This gorgeous Moorish home (in Key West, whoudda thought it?) was built by a team of Moroccan artisans who camped out in Florida for a year. (Hilariously, they got weekly check-up visits from the FBI.)
I love love love it. The hand tiled floors, the incredible wood ceilings, the mashrabiya screens -- I swear we are meant for each other.
I figure all that stands between us is about $50 mil. Well, that and my poor sweet husband, who is still coming to terms with our awesome new wallpaper.
Check out more photos and details at Architectural Digest. (Seeing this house alone was worth our magazine subscription. Which, come to think of it, we didn't pay for. Thanks for the Christmas gift, Amberphivia!)
Here's a very funny little movie about all the chick flick cliches He's Just Not That Into You does NOT contain. Number 6 is my favorite.
Though I'm still not convinced the movie will be that great. I mean, all that awesome talent and the trailers STILL put me to sleep? Meh. I'd rather spend my $12 on evil doppelganger mothers any day.
Genius s-i-l and I have started a killer knitting project. It's a stunning two-color alpaca blanket. Words do not do it justice.
Voila.
Fabulous, right?
I've never done colorwork, and s-i-l's never done knitting, but little things like that are not going to stand between us and this blanket of deliciousness.
Yesterday we got the yarn, we threw on some Desperate Housewives, and we plunged in.
The actual knitting isn't that bad. In fact, it's making me feel quite smug to blithely knit away with TWO COLORS ! in my hands. (Of course, that's due far more to the brilliant Mason-Dixon girls than to my native intelligence.)
But here's the problem:
Dear readers, is it too green? Is it reminiscent of putrid bodily effluvia? Is it, worse, BORING?
step 6: Wait anxiously for mail. Open package, cut gorgeous sleeves to right length, slide onto chandelier. Throw away hideous shades. Use blue bulbs just for the heck of it.
step 7: Bask in the glory that is my new chandelier.
step 8: Make bets on how long it'll take husband to notice . . .
Until February 1st, you can watch PBS' new Masterpiece Theatre adaptation of Wuthering Heights online! Episode 1 is here; the second and final episode premiers Sunday.
Sure, it's a depressing story with depraved and/or diabolical characters. The setting is bleak and the ending is bleaker. But -- and here's why I'm watching the movie though I can't stand the book -- it's so darn pretty.
Fancy costumes + fancy British elocution = I will watch whatever the heck you put before me.
And online? With Burn Gorman (aka Bleak House's Guppy)? Wild horses couldn't keep me away.
I promised Katherine a blog post, so here's one specially for her.
Neil Gaiman wrote a wonderful book called Coraline; it's the only children's book I've ever read that's given me nightmares. I still sometimes shiver when I'm all alone and I can feel all the mirrors in my house come alive . . .
Freaky, fabulous book. Some geniuses, bless them, have turned it into a 3D movie. It comes out on February 6. After watching the trailer, I am counting the days.
The movie's made of old school stop-gap whatever and CGI: the entire set is handmade, and everything's itty bitty. Like, there's a knitter who knits costumes on needles as thick as a human HAIR. Each 2" high garment takes her between 6 weeks and 6 months to make. I mean, seriously. I cringe at anything smaller than a size 5.
The movie's website is a brilliant way to waste some time. It's visually wonderful, and full of goodies. There are sweater patterns, free bookmarks, movies about dancing mustaches -- what a perfect mid-week pick-me-up!
And the offline marketing is also excellent. There are super purty Coraline walls popping up in NYC, Georgetown (I think I need to make a pilgrimage), and Chicago. The cool gimmicks are the best part, like the cameras that put your face up on the wall as you walk by, but replace your eyes with buttons.
Yummy. I'm getting freaked out already.
PS: I've repented of my long absence (packing, vacation in Europe, unpacking, packing, vacation in Utah, unpacking, pretending to be a responsible adult). Now I'm back to blogging for reals. I swear.
In our please-let-it-become-annual tradition of spending Thanksgivings out of the country, we're headed off to Copenhagen! And London! And Edinburgh!
The first half of the trip is ostensibly for business; for Pete there is no "ostensible" about it, but I will support him in his career by visiting billions of coolmuseums (and is it just me, or does the way Danish look make you giggle too?) and wandering beautiful streets and maybe going on the world's highest carousel.
Erase that "maybe." After checking out youtube, wild horses couldn't keep me away.
Mmm tasty!
Speaking of tasty, we celebrated Thanksgiving early, just in case the U.K. doesn't have turkeys, or in case the European-sized oven proves an insurmountable obstacle. You never know.
Le Menu de Thanksgiving chez petey and lars et avec Ruthie and Amberpherivia:
- Turkey, cooked with the revolutionary new Cooks Illustrated method where you cook it in pieces, and not in one gigantic carcass. I highly recommend it--white meat stayed juicy, dark meat was salmonella-free. It also made the best gravy I have ever et.
- Brussels sprouts with pistachios (sooo good, I swear. Recipe here.)
- Green beans with tarragon and lime. Yup, C. I. again. Didn't love this recipe, though it was a fun twist on a traditional classic.
- Light-as-a-dream hot rolls to die for, via Shirley Corriher in her incredible Cookwise. Can't say enough about this fantastic book.
- Sweet potatoes courtesy of Amberpher, emphasis on the Amber. Everyone loved em, except me, but I'm deeply prejudiced and think yams, like mosquitos and the 495/I-270 interchange, were a giant cosmic mistake.
- Pumpkin pie from le freezer. Life is too short to mess with pie crusts.
- Melt-in-your-mouth chocolate cupcakes, adapted from this great recipe posted on Chocolate & Zucchini. I didn't quite get the cooking time right, but it didn't matter. This was still bliss. It may be my favorite cupcake recipe of all time, and I've tried a few. The texture's awesome, it's simple to whip up, and it tastes like all your wildest dreams come true. The cake's rich enough that all it needed was a dollop of whipping cream on top.
So I've been getting some odd catalogues lately. (Not as odd as the ones we got when we first moved in though: I feel like I know A LOT about the previous owners.) Yesterday's catalogue, though, has ensured that I will spend the rest of my life here dodging the mailman.
Behold: Can you tell by the name? How about the subtitle, "Support, Comfort, Independence"?Apparently some consumer algorithm's been tracking my spending habits at yarn stores, and concluded that I really am over 80 and in need of all kinds of orthopedic aids.
But it makes for interesting reading; Support Plus has an array of ingenious products and even more ingenious copy-writing. Here's some of the best: a phone speaker headlined "Don't Miss the Joy of Friendly and Loving Phone Conversation!" Aww, sweet. I'm reminded of the awesome seminary video The Mailbox -- I'm trying desperately but unsuccessfully to find it online, first time youtube has ever failed me, but it's all about this lovely old lady who lives alone and spends her WHOLE DAY waiting for the mail. She never gets any letters, ever, because her grandchildren are ungrateful little slobs, and on one lonely trek to the mailbox she ends up slipping on the ice and dies cold and alone and is eaten by wolves. Or maybe I dreamt that part.
Anyway, good movie, and that lovely old lady would've ADORED this catalogue. And Friendly and Loving Phone Conversation could've brightened her lonely days.
Another attention-grabber promises you can FINALLY "Overcome the Difficulties of Cutting Toenails!" As we all know, "getting to the toenail cutting position is hard enough. This clipper multiplies your hand strength and helps prevent injury. Very well made." Toenail cutting injuries? I think I just came up with a great new House episode.
I also heart the $4.95 non-slip rubber doorknob sleeve, with, get this, anti-microbial protection. I'm adding this to my Thanksgiving litany: I'm grateful to be able to turn doorknobs on my own. Even if they ARE covered in microbes.
OK, just found a super excellent product and just in time for the holidays: you can "Maintain Independence & Hygeine" with a Self Wipe Toliet Aid. It's "helpful and discreet, for people who have difficulty performing self-hygiene when using the toilet." Hee. White elephant gift, anyone?
Oh dear, I have been a baaad blogger. It's cause I WANT to blog about my trip to the Middle East, because it was fabulous and I must remember it 4evah, but when I sit down to actually write it, I feel so . . . daunted.
So today I'll tell you some work stories instead. Nice, manageable work stories.
One of the best things about my ESL job is I get to teach whatever I want, however I want. There's no one breathing over my shoulder and no one fighting me for control. HOWever, we recently hired an extra teacher. I'll call him Dr. Bob (he insists on the "Dr.").
Dr. Bob's teaching role in our organization was supposed to be fairly limited, and he and I were not supposed to interact. But in a brilliant display of the principle "Say It Loud and Long Enough and You'll Get Whatever You Want," he ended up worming his way into ALL the classes as a co-teacher. So MY CLASSES, my precious precious classes, got invaded by Attila the Hun.
Now Dr. Bob looks great on paper (that blasted "Dr." ) but in the classroom, he's a barbarian. He hollers at the students, he takes 45 minute smoke breaks, he irritates the stuffing out of me, and, worst of all, he doesn't teach anything. His idea of teaching is spending a couple of hours reading out loud poems he's composed. The problem is 1) they're crappy poems and 2) he's reading them to students who are BARELY LITERATE. This helps them learn what, exactly?
Actually, I take that back. Learning to suffer obnoxious people without employing throttling is definitely a useful job skill (and apparently one I have yet to learn). But Dr. Bob certainly isn't helping with the English teaching. In fact, he seems to think he's one of the students. When I ask a question like "OK, class, how do we spell 'pencil'?" he waves his hand wildly in the air and shouts "P - E - N- C - I - L!" and grins at me, apparently waiting for congratulations. He's just lucky the P - E - N - C - I - L doesn't find its way up his nose.
Juuuuust kidding. I would never advocate violence. But I certainly do advocate going to one's boss (and going back, and going back again) and trying to get Dr. Bob fired. Apparently I've learned something from him after all, because if you say it loud enough and long enough, sometimes you do get what you want. I just found out Dr. Bob is outta here.
It's just in time, too. He's spent all week interrupting me in the middle of teaching (who DOES that?) and trying to sell me a self-written, self-published children's book, telling me it would be a great ($30!!) holiday present. There are no children I hate that much.
So here's to freedom from Dr. Bob, and freedom from his hideous poetry.
I loved Egypt first for Ramses' sake. That's Elizabeth Peters' Ramses, of course; hotter than wet-shirt Darcy and with ten times the brainpower. (Someday I plan an e-card site dedicated to his archeological perfection.)
After a few visits and several months in Cairo, my relationship with Egypt is different, less starstruck. Naguib Mahfouz, Egyptian Nobel Laureate, said that Cairo is like meeting your beloved in old age; I'm not a Cairene, but I think he's right. There is plenty in Egypt to adore (the sweet carb overload of koshari, golden limestone igniting at sunset, rollicky Egyptian Arabic jabbing like a mirthful elbow in your ribs) and there is plenty to flinch from.
My last time in Cairo, I'd left cheerfully. I'd been studying Arabic solo for a few months and was eager to get back to my fantastic new boyfriend and hassle-free streets. So on this trip I was pretty surprised when the magical smell of burning trash and scorching Sahara made me tear up right there in the Cairo airport. (Of course, I teared up at The Secret Life of Bees, too: indications are good that I am a sap.)
I spent our 72 hours in Egypt in a daze of jetlag and nostalgia. The pyramids were as impossibly huge as ever (and as impossibly smelly: we all emerged from our excursion inside one dripping with sweat and reeking of cat pee); the traffic was as charmingly insane. The smog was--well, look at this picture taken from our airplane. Perfect blue sky, meet Cairo.
We spent a day in Luxor, which, for all its jillions of tourists, still feels pretty chill. Here's a load of bananas going who-knows-where. And there really is something thrilling about the Valley of the Kings: you look around to see dirt, dirt, dirt, and oh, here's buried treasure. (If you haven't read Howard Carter's account of finding King Tut, you're in for a treat.)
Our Cairo hotel, InterContinental Citystars was absurdly decadent, Luxor's Sofitel --despite being literally on the Nile-- just couldn't compare.
We spent (not enough) time at the Egyptian Museum, where I could wander happily for weeks a la Mrs Basil E. Frankweiler, Coptic Cairo, and of course the temples of Luxor and Karnak. I dragged Becky and Ann to the wild Khalili bazaar, where we were (not unwillingly) accosted by scores of henna girls, men selling the same exact silver necklace, beggars, wannabe cab drivers, and slick-as-cow-snot hawkers.
On our way home, our taxi driver, who was a very nice man, confided that we were Answer to Prayer, because our American passports would let us into the Duty Free Store, right next to our hotel, which contained the foreign alcohol he desparately needed for his niece's wedding later that week. Pushover Ann agreed to help out. And that, Mom and Dad, is why my passport now says with "Three Alcohol Units; Three Cigarette Units." I swear.
I'm pretty sure the cigarettes weren't for his niece.
Why hello there! I'm back from a terrific Middle Eastern trip, and well overdue blogging about it. Leslie and Konga have already beat me to the punch.
My camera's got 391 pictures from 14 days of traveling; we saw brillions and brillions of things. I only got through one book, that's how busy we were. I want to write about el tripo in some detail, because some day I hope to play tour guide myself. It's totally understandable if you'd rather drink camel spit than read about every single freaking tell, so to make skipping easier, I'll give a trip overview here, and then blog in separate entries about the rest.
The trip was an official tour, my very first, and it worked out quite well. There were about 40 of us, mostly family -- great aunts and second cousins and uncles et al. (Poor Peter couldn't make it; he had to stay home with the nose to the grindstone. Bless his reliable heart.) We all crammed onto a bus with local tour guide, corporate tour guide, bus driver, security guard, and Mike Wilcox from the U of UT (Biblical history superstar), and proceeded to blast through Egypt, Jordan, and Israel/Palestine.
I've spent time in these countries and neighboring ones before (up to a sum total of 12 1/2 months now, woot!) but it's always been to study the language, and I've enjoyed myself most when hanging out with the local folk and exploring solo. This time was much more traditional (some might say "ugly") tourist. We were whisked en masse from bus to site to bus to store to bus to hotel. So it wasn't quite the cultural experience I've had before, because pretty much every moment of every day was scripted. Also, we were totally subject to the local guide's lust for commi$$ion; because we were herded to specific restaurants and specific souvenir stores, we paid Maximum Rip-off Price for felafels and trinkets. (Seriously. $13 a felafel sandwich is absurd, no matter how lousy the dollar is right now.)
There were some advantages to being part of a tour group, though. Not having to organize the logistics of travel (negotiating with cab drivers, figuring out where to eat, tracking down hotels) meant we were able to see an incredible number of things in a very short time. The historical lectures we got, particularly in Israel and Palestine, were also exceptional. Traveling with such pleasant people was another real plus, and so was getting access to some extraordinary sites (like an active archaelogical dig that was uber Indiana Jones). I would totally do it again.
And the loot? I bought me: 3 necklaces (turquoise, dove w/olive branch, and widow's mite, which occasioned some very elaborate and probably illegal early morning meet ups), a fabulously gooey mud mask from the dead sea, and a lovely lion-n-lamb olive wood piece.
Please, please: be mine.
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