Inspired by the classy Sunnyside Tuxedo , I thought I’d share my happy little lunch setup. I’ve been putting a lot more consideration and thought into creating little food experiences at home that nourish my body and my mind.
Today, I spent lunchtime at Kolaportið, the Reykjavik fleamarket, where I picked up some fresh foods and old books on the cheap (-ish…it is Iceland after all). After a brief stop by the lake to soak up the brightest moment of the winter sun, I sat down to enjoy my acquisitions.
My plate contains only products of Iceland. The breads are normalbrauð and flatkökur. I spread some berry jam from Egilsstaðir on the normalbrauð and topped the flatkökur with fresh honey-dill-Salmon. And I finished off the plate with some local cheese (ostur) and carrots (gulraetur).
The book on Copenhagen was published in 1947 by The Danish Society for the Preservation of Nature. It features beautiful prose and black and white photographs describing post-war Copenhagen. (If all goes according to plan, I will spend the upcoming fall semester in Denmark’s capitol on exchange from the University of Iceland.) It opens like this:
Who, knowing Copenhagen, can remain insensible to her charm, or fail to respond to the cheery bustle of her business hours, to the ready repartee of her good-humored citizens, or to the democratic conviction that here, at least, all men are equals.
I’m on a 19th century novel British novel kick right now, so I’m reading a beautiful, little old edition of Anthony Trollope’s The Way We Live Now.
[You can read more about my adventures and day to day life in gorgeous Reykjavik on my other blog, An American in Iceland.]
So long 2012. You’ve been an awful year at first glance, but then again I’ve learned so much this year. I’ve learned about perseverance, about the importance of Christian fellowship, more about the importance of The Fellowship (of the Ring, duh), and the history of Iceland, Norse mythology, and Vikings. I’ve learned how to handle big set backs and feeling directionless. My belief that Will Ferrel is never going to stop being hilarious has been reinforced. I’ve gotten better at understanding my family and trusting my friends. I’ve learned that a good roommate is better than living alone.
Throwing that nasty ring out, cause that’s how I do.
I’ve read so many great books and magazines and articles as well as so many entertaining imaginary texts from imaginary friends when I’m feeling awkward in public. I’ve learned that there are actually some good things about no longer being in college. I’ve gotten better at hanging pictures on the wall. My cooking skills have improved; I’ve added a mixed berry pie and innumerable variations on tofu to my repertoire. I learned about James Bond’s childhood, the fiscal cliff, Schrödinger’s cat, iphonography, and picked up some key geological terms.
While dabbling in gardening, I learned how hard it was. While dabbling in banjo, I learned that I am much better at reading a book and remembering everything in it than learning any skill that requires daily repetition. I have learned that this shortcoming is a big roadblock in exercising, getting better at the violin, being a successful blogger, and keeping acne under control. I have gotten better at exercising self-control at the computer and not binging on netflix (but I reserve the right to put aside this control when a new season of Parks & Rec, Downton Abby, The Office, 30 Rock, Psych, Once Upon a Time, or HIMYM come out….so basically I’ve only learned self control because I’ve watched everything on Netflix already.) Continue reading
“I think I’m going to write a blog about talking to myself,” I muttered to myself as I sat in a public location. “That’s a great idea,” I replied, “It will distract you from the lack of human contact in your daily routine!”
Am I crazy? It’s irrelevant.
accepted discovered that I talk to myself a lot. Even more disconcerting, I have extended small talk sessions with inanimate objects. I don’t know how long this has been going on. I’ve been living by myself since February, and I love it, but I think the solitude may have had some adverse effects. I decided to get a roommate for the extra bedroom in my apartment, and it wasn’t until she was moving in that my little habit alluringly pulled up the edge of its floor length skirt to reveal an sexy-less, unshaved ankle. I was in my room on one side of the apartment, and my roommate (who I will call Lady Marguerite of Spain to protect her real identity- just kidding her name is Katey) was in the kitchen on the other side of the apartment. I walked merrily into the kitchen to see if she needed help unpacking, and she inquired innocently,
<<What were you saying to me?>>
<<Ha,” I scoffed, <<what are you talking about?>>
(This girl is crazy, I thought. She hears voices. Weird.)
<<You were talking.>>
<<No I wasn’t.>>
<<I’m pretty sure someone was talking.>>
I wasn’t too worried at that point. I didn’t really remember talking to myself, but I was sure it must have been humming or something. Little did I know I had just seen the tip of the iceberg, and that my quirky, hermit habit had reached Titanic size.
It wasn’t until the next morning when I caught myself talking to my underwear and socks as I sorted them that I realized it was probably a good thing my time living alone was over. At least that’s how I explained the end of our conversational relationship to my underwear and socks.
Yo. Internet. I don’t like those awkward conversation starters like “How are you?” or “What’s Up?” (the answer is always the same! How does everyone keep forgetting it!) so I’m going to cut the social formalities and get straight to the point. I have been thinking about real life soundtracks a lot lately. When I watch movies, I think “Oh, that’s so cool/sweet/quirky/awesome. I wish my life could be like that.” I used to think my life was sans movie luster because of the actual plot and events, but after some indubitably insightful thinking sessions, I came upon the hypothesis that it’s not the plot, it’s the background music. A kiss is so much more romantic if Frank Sinatra is crooning in the background. Most fight scenes would be boring without the requisite instrumental, fast paced, high energy theme song. Horror movies rely the most on the tunes. And so on. Therefore, I could live just as cool a life as the movies if I only had a life soundtrack.
Of course, this would be difficult. How would you know how your day was going to play out thematically? Even if you knew you were going to be desperately fleeing a rabid pigeon in the park, how could you make sure your boombox was ready to play Phillip Glass’ creepy Ghandi opera at the precise moment?
Ezra dashing up the step of Columbia’s Library in NYC
Well, yesterday, as I was strolling around Staten Island on a weekend trip to NYC, my friend pulled out his phone to play a song so he could more easily strut/dance down the sidewalk. That’s when I had the best idea for this app that would….hmm. Actually. I don’t want anyone to steal my idea, (I’m talking bigger than Angry Birds brilliant) but basically it tailors a soundtrack for your life based on various factors (again…I can’t give this idea away). End result: your life is pretty much an awesome movie. Like an audible Instagram that makes everything a little cooler looking.
It may be a while, dear readers/ future app-buyers, before my groundbreaking work hits the iphone, but meanwhile, I’ve put together some background songs for you. Anyone could grab a couple fun songs for their daily routine or a quirky jam for weekend explorations in Manhattan (see this song for the featured photo of yours truly dashing cheerfully towards a large building full of books). But what I have done for you, oh consumers of the internet, is I have made you a completely unnecessary soundtrack for life moments you will probably never ever have. Do work. Continue reading
I wouldn’t call myself a habitual risk-taker, but that doesn’t mean I don’t live life on the edge sometimes. Several days ago, I pulled my last roll of toilet paper out of the storage closet that has a hidden door which could also be used to store dead bodies if I was a gangster or a serial killer but I’m not so don’t worry. A careful person would have bought toilet paper as soon as possible. Not I. I’ve waited. Watching the roll become smaller and smaller…and smaller. Knowing that if I miscalculate, I could end up alone in my home…..without toilet paper. The hour is nigh. I sense it. This game of brinkmanship is the final inning.
Yes, I’m a risk taker sometimes, but I don’t want to anyone to get the wrong idea, so I should probably mention that the real reason I haven’t restocked my dead body utility closet with toilet paper is because I’m such a spacey young gal and I can never remember important things like that until I’m home. I’ll probably just steal a roll or two from work tomorrow.
It’s rather annoying how one never really learns important lessons when everything is going peachy, lovely, fine. It’s not until life starts to suck that you have to fall from cloud nine (not a Katy Perry reference no matter how similar the phrasing may be) and learn how this existence thing really works.
Book The First: Getting Punched in the Face by Life
Suffice to say, I came down from cloud nine, ten, and eleven this month. Don’t believe me? Let me list ten injustices recently committed against me by the universe.
1) Got locked out of my house during record heat. My neighbor was not helpful. The locksmith charged me $300 to spend 29.6 seconds opening a simple lock. He did not tell me the price until afterwards. Shame on him. *Hissing noises*
My face after getting the bill for the evil locksmith
2) That nasty derecho knocked out my power for five days the day after I went crazy at my local organic market buying fresh produce that will not last a week in a warm refrigerator. I was stuck at my parents’ home with an overnight bag.
3) I got pulled over by the po-po for having a break light out.
4) On the way to the mechanic to get my break light fixed, my power steering just kerplunk DIED. Had to get the car towed.
5) My mom let me borrow her Mercedes while my swag wagon (that’s station wagon for all you old people) was in the shop. While driving the afformentioned Mercedes, I rear ended an Escalade. Continue reading
Greetings simple humans. This weekend, I, a person to whom science fiction appreciation stops at Orwell (and maybe C.S. Lewis’ Space Trilogy if I’m feeling reallllyyyy out there), attended a rather marvelous birthday bash called “TerryCon International 2012” celebrating the 50th of a member of my church. We at Trinity Community Church have what I consider a fantabulous sense of humor. Someone decided to throw Terry a surprise sci-fi costume cookout complete with bouncy house for the young’uns and a giant outdoor movie screen on which we could watch, what else, the first, original Starwars (the one where Harrison Ford give the audience that one look that makes you despair of ever feeling love for any other man in this star system).
I personally have no knowledge of Star Trek except for what I learned from the recent movie (I learned that Spock is super hot, and that I am attracted to the idea of a creature that prizes reason above flimsy emotions). None the less, after taking stock of my wardrobe and the Spock ears I have owned for several years for a reason totally unbeknownst to me, I decided my path must be a Trekky one. Without further ado, I’d like to introduce you to a rare glimpse of Ezra as a nerd (to be distinguished from an eccentric or a classically weird person) :
Live Long and Prosper