was a compartment next to us with 6 elderly beck-a-holics. they their own personal beer steins and traditional music which they complemented with loud raucus singing. when the ticket collector came, he warned us they would give them a good talking to. they greeted him with hitler-style salutes, calling him "senior secretary, sir!" whenever someone of the female persuasion walked by they would hoot, holler and cheer. when i happened to have to pee 2 columns of 3 vertical heads peered out into the corridor screaming "schmiiiiiidt! hallo, schmidt!" i couldn't figure it out. when i came back, and after round two of the weird schmidting, the annoyed looking gentleman to my right explained that schmidt is the most common name in germany, like smith to us americans. and so when they call me schmidt they are playing the numbers, hoping to get my name right and have me turn around and say hi. but they didn't have to call me schmidt, their throwing of beer caps and chanting and cartoon knee slapping, holwing, spinning and woowoo siren calling clearly caught my attention.

how to tell an east-german from a west-german

so i've been getting a lot of pointers on who are the east germans. people love to point them out to me, i guess it's still a novelty after unification. my colleague will whisper during a meeting "you can tell she's from the east by her accent, and the weird words she uses that no one else does."
i can clearly tell by her clothes. it's either all grey, or a eye blaring mix of neons. or the mullet. or looks like they just woke up from a 20 year nap. eyelids half open, that sortof thing.

german american idol

the first thing i saw on tv was the german american idol. eyeliner, spikey hair, glitter..pretty much screams germany. and yes, he was singing Prince.

on a shoestring?

so i'm in berlin now, and trying to dress the part. today i wore my boots, nice skirt, a smart jacket, necklace etc...i asked someone if i was on the right train to the haubenhof and the guy answers "so, are you here visiting europe on a shoestring?" and i was all, do i look like i'm travelling on a freaking shoestring?! i'm holding my laptop bag in one hand, the international times herald in the other. what a jerk. actually, i think i called him a weiner.

dinner a la frankfooter

tonight i got my first lesson in hessen. my colleague philipp and i walked around the old town a bit, tudor houses, cobblestone walks, that sortof thing before arriving at our dinner destination, some sort of meat and ale house. wood panel walls, loud bustling dining room where you sit at communal picnic tables. we ended up between a couple of guys in their 70s and a younger couple to my left. we started with a "small" pitcher of cider. philipp warned me "it's very, very bitter and may just clean out your stomach. it's ok to not like it." i can handle it, phil. i take one sip and feel like i've downed battery acid. then he tells me you're supposed to mix it with seltzer. i have had a least a gallon of seltzer since i've been here, btw. feeling like i've swallowed a beach ball is an understatement. it's a little better. i peruse the menu which has 11 different pork dishes, some "weiner art" many schnitzels, liver dumplings and words with the big Bs. i settled on boiled prime meat, boiled potatoes and green sauce, which the people are eating to my left, and looks rather tasty. tho they got the green sauce with 4 hard boiled eggs instead of the meat. 4 eggs. philipp orders the pork platter, which has sausage, bacon, pork chop and belly. totally kosher.
we gossip about work, and finally strike up a conversation with the old guys next to me. they're in town for the big bathroom fixture convention, which is why there are no hotel rooms downtown, and we're staying out in the middle of nowhere. so even though they barely speak english, philipp tries to translate without laughing, as these guys rrrreally like bathroom fixtures. they also love heated floors, villeroy and boch. i tell them how my parents just got heated towel racks, they are the best! the ony guy shoos me away with his hand and already knew what he meant when philipp says "heated towels racks have been around since the middle ages."
then come the fat american jokes. and the conversation moves towards them recounting the citizenships of all their girlfriends. "lichtenstein. never again! living in lichtenstein is like living in a prison!" "russian girls wear short skirts, even when it's cold!" that sortof thing. i go to the bathroom and find ads on the paper towels. brilliant! i come back to our table and our friends have ordered us a round of shnapps with a canned pear in it. you eat the pear with the toothpick and down the rest. yums. our waiter, whose name is wolfgang comes back and already, i've learned the words for "another round."

i hear germany is lovely this time of year

i have no idea where i am. i'm sortof in frankfurt, but more like a distant suburb. upon arriving my taxi driver pointed to a distant set of buildings and explained "frankfurt!" then pointed to a cluster of houses on a hill and muttered german jibberish. they say everyone here speaks english, but so far, people have only yelled weird angry sounding words at me. i think my taxi driver may be turkish or persian or something. anyway, he was the only taxi outside the airport, a nice benz, and i got in and pointed to the printed email i had. i sit back and think to myself, i wonder if we'll be riding on the autobahn? and next thing i know the driver is programming his GPS and the spedometer is racing to 180km/h faster than marty mcfly tries to get to 88 in a delorean. i can barely feel it, we are in the left lane, whizzing by everything and everyone. we come up on a VW golf gti like this is a video game, but instead of ramming him or shooting torpedos, he gently moves out of our way.
taximan yaps away pointing at things, he could be plotting to kill me for all i know. i think it would probably be better for him to drive slower - less gas, more time = higher fare.we go through a few small towns, and this is when i'm sure he's turkish because he's ripping me off with a big detour, but i'm getting a nice tour of these towns and so it evens out, little clusters of stucco houses, that despite being a sunday afternoon seem entirely void of people. back on the highway, we're flying by a bunch of BMWs when the gps starts yelling stuff and i realize we may have missed our exit. slam on the breaks, zip over 4 lanes to our right without even looking and here we are idling in the emergency lane. he's leering at his rearview mirror like he's plotting something. the exit is at least 1/2 km back. no way dude, you are not this ballsy. but he is. he slams into reverse and if you want to know what a stream of cars going 150km/hr honking at you while you're going 40 km/hr backward sounds like? well the net 190km of moving horns is like a WWII air raid or something. he pulls a parrallel park maneuver in between some barriers, waits just long enough and guns it. we find what we presume is the hotel. he gives me his number and tells me i should call him if i need a ride, and i'm all oh right, i need a taxi tomorrow (no way in hell i can just hail one in this deadzone), and so i spend 15 minutes trying to communicate this. monday. morgan? sure, i guess. 9:45 am. i'm pointing to my watch, he writes 8 am on a piece of paper. no, and so on. he shouts full german sentences and i have no clue what he is talking about. his name is mr. odzemir. maybe i should send him an sms just to be sure.
anyway, the hotel is entirely empty, has a dazzling view, a teeny tiny twin bed and a retro alarm clock built right into the wood panel walls. i'd walk around but it's pissing rain and...where the heck am i?

why fly to asia when you can go to flushing?

last saturday despite a whole subway mix up we took the 7 train to the end of the line: flushing in Queens, yo.

first, click here, then go to file...print if you want to see what you're in for. once you're on main street you're fighting your way between guys pulling carts full of eels, people selling kung fu dvds, candies, rolexes and street dumplings, oh the street dumplings. first stop was the 4 for a dolla and a quarta pork bun place. YUM. i could have eaten 20. my friend christine tallied her monthly dumpling regimen to about 16-20. if i lived near flushing i would double that.

then go find the guy with the crazy big sign, and say "take me your masseuse!" he will give you one of his flyers and yell at you and point and you end up somewhere like spa world and get a cheap hour long massage. it was my first time getting one, and it was a rather positive experience. it took me a little time to try to not be tickrish while a series of chinese, or thai or singaporean (i couldn't tell and they couldn't tell me) touched me in places no woman has ever touched me. they also dug their knees into my waist, walked on my legs and stood on my feet (that's when i felt that we bonded) and it was excellent. the women only knew two words: "thank you" and "harder" which complicated things when i was writhing in pain, trying to get her to ease up on my shoulder blade. but in the end, i came out feeling like a newborn. i drank a ton of water and then we went into some underground mall thing and pointed and paid and ate. (i hear the mcdonald's has a big stick that you can use to point at the menu to order).

i'll take that and point was all you had to do. nothing was more than $4. and 'that' ended up being a delicious chinese chimichanga of some sort with scalions and egg inside. there were homemade noodles, super crazy spicey tongue numbing salads, lamb sandwiches and huge bratwurst like things. it was the greatest afternoon ever, topped with a mcflurry and some foozball. what more could you want?

mmmaybe some cabbage juice?

i love champagne!

it's true, i love champagne! i just realized i'm so over beer, it's all about the champers. at my uncle's house over christmas we'd down entire magnums before lunch, it was the best. champagne is going to be the new beer, i'm getting special plastic flutes to bring to softball games.

so, best places to get champagne:

1. Urbana happy hour. every day of the friggin' week! $5 champers. and if you happen to stay past the 7pm, after you munched down some $8 pizzas and broke a few glasses get a bottle of Albrecht for like, less than 40 bucks. you get 5 glasses. do the math. rosé is in, people, and was long before J-lo got that huge pink diamond.

2. Asylum mimosas come in pint glasses, no ice (um, unlike some people). nobody said they're good, it's just value.

3. Trader Joe's. they have $6.99 prosecco from like, Missouri or something. shit is tight. you don't even need to mix it with OJ, just drink straight from the bottle. they also have these adorable mini-bottles of real good stuff for $10, you can take 'em, anywhere, like...the movies!

4. the movies! mini bottle fits in the purse, bring some paper cups your non-smartfood cheddar cheese popcorn (only $1.99) and you're golden. what's that pop sound you just heard old lady? i don't know, look the other way and mind your own business. i'm toasting to slumdog. and cheers to you too, dreadlock guy who also snuck in to the see "the reader" after slumdog ended. you should have followed us to see Milf, i mean, milk. whatever. i wish i had thought of bringing some more champers.

what don't i like?

i have a friend who doesn't eat seafood, doesn't like tomatoes, goat cheese, anything with peppers or sesame seeds...the list goes on and on. and then she asked me "what don't you like?" and you know, i had to think about it for a pretty long time.

and all i could come up with was...i don't like bleu cheese. i really, don't like it. not the real thing, no roquefort, and no salad dressing. but what else? ummmmmmm. honestly, i think beyond the obivous bugs and worms and caterpillars and such, i'll eat pretty much anything. i mean, i don't love eggplant with the skin but i'll eat it. i don't like spicy food...but other than that, i guess i'll eat anything. wow.

DC jazz? duke ellington can't spin in his grave any faster

i was so embarassed for DC last saturday. seriously, ya really let me down.

so a friend was visiting, who happens to be a grammy winning musician from london and wanted to see some live music. friday night was a disappointment. ok, iritis kicked ass but those opening bands, ummm. needs a bit of work.
so it's saturday, let's go hear some jazz! i had a few places lined up and we were going to crawl them all to find the best.
we started at twins on U street, a solid choice, but on valentine's day it was a mess of couples with interlocking arms and smoochiness. and i don't mean to discriminate, but the musicians looked like they were from a high school in montgomery county. enough said.
so we scooted on over to bohemian caverns, a good backup. i walked up to the bouncer to ask who was playing and was interrupted with a grumbly "60 bucks."
can we go in and just listen for a -
"60 bucks"
what if we don't like the music, can we-
"60 bucks"
what if i leave this guy as collateral can i go in and -
"60 bucks."
that seemed like a bit of a gamble for a "60 bucks" band that plays nothing but "60 bucks" for "60 bucks"
soo...we stoped into Dukem to come up with a game plan. there at least, was some decent tunes. some guy playing a weird sideways guitar and some excellent singers. the martinis were served in plastic glasses but i wasn't about to complain.
and then, eureka, of course! H.R. 57 - it is in fact the center for the preservation of jazz.
so we go down and enter a packed house. this is great! let's have a seat. the band was in between sets but we smiled in anticipation.
then they came on - piano, guitar, drums, a 6 string violin - cool!
and then it started, what would be more than half an hour of what my friend would call "quite literally the worst music i've ever heard. ever. and i've been listening to music for over 40 years."
4 chords. 4 chords, which composed the latest coldplay hit, played over. and over. and over. and over again. i couldn't believe it. is this what passes for jazz these days? 4 chords. ok, that's not counting all the bad notes. 4 chords. it was a sort of grand finale, but it was never ending. 4 chords. the energy increased. 4 chords multiplied by 4 chords. i looked around the room, wondering if maybe my ears just weren't hearing the same thing as everyone else? 4 chords. people were dancing, waving their hands in the air. the song got louder, drum solo, piano solo, whining screaming violin with his 4 chords, is this for real? 35 minutes went by and we just couldn't take it anymore. it didn't stop for another 12. we retreated in horror to the middle part of the room which had these comfy leather couches. i put my head in my hands, this is humiliating.
we chatted, wondered what was becoming of jazz and the world. people started to trickle out, drunkenly swaggering, wasted. i noticed people pointing to a spot to our left, crinkling their noses and saying "looks like pizza." it was puke. PUKE. in a jazz club.

so this is the preservation of jazz, DC? are you fucking serious? i'm ashamed of you. it's going to take a lot to convince me to try that again. Duke Ellington is spinning in his grave at 6,000 rpms.

the wonderful adams morgan listserv: tacos and terrorists

i am a lucky member of the adams morgan community yahoo group, a string of emails i follow with joy and suspence. i get updates on whose liquor licenses are being revoked, complaints about drunk people crowding the streets on late saturday nights and the circumstances behind our all too frequent shootings and muggings. but nothing beats aggravating the crusty old prejudiced residents in my spare time!

it all started with a post this week by someone who, after much googling i found has a much better job than her spelling would call for:

"The precense of gang members living in Columbia Rd. and the number offake ID vendors had increased. Before grocery shopping I usually stopby for a bite to eat at this taco place, Pepitos Bakery across theSafeway. Maybe because it was nice day or what? but there was thisman in his late 20's to 30'sh. in the stablisment, dressed with ablack T-shirt, baggy pants and tatued arms, neck, hands and I alsonoticed a tatued letter on each finger,ah! he also carried a prettyintimidating body language. The Mailman came in and gave him a bulkof mail, I am assuming that the tatued man lives in a apartment abovePepitos Bakery.The fake ID vendors harrassing!!.Columbia Rd. never looked uglier to me. I wanted to take picturesbut got scared.I proceeded to Safeway and there was another man dressed just as Idescribed above. Are they immigrating from Va to DC? "

flawed on so many levels, there were several replies to this including a bunch that recognized that there's a tattoo parlor just above the taco joint, and that's likely the guy who was receiving the mail.

i added that anyone with tattoos who uses the postal service for their mailing needs is therefore in a gang, and added that i saw a gentleman with a neck tattoo purchasing a packet of forever stamps and therefore must be a terrorist. he didn;t buy the 42 cent ones, he is saving them for later...terrorist!

further replies tried to argue the prejudice by saying "how do you know tattoo'd guy isn't a scientist?" and that's when i was all, hold on here people, scientists have tattoos and they also don't. nice people have tattoos and some bad people don't. and tattoos have been around for tho0usands of years, and some of them are pretty nice (http://www.larskrutak.com/) and i just happen to be a scientist without a single tat, but that's only because i'm too scurred. and also, bad spelling is a trait of social deviants so let's just stop that nonsense.

i also tried to argue that most people who have fake IDs are either working their asses off at every restaurant in the city, or are otherwise underaged darling college girls who, i might add are often adorned with lower back tattoos, a.k.a. the tramp stamp. why do you think there is a line outside of Chloe night club every weekend?

and that's when this fantastic personal message from the owner of a pool hall up the street came in, making it al worthwhile, he called my taco joint a dump, i told him he should move to georgetown. i told him to be positive and embrace our culture, he replied with:

"you my dear neighbor are a douche bag - it is plain and simple. you missed the boat and the point. you have no idea what i eat, who i live with, who i love, what language i speak, who or what my lover is or whether i love tacos. you idiot this has nothing to do with discrimination against anyone or anything. you are narrow minded, accusatory and so stuck in your sense of self importance about your issues, that your ignorance blinds you. you idiot how in the fuck do you know how the tatooed guy looked at this girl? how do you know that? tatoos, tacos, terrorists. racist? there are a hell of a lot of scum bags who break the law and sell illegal ids everyday, all day up and down Columbia Road. then my dear nitwit - some of them do go to work - that's no big deal - but a great many of them don't. dishwashers, eating out? what the fuck are you talking about? second thought, never mind."

if i'm the one who's so narrow minded and self absorbed, why all the bad language? and what, you looking at someone when you have a tattoo is a crime now? can't we just all get along and love tacos?

i'm turning japanese!

walking home the other night i saw that the japanese travel agency at 17th and u is now a full-on japanese market. they have everything! frozen roasted eel, dumplings, miso soup, japanese gummies, newspapers, crazy japanese gum! it's heaven.
i used to have to trek to wheaton to get my nori and sushi rice - not that i don't love the entire aisle of soy sauce at han ah reum, but the owner guy here, i forget his name, he totally let me try out my japanese. and there was another guy and they both bowed when i left the store, it was fantastic. i've had udon noodles every day for lunch!

i don't know what you're talking about

you must have me confused with someone else. because i did not watch the first, pilot episode parts I and II of Beverly Hills: 90210 last night. where brandon has a mullet and brenda has a unibrow. that was not me. and i certainly did not buy advance tickets to see "he's just not that into you." that's just crazy.because if you see me tonight and ask me what i was up to i will say that i saw gran torino. the movie with clint eastwood where he hates chinese people. cuz it's the truth.

wurkin' out! i love the Y!

i finally, finally FINALLY like going to the gym! i have hated it, dreaded, done nothing but come up with excuses not to do it, but since i joined the YMCA (and they started withdrawing moneys from my account) i sortof feel obligated to go....but i kinda like it! and one important thing, unlike most other gyms in the area...the guys at the Y are mostly straight! and for you guys: the chicks are totally hot!

having someone to go with makes a huge difference. and losing at racquetball, but giving them a perfectly circular bruisein retaliation is unbelievably rewarding. and the sauna! we're trying to see how many pounds we can shed just by sweating it out (the scale is conveniently right outside the sauna door). there's also the really inappropriate sauna talk that reminds us what the C in YMCA stands for...and while we were stretching the other night we heard sick music coming out of the spin room. there's a dude who teaches who's a world famous DJ or something. puts the chief ike's dance floor to shame!

we also like to wail on our butts, guts and guns. you should see me bench the bar! we're coming up with a workout plan. there's going to be the tuesday night buttblaster and aurelgrooves awesome abs by april. 4 As of asspounding that will make you so jealous! it's ON.

new heights gin joint!

maybe i shouldn't publicize because i kinda want to keep it a secret, but the new heights gin joint is MY new joint. all mine.

i went to the new heights gin joint last weekend for several reasons.
1, because a year ago when waiting for a table upstairs i had a most tasty gin and tonic i had never heard of and thought, well, i should definitely come back here.
2, since my pal Logan Cox started working the kitchen, but really, it's
3, i met a guy in a bar when i was really drunk and he asked me out for drinks and i needed a small place where i would be sure to recognize him among other patrons. oh, and it had to be quiet because for some reason i imagined that he might have a stutter or a lisp, and finally, why not impress someone with a tiny hidden spot in woodley park on a friday?

so, the gin joint.

he was already there when i arrived and thank goodness spotted me when i came in, otherwise, i would have likely sat two chairs down and ordered on my own. he had already gotten the jist of the menu and explained to someone who never even imagined there were more kinds of gin than the ones that come in the plastic bottle and bombay sapphire (which i only started drinking in college in honor of my indian friends). i was intrigued and eager to sample, almost overwhelmed, but they are sorted in a specific order on the menu so you can figure out what's going on (do they ever do that with wines? because i always just sort by price...second from the cheapest!). i started with a rather safe choice, right in the middle, a hendrick's that i knew was guaranteed tasty, but the next round (or two?) were complicated, delicate mixes of something truly unique in DC.

then came the food...the charcuterie plate had a bunch of items to offer...some chicken liver, which i just jumped on (sorry buddy, you wouldn't like it anyway), some real tasty jerky, but i really, i was all about the mackerel dish that followed. i would never order mackerel (it's always the last rubbery waxy piece of fish on the sushi combo platter) much less even order fish (my friend from NOAA would kill me...there are no more fish, people!!) however, as i know the list by heart... mackerel is totally in the green column! there was a crisp skin, a bright refreshing flavor, and the mustardy fingerling potatoes with capers. yum.

i just might have fallen in love with mackerel! my date, however is a whole different story. but, as they say, there are always more fish in the sea, and i will most definitely be bringing them into the new heights gin joint!

tell the prez what you think

have you seen the kiosque thing in adams morgan? it was a festivus pole over the holidays where you could air your grievences. now, you get to tell the president what you think. i'm wondering though, does someone actually take the notes down and deliver them? because i was walking by the other day, while telling my mom how educated and political and all grown up everyone in dc is, and oh, look, here's the talk to obama pole and the first note i read said "i want to know how you're going to fix my pussy problem." and, well, yesterday it wasn't there so just wondering, did someone take it down to send it to the white house?

remember me?

if inauguration was anything, it was one long bender. and so, when i met a guy at 3 am sunday, or monday? let's just say i might not remember much of his physique. i remember someone pretty interesting, works for the president, tube...uhh. so imagine my surprise when my friends said they saw him on the street the next day.
"what does he look like?? is he totally tubular?"
yes, tubularity quotient high. aybe 95th percentile.
"is he cute?"
totally!
well..except for the arm growing out of his head
or the backwards knees.
there was a peg leg too
and he's really only 3 1/2 feet tall...but otherwise definitely handsome! you should totally go on a date with him.
"well...i don't want to discriminate...ok."

despite that mental image, i might just pick the smallest bar in DC and meet him there. just in case.

schlong salad: part TOO

so, despite, - no wait, actually, in spite of the phallic nature of my previous meal at vinoteca, i actually love the place. the wine is way cheaper than veritas, who just upped their bottles into the 'beyond my means, especially in this economy' range (which means if ever, i can only go on a monday). vinoteca also has nice menu that's more than cheese and meats (and those new crazy pricey but tasty chocolates). it also just happens that the citypaper is running a special (check this page for $50 gift certificates for only $25!) so, there's little reason NOT to go there..

i have already attempted several times to use my gift certificate, but even with my winey-ist of friends could never eat or drink enough to meet the $100 minimum for the coupon (the place is thrifty i tell you! especially during happy hour) so when it was my friend's birthday over inauguration weekend, we went back for a ladies dinner.

as giggles never managed to be subdued, i had to ask our waitress if the beet salad was for real. maybe one of the chefs was messing with me? (as we watched them stroll through the dining room, we all wished they were!) i showed her the picture and she turned, pardon the pun, beet red. a little while later, the general manager came by and said, "it's you? the blogger who wrote about us?" and it was my turn to be blushing. oh my, they read this garbage i write? yes, they get an email anytime anyone writes "vinoteca." "we have your write-up posted in the kitchen!"

so they offered me a complimentary salad. i said yes, but only if it's REALLY huge. i learned later that my dish went through several iterations as the first versions were deemed too risque even for me. so i ended up something just as tasty, and a little more abstract i guess.

i was too full for dessert, but i am curious to find out how many other vinoteca dishes are inspired by the cookie puss?

i'll have to go back and find out. in the meantime, vinoteca, vinoteca vinoteca!

test your DCelebrity knowledge

the dudes standing next to me during the freeze your ass off on the mall inauguration knew EVERYBODY whose face came across the jumbotron. on a first name basis too. they were all, damg, nancy! you lookin' goooood. you go Steny! bring on the love, diane! i guess i don't watch enough C-SPAN. tho i know a few of these peeps...

HIGH-FIVE INAUGURATION! - watch more funny videos

you know you're in DC when...

so i show a guy at work the card of a guy i may or may not have made out with at a bar over the obamageddon weekend. um, can't tell you what he looks like...but i know where he works!
and so the guy says "you know aurelgrooves, you have sunken to an all new low"
i know right?! i'm way too old to be making out with guys on the dance floor!
"no dude, he works at OMB [office of management and budget]. those guys are literally the bottom feeders of the US government!"

oh the namibians

i wish the namibians were hanging around for inauguration weekend. thye are a ton of fun. and there's nothing like bringing guys with funny accents and sweater vests and safari wear to asylum, and then kicking their ass at pool. the best is getting to announce "it's the namibians!!" .
"the namibians! oh, my god, they found me, i don't know how, but they found me. run for it marty!!"

aaaaaaaack!

i do NOT know what i'm going to do this weekend. i dunnodunnodunno! should i just hide? somanythings! somanythings! i'm going crazy over here. like a little chipmunk i want to see it all at the same time. my bike tires are pumped up, my chain lubed (teehee!), screws tightened, shoelaces tied, helmet on, i'm going to be zip-zipping around as fast as can be. take that, checkpoints!
ironically, my jaw problem has worsened (they say it's related to stress i was under in december...hmmm i wonder what could have caused that?) and i'm now barely able to open my mouth to talk. i can't eat anything but mush...but i can drink! i sure can! drink just about anything! through my teeth! so there.
and, i'm going to drink with the namibians tonight, including the guy in the sweater vest who horribly mutilates my name each time he says it. and he says it a lot...like, oh arelelly do you eat meat? really, ever had ostrich, ohlalula? and then i'll try and fit in the dentist (so that he can open my mouth....just enough so that i can at least i could eat one of these cherry tomatoes? that would be nice...) and then...back to vinoteca? for more beet salad cashing in my gift certificate? but then? meet up with the six fingered man whom i finally met (a whole other story) oh, the madness! beyonce! i can't take it! happy obama-ing!

tell them large marge sent ya!

so, i'm sure you probably know already that i broke up with my boyfriend, i mean, everyone is in the loop. it's quite ok, it was a good thing, and i'm getting over the mess rather quickly, what with the new year being especially good and fun (raw eggs in a pinata = hilarious). so even though 2009 led off with the whole exchange of belongings, it was simply more hassle and annoying than regretful at all. and the entire affair ended with a fit of laughter, as i nearly peed my pants as when i went through the bag of stuff my ex dropped off.
let's see...empty bottles of hair products, tupperware, a lone sock and....at the very bottom a pair of panties that totally aren't mine!!!
the intent may have been to be cruel, but even my brother, who was in the room had to wipe the tears from his eyes from the hilarity. yes, this is rainbow butt floss....size LARGE! um, i don't wear thongs and i'm definitely don't have that big a bottom. oh, should i be mad? hell no! what a zinger!

schlong salad

it takes a lot for me to be offended. good thing too, i could have complained of this phallicular joke served to me at vinoteca the other night. may i add that the slang term for 'male genitalia' in french is 'bite' pronounced 'beet.' yes, it's just a homonym, not a chef trying to make me blush. i mean, i'm not crazy right? this totally looks like schlong?!

125 cubic centimeters of goodness

my favorite chocolates in the world are from suchard.they ones i like are these rounded cube things that have crunchy hazelnut chocolate on the outside and praline on the the inside. they are pretty big, huge actually, about 125 cubic centimeters. you eat one and you're pretty much set for the day.
so my grandmaused to send me packages of 20-30 at a time. i would totally hoard them, i don't know why, hide them in the back of my sweater drawer and eat them little by little until they either melted or a new shipment came in and i forgot about them and then would have chocolate covered sweaters.
anyway, my grandmother also catalogued every letter i ever sent her, and my mom recently gave me a bundle. a lot of my letters were about chocolate.
i will now write word for word one of my favorites. you'll get the jist; though you will lose the mis-spellings and terrible handwriting and doodles (mostly cats, or stupid characatures of my brother) in the translation, sorry.

feburary 19th, 1988
dear mame et pepe,
thank you for the chocolate. it is very good, but mother is becoming crazy for chocolate. you know the big square ones, well there were 30 of them. we gave her 12 and now she is asking us for more. Jules almost hid his in the plant, but then he changed hiding spots because mother waters the plants; and if she didn't see them when she watered the plants she would soak them. But Jules didn't know this, I had to tell him that.

i'll leave the rest out about the neighbor's dog getting killed; it's sad and has nothing to do with chocolate.

here's another.

March 16th, 1988
Dear mame et pepe,
Hi how are you doing? I still haven't finished my chocolate. I eat it very slowly. Mother keeps asking me for some because hers is finished. She says, "give me some chocolate, or else i'll light a cigarette." I tell myself this is good because this way the house won't be full of smoke. So I say yes, and I give her some and 5 minutes later I see her smoking. The next day she asks me again and I say "no because last time you smoked when you said you wouldn't." She says, "I won't smoke." So I give her some and she smokes again. She's really annoying.

i'm going to have fun reading these at the xmas dinner table.