44, 43, 42, 41, 40, 39 days Down the Shore

Alright, so I'm kind of crap at this daily thing. But I'm going to work on it, I swear! So the past week I was down the Jersey Shore at a friend's family beach house. Monday I had a job interview for 'The Merchant of Venice', and thankfully, I got the job! Woohoo! That night, I met my friend Sue at Penn Station and took the train to Point Pleasant.

Her family has had a beach house in Lavallette since the 70's I think and it was fantastic! 3 blocks from the beach and it reminded me so much of both my grandparents' homes, it felt like walking into a memory. The vinyl table cloth, the linens with the summer quilts, the old little table lamps and just the feeling of a loved home that had been lived in for a long time.

We hit the beach everyday, didn't really go in the water though because the waves were huge! I was kind of hoping to get some open water ocean swimming in, but the water just didn't seem safe enough.

It was amazing to just laze on the beach for the better part of the day, go back to the house, shower and have an equally relaxing evening. We walked into town and went to the early bird dinner at the Crab's Claw. I'd brought my little DVD player with me, so we watched movies.

Sue was very brave and rode her niece's bike into the neighboring town to go to the grocery store and get taco fixings the next night. She cooked a delicious dinner and I ended up getting sucked into 'Without a Trace' on TV, so we didn't make it to the boardwalk like we'd planned. It was kind of a good thing,  we were so stuffed from our taco dinner I don't think I would've made the walk to the boardwalk!

I had forgotten just how relaxing time at the beach can be. Listening to the waves roll in and crash and lull you into a state of utter calm. And the light wind of the water cooling your skin from the hot rays of the sun. There's really nothing quite like it! And the Jersey Shore has an absolutely beautiful beach. Soft, clean sand and so well maintained. Granted I was down there after the season, and there were still other people on the beach, but in a way it felt like I was part of a special club of people who come to the beach off-season... I suppose they're mostly locals.

The last night I was down there, we walked over to Seaside Heights which is a few towns over and where the boardwalk is. It's also where that awful MTV reality show was filmed. We walked along the boardwalk which was practically dead, majority of shops closed up for mid-week or for the season. We ate at a hopping bar and grill that I think the whole town was in, then headed back to the boardwalk.

I was determined to win something! So we went into an arcade and the first thing I saw was a photo booth, which of course we had to do. Then we headed over to play skeeball. I thought I was kind of crappy at it, but turns out I actually kind of rock at it! I kept hitting the 10,000 point corner, it was awesome.

I did get sucked into trying to win an iPod from the stupid claw machine - damn things are rigged! I couldn't even win the lame sparkly plush black Halloween kitty. Had to go back and win some more tickets from skeeball to be able to actually get anything with the tickets!

Our friend Ginny LOVES skeeball, and I figured she was returning from her honeymoon in Italy this week and it was just her birthday so got her a little birthstone ring with my tickets! That was kind of the best they had to offer. The fake little flies, chinese finger trap, bag of marbles and plastic toys just didn't quite tempt me. And I didn't have nearly enough tickets for the cute plush animals, the Coach sunglasses or the Red Sox pint glass they had.

We walked back along the boardwalk and in a moment of youth and insanity, I did a cartwheel along the boardwalk. Thankfully, I don't think anyone was around to see my flip flop go flying, except for Sue of course. Glad I can at least amuse my friends! The next day Sue's parents came down, and her mom was nice enough to give me a ride to the train station. I didn't remember it being such a long commute, but it felt like forever getting back to Manhattan! But well, well worth it. Jersey Shore, I'm coming back to see you!

48, 47, 46, 45 days and counting...

So obviously, I slacked off for some days. It's been an interesting and busy few days; when it rains it pours.

Something I've been thinking about lately is what a disposable society we are. I know, that's a blanket statement that doesn't apply to everyone, but I am certainly a culprit. I love disposable tissues. I always keep one of those little packets on me, you just never know when you can use one.

There are all kinds of disposable products, items that are meant for a single or few uses and then intended to be disposed of. Can you imagine going back to cloth nappies? Ew. Granted I don't have a baby, so it wouldn't effect my life the way it would someone who's currently using disposable diapers on their baby.

Even clothes and shoes have become disposable items. Made and sold cheaply, worn for a year at most and then discarded. It's not worth taking the time to mend a garment that cost $20 and could be replaced in less time than it would take to repair it. Even shoes can be less expensive to replace than to take to a cobbler and have resoled, patched or repaired.

The worst of all though, it seems even fellow humans have become disposable quantities. And I don't even mean the atrocities that occur amongst humans, I just mean between average people. Granted I have a huge negative bias towards on-line dating, but it is the worst offender as it is set up for those who think of their fellow humans as disposable!

It seems next to impossible to avoid the person who flips through profiles and dismisses potential dates (not even mates) on a whim. Put those same people in a room, face-to-face and the outcome would be vastly different. I simply don't understand the idea of people in your life as 'ok, but just for now'.

People are not disposable! Relationships, of ALL kinds, take work. This isn't news. But it feels people are less involved with each other these days. Do they just not care? Or do they see everyone as replaceable? Disposable...

50, no 49 days... Cat in the Looking Glass

So you know I've been obsessed with the movie "Bridget Jones's Diary" lately. Well, perhaps it's because I  AM the character of Bridget Jones. It's a disturbingly accurate portrait of a single 30-something woman, particularly this one. Perhaps it's just ever so slightly dated, but wow do I still identify with her!

Ok, so it's not exactly like looking in the mirror. Cut out the smoking and hopefully cut back on the alcohol drinking, and ok, so I'm not having sex with the likes of Hugh Grant or Colin Firth either... but the rest is right on the money!

Bridget Jones is a woman who:

• is slightly dissatisfied with her job and life
• has wonderful, supportive friends
• makes questionable decisions with men
• is trying to improve on herself and life
• can't cook for shit
• constantly thinks she needs to lose 20 lbs
• is a warm, flawed, caring, real woman

Here are some favorite lines from the movie, some resonate and others just make me laugh:

"You'll never get a boyfriend if you look like you've wandered out of Auschwitz." 

"Maybe this was the mysterious Mr. Right I'd been waiting my whole life to meet." ... "Maybe not."

"I suddenly realized that unless something changed soon I was going to live a life where my major relationship was with a bottle of wine and I'd finally die, fat and alone and be found three weeks later, half-eaten by wild dogs."

"This can't be just shagging. A mini-break means true love."

"At times like this continuing with one's life seems impossible and eating the entire contents of one's fridge seems inevitable. I have two choices: to give up and accept permanent state of spinsterhood and eventual eating by dogs... or not."

"...if staying here means working within 10 yards of you, frankly I'd rather have a job wiping Saddam Hussein's ass."

"...better dash. I've got another party to go to. It's single people. Mainly poofs. Bye."

"Definitely an occasion for genuinely tiny knickers!"

"'Wait a minute, nice boys don't kiss like that.' 'Oh yes they fucking do.'"

I also adore this movie's soundtrack! Just some classic, fantastic songs. My favorite just might be Out of Reach by Gabrielle. This song absolutely resonates with me! It's on the track list for the soundtrack of my life. Definitely have sung along at top volume driving in the car, oh yeah, it's one of those good songs. Don't you just love those?

51 days... Meant for Yesterday, Obsessed to Distraction

Holy poo! Where did the time go?! I was just dallying around the apartment and all of a sudden it's after midnight! So, this post was really meant for yesterday (Monday, 13 September). Oh well... I'm still getting used to this blogging thing...

So, in case you don't know me well, I'm neurotic. Not severely neurotic, well maybe under stress it comes out more, but either way, there it is. Or perhaps it's just because I'm a scorpio, but one of my less appealing traits is obsessiveness.

Today, I find myself to be obsessed to distraction. This is probably why I'm finding myself writing this post at 12:30 in the morning. I wasn't even particularly obsessed with a solitary thing today. Mostly with an abundance of wayward thoughts, which I really don't need to get into.

I often find myself getting obsessed with a movie or a song and watching/listening to it repeatedly, over and over and over. Today's 2 obsessions in those categories were the song Reason Why by Rachael Yamagata off the soundtrack for "The Last Kiss" [Thank you Matty! Still one of my favorite albums!] and the movie "Bridget Jones's Diary".

I won't even count the number of times I've played both in a single day. Hmm. Let's see what tomorrow brings. Perhaps it will be counting stairs, since my elevator is out for the next few days. Whoo! Bring on 9 flights!

52 days... A Tribute to French Toast

A slow start to this Sunday began with the momentous move from bed to lounging on the couch, sipping at a cup of coffee. A slight drizzle and the occasional breeze through the park trees were the morning's soundtrack through the open window. I could smell someone cooking - truly incredible since I have a terrible to non-existent sense of smell - and it smelled decadently delicious.

My unrefined and broken sniffer couldn't place just what was being made for breakfast, but french toast came to mind. I had a short-lived internal struggle... will I be satisfied with some toast and jam? Do I want to venture outside to buy the needed eggs and milk to make my craving? Do I really need to shower if I'm just going to the store a few blocks away?

So after throwing my Red Sox cap on and some sneakers, 20 minutes later found me making french toast in my disaster of a kitchen. Attempting to be frugal, I didn't buy bread, just figured I'd use the last of the wheat bread I already had. I did splurge on maple syrup though. I couldn't resist the amber stuff that was made in New Hampshire, especially after reading 'high fructose corn syrup' as the first ingredient in Aunt Jemima's.

making french toast

I'm a pretty inexperienced and admittedly awful cook, but I figured I could handle french toast. I remembered my cousin Danny used to make it for me and his sister Jaime when we were kids. Mine turned out not too shabby. Although next time I'll spring for some nice thick bread, maybe even go for challah.

After my tummy was full of french toast, I got curious about the stuff. Ever wondered why it's called french toast? Well, here's what I could find out:
It's not really French. Shocker. Like french fries. But according to the all-knowing wikipedia, "french toast" can be found in print in the US as early as 1871. And the Oxford English Dictionary cites usages of "french toast" in English as early as 1660.

The origins of the recipe are unknown, although a version appears in the 4th century Roman cookbook Apicius. This recipe was also known as Pan Dulcis. French toast is found in what seems like every country and culture, granted with different variations and names.

The French call it pain perdu, or literally "lost bread", since it is a way of using stale - or "lost"- bread. In the United Kingdom it is called 'eggy bread' or 'gypsy toast'. In Germany, Norway, Denmark and Russia it is called 'poor knights'.

Some variations to the simple recipe of soaking bread in an egg and milk mixture, then frying include substituting milk with wine or port, serving it cold, and serving it not as a sweet dish, but as salty. In Hungary it is served with onions and tomatoes, mayonnaise or ketchup. There is also stuffed french toast. Commonly in North America you can find fruits or something sweet sandwiched between the bread, then dipped in egg mixture and pan-fried. French toast can also be baked.

In my quest for knowledge about french toast, I also found a quick and whimsical solution:

http://www.worldwidefred.com/frenchtoast.htm

A little Tour Eiffel with your breakfast toast, oh pardonez-moi... your French toast!

And to wax philosophical for moment, I'd like to paraphrase from this really interesting artist's website,  http://www.frenchtoastgirl.com/:

"The basic philosophy of the french toast girl is this: life (like french toast) is made up of simple ingredients that combine to make up a marvelous concoction we often take for granted. It's time to relish all the wonderful flavors in your life. And by the way, if you aren't crazy about the way your life tastes, remember: you're the one who controls how much sweetness goes on top, or if it's soggy and underdone. So savor the simplicity and the magic that is french toast. ... I also just really like french toast" ...Amen sister!

53 days... Dream Analysis, it means WHAT??

I don't often remember my dreams, and if I do they're usually nightmares. I had a peculiar one last night, simply because as Inception points out you rarely remember the beginning of a dream, and I felt like I remembered the beginning of this one.

I was walking down the street, late at night, my hoodie pulled up over my head. I'm feeling comfortable, happy, satisfied even. [perhaps leaving work?] I see on the corner a small group of darkly dressed young men, it makes me uncomfortable. I'm not too concerned though, just more aware, because on this corner is the entrance to the parking garage where my car is parked. The parking attendant already has my car pulled up near the entrance, he is familiar to me and we exchange a smile, I feel a moment of safety. This is shattered when, just as I'm about to close the car door, a hand slams down on the roof of the car and a menacing, not quite human, almost ghoulish face looms before me, laughing at me with crazy eyes. And I wake up.

I wasn't actually scared when I woke up. I was more disappointed that a pleasant feeling had been warped so quickly and completely. Later in the day I tried a little art therapy by painting the scene from my nightmare. Of course, there's a huge element of interpretation to art therapy I'm lacking. But it did feel good to realize something that had been vaguely haunting my mind. Granted there was definitely a layer of frustration because I had difficulty translating to paper what was so vivid in emotion in my mind.

In the interest of trying to figure out what the hell it all means and without the fancy psychology degree, I turned to the internet and found an interesting website: www.dreammoods.com. 

So, bit by bit and dream symbol search by search, this is what I discovered:

• To dream that you are in a garage, signifies a period of inactivity and idleness in your life. You feel that you are lacking direction or guidance in achieving your goals.
• To see a hood in your dream, signifies that you are hiding and cowering from a person or situation.
• To dream that you are driving a car, denotes your ambition, your drive and your ability to navigate from one stage of your life to another.
• To dream that you have been carjacked, suggests that you have lost your direction in life. You feel that circumstances in your life has lead you on a different course.
• To dream that you are being attacked by someone, indicates your character is being questioned. You feel the need to defend yourself. You are feeling stressed, vulnerable and helpless. You may also be faced with difficult changes in your waking life.
• To hear evil, demonic laughing in your dream, represents feelings of humiliation and/or helplessness. You feel that someone is working against you.

So my interpretation of it all is: I am unemployed and somewhat avoiding the full impact of that reality. I'm feeling dissatisfied with life at the moment, and am wondering if this lull in work is a sign to change occupations, to find something with more fulfillment. And on a self-pitying note, feeling inadequate because I'm the only one of my friends without a job.

Hm. All stuff I already knew. Maybe I could skip the weird, disturbing nightmare next time. Thanks subconscious. Love, Cat

54 days... Art for Inspiration, Not for Free

After a quick and crappy swim, an unsuccessful search for a new swimsuit (but got new goggles I'm excited to try!) and a stop into Home Depot for some paint samples, I headed up to MoMA thinking I would seek out that Dali painting with the melted timepieces and see if I could garner some artistic inspiration from the vast collection of modern art, or at least be mildly confused and amused by it.

Friday evenings from 4-8pm are free entry, normally admission is $20, so I figured perfect timing! Oh. My. God. Don't bother even venturing near 53rd and 6th, the frickin' museum was packed! I felt like I was an unwitting participant as a cow in some bizarre art installation entitled "The Human Herd". I gave up the notion of aimlessly wandering almost immediately, and since I had a pretty good idea of where I was going, I made a beeline for the 5th floor. 

Fellow cows gaze at The Persistence of Time.

So you know how tourists in New York are notorious for stopping in the middle of the sidewalk to check their map, change direction or just gawk at something? Each gallery was exactly like that, but on speed! It's ART people - have some respect and take the time to appreciate it! I was absolutely amazed by the volumes of people who would snake their way hurriedly up to a painting, take a picture and then zig zag on to the next well-known piece.

I was so disheartened by the whole experience, and came to the conclusion that inspiration was not going to be found during the cattle drive through the museum. I did get to study the Dali painting, The Persistence of Time. It struck me as simply poignant in a melancholy way and oddly familiar in an uncomfortable way. The gallery label for the painting had a quote from the artist himself that described his work perfectly: "hand painted dream photographs". 

Klimt's Hope, II. and more cow gazing.

I was pleasantly surprised to find a painting by Gustav Klimt, who I've been drawn to ever since seeing his most well-known work The Kiss at the Belvedere in Vienna. Hope, II is just as gorgeous with the use of central focus, color and geometric shape and, of course, the gold leafing but as opposed to the aggressive sensuality of The Kiss, this painting has a melancholy tenderness to it. 

Perhaps it was just my mood, or perhaps it's MoMA's curator, but I find many of the works in the collection evoke some level of melancholy, or distress, even torment. Note to self: not exactly the place to go to brighten your mood!