Urban Gardening

It is surprising that I have made it all the way to 29 without having my own garden considering the gardening gene that must have been passed down from my mother. My post college years have been marked by a pronounced laziness which often makes it difficult for me to get it together in May for a garden in July but this year I applied my well honed project manager skills to growing things and I'm delighted with the results.

For my first foray into the urban garden I started some dahlia bulbs and zinnia seeds in planters on the fire escape outside of my bedroom window. The zinnias jumped right up within a few days and I was immediately hooked on my garden project. Zinnias really are the best starter flower ever. They're easy to grow and quick to deliver pretty bouquets. I'm already enjoying vases full of flowers in the bedroom and living room and the blooms last about 2 weeks which seems to be about the amount of time required for the cut flowers to "come again." The plants are also amazingly forgiving when I forget to water them, which happens roughly twice a week, luckily their 2 day droop turns back to perk within 30 minutes of showering.

It is highly likely that gardening is giving me a bit of a God complex -- I cannot get over how magical it feels when a little seed turns into a plant! I quickly added to my Eden by purchasing 2 tomato plants and a basil bush at the Union Square Farmer's Market and soon had my own little baby jungle. In May I spent a number of Sunday mornings curled up on a cushion among the foliage with a popsicle and my laptop looking forward to a flower filled summer. Sadly the dahlias never raised their heads above the soil -- I blame inferior Home Depot bulb product -- so a few weeks ago I filled that second planter with more zinnia seeds and added some nasturtium and morning glory seeds to the backs of both planters in hopes of a vine and flower covered fence come mid August.


The tomato plants fast out grew the fire escape and in mid June were relocated to the roof outside of my kitchen window. This relocation is perhaps the best idea I've ever had as it facilitates just picked tomatoes without leaving the kitchen. It also makes my general laziness less likely to result in parched plants since the sink is now located 4 feet from the very demanding and spoiled tomatoes. Watering the plants does, unfortunately, still require being sort of outside, which usually requires getting dressed. I slack off as much as possible on that last rule so if you're in Astoria some weekday around 7:30am you can enjoy the site of me leaning out the window trying to hide the fact that I'm only wearing a tank top and underwear.

My Brandywine tomato has already given me two babies, both of which were delicious. The fact that I have tomatoes to eat in early July serves as proof that little Miss Brandywine is a raging slut. back in May when she was only a foot tall and yet to graduate to a big girl bed she was already taking the party to the bees. I was a naive new mother who didn't expect blossoms until the plant was at least 2 feet tall so I missed the obvious signs of teenage pregnancy and called my own mother (Grandma Brandywine) in a panic over having already failed at gardening only 3 weeks in. Mom advised me to leave the babes on the vine but to also begin plucking any blossoms until the plant was at least 2 feet tall -- this birth control method was much more labor intensive than I was prepared for, if only they made tomato chastity belts. I also have a cherry tomato plant who, I'm happy to report, is on the path to riotousness and is clearly embarrassed by the brazenness of her sister. At an impressive 3 feet tall she has only recently begin putting out a few demure little buds so there are no cherry tomatoes to munch on yet.

It's possible that come the heavy tomato season in August I will be buried in fruit and complaining about all of the tomato sauce that must be made and frozen before it all goes bad but for now I'm a happy urban Farmer McGregor, bunnies beware.

Foraging for Fun in Central Park

On Sunday Kajal and I attended a foraging tour of Central Park led by Steve “The Wild Man” Brill. There was much munching of greens and poking around in bushes (If only used condoms and broken glass were edible I could save so much money…). Unfortunately, there were no mushrooms to be found, however we did spy bushes loaded with blackberries that should be ready to bake into pies come mid August and I procured the root of a sassafras tree which hopefully I can turn into some root beer before the summer is out. The majority of the edible foods we found were of the “this could be added to salad and the flavor easily masked by a nice vinaigrette, you won’t even notice the bitterness!” variety and since the CSA currently supplies me with ample quantities of unrecognizable green stuff I didn’t bring much home.

The tour was much more crowded than I’d have predicted –when I arrived at least 20 people were gathered at 103^rd and Central Park West collectively bitching about the MTAs broken promises of B and C trains (I for one had a great time dodging old ladies on my jog down from 125^th). There were a shocking number of children on the tour, I suppose there are a lot of parents in Manhattan looking for an easy way to rid themselves of extra offspring (by the time they hit 7 the cuteness completely wears off) and letting them graze on random vegetation in the park probably seemed like a great opportunity. Spending 4 hours following toddlers, tots and tweens into the woods is the best birth control in the world since it became obvious after only 15 minutes of foraging that you seriously can’t take kids anywhere, even when anywhere is “the park.” All of the parents on this tour were in a sort of deep denial where 4 hours of “my feet hurt!” “I’m hungry!” and “why didn’t you bring my gameboy?” (I hear ya kid…) could somehow be interpreted as family fun. I usually love kids but come Sunday evening I was heavily camped in “not yet ready”– Kajal’s husband has been pushing her “make a baby” button in vain for years now and I suspect that this event will be enough to delay that plan for at least another month – this is how I plan to slowly win the game of “Keep Kajal Fun and Baby-Free.”

The tour guide, a man who refers to himself as Wild Man without irony, brought along his own brood – wife and 3 year old daughter Violet. At times the tour seemed a long drawn out episode of Violet Don’t Eat It as the three year old lunged at plant after plant screeching, “Daddy!!! What is this??!?!” Wild Man’s replies of “you can’t eat that” were heeded but only begrudgingly and Violet kept rubbing poisonous leaves against her lips clearly contemplating the day when her rebellion would begin with a little nibble. Mom seemed wholly unconcerned, lagging behind us, occasionally asking Dad to stop the tour because Violet wanted him. I have no kids (save one adopted chinchilla with very few needs outside of, “gimmie a craisin now bitch!”) so I feel obligated to include a caveat about not knowing how hard child rearing is and blah blah blah but if my husband ever shows up at my job asking me to take the child while I’m working and he’s meandering around the park it will be very difficult for me to resist castrating him on the spot.

Late to arrive on the tour was a Hasidic Jewish family (you have no idea how hard it is for me to resist calling them “Amish Jews” which I am not afraid to admit is totally how I think of them in my head even if it makes me a huge insensitive jerk) consisting of 2 deaf parents and their five children under the age of 8. At first this seemed like a sure fire recipe for disaster but it slowly became clear that if you plan on leaving the house with a brood of this size being hearing impaired is a distinct advantage. While other parents were forced to put their adult fun aside in favor of chasing down wandering lads and lassies the deaf parents could blissfully ignore the cries and whines of their offspring. I’m sure they had a much more relaxing Sunday than the rest of us. Both HJ (Hasidic Jewish) parents were adamant about documenting everything The Wild Man said even if it required forcing the hearing on the tour to act as scribes. Late in the tour HJM (Hasidic Jewish Mama) asked Kajal and I why we came on the tour. We hardly had time to get through our, “It seemed neato!” schpeel before she jumped in with, “Yeah and if the government falls apart you need to know how to feed your family!” The picture of 8 million New Yorkers trying to feed themselves off of things growing in Central Park is the now the most humorous aspect of the apocalypse (replacing flaming goats). At one point Kajal and I witnessed HJC#2 (Hasidic Jewish Child #2), age ~6 LICK THE EYEBALL of HJC#5, age ~1 – it was refreshing to see that even extreme religion and crazy parenting cannot beat down the urges of curiosity and sibling rivalry. I like to imagine that CJC#2’s thought process went something like this, “oh sure you can eat that weird green planet over there but it’s just going to taste like green and I get plenty of that grossness with dinner every night. I need a new taste sensation, something to really wow my tongue.… I wonder what my brother’s eye tastes like….*LICK*…. It’s Razzz-a-matastic!” For his part the one year old was completely unfazed and all, "I got 4 old siblings my eyeball is constantly soaked from all of the licking." Kajal and I stood next to the stroller openly guffawing at the youngins until Papa CJ walked over and gave us the “my children are not here for your amusement!” death stare.

The Hallmark Channel had a crew on hand to film the festivities for some show that they claimed was not about abused women, kidnapped children or underage sex (I just threw that last one in to mess with the keyword searches of perverts the world over), after a quick perusal of the show's web site I think it’s pretty clear that they were lying. Kajal and I were interviewed over lunch by a nice girl named Sandra (not the sketchy host pictured on that site) but I'm pretty sure we won't be making it on air since we used our time on camera to discuss exactly how awesome the wood sorrel would taste in mojitos (we predict pretty damn awesome since the leaves taste like lemonade -- we'll be testing this theory out soon).

Despite this silly post I have to give the entire foraging in Central Park experience a big thumbs up mostly because it was hilarious enough to inspire a decent blog post. In this day you can hardly beat $12 for 4 hours of entertainment, I'm practically making money when I factor in the dollars I've saved on birth control pills this month. Kajal and I ended the day by foraging for some popcicles which were much yummier and easier to locate than any of the greens offered by the Wild Man -- but they cost us $3.75 each.

This Will Only Make Things Worse

I would like to claim that the most popular page on my blog is my United Airlines post. I'm even confident that most of my readers would believe this little lie but getting away with it wouldn't make it right. The actual most popular post should surprise no one -- we all know that the internet's fame and glory is owed not to witty ranting but to naked ladies. There is exactly one picture on this blog that includes bare boobies so at least 50% of my traffic on any day lands on Holly, Bridget and Kendra mid pillow fight.

I hate to be to judge-y when it comes to masturbation material because we all have our quirks but boys (a note to girls who find this picture hot: I cannot help you), this is pathetic. I'm going to let slide that all three girls were born without the pretty gene because I generally encourage people to find beauty in everyone, even girls who look like horses, but this picture is sorely lacking in sexiness and that I cannot abide.

Let's start with the obvious problem: Bridget's ass, or rather, the trapdoor exposing Bridget's ass. This is not hot. Trap doors (or "drop seats" as I learned from this sketchy website) are for toothless rednecks who are too lazy to pull down their pants when nighttime business must be attending to in the outhouse. See? Not hot.

Next up: Glassy eyed stares. Even though men are not known for seeking out porn where the woman looks engaged I find this particular image more disturbing than average. Look at them! Holly's dreaming out the bouncing pile of loot (whoops, I mean baby) that she's gonna have Heff turkey baste into her womb any day now, Bridget's wondering if the kids who made fun of her in high school are finally jealous enough to quit this act and Kendra is thinking... who am I kidding? Kendra can't think. Are these really the girls you want participating in your pillow fight orgy fantasy? You're a smart guy with an internet connection and a little cash in the bank, can't you do better?

There are boobies plastered all over the internet -- you guys should stop settling for the sub par nakedness offerings on this blog.

In other news my popularity grows everyday: I'm hit number 79 for "meth cooking."

How We Eat

Lately no one can mention peanut butter around with me without starting a discussion about why peanut butter is so popular in America (and also, how exactly it got to be so awesome.) but is seen as disgusting in many other countries. I start similar debates about pumpkin pie and BBQ and have long kept a mental list of American foods that are rarely recognized as such. As always, Wikipedia does a better job than I(leave it to the masses to make me look bad). And yet my experience has been that when most people think of American food they immediately turn to hamburgers, pizza and French fries. Somehow American food has become synonymous with fast food. I’ve been wondering about how our lack of a well define food culture is likely to effect the everyday American for some time but reading The Omnivore’s Dilemma has turned this occasional pondering into obsession.

It not only seems unfair to exclusively associate American food with Fast Food but also dangerous. Fast Food not only fails to provide nutrition but the way it is typically consumed enforces unhealthy eating habits like eating alone and eating on the run. In The Omnivore’s Dilemma Pollan discusses how food traditions affect healthy eating and hypothesizes that cultures who highly value food and the eating experience often have healthier eating habits regardless of the caloric content of their traditional foods. He addresses the common cliché that the French eat high calorie foods and never get fat by pointing out that the French meal encourages eating small bites over long periods of time and consuming higher calorie foods in tiny quantities and on special occasions – the French do not sit alone in their apartments at 3am gorging on pate, baguettes and red wine (though, obviously that sounds pretty awesome and I think we all know where to find me come Saturday morning…). Having pride in the food you cook, serve and eat leads to better food for all.

In addition to the obvious health implications the very nature of fast food (quick, heavily processed, not prepared at home, designed to be as cheap to produce as possible, designed to be eaten on the go, etc) makes it impossible for a healthy food culture to develop around the only food commonly seen as “American.” Pollan argues that the well established food cultures seen in other countries serve their citizen’s especially well because they have been tested over the course of human history and have benefited from a cultural survival of the fittest. By this standard one would think that Fast Food should quickly be approaching extinction. For good or ill in America our immigrant population has made it difficult to establish a cohesive food culture and our general wealth has made food so widely available that rationing and sacrifice are rarely necessary. The dark side of abundance is that nothing seems special or worth waiting for. With so many ready options it is not surprising that as a society we are often at a loss over just what to eat. I suspect that other cultures rarely suffer from the all to common American confusion around exactly which food is likely to kill us next (“Tonight on Dateline, Is water good for you or is this unassuming beverage really part of a terrorist plot to bring down America?”). Pollan points out that Americans have a very short established history with food and thus rely on science alone to dictate what is good and bad without regard for factors like portion size or meal balance. Combine this with our reactionary media and you have a society so confused that many of us have dropped out of the food discussion entirely choosing instead to eat whatever is cheap, readily available and requires the least amount of work. We eat the lowest common denominator and shouldn’t be surprised that the dollar menu has led to an obesity epidemic.

Many have pointed out that Fast Food isn’t even that tasty – sure, the occasional frosty, fries or chicken nuggets are shockingly decadent and often the best way to cap off a night of drinking but few would rave over the taste sensations available at McDonalds. When I was dieting I used to force myself to consciously think about if the caloric cost of any given food item was suitably offset by the enjoyment I was likely to experience eating it. Too often when faced with the bland, boring, processed foods that seems to have taken over the American table the cost:pleasure ratio came out wanting. I wonder if it would be possible to throw out our broken food model and improve health in the US by consciously developing a true food culture. I’d argue that our lack of established food customs gives Americans a unique opportunity to shape meals that work for our bodies, our taste buds our planet and our pocketbooks. This need not be a culture that outright rejects fatty and sweet foods but instead one that treats these foods as so special that they should only be consumed on an occasional basis. Indeed, the point of establishing this culture would be to elevate the American meal to something worth paying for with time, money and calories. Such a system would discourage overeating by associating high monetary and effort cost with foods of higher caloric value. How often would we eat cookies or pizza if we always had to prepare these foods from scratch? How much more enjoyable would these foods be knowing that someone spent the time and money to make them? Who wouldn’t choose homemade chocolate chip cookies over Chips Ahoy?

How to Make Friends and Influence People with Cake

In honor of Gillian's birthday last week I stole this recipe from Smitten Kitten. Nothing says Happy 33rd like a felony! Actually, nothing says Happy 33rd like 3 cups of whipped cream. I am very happy to report that this recipe has the most impressive ease of baking to number of oohs and ahhs ratio that I've ever experience in cake form. If you have no desire or ability to bake but somehow have been roped into providing dessert for people whose opinions matter this is the cake for you (if the dessert is for losers who you don't care to impressive might I suggest pudding cups?).

I made only one change to Smitten Kitten's recipe, I needed the cake to be substantially larger than the 7 cookie base that she describes, I accomplished this by surrounding the middle cookie with the halves of two other cookies (sorry for the blurry picture). The wafers were easily halved using a serrated knife though this did bring a certain amount of collateral damage to my kitchen floor where a week later I'm still picking up little black crumbs with my bare feet (brooms are for losers.).

Upon arrival at the office with this cake the gasps of "Oh my god you made that?!?" were almost deafening. I suppose I should have smiled, demurred and taken credit for my awesome baking skills but much as I cannot help replying to "cute shirt!" with "I know! JCrew online sale! FIVE DOLLARS!!!" in this case I could not help revealing that this was the easiest cake ever. The only skill required is the whipping of cream and I had the Kitchen Aide do that for me, from there on out it's just layering. If I make the cake again I'll spread the whipped cream out further to the edges of the cookies. When I assembled the cake having the cookie edges stick out looked great but after the requisite overnight setting period the wafers couldn't stand up to the extra weight of the absorbed whipped cream resulting in droopy cookies. Looking at the picture of the Smitten Kitten version also makes me wonder if I should have whipped the cream a little more but the texture of my cake seems good and I have a primal fear of overwhipping.

Ms. Kitten writes that she had considerable trouble locating the Nabisco chocolate wafer cookies needed to make this cake but I am happy to report that Key Food totally delivered on the cookies -- though it seems likely that they had been waiting around on the shelf since 1963. Cookies don't go bad, right? While in the grocery story I also came across packages of chocolate mint, ginger and lemon wafer cookies and I wonder if the recipe could be made with thee variations -- gingersnap icebox cake sounds pretty awesome.

Spending a good 15mins layering cookies is apt to wear a girl out so post "baking" Amy and I indulged in whipped cream sundaes while watching the last episode of Gilmore Girls. This might seem like the kind of eating that has lead to the obesity epidemic now so rampant in this country but might I direct you to the strawberries at the bottom of the bowl -- that's fruit people, fruit is HEALTHY.

The One Where I Talk to a Boy and Things Go Down Hill From There

I embrace the “Random” in Random Access Babble so I don’t like when this blog veers too much towards one topic. Lately this threatens to become “that blog where the funny girl mocks all the losers she’s had the bad luck of dating (And oh yeah once she wrote that really long post about United – she seems bitter).” I’m trying very hard not to let this happen, I’m even sitting on Winner Parade 4 in an effort to seem well rounded. I could have sat on this post as well but I’m at a loss for other topics and I have no ability to resist writing about my personal tragedies, especially when, unlike much of this blog, they’re happening in the now. And so… another post about dating. Don’t get too used to it, I’m reading Letter to a Christian Nation so I’m bound to break out the political wailing any day now.

Much to the disappointment of many of my friends (most vocally, Kajal) I very rarely talk to boys in bars/clubs/concert venues/life unless I’m asking them when they plan on hitting their development milestones. I talk a big game pre outing in the huddle but when it comes to hiking, running and most importantly passing I don’t deliver. I have often commented that I have no game and would be very interested in a class offering to teach me exactly how other people pull off things like flirting without melting into a puddle of embarrassment. The fact that I would even think to turn to a class for such things probably says more about the nature of my problems than anything else on this blog. Friday night’s boat trip/Weakerthans concert (which, by the way: awesome idea, why aren’t all concerts on boats?) was shaping up to be more of the same. Gillian, Lisa and I spent a good 15mins surveying the audience members, nitpicking on girl’s outfits (seriously, blue linen overalls with a belt? Who does that?) and admiring the cute indie boys from afar. Gillian quickly started in on the “why aren’t you actually talking to any guys?” game.

G: Look, boy in Fly shirt, totally cute!

B: yeah.

G: Go tell him you like his shirt!

B: not happening.

G: Come ooooooon, he’s cute.

B: That’s awkward. Also: he’s now doing a weird dance so… perhaps not so cute.

Boy in Fly shirt was actually pretty cute so I started in on my way too subtle game of, “look at him occasionally and send psychic messages that he should totally talk to me.” Typically this results in much disappointment due to the pathetically bad mind reading skills of most of the male population (Dudes: work on that). Perhaps for the first time ever, with Fly Boy the plan totally works!

So we chat, it’s good times, mostly… I should have been more concerned when he wasn’t interested in either of my proposed communication topics (“what do you think the Canadian to nonCanadian ratio is here?” “What do you think the mean age in the room is?"). Fly boy is nice enough but comes on way too strong with the “can I have a kiss?” like 10 minutes into meeting me. I’m trying to go with the flow on this one and not be my normal analytical, crazy, life plan oriented self so I focus on getting into the whole kissing random guy in public thing. While this totally makes Lisa and Gillian’s night (they begin photographing the event and texting Kajal to let her know just what she’s missing out on while attending yet another wedding in the south.) it makes my night somewhat uncomfortable. I don’t really love kissing in front of other people. Especially when the kissing is happening with someone who I just met and who, though totally cute, I cannot really imagine myself ever actually dating. So I’m thinking about this (so much for dropping analytical off at the sitter’s for the evening) and kind of deciding that this kissing Fly Boy thing is no longer happening, which I totally stick with except that then he gets all “fine I’ll just kiss your neck/back/arm (cause arm kissing is hot). And he’s super insistent that I go out with him and his friends post concert. I’m a paranoid girl so the thought of going out all alone (G and L were bailing) with some strange dude and his bros was setting off all sorts of “Girl, you are asking to be raped” alarm bells in my head. So jokingly I say…

B: How many friends do you have? Cause I’m a vulnerable sweet young thing and I can just see this going the roofies route.

J: I *WISH* I had some roofies so I could rape you!

Wow. Yeah, that’s just the kind of joke you wanna be making. The conversation was kind of downhill from here, let me give you a few highlights.

B: These are my friends Gillian and List

J: Hi, I’m Jeff

G: Is that with a J or a G? I’m Gillian with a G

J: A J

.

.

(The band plays on, we sail by the statue of liberty, 45 minutes pass)

.

.

J: Hi, I don’t think I met you ladies, I’m Jeff

(General cracking up)

G: Gillian

J: With a G?

(Brianna mouthing to Lisa “-10 points” between additional cracking up)

I’d like to think he was kidding or drunk or had been involved in a tragic accident that resulted in short term memory lost… but unfortunately all of those would be wishful thinking.

And then there was this….

J: Yeah, I was really into Physics, I snuck into Columbia to take some classes but they were all lame, I knew so much more than the professors and I would argue with them and they totally could not defend themselves, it was sad. Anyway, I figured that college was a waste of time, I wasn’t getting any opportunity to contribute to the psychics world so I left.

B: How are you contributing to the physics world as a cabinet maker?

Oh poor misguided boy, do not diss scientists to me.

I bailed on the going out.

Random Recommends 6

Nintendo DS New York Times Crosswords

If you've been holding our on buying a DS because you are old and don't like video games it's time to put down your ovaltine, grab your cane, shew the kids from the lawn, climb into the Olds, try not to run over a farmers market, double park in the handicap spot at Circuit City, curse the damn kids and their foul music and pick one up. While you're in the devils playground you should absolutely pick up a copy of New York Times Crosswords (and though I am not officially recommending it you might as well complete the cliche and buy Brain Age).

I've been obsessively doing crosswords on the subway for the last week or so and despite only doing the Mondays the game continues to give me scores in the D range -- I like this game enough that I am able to resist banging my DS angrily against the orange plastic seats. Having this snazzy new way to do crosswords has totally gone to my head. I caught myself on Tuesday angling my screen so that the man sitting to my left doing crosswords the old fashion way could see my high tech crossword machine and get very jealous (and maybe talk to me and maybe ask me out and then buy me a wii and live happily ever after -- Thank you DS crossword game!!!).

The obvious downside to purchasing this game is that you will look like a totally loser to other gamers on the subway. I need some sort of button that I can wear while playing that makes it clear that I also play cool games made for people under the age of 55.

Origins Checks and Balances Face Wash

I hate washing my face, it's boring, and soap gets in your eyes and I'm really really lazy. I admit to often going with the "disposable make-up removing wipe option" and occasionally with the "my pores are MUCH too clear, I think I'll sleep with make-up on just to keep them nice and cozy" option. On nights when the guilt over wasteful disposable products and/or embarrassment over being so disgusting really get to me I turn to Checks and Balances. The face wash is satisfyingly foamy and doesn't really smell like anything which I consider a plus. $17.50 is more than I would normally be willing to pay for soap but I've found that a tini tiny bit goes a long way -- 5 oz should easily last me a year, though other more cleanliness obsessed readers/washers may not be so frugal. It still leaves my eyes all teary but until someone invents a "no more tears" face wash (seriously, get on that people -- since when does being over 5 means that soap doesn't sting your eyes?) I'll stick with Origins.



Trader Joe's Hot & Sweet Mustard

Trader Joe's is too good for pictures and online sales but next time you're in one of their many fine stores admiring the hot checkers in Hawaiian shirts or wondering if there is a discernible difference between the garlic and regular hummus (not usually) (or while waiting in line for hours at their annoyingly crowded one NYC location... though not for long) you should pick up a jar of the best condiment ever. This mustard is of course awesome on a sandwich but it is also great smothered on baked salmon (as I learned from Amy) or (do not judge me) with apple slices. It's good enough that when Trader Joe's stop carrying it for a couple of months due to some sort of complicated stocking problem my entire family was so traumatized that we now buy at least 6 jars at once just in case (just in case the apocalypse comes and the people who make this make this mustard are raptured first as a thank you from God for bringing such joy to the world and then those of us Left Behind not only have to contend with locusts and rains of frogs and the anti Christ but we have to do it with sub par sandwiches). When I first moved to New York and there was no Trader Joe's in the city limits (clearly I did not do enough research premove) I used to haul jars from California to New York risking mustard stained panties, I love it that much.