Horses

From Horses and their Girls, by Anne Hall. Via cup of jo.

Banners of God

The Grand Canyon encapsulates what American legends are made of--road trips, the Wild West, wanderlust. When I first visited it along with two friends in the summer of 2008, we were at the tail end of a cross-country road trip and we squeezed in a visit to country's most renowned national park before I had to drop off my companions at the Phoenix airport. Little did we know, the attraction of the Grand Canyon was more vast than we had thought. But, we had to make the best of it with what little time we had. I'm eager to go back again, this article--Walking Into the Earth's Heart, has wet my appetite.

Below us, sweeping brown plateaus bulge as if they were soft upholstery. There are cliffs of blue, pink, orange, mauve, and deep purple bands of rock — the banners of God, as an early explorer said. True enough, the stark minerality of the desert always seems to rouse the inner mystic.

The Grand Canyon, September 1st 2008:

la belle personne

I have to see this film, La Belle Personne. Via the thinking tank.

Super Mario

Billy and I played this game for 6 1/2 hours today. I'm not kidding. We played for about 3 or 4 hours last night, went to sleep, woke up, and sat our fat, lazy asses on the couch for six and one half hours playing this freaking game. I got up to pee a few times and to check on something in the kitchen once. Billy peed, too, and made us a quick breakfast and then lunch. Other than that, we finally stopped at an inevitable game over at 5pm in the Chocolate Castle or fortress. Whatever. What a way to spend a day.

Thanksgiving

Happy Thanksgiving! I've been away from the computer for three magically rewarding days now, so please excuse my belated post. I spent the holiday in a lovely, relaxing house with my boyfriend's family in Long Island. We had the delicious old-standbys (sausage stuffing!), coupled with some first-time treats (sweet potatoes with marshmallows? a pumpkin eater/bailey's cocktail!), plus leftovers, sleepovers, and lots of rest. Despite the stubborn three pounds I gained over the course of the meals, I remain contented. Since my post was late, here's a round-up of some sweet Thanksgiv* posts:

Fear of Missing Out, follow my bliss, my favorite color is shiny, last night's dinner

Here's another treat, a picture my mom sent me of the family dog, looking pristine:


* the other night, we watched National Lampoon's Family Vacation over at my household, and I nearly died when Chevy Chase referred to the Mississippi River as the "mighty Mississipp". Best abbreviation ever.

Lavender Honey Fig

The last time I was this excited to cook something was when I caught sight of the season's first concord grapes at the Greenmarket. Sunday Suppers, you never cease to amaze me.

It's a Honeyed Lavender and Fig Crostata. Heaven in so few words. The following photo is killer.

Fjällräven

Thanks to a tip, I found out that Fjällräven has just opened up an NYC store. I think I might want one of these nifty backpacks for Christmas. Look at these colors!








The tipper also posted a Paul Simon song, which I will instantly re-post because I am gaga for Paul right now. Yesterday, I devoured three records of his at Earwax all in one fell swoop.

Paul Simon - Hearts and Bones

Rack

Yesterday's seasonal closet cleaning beget today's successful selling trip to Beacon's Closet, meaning that I've deposited some cash into my Adventure Fund and have a chunk of change left over to fill one hanger slot on my dress rack. What to get? I'm racking my brain!

Permanent Vacation:


Built by Wendy:




love church and state:

House in Pleasantville

Would love myself a house like this.








via darklamb via the selby

Homesick

via flickr

Man, does this quote describe me or what?

“It is a curious emotion, this certain homesickness I have in mind. With Americans, it is a national trait, as native to us as the roller-coaster or the jukebox. It is no simple longing for the home town or country of our birth. The emotion is Janus-faced: we are torn between a nostalgia for the familiar and an urge for the foreign and strange. As often as not, we are homesick most for the places we have never known.”
— Carson McCullers

via tenderbuttons

Christos

This is very sad. I remember visiting the gates during the winter of my first year in New York, a Polaroid camera in my hand, my feet so cold in mere flats. I also remember seeing Jeanne-Claude and her dutiful husband of over 50 years Christo not too long ago at an opening I was working at the Morgan Library. They walked through the exhibit with their hands entwined, remaining at each other's sides the entire night.

R.I.P. Jeanne-Claude

November Weekend

For what seems like much of November, I was ill and then recovering, and then ill again with the curious ailment of immovable legs due to an overly challenging class at the gym, and then recovering from that. For most of this weekend, I was finally better! And this is what I did:

On Friday, B and I caught a train to Long Island to pick up a car that we would take up to Lake Oscawana for the night. We ate lunch, bought groceries, got a tad bit lost, and then headed north through Queens, the Bronx, and Westchester, until we got to Sleepy Hollow where we decided to stop to visit my favorite dream farm. Here are a few pictures:






We also saw brown cows, sheepdogs, and chickens. We saw a sign pointing towards the pig sty, but our cowardice prevented us from braving through the roaming hens socializing in the pathway. We came a bit late to the farm market and all that was left was a fennel bulb and a few heads of garlic (which I eagerly bought anyway.) We also got some cookies and a jar of peach preserves. We walked through what we could as the sun set and almost got run over by Dan Barber himself as we were admiring his cows and he was rushing down to the kitchen to prepare for dinner service.

Then we navigated our way through dark, deserted streets to the lake house:





The main den of the house, with its beautiful floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the placid lake, was a replica of a Twin Peaks set, with a cabin-like interior, southwestern and Navajo textiles abound. We drink beer and wine, and then cooked rib eye steaks with mushrooms and finger foods like devils on horseback and prosciutto roll-ups with pear, arugula, blue cheese, and garlic oil. We found a dead, headless snake floating in the water and took a brief walk to survey our surroundings. We also made a huge breakfast of pumpkin pancakes and sage-parmesan scrambled eggs. Then we drove back to the city, listening to a lot of Paul Simon, which was heavenly, especially this perfect road song: Graceland. This is my favorite part:

She comes back to tell me she's gone

As if I didn't know that
As if I didn't know my own bed
As if I'd never noticed
The way she brushed her hair from her forehead

(Well, this is actually my favorite part. Those lines are the pre-fave:)

And she said losing love
Is like a window in your heart,
Everybody sees you're blown apart,
Everybody sees the wind blow

I also attended a wild and lovely slumber party this weekend, where we stayed up til 4:30 in the morning! Can you believe it? We ate goodies, talked about boys, played games, and drank a lot of booze. Then we all slept scrunched up on two mattresses smushed together.

Sunday was also fun. Big breakfast, followed by a funny, not-so-funny movie starring sound-bite Sandra. A.O. Scott puts it best in his NY Times review: "Will you be moved? Maybe, though only in the sense that 'moved' can describe the experience of defensive player, over-powered by a blocker and left flat on his back with a possible concussion." Do I regret seeing it? Not one bit. I loved watched Sandra Bullock strut around and say silly things in a sillier accent. Then, I had Fette Sau for dinner which always puts a gold star on your night, followed by my first visit to the new neighborhood Knitting Factory, which I used to frequent as a teenager in Hollywood. We saw a funny guy named Hannibal Burress host a slew of new-ish comics doing some bits. It was funny.

And then I came home and fell right asleep. That's all folks.

Taconic Mom

This article I just read in New York Magazine, about the so-called Taconic Mom who killed 8 people including herself while driving drunk in July, is absolutely horrifying. I'm frightened for myself and everyone I know who drives daily. I'm trying not to think about it. I am curious to know, though, why I was so eager to read the article? Why are we drawn to the things that scare us most?

Rambling Folks

This seems like a good pairing:

Grateful Dead - Ramble on Rose

+

My Parents Were Awesome - can't wait to submit some sweet late 1980s photos of my folks

Me and Meatball

Lately, I've been daydreaming about my future puppy, Meatball. When I get him, we will look like this together.



via Sharon Montrose

Jelly

photo via flickr

Note to Self:

Next time, when contemplating whether or not to take the alluringly short Lower Body Burn class, just remember that it is impractical to walk up stairs when your legs have turned into jello. And even though the class is only 30 minutes long, your legs will involuntarily vibrate for an additional 30 minutes after the class ends. And then you'll be couch ridden and forced to watch funny network television. Hmmm.

I Do It For Your Love

photo via flickr

As of late, I have fallen in a deep and contented love with Paul Simon. It was blissful up until I saw him on TV last night. He is weathered. I am trying to erase that memory. I sometimes think I could listen to him endlessly. Yesterday afternoon, I rode my bike around Williamsburg aimlessly with my monster headphones on serenading me with Simon songs. It was as close to heaven as a lonely afternoon could get.

Take a minute to listen to this song, I Do It For Your Love. This track caught me by surprise. At first, I wasn't so taken with it. But, I knew it had grown on me when this one melody was embedded in my memory and I longed to hear it over again. I'm talking about the part that goes: Found a rug in an old junk shop and I brought it home to you. Along the way the colors ran, the orange bled the blue. My heart aches to hear that part. This video doesn't do it justice, but I couldn't find a link to the album recording. Give it a listen.



Also, how simple and sweet is this verse:

The rooms were musty
And the pipes were old
All that winter we shared a cold
Drank all the orange juice
That we could hold
I do it for your love

Oh, and the photo above paired with this song reminded me of this: there's a chance that B and I get to go away to a lake house for one night this weekend. The thought of it makes my blood rush to my heart.

Google God

photo via flickr

Sometimes I suffer through bouts of anxiety that feel like little pangs in my heart and stomach. A thought, a phrase, or the sight of something will rub me the wrong way and a domino chain is set off in my head that flashes forward to unpleasantries in the future--things going wrong or not as I hoped. Then I get the pangs. And then I google. Sometimes, its as if google is the closest thing I have to a tangible god. When I'm deep in feeling and questions, looking for some soothing, I type my fears into my trusted google box and come up with something in the vain of answers.

Here are the results of one sporadic, anxiety-driven search:

Anxiety is a thin stream of fear trickling through the mind. If encouraged, it cuts a channel into which all other thoughts are drained. - Arthur Somers Roche

Cowards die many times before their deaths; the valiant never taste of death but once. - William Shakespeare

Fear is created not by the world around us, but in the mind, by what we think is going to happen. - Elizabeth Galwain

We need not be afraid of the future, for the future will be in our own hands. - Thomas E. Dewey

We should not let our fears hold us back from pursuing our hopes. - John F. Kennedy

I agree with all you people. Good quotes. I think I feel better now. Thank you, Google God.

Letter of Apology

photo via flickr

Dear Blog,

I'm very sorry for not writing posts for you as often as you are used to. I am overwhelmed of late with what seems to be a ceaseless search for acting gigs and day jobs. I am trying to refocus my energies. When I succeed at this, I should be more fully inspired and then I will give you lots of loving little posts. Until then, a letter of apology will have to suffice. Please understand. Now I must be excused, as I am about to put myself in the hands of the least trusted Brooklyn bus line to get me to work on time.

Love,
Marina

P.S. I'm trying to cook up something for tomorrow night. Any suggestions? I have a lot of beautiful basil. Plus a pizza stone and a pasta crank that are beckoning. Or should I finally try my hand at Boeuf Bourguignon?

Research

This exists. In the world of the internet, it exists. And I found it. If you want to learn how to make schnitzel from an Austrian techno dancer, or if you don't, watch and learn:

the light at the end of the tunnel

image via my favorite color is...

That's the picture of life when you crawl out from under the covers of illness. Too bad that's just not what it looks like outside my window. Now that I can shake the blanket off, I have some things to look forward to, like:
+cooking show research: meaning I just get to watch some cooking shows!
+a haircut!
+a reunion Shabbat dinner with friends from high school
+my dessert for that dinner--a box of Fanny & Jane red velvet cakebites!
+a My So-Called Life themed dance party at a Williamsburg bar
AND
+getting to cuddle with someone after an entire week's worth of being quarantined

still sick

photo from flickr

For many reasons, I miss being a little kid. Close to the top of that list is being taken care of when you're sick. As a child, I remember being tucked away in bed without reason to move. My parents made trips to Blockbuster for me and brought me hot food and drink 'round the clock. That sounds like a dream to me now. This little sick girl hates trudging to the pharmacy and grocery store feeling like this. Where are parents when you need them?

Blowing my nose

me. via flickr.

Not actually me. But, me.

Sick Day

image via link from coldsplinters

Ill and stuck in my bed. Ventured out to buy some medicine, wound up with the whole cabinet. Have a lot of reading to accomplish, which is good. Wish it were raining outside, though. That would make me feel better about this wasted Sunday.