Grrrrrrrrrrrr

Thought of the day – when you’re walking on a path, along with a lot of people, try to: 1. Walk on the right side; 2. Avoid running up to me to position yourself directly in front of me, just to keep walking with the same pace as I am. So do that for me, please. Sorry, not for me – for the good of all mankind. Because, after all, peace on earth is such an unrealistic and far-fetched notion. Let’s just focus on peace on Blackstone Blvd. for now. So, mind my personal space. Then I will be happy. And not cranky. Well, less cranky. Thank you. Dumbasses.

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Well, at least I'm not Phoebe...

Ah, I miss Friends. Just saw a rerun while folding some laundry (multitasking, baby!) and realized that E. and I are Chandler and Monica. Scary stuff.

Enjoy this oldie:

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Happy Friday

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The Hungry Years

With a title like that, this book might fool someone about its subject matter. But the bitten donut on the cover jacket hints that it’s more likely to be about food addiction than about the Great Depression. In fact, this memoir-ish essay is more about addiction in general . William Leith does not know how to do anything in moderation. When he does drugs, he wakes up covered in puke; when he eats a piece of pie, he sneaks into the kitchen to finish the rest – even though he no longer wants any; when he drinks, he estimates the number of beverages he’s had by what hour of the day it is. He decides to get to the bottom of the glass by going to therapy and figuring out what is causing his destructive behavior. Of course, Leith becomes addicted to therapy as well.

But don’t dismiss this account of the hungry man as cock-and-bull story. The author is no Tristram Shandy, mind you. He’s an established and prolific journalist with an engaging stream-of-consciousness style that grabs you like that first glass of wine in the morning. From his accounts of interviews with renowned foodies (think Atkins) and histories of fascinating topics, including obesity and carbohydrates, I learned while being entertained.

My favorite part of the book was Leith’s report of his therapy session during which he describes to his doctor what happened when he heard the word “cancer” on the radio one day. It began to haunt him on a daily basis, until he was no longer able to extricate his mind from its claws. Here’s the tidbit of conversation between Leith and his therapist regarding the incident:

I told her about how, usually, I focused my anxiety on one disease, and how, when my hypochondria was at its worst, I had hung around the medical sections of bookshops, reading about diseases I was not frightened of.
“Why?”
“Well, to see if I could displace the main disease with another disease”.
Naomi said, “It’s interesting that you keep talking about being trapped.”
“Yes?”
“And yet you keep telling me how you impose these traps on yourself.”

Here. I just saved you thousands of dollars in therapy, people. To express your gratitude, feel free to send the savings directly to me. You’re welcome. Oh, and don’t mention it. It was nothing. Really.

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Maxim Galkin

This guy is a true genius. Speaks five languages, sings, acts, hosts most Russian TV shows and is one of the most talented comics I have ever watched. Also, it doesn't hurt that he's dating THE most famous Russian woman, Alla Pugacheva, the Soviet Madonna old enough to be his mother (grandmother?).

Found one of his acts (not his best, unfortunately) with subtitles. Not sure how well the Russian humor translates, but here is a taste:

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In Memoriam -- Pavel Smeyan (Singer/Composer of the Russian Mary Poppins movie, among many others)

"Ветер Перемен" - Мэри Поппинс (Wind of Change, Mary Poppins)
Павел Смеян и Татьяна Воронина (Pavel Smeyan, Tatyana Voronina)

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Don't worry, Be happy

Did you know that, last year alone, 4,000 books were published on happiness? Why are so many people seeking advice from self-help literature rather than practicing self-help – i.e., doing what makes them feel content, fulfilled and alive? I don’t know. What I do know, however, is what makes me happy. My ten recent smile-inducing moments:

1. Meeting other parents on the playground and forming friendships
2. Eating Breyers® fat-free double churned ice cream in a chocolate-covered cone
3. Shrugging off the fact that all the cookies I bought turned out to be broken and all the mangoes – black inside
4. Cuddling with my entire family in one bed in the mornings
5. Listening to new music on my Sansa
6. Enjoying the breeze during my jogs
7. Jumping on the trampoline
8. Finding out that my jeans’ size is smaller than I thought
9. Spending time with friends
10. Reading the books off my wish list

What are some of your happy moments? You don’t have to share, just think about them – you’ll feel good, I promise.


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How to make money

So, while I am not a packrat by any means, I do have a really hard time parting with books. Even with textbooks. Even with moral Christian theology textbooks. Yes, I know, I too think it’s funny that I ended up in Catholic institutions – both for college and graduate school. But, we’ll let that one slide. God works in mysterious ways.

Back to the point. Recently, I realized that no matter how many triple (or even quadruple) rows of books I create on every one of my five shelves, two of which have been relegated to the attic (yes, I cried, but the kids did need a place to sleep), I still don’t have enough space to store all of my literature. So, I did what any smart person would do – I bought some more books. As soon as the last feather had broken the horse’s back, I knew that the time had come to rid my tired shelves of various dreck masterpieces that I have never no longer cared for.




I admit that the process was more “natural selection” than “Sophie’s choice” – come on, did E. think that I was going to keep the Biochemistry textbook he bought on a yard sale one summer, exclaiming to everyone’s amusement, “Oh, this would make a great coffee table book!”? To his credit, he did use it as his bathroom reading (that was the only place I allowed it to be displayed in). The hefty volume kept falling off our windowsill for six months or so, until I explained to E. that the great book is getting destroyed in the humid bathroom, and found a really cozy spot for it right next to his eighteen chess books and eleven music books on one of the attic shelves.

Back to the point. So, I performed the equivalent of the Yom Kippur fast. But, instead of purging my body of toxins, I purged my shelves of unwanted books. Let me tell you – it was not always easy. The ones I struggled with the most were the literature compilations donated by my college professors (they used to place the books they no longer wanted outside their office doors with notes that said something along the lines of, really old teaching manuals I didn’t have the heart to throw out, Free Books, and guess who would usually pick them up? Yes, yours truly. I always felt exhilarated and confused at the same time – am I happy because I’m getting something for free or because I’m getting books? I guess I will never know. But, come on, how many Flannery O’Connor short stories does one need in multiples? So, in the box they went. Here, I must take a moment and offer some props to E. who insists that we keep every Amazon box we receive in our basement, just in case we might need to send something later. Or store a dismembered body somewhere.

Back to the point. So, I ended up with a bunch of boxes I was going to donate to Salvation army. But, then, I thought to myself – poor people don’t care about Michel Foucault, you dumbass! They want food. And clothes. And … well, not dusty literary theory (crap) philosophy I had to take in grad school. Why would I do that to them – they’re already poor! So, then I thought – hey, I’m poor too – I’ve been unemployed since May! Why not make some money? And so I did.
Now, since I’m lazy, I didn’t want to start selling my books one by one on sites like Amazon and half.com (does that still exist?). I wanted it all at once (yes, I’m one of those people). So, I did what any slothful person would do – that’s right, I googled “sell books”. To my astonishment, I found a myriad of sites that cater to that easy-solution notion. All you have to do is make a list of all of your books’ ISBN numbers (usually found on the back of the cover, sometimes on the first few pages), save that list in a Word document, and use it over and over to paste it into various sites, some of which take books that others don’t. Trust me, creating this list will save you a lot of time. Then, about thirty seconds after you hit the button that says, Sell Books, the site will let you know which of your books are winners and which are rejects.

All you have to do is complete the transaction by specifying how you want them to reimburse you (deposit, check or PayPal) and print out a free address label, which you will affix to the aforementioned Amazon box, remembering to remove the previous address label beforehand. Finita la comedia. Drop off the package at your local post office, and sit back. That’s all there is to it. I’ve already received two of the three expected payments. Only one of my books was rejected. Guess which one? Yes, the moral theology – the reason they gave me was – too much underlining and highlighting. So, don’t accuse me of never giving this mambo jumbo religion thing a shot. Now you know I did.

This post is a great excuse to listen to some more Cabaret tunes, n'est pas?

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Just a really cool song tonight

Жанна Агузарова - Чудесная страна
(Zhanna Aguzarova - Beautiful Land)

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Are you calling me immature? Ich bin ein ...

Bruno, mein herr,

I'm sorry that certain journalists decided to trash you. Even though I haven't seen your oeuvre yet, I have no doubts it's of the highest caliber. Hope this gem will cheer you up. Prost!

Forty minutes from A to B! Too much? Too little? Weigh in, people.

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The Way to a Father's Heart is...

While these brownies from The Way the Cookie Crumbles are widely known as tribute to katharine hepburn brownies, we took some creative license and renamed them. So, our version is called "Welcome home, daddy" brownies.

Here is what you need (sans watermelon, of course -- it was too heavy to move, I felt lazy):

Ingredients

1/4 cup all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon (optional)
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 stick (8 tablespoons) unsalted butter, cut into 8 pieces
1/2 cup unsweetened cocoa powder
1 teaspoon finely ground instant coffee
2 large eggs, preferably at room temperature
1 cup sugar
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
4 ounces bittersweet chocolate, coarsely chopped

Process (via Lisa, with a few alterations)

Center a rack in the oven and preheat the oven to 325 degrees F.
Butter an 8-inch square baking pan and line the bottom with parchment or wax paper. Butter the paper, dust the inside of the pan with flour and tap out the excess. Place the pan on a baking sheet.

Whisk the flour, cinnamon, if you’re using it, and salt together.
Put the butter in a medium heavy-bottomed saucepan and place the pan over low heat. When the butter starts to melt, sift the cocoa over it and add the instant coffee. Continue to cook, stirring, until the butter is melted and the cocoa and coffee are blended into it. Remove from the heat and cool for about 3 minutes.

Using a whisk or a rubber spatula, beat the eggs into the saucepan one at a time. Next, stir in the sugar and vanilla (don’t beat anything too vigorously — you don’t want to add air to the batter), followed by the dry ingredients and chopped chocolate. Scrape the batter into the pan.
Bake for 30 minutes, at which point the brownies will still be gooey but the top will have a dry papery crust. Transfer the pan to a rack and let the brownies cool for at least 30 minutes. (You can wait longer, if you’d like.) Turn the brownies out onto a rack, peel away the paper and invert onto a cutting board. Cool completely before cutting into 16 squares, each roughly 2 inches on a side.

Sadly, we forgot to photograph the finished product, but the brownies looked just like the ones in the top photo and tasted heavenly. And daddy loved them!

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Gypsy Cribs... Better Homes and Gardens, here's your next feature story.

Recession. Tough times. For some -- tougher than for others. Take the Russian gypsies, for example. The unfortunate souls can't even afford a designer to add some pizzazz to their interiors. Or maybe, their houses are so drab and lifeless on purpose? After all, there 's not a speck of pattern or color anywhere -- gray and more gray to reflect the times.

You can't help but feel sorry for the nouveau riche. They must constantly exercise restraint to avoid hurting the feelings of neighbors who might not have enough money to spend on gilded furniture and multiple rugs per room. Hence the dull and monotone interiors -- blending in to avoid looking like drug dealers, for example. Props for modesty, gypsies!

You want more? You got it.

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Extra, extra, read all about it!

OK, I admit it's no cure for boldness, but it helps to know that THIS is possible.

I'm definitely sticking to swimming in the ocean this summer. Of course, the mother just happens to be Polish, perpetuating the stereotype. Sigh.

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All good things come in threes. Mind Blowing - last edition

A Chinese druggie decides to commit suicide, planning to jump from his eighth-floor apartment window. But, first, he attempts to throw his two-year-old daughter down. Unbelievably, she is saved at the last minute.

See how the girl's savior comes to her rescue here. I will remember this man the next time I think to myself, "I can't do this!"

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Mind-blowing Part II

I will remember this man the next time I think to myself, "I can't do this!"

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Mind-blowing

I will remember this man the next time I think to myself, "I can't do this!"

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I'm gonna make you an offer you can't refuse -- Go ahead, make my day!

What is the movie you have seen multiple times -- not because your girlfriend forced you, not because you were on an airplane and would rather watch the movie than listen to the annoying lady next to you, not because ... well, you get the idea. What is the film that you watch over and over -- simply because you love it, identify with it, learn from it, etc.?

I have a couple like that. If I had to pick an American one, it would probably be Amadeus. With regards to the Russian ones, it'd be a tie between Покровские Ворота and Burnt by the Sun.

So, recommend some titles, please. In exchange for your suggestions, here is a list of 50 movies worth seeing:

In no particular order:

1 Amadeus
2 Burnt by the Sun
3 Immortal Beloved
4 The Lives of Others
5 One Flew over the Cuckoo's Nest
6 The Red Violin
7 Babel
8 GoodFellas
9 Fried Green Tomatoes
10 Drugstore Cowboy
11 Taxi Driver
12 The Departed
13 House of Sand and Fog
14 In America
15 A Clockwork Orange
16 In the Name of the Father
17 The Luzhin Defense
18 My Life without Me
19 Primal Fear
20 Ordinary People
21 Amy’s O
22 Reality Bites
23 Shine
24 Sunshine (1999)
25 Vertigo
26 Where the Truth Lies
27 And Now Ladies and Gentlemen
28 All about My Mother
29 Fight Club
30 13 Conversations about One Thing
31 Blood Simple
32 Conversations with Other Women
33 Hanna and Her Sisters
34 Dog Day Afternoon
35 Central Station
36 American Beauty
37 Brokeback Mountain
38 Yana’s Friends
39 Memento
40 Pan's Labyrinth
41 Cinema Paradiso
42 Twelve (Russian film by N. Mikhalkov)
43 The Big Lebowski
44 The Godfather
45 The Illusionist
46 Paris Je T'aime
47 The Prestige
48 The Shawshank Redemption
49 The Silence of the Lambs
50 The Shining

Oh, and ... almost forgot. A couple of days ago, I saw the first American musicle I liked. Really liked. Enjoy, mein herrs:

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What I’ve learned over the Fourth of July weekend

- When a six-year-old carries an egg that’s sitting on a plastic spoon that’s dangling from his mouth, the said egg will break sooner rather than later.
- MIT graduates are geekier than you realized, even if you were already completely convinced of their supreme geekdom. They’re very fun, nevertheless. Oh, and you’ll learn all kinds of useless information you can pass on to your kids. Like… sorry, can’t remember.
- Men cannot hula hoop. At all. (Those who can look so foolish, they wish they couldn’t.)
- Trader Joe’s has the best vegetarian burgers. They’re called Masala. Mmmmm…asala.
- Don’t tell your mother-in-law your chicken recipe because she’ll steal it and tell everyone else. Now they all know to marinate the meat in Ken’s Steakhouse ranch dressing. Full fat.
- It’s not a good idea to drive around Boston at midnight on July 4th. The speed of the car (après fireworks) will be about .5 miles an hour.
- Kids are really cranky when they don’t get into bed until 2 a.m.
- Parents are even crankier when those same kids wake them up at 6:28 a.m.
- It’s an even worse idea to place your BlackBerry in your sweatshirt pocket. Although, the speed of the car (while driving back to Boston the next day to retrieve the lost phone from a kindly Portuguese woman) will be about 65 miles an hour.
- Hasidic women let their multiple female babies roam on the playground unsupervised, while they play baseball with their sons in the adjoining field. As a result, their babies are well-behaved and accident-free. And, they recognize the ice cream truck’s music at 1 and a half years old. Now, how’s that for early development?!
- Certain Russian women watch their kids’ every move. As a result, their children have more bruises than a week-old pear and more cuts than a birch tree.
- Curious children will gladly eat cucumbers when offered by Hasidic women. Those same children will always refuse the said cucumbers when offered by spiritual yet agnostic mothers.

- Being a stay-at-home mother is much harder than going to the office. Especially, when your husband is away on a business trip. Even though it’s more rewarding, you will still miss working. You’ll start to resent the glances of high-heeled business women at Whole Foods who run into the store during their lunch break to pick up some low-fat chicken. Or maybe, they’re glancing because they’re jealous, not condescending? Or, is it possible that they’re not glancing at you at all, but are only trying to see the price tag on those organic apples your kid’s head is blocking? Who knows? But, you’ll still feel crappy. Because you’re wearing clogs and jeans, and your hair is in a ponytail. Because you’ll be wondering whether those women are judging you and seeing you as someone who “aspires to be kept”. Because you don’t.

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Hooray, Hooray, It's a Holi, Holiday!

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Be nice, kids. The Man upstairs sees everything.

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The Fun'll Come out Tomorrow

If I didn't stay up until 1 a.m. last night watching a somewhat preachy fable called Night Train, this valuable real estate could have contained an interesting post. But I'm too sleepy and would rather ... sleep.

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