Giving Thanks

Thanksgiving is hands down my favorite holiday. I think there are a few reasons this is so, the main one being the nostalgia I feel for my family's traditional trek up to New Hampshire for the big day. As you are well aware by now, nothing brings me more peace than the splendor of New England, and spending it with family in late November as the seasons are about to switch gears is nothing short of fantastic. That, and I love holidays that include football, parades, stuffing, pie, and lots and lots of wine. No gifts needed-just give me dinner rolls, butter, and good company. Seriously.

Unfortunately, I could not make it home for Thanksgiving this year, and even though the tradition of traveling up to New Hampshire has no longer been an annual event, I was of course melancholy that I couldn't spend it with my family in New York. Even so, I knew I wasn't just going to let the holiday go un-celebrated, so I decided to throw a feast at my house with the rest of my "orphan" friends.

The guests added up to eight: myself and four friends (Martha, Blaire, Michael, and Dan) and my housemate John and two of his (Dennis and Natasha). Martha came over around 11:30, for she was in charge of the turkey. John was around all day (seeing as he does live here..) and others dwindled in as the day progressed. We didn't end up eating until around eight, but the drinking began around noon. Thus, no one seemed to mind the late dinner.

I woke up around nine that day, and greeted my favorite holiday with a cup of coffee, a warm bowl of oatmeal, and (what I thought was) the Manhattan Thanksgiving Day parade. I was watching the festivities with Dalton when he remarked "isn't is strange that the DC local news is covering the Philadelphia Turkey Parade?" I responded, "uh..yeah, really weird. Let's just watch the NY one," and quickly changed the channel. My bad.

When Martha came over, we unraveled the poor, naked turkey, and dutifully dug out the heart, liver, and so forth. We put all the treats in a bowl, and I suggested to John we give it to his dog. He said no. WEIRD. Martha then proceeded to massage the bird with butter, stuff it with parsley, sage, rosemary, thyme, and lemons, and stick the thing in the oven. Seven hours later. BAm! TURKEY.

I was in charge of the biscuits, green bean casserole, stuffing, and roasted sweet potatoes. We also had cranberry sauce, butternut squash soup, and mashed potatoes. Take a look!

John is not one to cook, but he said he had a wonderful recipe for cheesy cauliflower--a side dish made every year in his household. The preparation? Packaged cheddar cheese (melted and mixed with milk and flour) poured over steamed cauliflower. Hey, people ate it!

After dinner, we all suffered from food coma and collapsed in the living room. We sprawled out on the couches and floor, mumbled a little bit, and picked at the apple pie. We cleaned up the kitchen, put all the leftovers away, and called it a night.

Overall, it was a successful holiday shared with good people. Who knows where I'll be come next Turkey day, but two things are certain: I'll definitely make John's cauliflower, and I'll watch the correct parade on t.v.

New York Pt. II

Thankfully, before we fell asleep, I remembered to tell Nicole to turn off her alarm. (Nicole, I love you to death, but I absolutely loathe your phone alarm. It is the most harrowing sound in the universe, and you--for whatever insane reason--like to snooze it for two hours before you actually have to wake up. This means you get to hear the awful noise every ten minutes for two hours. I did not want to hear this noise. Thank you for turning it off. I love you. I hate your alarm).

After a restful and alarm-free sleep on Nicole's king sized bed (fully equipped with a tempurpedic mattress), we greeted the day with a walking tour around Columbia. I wanted a "day-in-the-life," so we walked Nic's normal route to campus and she showed me some of her frequented classrooms, study lounges, and libraries. The school was beautiful, the weather was quite charming for mid-November in NY, and it was surprisingly soothing to be surrounded by the familiar sounds and smells of New York City.

Afterwards, we came back to Nic's apartment to make breakfast, which turned into brunch, whiiiiich turned into lunch. It was about 1:30pm by the time we got our act together, but we both knew that banana-chocolate chip pancakes are delicious at anytime of the day. Henceforth:

After lunch, I took the 1 train down to the L and headed over to my brother's place in Brooklyn. There, we had a little family reunion with my parents! We watched the JETS win, ate some foods, drank some wine, and then went baaack to Manhattan to go out and dinner and see Sufjan Stevens perform at the Beacon Theatre.

We had a great dinner near the theatre, then walked across the street to see Sufjan perform in all his majesty. Sufjan himself described the show as "avator meets cats on ice," and I would definitely agree. While the show was surely a spectacle (there were hipster girl dancers, electronic guitars and synthesizers, back-drop movie screens and flashing lights everywhere), there was nothing that could compare to the serenity of Sufjan moving upstage to solo on his acoustic guitar, which unfortunately did not happen enough. Still, the show was surely a mix of voices and inspirations, and was well-received by all.

I then said goodbye to my parents (see you in a few weeks!) and took the train back up to Nicole's. She was talking to me about El Nino and others Climate and Society MA stuff in bed, and I think I fell asleep on her.

New York pt. I

This past weekend, I went to New York. I didn't exactly know how I would feel when the Megabus drove through the Lincoln tunnel and spit us out in the city. Since I've gotten to DC, I've explained on numerous occasions that I am by no means a "city person," and my attraction to Washington is by and large due to its size, layout, and intensity (or lack thereof). Yet, when we ruptured out of the tunnel and looped around the EZ-pass lane, I was greeted by massive skyscrapers, bright lights, and--if only to be cliche--"THE NEW YORKER" lit up in a sharp, intrusive red. I leaned back in my seat and smiled. I was home.

My initial reason for traveling to the city was to see Sufjan Stevens at the Beacon Theatre with my family. I started listening to Sufjan back in high school, and I can say with no hesitation that he is my favorite musical artist (just listen to "Come On! Feel the Illinois!" or "Romulus." I dare you not to be moved). What is more, he is wonderful to just stare at. Even if his music was horrible I might still attend his concerts. I mean, CMON . His speaking voice is also incredibly soothing; it's like honey being poured over a smooth granite countertop. Or something.

The concert was also an opportunity to see my family and friends, since I can't come home for Thanksgiving and the amount of time I'll have at home for the holidays is yet to be determined. So I left Saturday evening after work (and two cocktails to provide me with an entertaining ride) and got into Manhattan around 11PM. I took the 1 train up to 110th st, and was greeted by my best friend:

We immediately went to the market by Nic's apartment, bought beer and ice-cream, and headed to Nicole's digz. Her place was a lot bigger than I expected, but the layout is completely bizarre. There are long, narrow hallways connecting each room; the extra space for a seemingly mile long tight-rope walk to the bathroom could've been used to make the kitchen bigger than its current 10x10 frame. The bathtub is a whole other story. The faucet is on the left corner, yet the shower head is in the middle of the back wall and the shower curtains open up like theatre curtains.

In any case, the place was cozy, and Nic did a great job making her room colorful and restful--two things needed for a crazed masters student who named a fly in her room Bill and frequently eats canned olives for dinner. We laid in bed with beer and ice-cream, chatted about nothingness, took pictures, and fell peacefully asleep.

Marshalls

The other day I realized I hadn't gone clothing shopping in about...six months. Thinking it would be nice to find some more fashionable, urban-chic clothing at a reasonable price, I wandered into Marshalls after a nice bit at the gym.

Of course, what started as a task to find different, more "cute" an "sexy" clothes turned into my arms filled with an array of v-neck sweaters in grey, brown, black, etc. I get this from my mother.

After about two hours of searching for the fitting rooms (are they always next to the shoes?), I realized I had just gone to the gym, and I was sweaty. And wearing a sports bra. And trying on any of these clothes in my hand would be absurd, if not a little rancid. Feeling slightly defeated, I thought I could wander and find a nice coat or something to try on over my tshirt; maybe something with a belt buckle, or a singe at the waist (gasp!).

To get right to it, while I walked into Marshalls to find some fashionable clothes, I ended up purchasing this:

A $90 fleece reduced to $30, this sucker (which is way more teal in real life) is like petting a chinchilla-bunny hybrid and could keep you warm in Norway. You can zip it all the way up to your chin, removing any need for a cute scarf. The best part is the hood though, which just barely lets your head tuck inside, leaving you to look like some fluffy, teal-- albeit warm-- alien.

When I was waiting in line to purchase my alien suit, I was reminded of how funny check out counters are in stores like Marshalls. In a desperate attempt to have you BUY MORE STUFF, they throw at you the most random gadgets and goods: picture frames, wool socks, chocolate-covered strawberries, chocolate-covered cherries, chocolate-covered peanuts, chocolate-covered chocolate (which are just generic-brand M&M,s--they fooled you!). I saw a woman look through a pile of neck pillows and find a tiny one for her baby. She put it on the content little infant's neck, only to have the kid start screaming. No pillow for her, unfortunately.

There were notecards and calendars, halloween masks and about fifty different types of pens. This gets me the most. A pen has one function, and one function only, yet we are somehow lured into buying the fat ones that have some pretty poem sprinkled in script down its side that has enough ink to last for about two days, or three greeting cards (which ever comes first). The best was the beverage cooler though, situated right at the beginning of the "please form line here" stand. The mini-fridge had a sign that read "because you just don't thirst for fashion."

At that time, unfortunately for me, I wasn't thirsting for either.

.

Two separate occasions; Redwood; recovering from work.

ps- I just talked to Nicole, and I hope my previous post does not make it seem like I am unappreciative for all that I have been given as a U.S. citizen. I know how lucky I am to be given opportunities to study, grow, and have the freedoms of speech, religion, thought, etc. It is just crazy to see other American citizens here in DC that aren't given the same opportunities. Oftentimes, the innocent are unable to see the wonders capitalism can provide.

In any case,

I get to go to NYC this weekend to see Nicole! and my parents! and these fools who visited me a few weeks ago:

Oh, and also Sufjan Stevens.

an out of america experience

I came across a weird thought the other day.

--Let me rephrase that. About 60% of my thoughts are what one would commonly define as"weird," "strange," "not normal," etc. I guess that's just my nature. In any case, I guess this certain thought was mind-provoking enough to make it to this world-famous blog.

At least in my experiences, D.C doesn't feel like America. Strange for being the national capital, no? But hear me out: a majority of my interactions are with people of a different ethnicity and culture-many who have only recently moved to the U.S. Others are DC natives, but come from a background completely different from my own. Perhaps my own "American" experiences are really the ones that are skewed; growing up on Long Island, going to school in Saratoga Springs, and routinely vacationing in the Adirondack mountains doesn't necessarily give one a true experience of the States. Yet, for whatever reason, I almost feel like a foreigner here.

Not a foreigner in the bad sense. I don't feel lost or out of place. I don't stick out like I did in Ghana (helllo blond hair and pale skin), nor do I ever feel like a tourist or traveler. Each day where I live feels more like a new or second home, yet it also feels like an opportunity for a new experience or adventure. The people I meet and the conversations I engage in are randomly and wonderfully unpredictable, much like ones experienced abroad.

The second piece to this thought is in reference to a belief I've had for awhile. I never felt like I was meant to live in the U.S., which is perhaps why D.C. seems so natural to me. I don't exactly know what the American dream is, but I know I don't want it. I never accepted the values of many middle-class Americans; our priorities about work, money, family and school all seem so radically backwards to me. Now I know it's a huge generalization to say these are the beliefs of all Americans, but as a college-graduate lurking for jobs, I am learning that our system is really baseed on these certain priorities. (You have a degree? That's good. Now where did you intern? That's better. No Master's? Well you can't compete with the rest of the pool. Go back to school? Do you have $100 grand? Oh, and don't even think about getting time off for the holidays-- this internship will lead you to both new experiences and a job that will get you into grad school that [will leave you in debt] will hopefully get you a better job that will lead you to marriage, a family, and some time off).

Merry Christmas to you too, America.

buses

So, until approximately yesterday, I avoided the buses here in D.C. Not because I'm a busaphobe, hate public transportation that doesn't let me do my escalator intervals, or just love hearing over and over on the subway "step back, doors closing; step back, doors closing." No. I avoided the buses because I couldn't figure them out. Take a look yourself, here is the bus map.

Right? I'm not crazy. A disinterest to stare at an intersection of about two-thousand million little lines that are named J2, J3,J4, or an inability to figure out that I can take the D31, D33, D34, E2, E3, E4 OR the W45 through Rock Creek Park, is pretty understandable.

That being said, I learned that the way to figure out the buses is to forget the map all together, and just ask someone. So I did.

Turns out I can take two buses to Bethesda and nearly cut my commuting time and price in half; turns out there is a way to get to Dupont Circle besides walking for 45 minutes or taking the green line obnoxiously south just so I can transfer and finally cut west through the city.

Turns (also) out that only black people ride the bus. Yep. In my past 48 hours of bus experience, I have been the only white passenger. This is probably because a) most white people are either a1)too lazy to figure out the busses a2)too rich to worry about saving the extra dollar, and b)the subway in reality doesn't make travel sense, but is convenient in that you avoid traffic.

And that's all I want to say about that.