Sally likes it cold.

So... this just happened:


Marissa: Sally, did you put the Teddy Grahams in the fridge?
(Sally remains silent)
Charlotte: She's done it again, ladies!
(Maya begins to laugh hysterically)
Charlotte: First the ice-cream, then the cereal, and now the Teddies.
(Laughter erupts from all parties and slowly fades. After a brief silence)
Sally: I have twice in my life gotten into the shower with my socks on.

Tales from the East Village Continued

I've spoken before of my roommate Marissa and her obsession with all things 1950s. Well, sometimes Marissa gets confused and truly believes she lives in her beloved decade.
Now, I'm not saying that she ducks and covers because she thinks the bomb is gonna hit, or that she protests for civil rights in the streets of New York. No, Marissa lives in a 1950s musical.

One of her favorites is Stanley Donen's "Seven Brides for Seven Brothers", which features the song "June Bride":

Today, I was in my room but the door to the kitchen was open and this song came on the iHome. Knowing that Marissa was in the kitchen, baking, I quickly grabbed my camera, knowing what was inevitably to come.
And surely enough....

Yes, that is indeed a sprig of broccoli she's using as her bridal bouquet.

Facebook keeps trying to get me a man.

Try again.

Walking in Tunnels

This picture was taken during Winter break. Those two on the left are my brothers, and December was the first time I saw both of them in a year.
Other families, when they get together, take hiking trips or play board games - we, as demonstrated from the above picture, assist one another in taking pictures of a cigarette as it slowly consumes itself.

But that's not all we did this holiday! My brother Aurelien is a singer-songwriter (he goes under the name of Neil Erua) and my brother David is a fantastic photographer and I... I'm always up for anything, so here's what we did:

Hope you like it!

Punxsutawney Wah?

There’s Thanksgiving: which I’m a big fan of because it involves delicious food and warm and gooey i-love-my-family type sentiments.

Then there’s Martin Luther King Day, President’s Day, Memorial Day, Columbus Day, which all exist to commemorate various American historical happenings. 

But I have to say, of all American holidays, Groundhog Day is the one that baffles me the most. 

Now, I have noticed in our Blogspot Statistics that we have a lot of international readers, so I think an explanation is in order:

Groundhog Day, as I understand it, was originated by the Pennsylvania Germans in the 18th century. The holiday consists of waiting for a groundhog to emerge from its burrow and hope that the creature does not see its shadow. If it does, this is a sign (nay, scientific proof) that the winter weather will continue for six more weeks.

This year, Punxsutawney Phil The Groundhog did not see his shadow. "So an early spring it will be!", exclaimed the man in a top hat who apparently speaks groundhog. Well, I hate to be a non-believer in the predictions of rodents, but I beg to differ, Phil:

That's me, under that patch of snow, right there

Oh, Art

I'm back in NYC.
Before coming back here, however, Mom and I spent two days in Paris where we went to Le Louvre and Le Musée D'Orsay.
This is what I found:

I know what you're thinking... this is clear copyright infringement: 

Ah yes, the invention of foie gras:

Think it over... think it oOoOoover

STOP! in the name of love

... before you break my heart.

This is not where I'd chose to rest my head.

The God of symbolism barfed here:

Monty Python, anyone?

Charlotte

Thursday Night Boggle

...the fun continues

Yellery (six letters!)- a place where one yells

Weller - one who constructs wells

Jewy - demonstrating Jewish qualities

A lovely day at JFK

I'm in an airport. I'm supposed to be on my flight, on the way to Denmark, where the train that's supposed to take me to Lund and my house and my boyfriend and the dinner I had mentally planned (salmon!) was.

Little did I know that the plane to Denmark suffered from mechanical errors. I also knew very little about the supposed plan to tell me about this in Atlanta so that I could be rebooked onto a flight to Newark instead of JFK and continue directly from there. What I DO know is that people can be idiots, and that now I have been delayed a full day. I also know that if all goes well I will be on my way to France in a few hours.

I have become very aware of strong negative emotions about airlines. Especially Delta airlines. And Continental. And maybe even KLM. Actually most airlines except for Lufthansa, because they just kind of chill out. I now also know why they have such rigorous security checks. The next time I fly I believe I will pack pressurized substances, dangerous chemicals and weapons specifically to test said controlls, and if they don't stop me I may or may not use the pressurized substances to attack them.  In their faces.

Also Charlotte, I can't believe you like borscht. I mean come on.

It also just struck me that whether you are in France or New York, I am/will be much closer to you physically than usual.

Missing the Fancy Pants

I am back in Marseille, the motherland.
Rather than writing about France, however, I shall be writing about something that is sitting in my pantry in my apartment in New York, the foster motherland.

A few months (yes, months) back, I came across this can of beets.
Now I like beets a lot. In fact, you might say that I'm quite the beet fiend. And borscht too for that matter, but that makes sense since borscht is essentially mashed-up beets.
I know what you're thinking, oh inquisitive reader: "If you like them so much, why haven't you eaten them yet?"
The answer is: I'm just not fancy enough.

Charlotte

Announcing...

The 2010-2011 Anna Karenina Off!

The Contestants: Charlotte and Sally

The Book: Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina translated by Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky

The Parameters: 817 pages, 36 days. Whoever gets the furthest in the book wins.

The Dates: December 19 to January 24

The Prize: A dinner at the winner’s restaurant of choice.

What People are Saying:  "It's gonna be a long trek in the arid Tolstoy desert"; "Well, really there are no winners, just a couple of well-read losers".

Note: If a contestant miraculously finishes the whole book before January 24, they are to inform Mediator Maya, who will officially end the contest and announce the victor. 

Two Illustrated Questions:

1.

What is happening to the world?

 2.

Why are the Germans the only one with an exclamation point?

To venture an answer to either, try the comments.

Charlotte

Sally

Have you ever wondered what it would be like to live with a Linguistics major with a passion for ceramics? I knew you did. Well, today's your lucky day: I'm going to share my experience with you.

This is Sally:

Sally's an expert at ceramic glazes and when I say expert, I mean the girl's a pro. So much so, in fact, that she helps some people with their ceramic thesis projects, which results in conversations such as these:

Charlotte: What did you do today?

Sally: Well, I was helping this girl with her thesis project.

Charlotte: Yeah?

Sally: Yeah, she's making cups shaped like breasts and we spent hours finding the perfect areolar color.

Sally also does things like x-bar theory, which is when you take a sentence and put it in some sort of tree diagram and sometimes it takes her hours to do one sentence and she gets really frustrated and will go slightly crazy. And sometimes when I wake up in the morning, I find things like this on the kitchen counter:

When I asked her about this, she answered that she didn't even remember writing it; she was on an x-bar high.

Charlotte

True.com

As I checked my Facebook the other day, this appeared:

No, Facebook, I do not want a fake-taned, army-bandana-wearing, long-sideburned "Cute Boyfriend".

I have never been more disappointed that there isn't an "all of the above" option.

Charlotte

It's a Small Thing

If you’ve diligently read the description of this blog, you’ll notice that there were promises made to our vast audience. Namely, that Isabel and I “celebrate the small things in life”. This post is about one of those small things.

I feel like there’s a sense of accomplishment that comes with finishing a tube of toothpaste. It’s an affirmation that you have done your job, kept your teeth clean. It takes a while to finish a tube of toothpaste, it takes hard work and discipline. Recently, I finished one, and it was pretty great. I always squeeze out every last remaining drop (?) because I don’t want to feel like I’m cheating, so I finish it until there’s nothing left, and then have a grand, dramatic moment where I chuck it in the garbage can. I have had no noteworthy athletic achievements, so this is the closest thing I have to a touchdown, a basket, a goal or a home-run.

Logically, it should be a huge disappointment when I have to buy a new tube: the start of a yet another long, exhaustive journey. But no. It’s not disappointing. In fact, starting the new tube may be even more thrilling than ending one. Why? Because look at that tube!

So deliciously plump! And then it’s time to apply the toothpaste: all the colors are in a straight line, they lay side-by-side on the tips of brush. I make sure of this: I slowly apply the toothpaste so that it looks just like the commercial. And sometimes, I even manage to get that playful swirl. You know exactly which one I’m talking about:

That’s when I know it was all worth it. Going through that arduous process of finishing the tube. It was all worth it because of how straight the lines are and because of that swirl. And now I just have to be a trooper until the end; the day of a new tube will come again.

Charlotte

Commitment Issues

Even though I can confidently say that I'm in a (currently) functional, loving relationship, on rare occasions I wish this would actually happen. Although it might undermine population growth, imagine the look of surprise...

Let me know if it's too small/crappy. I have no idea how best to upload drawings, if anyone has any ideas/suggestions, please feel free (I'm currently just taking pictures of them seeing as I don't have a scanner, then playing around with exposure and contrast).
I'm also not a fan of boxes, which you may or may not be able to tell.

Isabel

The tale of the dirty kastrull and the cleaning of the kitchen

None of these things were in the saucepan. And it was blue, not white. 

So, I've written before about the passive-agressiveness that accompanies the cleaning of public space. The conflicts, as previously mentioned, usually stay at the "passive" level - some occasional, inconspicuous hints about SOME people, annoyed sighs when emptying the dishwasher for what feels like the 54783974th time, and so on.

The only person that takes the passive out of aggressive is one of the french men. (Let's call him ponyboy for reasons I might explain at another time) I recently experienced this phenomenon, and I feel that I must record this injustice. First, let me clarify that when it was MY kitchen week, I cleaned the kitchen and the sink - including the things in it. In other words, there was a dirty sauce pan or two, and I cleaned them because it literally takes 20 seconds.

Ponyboy does not support this approach. Instead, he spent the first fifteen minutes of his cleaning day examining every dirty dish, and then proceeded to ask around until someone admitted to the crime of leaving it unattended in his presence. My claim to fame? A dirty saucepan. Actually, it was barely even dirty, it just had some rice stuck to the bottom. To deal with this issue, I had left it on the counter with some water in it to loosen up said rice, which I think is a perfectly acceptable way of postponing the washing up. This was not acceptable to Ponyboy. After some hectic arm movements and irritated mutterings from his part, I took the hint and cleaned said pan (albeit with a slightly bitter demeanor) and left it to dry.

But this was not the end of it. As I'm sitting there, watching TV in the living room (another public space), Ponyboy comes running up to me and shakes the sauce pan in my face. It was not clean enough. After hastily muttering sorry, I resumed my TV-watching, under the impression that me squeezing up next to him to use the sink at the same time that he was would be an awkward and uncomfortable experience.

Again, I was mistaken (everyone who thinks differently than Ponyboy is always mistaken). The whole ordeal culminated in him angrily slamming the pan down on the table nearest to me and rapid conversations in french with the other french dude in the corridor.

Obviously it all came to a definitive end once I resolutely got up off the couch and bashed his head in with the infamous sauce-pan - rice remains flying through the air and all. (Alternative ending: I remain in the couch for a few minutes, terrified of angry, long-haired french man and ashamed at my own cowardice, to then slowly proceed to the kitchen to clean the pan.)

Isabel

Tales from the East Village Continued

I’ve spoken a lot about Sally and Marissa in previous posts but I would be remised if I left out one very, very important element of our apartment: my roommate Maya. 

This is Maya:

Maya bakes things for me. In fact she has a baking blog that you should probably check out. Maya likes to laugh and do crafty things and go to shows and be Jewish and eventually aspires to save the world, hopefully with baked good. But there is another side of Maya, a side that comes out usually when she is very tired. During this time, I like to picture that the holes in the filter between Maya’s brain and mouth slowly but surely expand until they let comments slip through - comments that never should’ve been uttered.

At 1 a.m. the other day, one of these moments happened.

Maya: You know what I was thinking about today? That it would really suck if I broke both my legs.

Charlotte: ......

Maya: Don’t you think?

Charlotte: ......

Maya: Don’t you think?

Charlotte: Don’t I think what?

Maya: Don’t you think it would suck if I broke both my legs?

Charlotte: ...... (note: usually when I don’t justify these questions with an answer, she just laughs and lets it go.)

Maya: You would have to bathe me, you know?

Charlotte: I probably wouldn’t.

Maya: And feed me.

Charlotte: I’m pretty sure handicapped people feed themselves.

Maya: No, you’d have to bathe me and feed me and do everything for me.

Charlotte: No, I’m not doing any of this because you’re not breaking your legs.

Maya: Would you rather break both your arms or both your legs?

Charlotte: What IS this conversation?

Maya: Blind or deaf?

Charlotte: We’ve had this discussion before.

Maya: I don’t remember. So, blind or deaf?

Charlotte: Blind.

Maya: I would rather be deaf.

Charlotte: I know you would, because we’ve had this discussion before. 

Maya: Right-handed or left-handed?

Charlotte: ..........

Maya: ...........

Charlotte: Go to sleep.

Friday Boggle

Avid fans of Faulty Feet (for the purpose of this post, let's say they exist) will remember my last Scrabble post, in which I shed light on the tendency that non-competitive people have to let their playmates put words on the board that are not exactly words, per se. Well, once again, the hour of unconventional rules to word board games has stricken (stroke? striked?). This time, we’ll take a look at Boggle. Basically, if the word ‘should be a word’, then it is. 

Here are a few of the words and their imaginary but nonetheless valid definitions:

Pumis - either a hummus filled public bone or a dried up penis that is used as a pumice stone. (ew.)

Yumbits - no need for a definition, chances are you know exactly what these are. Om nom nom nom nom.

Telemody: of Telemundo

Mylon: not your nylon.

Doy: a Yiddish version of Homer Simpson’s ‘Doh!’

Heman: words applicable to Arnold Schwarzenegger, Rod Steward and John Hamm only.

Ok, this isn’t a made up word but look, it’s a tapir!

Charlotte

Let's have bizarre celebrations

Today we had a fairly important presentation at uni, which involved me in a group with two others giving a powerpoint presentation. (Yes, I am going to modestly brag now.) Recently we've had a lot of snowfall (very, if not extremely unusual for this region at this time of year), so everyone is in christmas/winter wonderland mode. To celebrate this, I included some fancy-ass powerpoint animations that involved a little christmas hat bouncing in on the screen and landing on the first letter of the title in the last slide. The teacher (a Danish man who I've somehow come to respect) laughed, and afterwards when he was giving the whole class general feedback he singled me out and complimented me on my powerpoint skills. Sad part? That was probably the proudest moment in my entire non-existant academic career. And it will probably remain that way for quite some time. 

Anyway, keeping with the mood I included a "bizarre celebrations christmas navel". Although, the irony is kind of lost in this one, because if he was really desperate to open it he could use his teeth. (Unless he has none?)

I took the photo with iPhoto so it's kind of crappy quality... Anyway I'm not really happy with it, I refuse to accept it as a legitimate christmas Navel. 

I haven't been drawing any Navels because I felt that I had "outgrown" him and wanted to pursue more complicated things than a bean-shaped fetus. I was trying to squeeze out a drawing the other day and failed miserably, which is when I drew a crying Navel. That's when I decided that maybe I need a little more Navels in my life. 

Isabel

Sunday cleaning

I have nothing interesting to write, so i'm just gonna talk about sunday cleaning. The cleaning of our collective surfaces (kitchen, living room, BATHROOMS) has been a recurring topic and the cause of much passive-agressive behavior recently. We've tried several different strategies, everything from lists to chore wheels, but they haven't really worked, because SOME people don't to their work - usually me, but i'm not the only one. A recurring phrase from our corridor meeting is the standard "It's no use pointing fingers, they know who they are, but SOME people aren't doing their bit" (this followed by a meaningful stare at SOME people)
 Anyway, to cope with the increasing amount of dirty dishes and spotted toilet seats, we divided up into cleaning pairs, each pair getting one week. I was teamed up with tall nordic man, he lives at the very end of the hall and barely ever says anything (I've insisted on greeting him every time I see him in the kitchen, thus essentially "training" him in social contact. In fact, today we reached a new milestone - he said "hi" before me)  Anyway, so today we very swiftly negotiated the terms of our cleaning partnership - he does the bathrooms, I do the living room and the kitchen. This may or may not later have led to a slightly panicky phone call to my cousin about which mop to use, but I still think I got the better end of the deal.

Isabel