Tuesday, July 29, 2014

40 percent

So I'm heading to New York on Friday.  As I do with all vacations, I have spent the past week endlessly checking weather reports.  The one thing I can't control becomes my obsession.  So typically me...

But there is an optimist in me somewhere- I compare all forecasts, then believe the best one. Unfortunately, for the past week, the percentage chance of rain has been increasing.

I wish the Weather Network here in Canada, and all others, frankly, would call a 40% Probability of Precipitation what it actually is- We Have No Fucking Idea%.  This has been the forecast here for weeks now, and it's driving me insane.  The point of the POP, for the ladies anyway, is twofold- is rain going to make my hair puffy, and will it ruin my shoes?  40% is no damn good to me.

Do I wear good shoes and hope for the 60% Probability of No Precipitation?  I have rather a large shoe collection, but not too many pairs I want to get rained on.  During the Great Toronto Flood of July, 2013, I lost a pair of sandals I loved.  On that day, I waded from the subway stop through ankle deep city water, and when I took those puppies off, I knew that they had, shall we say, seen too much.  They were great shoes- cute, comfortable.  They'd been to New York, Italy, and France, and I'd been able to walk miles and look good. When they started drying out, however, they smelled like a sewer, so they had to go. I still miss those shoes...
Melissa flox gladiators.  So far, so good!

To deal with 40%, I actually bought rubber shoes.  I saw these Melissa gladiators on sale, and they were strangely comfortable.  I have walked a bit in them, and I can't believe I'm saying this, but no blisters! This is practically unprecedented.  I get blisters from Rockports, Birkenstocks, Cole Haans, and flip-flops, not just from pointy-toed Manolos.

I'm bringing these to New York, since the forecast is in this Who Knows range, and I'm leaving the  Ferragamos at home.  Those babies have never left their soft felt encasements on a day with over 10% POP. And they never will.

Sunday, July 13, 2014

Minimalism vs My Books

Jerry:  "What is this obsession people have with books? They put them in their houses like they're trophies.  What do you need it for after you've read it?"

I love minimalism.  At least I think I do.  Actually, I guess I just want to be someone cool enough to exist in a chic, minimalist environment.  I also love the English country house look.  Therein lies the problem:  trying to decorate when you are drawn to two diametrically opposed styles is a challenge.  It's also why I still have some Ikea furniture.  Until I can make a final decision, I am loathe to spend thousands of dollars on something I will probably regret as soon as I can't return it (my elegant and costly sofa that I now hate attests to this).  I am also, naturally, sort of messy. Without meaning to or noticing, I will leave magazines and papers lying around until you can't see the furniture anymore.  I stop myself before it's time to call the Hoarders people, and go on a mad purge to try to get closer to my minimalist ideal of surfaces, darling.

Harvey House, by John Lautner, Los Feliz. Perfection.
The Lautner and Neutra houses brought beautifully back to life by Kelly Lynch and Mitch Glazer have been inspiration since I first saw them in magazine features more than a decade ago.  I wish I had this commitment to one style, and the vision to execute it so perfectly.  Oh, and some Hollywood money would also be nice...

Aside from my natural, let's say, sloppiness, there is the matter of my bookishness.  I read a lot, and I love to be surrounded by my books. The great ones are reread, loaned out, occasionally returned, and serve as a reminder that something predated the Internet.  And they look great, don't you think?

Sadly, not my living room.
I have a very hard time throwing out books.  Exhibit A would probably be my grade 13 (yes, that used to be a thing in Ontario) French text book.  I keep it because it's still useful, and dammit, I might one day commit to learning more French than just what was required to get through school or buy a pair of shoes in Paris.

I also have a collection of books from university.  These are books I have "read", meaning that I plowed through them on Diet Coke-fueled all nighters right before needing to pass a test or write an essay.  I retained virtually nothing.  Books in this category include The Master and Margarita, Fathers and Sons, and, to my deep embarrassment, One Hundred Years of Solitude. I guess I keep these ones out of guilt, and figure, maybe one day I will properly read them.

I have an alarming number of sort of stupid books- Cruel Shoes, by Steve Martin, old Letterman Top Ten List books, Simpson's anthologies.  I never throw out something that can give me a laugh.  It's why the David Sedaris and the Spy magazines stay, too. One of my favourite stupid books is The Bachelor Home Companion, for God's sake! Having books like this around requires some balance; hence the Serious Authors collection:  Ian McEwan, Martin Amis, Timothy Findlay, Philip Roth, Margaret Atwood, to name a few, and my favourite- John Updike.  I'm not sure I'll ever re-read Updike's amazing Rabbit tetralogy, so yeah, I guess I am keeping those to prove that, although I own this book, I'm not a complete moron. 

So, my attempts at minimalism are usually trumped my my desire to keep things I love.  But it could be worse.  One of my friends married a guy who felt strenuously that the only acceptable thing to have hanging above their living room fireplace mantle was his signed, framed Walter Payton jersey.  I'm not discounting Walter's awesomeness, but as a living room decoration? Keeping tons of books may violate the principles of minimalism, but at least the style police won't show up at my door.

Saturday, July 5, 2014

White Velvet Cutouts

White Velvet Cutouts. The Champagne of sugar cookies.
I can't even tell you how many batches of these cookies I have made.  I got the recipe from a Seventeen magazine when I was probably 13 years old.  I have been making them ever since.  They are great for so many reasons: they hold their shape when you bake them; they're a bit tart, thanks to the cream cheese; they're soft, but not too soft; the tangy glaze is a perfect counterpart to sweetness of the cookies.

I have been sort of off baked goods for a while now, but I am practically salivating on my keyboard just thinking about how delicious these cookies are. I have made them in dozens of shapes, for various functions- these champagne flutes were for our Christmas party last year.  

White Velvet Cutouts

1 cup butter, soft enough to mix, but not room temperature
3 oz. cream cheese, softened
1 cup granulated sugar
1 egg yolk
2 1/2 cups all purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon real vanilla extract

Cream the butter and cream cheese in an electric mixer if you have one, or just go at it with a wooden spoon, like I did as a kid.  Add the sugar, and mix until light and fluffy. Add in the egg yolk and vanilla, and mix well.  Stir in the flour.  

Separate the dough into 2 pieces, and flatten into discs, then wrap in plastic wrap and refrigerate overnight, or at least for 3 hours.  You want the dough to be really, really firm before you roll it out.  That's how you get well-defined shapes.

When ready to proceed, preheat the oven to 350 degrees.

Sprinkle plenty of flour on your rolling surface, and remove one disc from the fridge to roll out.  The original recipe said to roll to 3/16th of an inch, so shoot for that if you want a lot of cookies.  Mine are usually a bit thicker.

Cut out shapes.  I have made lips, houses, sharks, Christmas trees, stars, doves, Texas, candy canes... you get the idea.

Transfer cutouts to an ungreased cookie sheet.  I often stick the cookie sheet in the freezer for a few minutes, if the dough has warmed up too much during the rolling process.

Bake until the edges are just slightly golden. The whiter these cookies stay, the better they taste.  The recipe says 8-10 minutes, but hang around your oven and check them frequently, and you'll learn how long to bake them in your oven.

Remove to a wire rack to cool completely.  

Run your cookie sheet under cold water and dry before using it again. If you stick unbaked dough on a hot cookie sheet, the shapes will start to melt before they cook, and that ain't pretty.

Glaze:

1 cup icing sugar (or powdered sugar, or confectioners sugar; whatever they call it where you live)
2 tablespoons water
1/2 teaspoon lemon juice
food colouring, if you like

Mix up glaze, and spread on cooled cookies.  You may need to tinker with quantities to get the thickness you want.  Thinner is better.  This glaze is delicious, but it takes absolutely FOREVER to harden, so you need to store your finished cookies in one layer, or they'll all stick together.  Worth it, though!


Summer Rules

Word, LSD

Look, I know we all love summer, but let's not forget that even something as wonderful as a sunny day has some rules around it.  I'm talking about clothes, of course.

In the city, summer brings out the most questionable sartorial choices you could imagine.  The other day, I was walking down the street behind a woman wearing a thin, peach coloured "dress". I have to use quotation marks, because this thing barely qualified.  Pro tip, ladies: you are not actually wearing a dress if I can see where your thigh ends and your butt begins.
 
Not only was this dress short, it was tight.  How tight, you ask? Well, I was walking a reasonable distance behind her, and I could clearly make out her ASS TATTOO through the strained fabric.  

As the saying goes,"Just because it zips, doesn't mean it fits". Learn it. Live it.

Thursday, July 3, 2014

Where I'll Be in NYC

Best. Drink. Ever.  Bar Hemingway, Paris (excuse the terrible phone photo.)
I'm heading to New York the first weekend in August.  I've gone at the end of the month a few times, for the US Open, and to say goodbye to my beloved Shea Stadium, but this is the first time I have gone in the dead of summer with no specific event planned.  Well, except for seeing Neil Patrick Harris in Hedwig- can't wait for that.  I'm such a fatalist that I actually worry he'll fall off his platform shoes and hurt himself before I get there.  Keep it together for 4 more weeks, NPH!

I hope to have beautiful days that I can spend wandering aimlessly, but should the weather be lousy, I know where I'll be- PJ Clarke's.

I love old school, classic bars, but somehow I have never been to PJ's.  I've been to, among others, The 21 Club, Martin's Tavern in Georgetown, and in Paris, Hemingway's (currently closed), and Harry's New York Bar. I went to Harry's on a pilgrimage of sorts, because they invented my absolute favourite cocktail- the Sidecar.

PJ Clarke's looks promising since the first drink listed on the cocktail menu is the Patrick Joseph Clarke Sidecar. Any bar that loves My Drink that much deserves a visit.  What better place to ride out a humid, dreary afternoon than a dark bar?  To be honest, I think this is where I'll be rain or shine.

Just because:

Lori's Sidecar:

1 part Cognac (as good as you can afford)
1 part Cointreau (not Triple Sec, not Grand Marnier. Cointreau!)
1 part freshly squeezed lemon juice, strained (not from a bottle, not from concentrate!)

Dump into an ice-filled shaker, and shake until really cold. Pour into a nice coupe glass, or a Martini glass if that's all you have available. Sip, though you will be tempted to chug. If you chug, you will regret it. Or so I've been told ;)


Wednesday, July 2, 2014

Go Human Beings!

Elaine:  "I will NEVER understand people."
Jerry:  "They're the worst!"

If, like me, you have ever had to utter the sentence "Excuse me, but could you not clip your toenails on the bus?", you might understand my frustration with my fellow human beings.  A casual observer of this blog might go away thinking I'm an irredeemable misanthrope, but that's not (entirely) true. Yes, during the average day, I scold strangers for various offenses, but it's only because, well, let George explain.

The thing is, though I sort of hate people, I love humanity, if that makes any sense.  By any criteria, we really are the worst- millennia of religious oppression, warfare, tribalism, sexism, and yet... look at all the good stuff!

Some guys with crappier tools than you have in your garage built this. Respect.

The first time I went to France, we went to Reims, ostensibly for the Champagne, but I also wanted very much to see the cathedral.  It is truly magnificent.  It fills me with awe and wonder, as it is intended to, except I don't see the glory of God, I see the glory of man.  People built this church 800 years ago!  With no heavy machinery, no computers, nothing but the simple tools available in the dark ages. It's positively mind-blowing.

Beautiful, non?

It pays to remember that we measly little humans built everything with just the stuff we found around us.  Every bit of technology started as matter, and was adapted by someone with a big brain and a lot of curiosity.  None of this stuff fell from the sky fully formed; we built the Parthenon, we built the Hubble telescope.  From the pyramids to the International Space Station, the wheel to the Mars Rover, people made these things, and did it DESPITE the warlords, the oppression, and the fanatical dictators.  If that isn't amazing, I don't know what is.

I try to remember this when some jerk blows cigarette smoke in my face on the sidewalk.

Tuesday, July 1, 2014

At Least

The Tenement Museum, Orchard St, New York
A few years ago, I moved into a brand new condo on a sweltering August 1st.  When I arrived with all my stuff, my landlord told me that the A/C wouldn't be ready for another month.  Surprise!  I lost my mind.  You would think I was being told I'd be without running water for a month.  I called the long suffering BF at work and started crying.  That night, we combed the city in search of cheap fans. I yelled at my landlord to knock some money off my rent.  It was a tiny condo with not too many opening windows, and that place was humid bordering on fetid for the month.  It was a nightmare.  Well, compared to my usual environment of perfectly comfortable.   In retrospect, I am aware that I did overreact.  Yes, I was sweatier than I cared to be for the hottest month of the year, but come on.  This was a prime example of what the nauseating but sort-of-right-on hashtag First World Problems describes.

The thing is, can you legitimately complain about anything when you have an exceedingly comfortable life?  I do often hear a little voice in my head, when I am having a George Kostanza moment and acting like the world is coming to an end when the slightest thing goes wrong.  The voice says "yeah, at least the Taliban isn't picking your clothes out for you," or something like that. It's the fucked up way my brain tells me to settle down and put things in perspective.

I have a friend who had minor (but invasive) surgery a while ago, and she was sort of put off when another friend said something along the lines of "At least you're not dying", she thought it minimized her pain.  I'm sure that wasn't the intention, but it gets to the heart of the issue- if you live in one of the best places on earth, and have all the comforts, are you allowed to complain about anything?  Ever?

I think that when something goes wrong in your life, it's your problem.  Just because it doesn't register with the United Nations Commission on Human Rights or something, doesn't make it nothing.  On the other hand, imagine someone moving here from Darfur and listening to me bitch about my broken air conditioning.  I am sure they'd want to punch me in the throat. And they should!

I visited the Tenement Museum in New York this winter- it was the most affecting museum visit I have ever made.  We did the Irish Outsiders tour, and by the end, I was choking back tears. The tour made it easy to imagine life for the people who lived in the squalid building- there was very little comfort to be had.  Temperature, smell, workload, food- things I rarely if ever worry about- what passed for "good enough" was whatever they could get.  I think of those tenement dwellers, or the first settlers in Canada, when I'm getting ready to complain about needing a cardigan in the office because the A/C is blasting.  I know two things for sure- I am lucky to have the comfort I do, and good God, what a shitty pioneer I would have made.