Eat, Pray, Spend.
My new column is up over at Intrepid Media about the new genre of Priv-Lit and how to be happy without spending a fortune.
“It’s almost as if the recession ended and no one told me (or gave me a raise). For some, spending a fortune on taking a vacation is the point rather than a means to an end (the experience). It’s just another form of elitism. Even in these economic times, I read in a Gallup poll done in May of this year, Americans report that they are expecting to vacation less this year, but intend to spend more on transportation and other holiday and leisure costs.”
Read more at IM!
today’s thoughts.
Yesterday was a long day. I spent the night before in Guyana, celebrating a birthday with a great group of friends. I roasted an entire beef tenderloin – I slathered it in a wet rub made of rosemary, thyme, tons of black pepper, cayenne pepper, cinnamon, salt and Worcestershire sauce. I have to say, for not having roasted a whole tenderloin (and in general not being great with meat) it turned out AMAZING.
As the meat rested in the fridge, I turned my culinary talents to baking a birthday cake.
Before I had arrived, I worked out an idea of what I wanted to accomplish with this cake. I wanted it to be as good as my two favourite cakes in the world – my wedding cake from Edible Art in Charlotte (almond something or other) and the cakes I used to buy for birthdays in Vancouver from Cupcakes. There was always something amazing about these cakes. Dense but fluffy. Moist without being ‘wet’. Flavourful without being overpowering. Delicate and strong. You know, perfect.
I’ve always said that I’m better at baking than I am at cooking, in general. I just have an intrinsic understanding of the science. That’s not to say I haven’t fucked up my share of baked goods, but for the most part, I know where and how I can play with recipes to achieve my goals.
This time, I decided to take this cake all the way to scratch. I started with basic ingredients and played with them. I even managed to Twitter my way through the entire cake making process! I usually have my twitter feed going on this blog, but I have no idea what happened to that when I changed my theme a few times last week. (Notice how I changed back in the end? That’s because this theme is still way better than most of what’s out there.)
So, what I ended up with was a fluffy, perfect, white Almond cake with Chai (spiced tea!) Buttercream Frosting. I have to say, between the roasted tenderloin and the cake, I impressed even myself that night!
Sadly, though, I somehow ended up missing my passport (but didn’t find this out until I was already about to go through customs in Guyana) and am now stuck in the US without my clothes or computer (THE COMPUTER, PEOPLE) for at least a week or so. I have trips that back up at the end of the month, so unless I drop 20 hours (and a trip to Athens, Greece), I’m not going to be able to see home for about three weeks. I hope I brought enough underwear.
I spent three hours at JFK in the flight attendant lounge yesterday after arriving home from the Georgetown trip, talking with managers and In-flight Call Center managers and Scheduling – doing everything possible to ensure that I’m not being irresponsible with my job. I wanted to fly and make money, and make sure that the airline isn’t left trying to cover trips that should already be accounted for. It’s my job, after all, and I need to keep it!
I finally got things sorted out – I have an appointment on Tuesday with the Passport Agency to get my new passport (which is pretty awesome, I get to take new pictures! I hated my old picture!) in Boston. I’ll take a train up in the morning and everything should be peachy keen.
At the moment, I’m in my favourite coffee shop, Cafe Romeo in New Haven, CT. I’m having a toasted everything bagel with chive cream cheese and a root beer. I’m about to start a column for Intrepid Media from square one, since my other column is on my laptop, in Georgetown. I guess that column will be for next month. The one I’ll write today is going to be pretty interesting, regardless. I’m thinking I’ll write about how bad luck can be good luck in disguise. Or the Fortuitous Nature of Randomness. Or Karma. Or…who knows.
Chivalry might not be dead, but it’s blind, deaf, has a bad hip and a very dickey heart.
Yesterday must have been my own personal version of Friday the 13th, because it was interesting and complicated. It started after a really short layover in Indianapolis (where my cousin and her husband and two children live, who I would have called if I had had a longer layover), and proceeded to Minneapolis and then (thankfully) back to New York.
It wasn’t a terribly complicated day, Mario and I had spent a vast majority of the three day trip oogling boys and making fun of people dressed in awful outfits with bad hair. It happens more often in the midwest than you might think. We decided we would start a Guerrilla Makeover show wherein we’d hijack people coming into the bathroom at the airport and make them look better for their flight and subsequent arrival on vacation, business or home. I think it would be a real blessing. I’ll get on that.
Also, people please take note: Laura Ashley hasn’t been in style since 1995 and even then it was only for sheets and things.
Upon arrival in LaGuardia, I had to catch a crew van to Kew Gardens, Queens to go pick up my laptop. I had accidentally left it in my crashpad on the 13th, and had crossed my fingers for three days that it was still there. It was. After checking email (of course), I jumped on the Long Island Railroad to Penn station, grabbed a cab to Grand Central and *barely* made it onto the 4:07 train to New Haven. Whew!
It was Sunday and the train was very close to being full (I probably could have traversed back through four more cars to find a less full car, but that seemed like a lot of effort carrying all of my suitcases and work bags, especially when I could see a few open seats. I bypassed the first row that had two seats, because it appeared that a woman was holding those seats for the standing man and small child. About four rows back from that, I spotted a nice aisle seat on a three-seat row, and stopped.
I’ll mention this, because I feel that it’s an interesting tidbit: I’m still in uniform. I am wearing a navy blue pencil skirt, hose, black leather high heels and a white dress shirt and my wings. I look like a flight attendant, because I *am* a flight attendant. People talk to me all the time on the train because they recognize either the uniform or the wings and want to chat with me about my life.
I addressed the man seated in the middle seat beside his daughter, “Do you mind if I sit here?” while I start to lower the handle on my suitcase in preparation for tossing it in the overhead rack. Side note: I know that I’m a relative anomaly, living in New York and still using manners (I tell the guys handing out fliers “No thank you, have a great day!” because I feel good about it, and people laugh at me), but I was raised in the South and what we do down there is ask politely before we sit down.
What does he do?
Instead of acknowledging my question or even looking at me, he shouts forward to the man standing by the door – the man who appeared to already have a seat waiting for him, I might add – “Hey Kurt. Did you want to sit here?”
I know my mouth didn’t drop open in shock, but my eyebrows certainly raised quite a bit. Really? Ignore the woman and offer the man a seat. I realize that equality and feminism have taken us a long way, but I have to say, this situation is bullshit.
Kurt shouts back that he’s fine where he is, so the gentleman (ahem, I use the term loosely) says “I guess you can sit here”.
I give him my stone face stare and say “No, don’t worry about it.” and move on about seven more rows and find a seat next to a round old woman who proceeds to talk into the phone the entire two hour trip. Not a huge deal, and I was grateful to have a place to sit down as my feet were killing me in the heels. If you’re wondering why I didn’t take them off, it’s because a) it’s a required part of the uniform unless we’re in flight, and b) because my legs look awesome in heels and I don’t like to half-ass a very sexy uniform.
I spent a good ten minutes fuming over the guy’s response, and via text from different male friends of different ages got a wide variety of replies about what they would do in the same situation.
In the same light, I should mention that on the subway just the other night I gave up MY seat on a crowded train to an older man who came on limping, using a cane. No one else was going to stand up (thank you, New York, for your fucking compassion, *sigh*), so I offered him my seat, which he took with a nod of thanks.
What frustrates me about this situation is that the guy was sitting next to his nine-year-old (I’m guesstimating) daughter. It’s not like I was asking him to GIVE UP his seat, I just want to sit in the quite obviously available seat beside him. I feel his response is just another nail in the coffin of chivalry-slash-manners and furthermore, will somehow ingrain in his daughter the notion that when she’s a grown woman, she shouldn’t expect considerate behaviour from men, either.
This is what makes me sad about our society. Should I have said something to this effect or was walking away the best response? Do you think he’ll rehash the situation in his head and maybe think differently next time?
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