i don’t have an issue with the ice bucket challenge, the awareness and donations are wonderful for ALS.
i do however, have an issue that it seems all white people of privilege are falling all over themselves to dump water over their heads while sitting on their hands when to comes to what is happening in ferguson.
that juxtaposition is what is so incredibly upsetting.
i know it’s very hard to write about the horrors occurring in ferguson. i have mostly relied on other’s words, and spoken with my wallet.
but just because something is hard, doesn’t mean it’s not worthy of our time and attention. this is our country, our history, our future. if we can make time to fill a bucket with ice, we can speak up for our fellow americans and their rights.
call it poor timing, or call it an indication of this country’s ability to look the other way while still patting itself on the back for a cause it deems worthy.
How to Catch the Bouquet at Your Boyfriend's Sister's Wedding
Hear the opening refrain of “Single Ladies.” Immediately take this as your cue to start heading towards the bathroom.
Be intercepted on the way to the bathroom by your boyfriend’s mother, who instructs you to “get your booty on that dance floor!”
Respond, “But I’m not single! We have two cats! In New York that means we are basically common law married!” Receive a negative response.
Begrudgingly walk onto the dance floor while being pulled by one of your boyfriend’s cousins. Make sure one hand is firmly clenched around your drink.
Find the tallest woman on the dance floor. Stand directly behind her.
Shift your hiding position in order to avoid your boyfriend’s sister’s gaze. Be thankful, for once, that you are very short.
As the DJ counts down to the bouquet toss, look directly at the ground.
Realize, after a moment, that your boyfriend’s sister has not actually thrown the bouquet, but rather is running directly towards you with a maniacal smile on her face.
When your boyfriend’s sister runs into you and tries to wrestle the bouquet into your non-drink-holding hand, regret your earlier decision not to double fist.
Struggle for a moment. Realize that despite all of her pre-wedding bridal workouts, you are significantly stronger than her. Know in your heart that if this was a trial by combat, you would emerge victorious.
Notice a light shining on you. Look up to see the videographer approximately 10 feet away, catching all of this on film.
Try to force a smile at the multiple professional cameras and smart phones pointed at you as the bride announces, “Now we’re sisters!”
Walk off the dance floor, avoiding the angry glares of all of the female plus ones.
Give the bouquet to the groom’s 10 year old niece.
Immediately remedy your earlier decision regarding double fisting.
“We recognize that same-sex marriage makes some people deeply uncomfortable. However, inertia and apprehension are
not legitimate bases for denying same-sex couples due process
and equal protection of the laws. Civil marriage is one of the
cornerstones of our way of life. It allows individuals to celebrate and publicly declare their intentions to form lifelong partnerships, which provide unparalleled intimacy, companionship, emotional support, and security. The choice of whether and whom to marry is an intensely personal decision that alters the course of an individual’s life. Denying same-sex couples this choice prohibits them from participating fully in our society, which is precisely the type of segregation that the Fourteenth Amendment cannot countenance.”—The Court of Appeals for the 4th Circuit, overturning Virginia’s ban on gay marriage today (!!!!!!)
Recently, The Dude and I have been making an effort to do new things in the city. It’s so easy when you work as much as we do to fall into a rut with your free time. You end up spending any nights when you’re not stuck at the office just sitting on the couch or, if you can motivate to leave your apartment,* going out to the same old restaurants and drinking beers at the same old bars. Which is fine, sometimes! (For example, football season.) But it can get boring after a while, especially when you realize that your existence has basically become a prolonged late adolescence, with better clothes and worse hangovers.
So, last week, after flipping through the pages of Time Out New York that nobody ever actually reads, The Dude found a couple of events that we were really excited about attending. Both of them were concerts, because, contrary to all of the hate mail I received after I posted about going to Governor’s Ball, I actually really like music! Just not teenagers.
First, we saw the Dirty Dozen Brass Band at Blue Note. Not only were they incredible, energetic, and unbelievably fun, but they reconfirmed to me the power that musical ability has on one’s attractiveness.** For example, the lead singer, pictured holding the trumpet below, got a group of 25 year old women who I’m pretty sure were models to ecstatically dance on stage with him and (I think) exchange phone numbers with him after the show. And I don’t blame them — the guy was awesome.
Next, we went to Prospect Park on Saturday night and saw Deltron 3030. The show was GREAT, complete with Dan the Automator wearing a tuxedo with tails, Kid Koala spinning in a koala costume (he lost a bet, apparently), and Del the Funky Homosapian ending the encore with a rendition of “Clint Eastwood” backed by a live orchestra. More importantly, however, I had perhaps the most nutritionally balanced dinner of my life:
Yes, that is a giant chipwich, yes, it cost $7, yes, it was worth every penny, and yes, it paired beautifully with that Bud Light Lime.
“why the fuck would you eat the gluten-free cake if you are not intolerant? have you ever tasted that shit!? those poor fucking people; if i had celiac disease all my cakes would be made from sharp cheddar cheese. man, fuck rice flour. unless that shit makes you lose weight. because most of you liars are just doing that shit to be skinny, right? is it working? because i love bread but i’m also totally lazy. come on, girl. you can tell me. i promise i won’t force any whole wheat on you.”—
Last night, I made Pinch of Yum’s Honey Ginger Tofu and Veggie Stir Fry. (The photo above was obviously taken by them, and not me, because there is no chance in hell a reclaimed wood farmers-style dining room table would fit in a downtown Manhattan apartment.) LET IT BE KNOWN: this was excellent, filling, and most importantly, healthy, especially after a weekend where my consumption was limited to following:
Gin & tonics
Duck fried rice
Multiple pints of Carlsberg, because that was what was on special at the bar where we watched the World Cup Finals, even though it isn’t Argentinian or German ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
Probably some more cheese that I’m forgetting
So, feeling bloated and disgusted with myself, I cooked this for dinner, and soon all was restored in the world. I used quinoa because I think brown rice tastes like shit and Whole Foods was out of farro (my god, what a bougie sentence), but it still tasted very good. Also, please note that this makes a literal metric ton of sauce. I recommend using the specified amounts of sauce for the stir frying and then pouring on the sauce as needed once you’ve assembled the dish. Otherwise your healthy tofu and vegetables will be swimming in what basically amounts to liquefied sodium, and although that sounds *delicious* it may not be the best way to recover from an over-indulgent weekend.
I’m only two weeks into my half-marathon training program but I’m already so bored of my running playlist that I think my ears may spontaneously start bleeding if I hear Girl Talk one more time. Anyone have any recommendations for me? Preferably from this decade, but I’ll take anything. THANKS DUDES.
I am not exaggerating in the least when I say that this humble taco shack played a seminal role in the formative years of my relationship with The Dude. There’s nothing like blue corn tortilla tacos to bring a burgeoning couple closer together. It’s closing on July 31, so if you happen to be wandering around the East Village late at night, potentially after being sliiiiiightly over-served, please visit it before then. I’m partial to the Johnny Boy, the chorizo taco, and the quack-n-cheese.
I was recently assigned to a new case with a senior partner that I’ve never worked with before. I just got revisions on a memo back from him, and it’s clear from his markup that he uses the Oxford comma.
This weekend, The Dude and I hosted a Fourth of July party. It was supposed to be on our apartment building’s terrace, and part of it was, but given the midday thunderstorms, we had to move most of the party decorations inside. Don’t worry, though, because the look that I was going for totally worked indoors as well as out: