I am not a successful thrift store shopper. I have always wanted to be, and really wish I were one of those people who, when asked where they got a certain ultra-cool piece of clothing or home decor, can just casually respond with “I found it at DI” or “I picked it up at a yard sale.”
To compensate for my lack of thrifting skills, I tend to shop at secondhand stores and online antique shops; same unique items, less browsing and sifting through crap in suspect conditions. A few weeks ago I was looking on eBAY and found these little dears:
Mere days after I got these brass owls in the mail, Mike and I went to Savers (yes, we are classy like that). As I was browsing through the home décor section I spotted a pair of owls identical to the two smaller ones I just bought. I looked closer, and, sure enough, they were exactly the same. Don't believe me? I have proof: WHAT ARE THE FREAKING ODDS? I swear stuff like this just does not happen. I am the only person in the universe who finally finds a cool item at a thrift store only to have it be something I just bought for twice the cost. I am also probably the only person that is stupid enough to then buy the thrift store item for no logical reason. So I now have two sets of identical 1970s owls sitting in my living room and no idea what to do with the spare one. I win at life.
And the opportunity to sport my Millsap t-shirt tonight while eating junk food and screaming at the TV with friends. GO JAZZ!
2) Going to a real concert for the first time in almost a year. I know. I'm probably getting old and boring before my time, but what can I say? Three hours surrounded by sweaty bodies and the aroma of weed just doesn’t scream Time Well Spent to me the way it used to.
So what band has gotten me out of this funk, you ask? The freaking Sounds!!! I have been dying to see them live for years, and it is finally happening this Friday. In my opinion, there is good music, and then there is good concert music. There are many musicians I love that I wouldn’t care to see in concert, and then there are bands like The Sounds that just beg to be listened to while dancing wildly surrounded by a mob of people. Don’t believe me? Check them out:
3) Watching creepy old horror movies like Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? this weekend. You can keep your slasher flicks and M. Night Shamalayn weirdness, because to me nothing says scary like a black and white movie about a crazy former child star trying to feed her wheelchair-bound sister dead parakeets and rats. They just don't make 'em like they used to...
It’s not unusual for siblings to share a hobby. The Osmonds sing and dance, the Browns play their instruments, and the Mannings throw footballs. I would like to say that the Preobrazhensky children are known for oil painting or something cool like that, but the truth is that our collective talent is eating. And we are very, very good at it.
In fact, we are so passionate about our hobby that if you spend at least half an hour with my brothers and sisters you will undoubtedly find the conversation turning to topics like the new sushi restaurant downtown, the superiority of homemade ranch dressing to the store-bought variety, or the mystery of people that “forget to eat” or are “too busy to have lunch” (my brother-in-law made such a statement once, and we all looked at him like he was a visiting martian).
We all differ a little in our tastes- Helen hates Mexican cuisine, Smash and Smeegs love their burgers a little more than the rest of us- but one food is a definite favorite with everyone: wings. Specifically Winger’s wings, because apparently something about that spicy yet sweet sauce just makes our collective taste buds rejoice.
Once a year Winger’s has a special promotion: all-you-can-eat wings for ten bucks. If you haven’t guessed already, it’s our kind of event; a chance to really showcase our talent for the world to see. For years now fall has meant not only changing leaves and cool weather, but my brothers and sisters and I stuffing ourselves with wings until we swear that we are never eating them again, only to return eagerly the next year.
Here is a photo tour of last year’s dinner. Wingfest 2009 is happening this week. I can’t wait.
The crowd last year. We missed Dema (as we will again this year-stupid grad school), but Colton and Logan made very good substitutes: The first time we went to Winger's Smash ate not 10, not 20, but 24 wings in one sitting. I knew then that I was truly in the presence of greatness: Lots of ranch is a necessity:
Unless you are a wing purist like Butch:
Smeegs trying not to get the wings stuck in his braces:
Alex's first wing. The year before he was content just to dip his whole hand in Ranch dressing and lick it clean. Definitely his mother's child:
The aftermath. We are truly everything that is wrong with this country. Notice how we didn't waste valuable stomach space on the starchy french fries and popcorn, though. Dr. Atkins would be proud:
Pumpkin carving tends to be one of those festive activities- like making gingerbread houses or dying easter eggs- that always sounds fun to me in theory but when it comes to actually doing it I lose interest in about 2.5 seconds and sit around distracting everyone around me, usually while eating sickening amounts of candy.
Maybe this is because my immigrant family wasn’t too big on these holiday projects. I think we carved pumpkins all together once in an attempt to be festive, but after that we just had one family jack-o-lantern carved by whoever felt the most motivated that year and called it good.
The Cassitys, on the other hand, are all about the seasonal crafts. They make ornaments at Christmastime, dye eggs for Easter, and, of course, carve pumpkins when Halloween rolls around. The first time I participated in the annual Cassity pumpkin carving night was two years ago when Mike and I were engaged. By the time I had hollowed out and cleaned the pumpkin my craft ADD was really up and going, so I grabbed the simplest looking stencil I could find and went to town (yes, they had stencils. And special pumpkin carving tools. The Cassitys don’t mess around).
I probably should have paid a little more attention to how I positioned the stencil though, because what was supposed to be a frightening image of a vampire biting someone turned out to be a little…well…erotic in feel:
Yep, I unintentionally created Pumpkin Porn. Awesome. I think I am going to keep things a little more simple this year:
Because apparently I can't be trusted to keep it G-rated otherwise.
A few thoughts that have been going through my head while catching up on Project Runway this weekend (Besides the usual "How are they going to buy fabric in a HALF HOUR?!!" and "Holy crap how is he going to finish that dress in ten minutes?!" Apparently watching people sew really stresses me out).
1) Can somebody please explain to me why Christopher is still in the running? Does he have mafia connections or something? That is the only feasable explanation I can come up with cause he makes dresses that either look like tin foil or something that a five-year-old constructed. Plus he is a crybaby that has meltdowns on the runway. The day Heidi tells him "you're out" cannot come quickly enough as far as I'm concerned.
2) These adorable people just need to hurry up and make out already:
3) Someone should do us all a favor and punch Nicholas in the face. Hard.
Last night I bought some fancy schmancy shampoo for curly hair. A hairstylist recommended brushing your hair before using it, and, since I am nothing if not trusting, I followed those instructions.
After ten minutes of playing tug-of-war with a cheap plastic hairbrush, this was the result (please take note of my awkward Sylvester Stallone smile):
"Naturally curly hair is a curse, and don't ever let anyone tell you different." -The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society
I’m kind of having a dilemma. You see, being the snotty English major that I am, I usually find the thought of turning iconic children’s books into movies pretty abhorrent. Mostly because the majority of these books are so simple and short that in order to turn them into feature films the writers have to add all these elements that make the story more complicated, realistic, and "grown-up” in feel.
For example, the first time I saw a poster advertising a film version of the Dr. Seuss classic The Cat in the Hat, I thought “what in the devil are they going to do to make that book into a movie? It’s about a cat barging into a house and creating chaos with a couple of kids while rhyming.” The answer? Add a bunch of random subplots, including a single mom’s dissatisfaction with her job and a sleazy neighbor who has some mysterious vendetta against the children.
Same thing goes for Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs. In picture book form, it’s a simple story imagining a world where food falls from the sky. The movie, from what I have gathered by watching the previews, centers the plot around an inventor that creates this phenomenon, thereby completely changing the nature of the story.
I’m sure there are plenty of other picture books that have been given this same treatment- I’ve even heard that my beloved Eloise was turned into some made-for-TV monstrosity- and it kind of bothers me. I mean, you can make a movie out of a novel or even a longer, more detailed children’s book while remaining true to the tone and nature of the story, but when you take a simplistic book of 100 words or less and make it into a two-hour movie, you are invariably transforming it into something completely different.
I mean, isn’t the whole beauty of being a kid that you can read books like this and thoroughly enjoy them without any additional detail? You don’t need an explanation as to why food falls from the sky or why a six-year-old girl lives at the Plaza Hotel without any parents. I guess what worries me about this whole business is that somewhere out there a kid is going to pick up a copy of Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs and, instead of enjoying the pure whimsy of the story, is going to wonder where the inventor from the film version is. And that is sad.
Anyways, back to the dilemma I mentioned at the beginning of this post. When I heard that Spike Jonze was making a film version of Where the Wild Things Are, I was determined to boycott it for all the reasons listed above. But then I saw the trailer. Which is, well, kind of freaking awesome:
True, I’m not too keen on the filmmakers complicating the story and potentially making it a little too “touchy-feely” for my taste, but other elements of this movie look pretty fantastic. I love how the cinematography interprets Maurice Sendak’s illustrations, love how the “wild things” look fuzzy and real and not all CGI’d, and think the little boy they cast as Max is cute as a button. Plus any kids movie that has an Arcade Fire song in the preview is bound to be pretty cool.
So here’s hoping Where the Wild Things Are doesn’t suck. Because right now it is my only hope for getting over my nerdishly cynical ways.
I have a shelf filled with cookbooks in my kitchen, yet most of them have been slowly gathering dust ever since I discovered the wealth of recipes found on the internet and, more specifically, blogs. For some reason I find a recipe so much more worthy of trying if I know that someone has taken the time to blog about it. So, in the interest of being a giver as well as a taker, I am starting my own food blog:
Fall is my favorite season. I love all the cliched things that everyone seems to love about this time of year: the gorgeous leaves, “jacket weather”, pumpkin baked goods, college football, etc. I love coming home from a run with my cheeks red from the cold instead of the heat, love watching the mountains change color, love eating the delicious apples, peaches, and plums my dad generously gets us at the farmer’s market each week, love raking leaves outside at dusk. Love love love.
I think the main reason I love fall is that it is by far the best transition of the year. Winter and summer are both just natural progressions of what comes before them- each one a bit colder or warmer than the preceding season- and spring, at least if you live in Utah, is either nonexistent or a messy beast. It’s full of rain, melted slushy snowpiles, and finicky warm temperatures that, when they finally make their blessed arrival, last about two weeks before transforming into the full-fledged heat of summer.
But fall? Fall is different. After a summer full of late nights, hot temperatures, and constant activity I am always ready for a change of pace. Ready for tennis played in the light of the afternoon instead of on artificially lit courts at night, ready for meals made in the crock pot instead of on the barbecue, ready for fires burning in a fireplace instead of in the backyard or a campground.
Unlike with spring, I am never impatient or antsy for fall to arrive. I keep enjoying the warm weather, wearing my flip-flops and t-shirts until one day there is an undeniable chill in the air that lets me know it’s time for socks and a sweater. It feels easy and inevitable, like settling into a comfy armchair after a long hectic day.
True, this year’s transition was a little messier than usual- a textbook Indian Summer followed by that freak storm yesterday- but this morning I walked outside and was greeted by a beautifully sunny, crisply cold morning. Fall is here, friends. Let’s celebrate.
