My friend's five-year-old made a funny request. She repeatedly asked that I send a picture of myself to her mother's phone. I didn't ask why, as I generally oblige when children politely ask for things, regardless of how random the request may be. Like a good-for-nothing adult, I kept forgetting to send it, so after she brought it up for the third time, I pulled and texted this one, the last picture I took of myself from some time ago earlier this winter. I was trashed from little sleep, on FaceTime messing around with the phone, clearly reacting to something that made me uncomfortable.

I should ask that little girl what she plans to do with this. Kids know how to do all sorts of things on iPhones these days. Will she PhotoShop out my mole? Will she crop my head onto a Disney Princess? She's pretty fond of that Disney Frozen movie. We once watched the same four YouTube movie clips on repeat for an hour straight. That is an hour that I will never get back, but if we're going to talk about return on investment, watching her two-year-old brother belt out the movie's theme song at the most random of times is priceless.

It's been really nice to be around children again. That they are my friends' kids is a double perk. They never fail to energize my spirits. They are wonderful little things, busy being honest and real. As lovely as they are, I have been making a concerted effort to limit my time with them and their parents. They welcome me openly in their home, but I quietly straddle that fine line, wary of that one day when they will surely have had too much of me. As all my friends now have life partners and kids, I try to be sensitive to the family unit dynamic, recognizing that life is busy all the time, and that they only have so much time to spend exclusively together. So, I make appearances regularly enough, but make sure to build in breathing room, too. It's been a few days, which means that I'm due for a live musical rhapsody performed by a certain toddler. I can't wait. It's the sweetest thing in the whole wide world right now.

A New Window

I left Manhattan. I set a deadline for myself and when the time came, I walked away. Well, technically, I was driven away, huddled in a chilly heap at the edge of my mattress in the back of a van with the stupid knotted stomach I always have whenever I’m stuck in a car. Most of me was ready to leave, stoked, I'd even say, but a significant enough part of me was apparently not, as evidenced by the fact that I threw 80% of my belongings haphazardly into boxes in the last few days.

The world seemed like it could have been a touch more cooperative on the big day, what with wet snow falling steadily from the time we started loading the van to the time we pulled off the slushy highway more than two hours later. It was a safe journey, so maybe I have it all wrong and the world was actually quite kind to my needs that day. All I know for sure is that I annoyed the hell out of the people who stuck by me to pack at the eleventh hour. Not my proudest moment that was. Maybe we can laugh about it in say, another twenty years. Or, never. That’s a good possibility, too.

Right now, I’m trying to figure out what’s best for me. This thing called life isn’t supposed to be hard or unhappy, but that’s what it’s felt like, which is what prompted this move. They say that everything is a choice, from the way you feel, the way you manage your feelings, down to the very essence of who you are. I can see the truth in that. I just have one question: what happens when you aren’t sure which choice is meant for you?

Tina Fey Grew Up In My Backyard

When I wrote hyacinth tea in the last post, I meant hibiscus.  HIBISCUS.  The internetz is saying that hyacinth tea is, in fact, very much poisonous.  I'm still here and not strong enough to combat poisonous teas, so yeah, hibiscus it was.  I don't know how I mixed up the two, but if I'm being honest, I will probably mix the two up again at some point in the near future.  Nothing sticks, I tell you.

Moving on to bigger and grander, more fascinating news: I have been reading this summer.  Woo-wee, have I been reading.  I've been sluggishly moping around with brain-splitting headaches caused by my terrible dry eyes to prove it.  The amount of ibuprofen I've consumed this summer is alarming.

Tina Fey's Bossypants was just as bad as I thought it would be, which doesn't mean that I didn't enjoy it.  I've always had an interest in Ms. Fey's talent and success.  She grew up in a neighborhood adjacent to mine.  By virtue of the fact that we were raised drinking the same tap water, there's a certain level of camaraderie in that, you know?  Before we moved to a Philadelphia zip code, it was an apartment complex in Upper Darby where I learned to eat solid foods, walk, and potty-train my baby doll.  It's a real wonder how I would carefully position my doll on top of my potty training bowl (there's a picture to prove it), but my own behind?  Not so much.  Let's just say that I was not a good potty trainee.

Bossypants was a good, light read.  In two short sittings, while I didn't laugh out loud or find her stories particularly engaging, I smiled whenever she mentioned one of the many neighborhood landmarks that I had forgotten about.  From the local parochial schools, the aquarium, the hair salon where I had also gotten a hideous perm, and to the local Dairy Queen where my mother always got her vanilla cone dipped in a butterscotch shell, I recognized them all.  It was the act of pulling these small memories from a time so long ago that kept me turning the pages.

It wasn't that I have particularly fond memories from that time period; it was that pieces of those memories were familiar.  The mind is a funny thing.  It so readily and willingly settles for the odd comfort that only the familiar can offer.

Tiny Man

Philadelphia.
8:51 am. 8 June. 2013
What sound does a cow make?
Mooooo!

What sound does a dog make?
Woof woof!

What sound does a cat make?
Meow.

What sound does Michael Jackson make?
Hee heee!

I gotta hand it to your parents. That one was clever.

Happy Election Day

Back in Philadelphia, my local polling place was a little church a short walk from my place.  Tiny grandmothers manned the ballots.  There was rarely a line, if any.  My walk home was along quiet residential streets sprinkled yellow with November ginkgo leaves.  For living in the heart of the city, the calm, unharried setting made voting a pleasant and reassuring experience.

But now I live here.  Let's just say that they don't do here what they do in Philly.  I stood in a line two blocks long four years ago.  But as it turns out, I had nothing to worry about today.  Why didn't anyone tell me that there's no line at 12:30 in the afternoon?!  I zoomed in, signed my name in the registry, scanned my ballot, and hopped next door to the pizzeria run by my former landlord and his family.

Vinny, the landlord's son, was amused when he discovered that my sister and I had managed to polish off five whole slices.  His pies, you see, are humongous.  One slice is usually enough for a girl.  We had a good chuckle as we got ready to roll ourselves back to the subway.  Then Vinny's father walked in.  Always ready to give us girls a hug, when he leaned in this time, I hesitated ever so slightly.  It had been a few years, but I remembered how strong he was.  He's probably pushing eighty, but I've seen him carry wooden bookcases twice his size down four flights of stairs.  He doesn't even break a sweat.  Sure enough, I think I tweaked my neck a bit when he pulled us in for today's squeeze.  Ha.  Vinny and his pops are good people.

Lunch in the old neighborhood.  UES.  NYC.
12:43 pm.   Today.

Over our delicious pizza lunch, I was telling my sister what a good life we have.  How privileged we are to have the right to play a part in our government's election.  How nice it is that we can take a safe subway ride a week after a major natural disaster hits our region.  How awesome it is that it's not a big deal to throw down twenty bucks for a hot piping pizza whenever we want.  How fortunate we are that both our jobs allow us the flexibility to step out midday to exercise our right to vote.  As women, as citizens, as humans, no matter how tough we might find things every now and again, on the whole, our standard of living is quite grand.  We are so very fortunate to be living this good life.

Merry August

Let's talk about Christmas.  Because it's August, if nothing else.  Specifically, let's talk about the expressions of everything good that the holiday season evokes and how their existence is evident in the [almost - read on for my take] everyday, not just the cold days of December.

Christmas is, to be perfectly rosy-cheeked about the situation, pure awesomeness.  There is a mindful re-focus on the celebrated components of what builds and drives fulfilling lives: family, community, love, warmth, grace, kindness, humility, forgiveness, acceptance, and joy, to name a few.  It is an annual tradition where individuals reconvene to showcase these pinnacles of our society's value system.

I'd like to say that these elements are present in each of our daily journeys, pocketfuls of posies anywhere and everywhere just as long as you look for it in every situation, but nay, I can think of several cases where this simply isn't true.  This is probably because I witnessed humanity's worst sorrows as the child of a pastor and his wife.  Churches lend support to congregants in difficult times; if you're spearheading those efforts and thrown deep into the trenches of it, your children can see a lot of the ugly, too.  My parents didn’t buffer any of that.  Part of that is because they are Korean, part of that is because they are who they are, and part of that is because I am their oldest.  From too early an age, I learned that it's tricky to see the good when the bad is all around; sometimes, it's impossible because it's just not there.

  At the start of one holiday season, what would turn out to be my last home before I moved to New York.
Rittenhouse Square. Philadelphia.
2004.  12 November.

What I have learned is that in times when there is no joy to be had, it isn't always necessary to break the impossibility of the situation by conjuring something that balances out the darkness.  Sometimes, there is a great deal of merit in staying in that moment and waiting for it to pass.  Why?  Because it always passes.  It does.  And the resilience required to get to that next point is what makes the next happy moment even brighter.

I hope life is good for you all out there.  If it isn't Christmas now, it will be soon.

Dangit. Where's Some Fontina When You Really Need It?

the girl & the fig {+}.  Many moons ago, a particular Philadelphia cafe offered a particularly yummy panino that contained a smear of jam from jars labeled with these words.  Tria's {+} specialties were their wines, cheeses, and beers, but I went exclusively for their panini and salads.  Before this Tria panino, I didn't care much for jams outside the berry variety.  It was a life changer, this sensational jam made of all things, figs.  Then, one day, without any warning, the fontina fig panino disappeared from the menu.  For a while, I was on a mission to find it, or at the very least, a decent substitute.  But everywhere I looked and every fig jam I tried, nothing came close to this nameless girl & magical fig's version.

That's why, when I saw the namesake restaurant listed on Soeur's California itinerary, I asked her if she could bring back a jar of the good stuff.  And she did!  I would have made a panino for dinner tonight, but alas, I didn't have all the ingredients; namely, everything but the jam.  Sounds like I'll require some quality time with my Breville press and some creamy fontina.  This is gonna be good...

Pucker Up

Upon command, she'll {+} give a hardcore quality kiss replete with a joyous smacking sound effect.  You know the good, wet, pucker-up kind?  One landed on my nose yesterday.  Tasty, I'm sure it was, given my salty unwashed at-the-end-of-a-summer-day-spent-walking-around-the-city face.

8:25 a.m. Philadelphia. May 7, 2010.

The only thing cuter than this would be...

...one green Croc on the left foot and a purple on the right, each replete with rhinestone Croc accessories.

Bags Unpacked. I'm Back.

Wedding food is usually mediocre at best. Not so at their shindig.

Passed three other wedding parties in the lone hour after the reception.  

Opening weekend of "Babies" at an old haunt of mine.  

Just good.  I'd wait for the DVD if you don't go ga-ga for cute babies.

Thoughts of this former next door neighbor's cakes prompt mild cases of nostalgia.

  

Dinner avec moi.  Menu had changed considerably.  Rosemary on their fries.

~ ET FIN ~

Back to the trudge at home sweet sweet home.

Roger Reminded Me

I happened upon Roger Ebert's blog a while ago and have been blown away ever since.  I'll always remember him as Roger of Siskel & Ebert, he the round one with a kind serious voice.  He's gone through a lot since those days.  A lot.

Well, "about 9 hours ago via web" he tweeted news of his own TwitterPage in the Chicago Sun-Times {+}.  I clicked and was surprised to see a fun little reminder of Philadelphia.  I needed to see this this morning.  This footage is of an amusing traffic officer who frequently worked the corner of 36th & Walnut, right at the heart of Penn's campus at a busy intersection in front of the campus bookstore.  Every morning he'd make direct eye contact with each pedestrian, smile, and boom out a "Morning!" or a "Let's go, darlin'!" without missing a beat of his little jig.  You could be having the worst morning of the week and he would still crack a smile on your face.

I hadn't seen him in a while during my last days on campus, but this video makes me miss Officer Johnson.  He had that special touch.  You know, the one that not everyone's lucky to have, the one where you can't help but admire for knowing that he does what he does because he enjoys it, and does so with quirk and finesse and oomph that leaves a little, yet unforgettable, imprint in the community.  Officer Johnson, I miss your being part of my life!

The Baby Exists, Really

Lest my friends on the internetz worry that I am a crazy lady posting pictures of a baby that I don't really know, I present proof that she is not a figment of my imagination and I do get to play with her. These are shots from Tuesday's lunch at Già Pronto taken by her mama on her Blackberry, hence the fuzzy quality. Good to see that the little one has an appetite and can be an adventurous eater when she's in the mood.

Hearting Tria

Crossing the Ben Franklin Bridge four times in the span of ten hours? {Yawn}

Quick pit stop at our favoritest Philadelphia wine 'n cheese 'n beer cafe? {Smile}

TRIA
18th & Sansom Streets
Philadelphia, PA 19103
215.972.TRIA

Tell Me She Doesn't Look Like A Doll

Campus LOVE

The weekend of August 15, 2008: you'll remember it as the weekend Michael Phelps medaled his eighth gold at the Beijing Olympic Games. I'll remember it as the weekend when a group of my freshman year dorm peeps schlepped their way back to Philadelphia to mark our ten-year reunion. We weren't sure then, but Andrea has since confirmed that she is pregnant with her first child due this spring, Karuna owns her very own house (with a lawn that needs mowing and everything), Afia will soon have a PhD after her name, and Jamey will most likely travel the same road. And me? Well, I suppose I'm just Julia. I don't have any noteworthy past or pending accomplishments. It's slow-going, but I'm working on that. No, really. I am.





This last photograph is of particular interest to me because it was our last rendezvous point of the weekend (Sunday brunch at Valanni's offers an amazing grilled romaine salad) where everyone passed around our cameras to review the weekend's photographs. That was the last time the group got to view the large set on my camera, the very camera which was designated as the primary camera for the weekend, before I returned to New York and - wait for it - deleted the entire memory card.  See what college and ten years can do for you?  It's really quite amazing.

The Day After My Half Birthday

Sunday the 7th
December 2008
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

Um, this doesn't feel like my binky.

Have you met my feets yet?

Roar.  I'm ready for brunch.

Because my mouth cannot, must not, and will not, be left unattended under any circumstances.

You're too much.

Yes, may I help you?

Representin'

When I heard the Phillies had made it to the World Series this year I was floored.  When did they...become good again (apologies to those diehard fans who I've just offended)?  I was shocked, but happy for our hometown.  Then Soeur received a news blip on her Blackberry yesterday night with the amazing news that

 

THE PHILLIES HAD ACTUALLY WON THE WORLD SERIES.

 

Say what?!

 

For a hot second, I counted my lucky stars that last night, for that one single night, I was not a Center City resident.  And then I quickly moved on and sent some love to Philly from New York wondering why, as a proper Philadelphian, I didn't own a single piece of clothing with a Philly team logo on it.  I felt the rare urge to hug a Philly Fanatic plush doll, or at the very least don a bright red sweatshirt with a hoodie and take a brisk jog around the block in the 35-degree weather.  Weird.

 

It's no secret that I miss Philadelphia.  But what I don't miss?  The uncontrollable nature of its passionate residents.  When we won the Stanley Cup, fans started their celebrations with horn honking, screaming, drinking.  The next morning showed just how much trash and litter the fans had dragged through the streets.  So there was always a little part of me that wished that we wouldn't actually win another tournament, title, or trophy; because it brings out the unclassiest of the city's residents.  As much as I had hoped the fans would behave last night, it looks like Philly celebrated as per usual destroying property, rolling over people's feet with their cars, and participating in general mass mayhem.

 

Congratulations, Philadelphia!

Leaving Penn For Good

I will have to learn to live without many familiar comforts that I associate with Penn. Obviously, it will be the most difficult to leave behind Beijing's wonton soup. [Sniffle]

Before I Leave, Capogiro

You already know about my admiration for Capogiro's gelato. It was pistachio and coconut on Monday night. The coconut melts too quickly. Should have gotten pistachio all the way, as in a whole pint of it. Oh, mine greedy eyes.

Before I Leave, Brunch at Valanni's

It's a bit embarrassing, to say the least, that the majority of my to-do-one-last-time-in-Philly list is comprised of activities that encourage my gorging on super tasty high calorie meals. I guess this is how we've become one of the fattest cities of America.

This is Valanni's grilled romaine salad. But don't let the salad fool you into thinking that it's good for you. It's doused with roasted peppers, applewood smoked bacon, parmesan encrusted polenta croutons, and a creamy chipotole caesar dressing. Think fat on grilled lettuce. It's delicious.

And when at Valanni's, one must have a second meal immediately following brunch...I also had their caramelized rum bananas dessert: crispy cinnamon phyllo cup (although I think they forgot the cinnamon), toasted coconut, crushed walnuts (I think they missed these, too) and vanilla bean ice cream. The waitress said, "I've never seen anyone finish that dessert" when she took away my empty plate. Um, ditzy waitress friend - did you NOT see the remaining phyllo cup on the plate?

Rolling out of a restaurant is never a pleasant experience, but enjoying a scrumptious brunch with a make-you-laugh-until-your-sides-hurt friend is simply delightful, especially on a Sunday afternoon after you busted your behind hauling all your earthly possessions into a third story storage unit in the biggest metropolis of America.