Before Things Start Sagging

Starving Artist

2009-10-14T12:21:00.000-07:00

They aren't called starving artists just for dramatic effect.

I just went to the art store to buy some oil paint for this art project I'm doing. All I needed was one color called pthalo green. I buy a small tube. 7 bucks. 7 bucks for a tube of green puke. Then I remembered that I needed thin brushes. Three, actually. 5 bucks. 4.50 bucks. 6 bucks. what the fucks.

it might be more worth it if these things were more versatile. like paint brushes doubling as makeup brushes. or oil paints substituting for canola oil. doubtful.

I trudged home with pthalo green, wondering if the paint was really worth as much as 4 loaves of freshly baked baguettes from le pain quotidien.

Such is the life of a starving artist. thanks mom for pumping pity into my bank account every so often.

danielbotkin.com

Tonight's gonna be a good night

2009-10-11T12:34:00.000-07:00

I sleep til 2 pm. Last night, City Folk was performing in the basement of a house, and it was cathartic. We were all huddled along the staircase, moving to the thump of the drums that seems to be coming from within us. One lightbulb dangles shakily on a wire in the center of the room, and magic was born.

My eyes dart from the one guitarist to another. Each of them interprets the songs completely differently. One of the far right goes into a tortured trance. The one in the center is surprisingly jolly, with animated eyes fixated on something no one else in the room can see. Far left is the average of the former two.

And then there is the drummer, Kiran. This is where the purest element of surprise kicks in. With a trifecta of male guitarists, the drummer is a girl who embodies the perfect explosion of inspiration. When spoken to, she speaks softly with a hint of mischief and excitement. When dancing, she lets go of all inhibition-- a contagious effect. When drumming, she transcends this world and plays for the gods.

City Folk is definitely not reminiscent of high school bands. Come to their next performance. Details to be posted soon.

Tonight, a group of us are gonna go see Tiesto perform, and then 18th St Lounge. Come if you must...

Stars are aligning today

2009-09-29T08:13:00.000-07:00

I woke up this morning to find my (newly adopted) cat asleep atop my stack of jeans in one of the shelves in my closet. I groggily opened my eyes, only to see that she was also just waking up. We stretched at the same time. Her name is Susi.

Sunlight splatters into my room. The slight breeze sways the trees outside, sending crispy red leaves aflutter; today is the first day I noticed the magnificent reds, oranges and golds amongst the summer greens.

I make myself a cup of strong coffee and paired it with a thickly lathered peanut butter sandwich. As I settle down at my desk to continue studying for a Wednesday midterm, I find myself feeling so lucky that I have the luxury of learning, when most of the world is constrained by the struggle of surviving. All of a sudden 300 pages of reading seemed more sport than suffering.

My handwriting looks particularly chic today. The perfect balance between messy cursive and scrunchiness.

Then I find out that Tony Blair is coming to Gtown on Friday to speak. I've always tried to emulate his oratorial eloquence. My guilty pleasure is watching him address the House and snidely retort comments made by the LibDems. Now I can watch him do his magic in realtime and potentially get close enough to him to find out what cologne he uses. Essentially, my hero is coming to campus.

My dad emailed me and said, quite simply, "Susi is cute." I guess every daughter still yearns for fatherly approval in all matters.

I just got a notice saying that my carpet has arrived. Dad had his favorite shipped expressly to me from Beijing.

Art class just got cancelled, which means I have more time to nap. The only unfortunate thing is that I find my art professor extremely hot; I guess I will have to wait until Thursday's class to blush profusely in his presence.

I just realized how many darling friends I have reconnected with in the past few days, and how they get evermore fantastic as time goes by. And now Wai is coming to town :)

I helped my mom discover youtube.com through our skype chat and now she is looking up ABBA and Diana Ross.

I have been going to Church and Bible Study consistently, and I think God has become a stronger presence in my life. There is a mysterious fulfillment that I can only find in spirituality.

Blue skies and white clouds: I can't wait to take a shower and stare out the skylight and pretend that I am taking a shower under a waterfall in the Amazon (sans snakes and other gross things belonging to nature).

Introducing the fairest of them all: Susi

Why I am dying to go to Papua New Guinea.

2009-09-23T17:45:00.000-07:00

HERE'S WHY.

...and that's just to name a few.

There are some places that just seem unreal, and I think Papua New Guinea is as unreal as it gets. Which is why I am lusting after it. Hundreds of indigenous groups live in the mountainous coves of this land, and all I can do in wonder how so many different peoples, with such enthralling cultures can exist right next to each other and remain authentic, to each their own.

Would you believe it: 95% of Papua New Guinea is Christian. So all those people in the pictures? Yup they are Jesus lovers.

And under normal circumstances, I will call up Susan and say: Spring Break's decided. Unfortunately, it's not so easy cuz...well...it's like really really dangerous over there.

Here's what the US State Dept's Travel Advisory page had to say about Papua:

Tension between communal or clan groups may lead to outbreaks of tribal fighting, often involving the use of firearms.South Bougainville continues to suffer from intermittent factional violence. Law enforcement in this area is weak, and tourist and transportation facilities are limited. Travelers are advised to exercise a high degree of caution. Areas near the Panguna mine, located on the southern part of the Island of Bougainville, have been officially designated “no go zones” by the Autonomous Government of Bougainville; Americans should avoid those areas. Papua New Guinea has a high crime rate. Several incidents involving U.S. citizen residents and visitors being victims of a violent crime have been reported in recent years, and they have sometimes suffered severe injuries. Carjackings, armed robberies, and stoning of vehicles are problems in and around major cities such as Port Moresby, Lae, Mount Hagen, and Goroka.

On top of that, I did some research and found out that airplane security is weak. Another airplane just crashed. And another one too. Oh did I mention? Air travel is the only way to get from one area to another in Papua cuz everything else is densely stuffed with trees, shrubs, and violent Christians painted as skeletons.

...but if you jump, I jump.

go to www.pngtourism.org.pg/ and go to their photo gallery. It's not for the faint-hearted.

http://jacquelineporter.com/images/papua_new_guinea_huliwigmen.jpg

http://pimeusa.files.wordpress.com/2009/07/papua-new-guinea-native1.jpg

http://www.echeng.com/travel/papuanewguinea/images/header.jpg

http://www.theodora.com/wfb/photos/papua_new_guinea/mud_men_papua_new_guinea_photo_galen_frysinger.jpg

http://i.telegraph.co.uk/telegraph/multimedia/archive/00443/news-graphics-2007-_443848a.jpg

http://www.scenicreflections.com/ithumbs/Split%20Island%20View,%20Papua%20New%20Guinea.jpg

http://www.lonelyplanet.com/travelblogs/138/2588/Birds+of+a+Feather?destId=362825

http://www.lonelyplanet.com/travelblogs/138/2359/Jet+Lag?destId=362825

Delayed Realization

2009-09-23T17:18:00.000-07:00

I have just noticed that almost all my recent posts involve my sick obsession with destroying rodents. This is pathetic. I feel like one of the dumb characters in Mouse Trap.

So this will be the end of my rodent pilgrimage. I will be commenting on more interesting topics in the short future. Some that I have in mind are:

1. Why college girls are attracted to older men. By older I mean 30. Or 60.

2. Why white girls are jealous of vampire-straight Asian hair when the "tousled bedroom look" is so much sexier.

3. Why men who major in the sciences are way more attractive than those who major in shallow money making. The only ones who rival the science boys are the English major boys, and that's just cuz they're probably capable of writing witty love sonnets.

4. Why even the classiest girls can't help but like rich men. (the sequel to number 3.)

5. Why the Chinese/Japanese/Asian language accents are never as hot as the British and French accents.

6. Why girls dress promiscuously at Mass...well some. [freshmen]

7. Why every girl should read The Game: Penetrating the Secret Society of Pickup Artists by Neil Strauss

8. Why Moleskines are sexy and bring me to my knees every time.

9. Why my house is way better than yours. (We can call it a tie Mahotstuff)

10. Why I am dying to go to Papua New Guinea

Input welcomed. What other whys do you want me to because?

I miss you friends...want to come by sometime this weekend for some kitty love?

Great News!

2009-09-23T17:03:00.000-07:00

And then Genie said, "Your wish is my command."

I am getting a cat. I am getting my top choice cat. Mouse Killa debuts in T-3 days at the House of Mousehorror.

What's more? I am getting two kittens temporarily in T-3 hours. Only for the week though.

You know what this means? There will be three killers in the house for a short but critical period of time.

This house will not be seeing even a shadow of a mouse because we will be having three gladiator cats at the frontlines.

Champagne for all-- this is truly a joyous occasion

http://icanhascheezburger.files.wordpress.com/2009/02/funny-pictures-cats-would-snap-if-they-had-thumbs.jpg

Things I Have Heard about the SFS

2009-09-22T16:30:00.000-07:00

We are heralded illiterate by the English Department.
We have a higher moral standing than the MSB (fact)
But, even with that said, we are still a morally corrupt group.
We are arrogant. Oh wait but you're STIA? Except you guys.
We are socially awkward. So true, have you been to our IRC parties??
We answer "Georgetown. yeah...the SFS" before asked which school.
CULP kids are just College kids...in the SFS.
We only feel inferior to the science kids cuz they have lab and learn "real stuff."
We walk funny. Either with a stick, or two.
We are no longer the most important, because Hariri owns ICC. Whatever...the undergrad biz kids only have class on the ground floor. "score"
We are the future leaders. But poor.
We aren't smart. We are just good at seeming smart.

Autumn Awaits

2009-09-22T14:04:00.000-07:00

Today is the first day of Autumn, and with that comes Autumn resolutions.

1. Get a cat to make Mouse Hell a reality. I don't care what name my roomie decides to give the cat; to me, she will forever be known as MK. Mouse Killa. But Mary-Kate if the Pope ever asks.

2. Never buy overpriced coffee. Just overpriced biscottis.

3. Read for homework, read for leisure, read to sound smarter, read in other languages, read The Book.

4. Procure Mastering the Art of French Cooking, and then buy lots of fancy butter.

5. Use the butter whilst making delicacies like Boeuf Bourgignon.

6. Drink buckets of water per day.

7. Be sleepless, so sleep less.

8. Get famous off my gruyere popovers.

9. Apple picking.

10. More Tryst, less Saxbys.

11. More live music, less earphones.

12. More jazz, less retarded crap I have on iTunes.

13. Get my anti-social neighbors to be cool social neighbors.

14. Exercise mentally. Fast physically.

15. Get my bike back and learn biking signals.

16. Don't waste time with losers. Waste time with the winners.

17. Skydive, and survive to post pics on Facebook.

18. Make eye contact with Tiesto. Mouth "I love you."

19. Allocate one day where my babyberry stays home. I'm thinking Tuesdays.

20. Remain fabulous.

21. Be epic.

Happy Autumn!! The view from my balcony will be superb for leaf-color-changing watching. You will be fed popovers plus fair trade coffee.

Of Mice and Men

2009-09-09T14:16:00.000-07:00

There are some things that bring bigtime dreamers like me down to earth.

The most recent example of this is finding out that there is a mouse in my lovely house.

I haven't been able to sleep well, because I keep waking up to these ghost itches on the balls of my feet, like a little mouse wagging its disgusting tail at it.
I haven't been eating properly, or at all because I am afraid to go into the kitchen. Doing wonders for my waistline, but not much for my stomachaches, dizziness and shaking hands. Recently I have discovered eating at restaurants, so axe out the former too.
I've never experienced a rodent situation in my life, probably because I've always lived in apartments so high up, mice either die of high altitude sickness or give up midway through the vertical trek. So, to me, mice were these fluffy, dare I say cute little workers, always hard at work in making Human Life better. Examples: sewing Cinderella's gown. Advising the amateur cook. Making Tom and Jerry a lucrative enterprise.

Then, my roommate emails me when I was still in Shanghai and says: "House says hi. So does the mouse."

If You Seek Amy.

Dreams of easing into my chic home were instantaneously reduced to conspicuous rattling in the trash.

It's not like we just sat around scared; the Exterminator came. Twice. Poison everywhere. Sticky traps everywhere. And Nothing. Celina and I wake up each morning to find evidence of the mouse's digestion. Dribbles of poop next to the poison, yet the poison's untouched. Shreds of paper at the bottom of the trash yet no sign of stuckage.

Desperate, I consult Mr. Lee: hardware store guy. Ah, Victor mouse traps will do the trick. I set one up, and I caught one within the hour. My roomie texted me while I was in class telling me that the trap snapped; terrified of seeing a dead carcus split in two, I told Mr. Lee and he came up and "took care of it" behind my back. He was thanked with a Georgetown cupcake. The manifestation of sincere neighborly love, no?

Then the worst news fell upon me: the dead mouse was an infant. As in, there must be more. As in, I need more traps. As in, there is a family. As in, this is not over.

When I finally regained color in my face, I have decided to approach this mouse sitch with absolute angst. I want all mice to know this house as the House of Horror. I want them to whisper caution into the ears of their squeaky creepy comrades. I want this place to be Mouse Hell.

I think we just caught another one. Mice typically have 4 to 7 babies, so thats 2 out of a possible 7. How did this happen?!?! I am spotless. SPOTLESS.

It's time for dinner. We are going out to Bangkok Joe's for some fried roti dough. We also triple checked to see if we brought our IDs. You know why...but can you blame us?

The Exterminator comes again tomorrow, hopefully to announce Judgment Day on mice. They cannot live, not under my roof.

If you seek a, mice. War's on and I always win.

Save the Date

2009-09-05T19:23:00.000-07:00

So I already have a gang of 5 going skydiving, and more are absolutely welcome. It's happening on October 3rd, a Saturday.

C'mon, live on the edge and then go back to studying. It'll feel so good.

I just came back from a scrumptious tapas dinner at U Street's Tabaq with some dearies. We laughed about mistaking centipedes as fake eyelashes, weird superstitions involving dead babies and how incredibly delicious Albanian liver is.

Highly recommended dig. Make sure you reserve a spot on the rooftop terrace, with a 360 degree view of DC. I found this place off Oprah's Magazine, so you know this place is legit. That woman can feast on caviar for a lifetime if she so chooses.

Get the tuna, puffed shrimp, octopus, liver, risotto, cheese-filled spring rolls, and passion fruit mojito. smack.

See you when you are ready to jump off a plane with me~

Ego BOOST via Voxy Brown

2009-09-03T09:52:00.001-07:00

...whom you may know as the delightful Mariya Vaksman. She is pretty and witty and one of the brightest/sweetest/coolest people I know. And showered with blessings. I think it's cuz she's one of God's Chosen People. Mazeltov Masha!

Anyway, for this post I am going to be a little shameless and show you all something Mariya emailed me while I was visiting mom in Shanghai this past August. Understand that Blogspot was blocked, Facebook was inaccessible, and mom limited my online activity because she wanted to spend quality time with me (the latter not said with disdain. she is the personification of ultimate cool. Maher can attest). Gmail was all I had and all I was getting was spamworthy mail meant for fetished men. So under these dire circumstances, you can imagine the added heart-pumping elation when I read each line in this email.

Ten things I love about Jimalyn Yao, by Mariya Vaksman

10. In case you couldn't tell, those twins are far from sagging.

9. Girlfriend loves food.

8. More importantly, she loves making delicious food. For me.

7. Her clothes. 'Nough said.

6. But beneath her fabulousness, she's kind of a nerd.

5. That's probably why she blogs. But not in that whiny, annoying way.

4. She is one of the few females who can balance wearing a mini skirt and going to church the next morning.

3. Jimalyn Yao is one of the best friends anyone can hope to have.

2. She is blessed with a unique passion for life, and it rubs off on everyone who is lucky enough to know her.

1. You've probably picked this up by now - this girl follows her dreams. More importantly, though, Jimalyn is one of the few who dare to dream at all.

Which is why you're reading her blog.

Swooooon. Believe me or not, I really think these words are evidence of how lucky I am to have friends like this more than it is a [swoony] characterization. I hope all of you have at least one dear friend whom you treasure as much as I do Mariya. And if your dear friend is also Mariya Vaksman we might have to take this outside

Hugs all around,

your humble blogger

China Blocked Blogspot.

2009-09-03T05:15:00.000-07:00

Friends, China blocked Blogspot.

That is why I have been on an involuntary hiatus for the past two weeks, and it feels so good to be back in Amurrca and on my little site again.

China's censorship never really bothered me when I was living there, probably because the "truth" somehow found its way into our classrooms and talks over the dinner table. Therefore, I really thought I dodged ignorance while living there. I think the moment I realized how much the government kept from the public was when I came to college and discovered Wikipedia. Wikipedia is just one of the trillions of nuisances the Chinese officials thought were too hard to monitor, so it would be best to just shut the whole thing down. Apparently Blogspot's one of them too.

Not that this comes as too much of a surprise. Maybe salacious posts like the one below will potentially disrupt Confucian harmony. I sure hope so...this whole prude-ish approach to sex is getting in the way of sex scenes in Chinese films. As it stands, bedroom scenes remind me of those days where I would take a boy doll and mash its face into a girl doll's face and make kissy noises. All this is stated with the exception of Lust, Caution. I have been too afraid of what the notorious sex scene in that film might do to my purity so I haven't seen it. From what I hear (my friends spare little detail), the sex scene is way ahead of its time. Or way beyond its rating: from R to XXX.

But enough of that. I am back in DC, and have re-fallen in love with school. I am ready to embark upon an incredible last year. I intend to update this blog frequently, so please show some love and stay tuned.

Much love and thank you guys for being in my life in some special way. I plan on taking my camera everywhere so get ready for your debut on my blog in some way or another.

image taken from facebook.com. words modified by yours truly.

Adventures in France: Did you know...

2009-08-16T00:16:00.000-07:00

In France, women are usually on top.

And yes, I mean what you think I mean.

Adventures in France: I am the new Lance Armstrong

2009-08-13T03:28:00.000-07:00

I just biked 50 km in one day to the western tip of Northern France.

...and I only fell once.

Fortunately, Pauline welcomed our dirty sweaty selves to her maison mignon with cider, wine, and creme de cassis. I don't even want to know how much we stank. Hopefully the stinky cheeses we ate overwhelmed the stench; not that this is a good thing...

Fromages I love: tomme de chevre, comté, maroilles. I am slowly finessing myself towards an affinity to the fartiest of all cheeses: roquefort.

Things I've learned:

1. Must have a house in Bretagne to escape the Parisian congestion. Incidentally, all Parisians escape to Bretagne, so you're still in Parisian congestion.

2. Must master the quiche because it is superb.

3. No one buys ready-made salad dressing here: must concoct own recipes.

4. Even the simplest meals have at least five courses: aperitif, main course, cheese course, dessert course, coffee.

5. Don't smile at everything, only when things are funny and amusing. Not smiling does not mean they don't like you. They just don't think you're funny.

6. The French, contrary to stereotype, are a hospitable and warm group. In particular, the North. The bikers also seem friendly, but those might just be expressions of sympathy as they glide downhill while I struggle uphill.

7. Brian is not a cool name to have. In fact, American names are generally unpopular and/or signify a lower social class.

8. Merde is not a bad word. Putain, on the other hand...

9. Nutella tastes better in France because it's made in Italy and not Canada.

10. Breakfast coffee is served in a bowl, so as to make it easier to dip le pain in le coffee. What spread is already on le pain is inconsequential.

11. Guillaume Canet is the hottest ticket in town. But Pauline differs. No wait never mind. Guillaume Canet rules.

Au revoir!!!!!!!!!!!

Adventures in France Part IE

2009-08-09T11:16:00.000-07:00

My breakfast:
Baguette slice #1: butter and honey
Baguette slice #2: butter and jam [the red berries one]
Baguette slice #3: butter and jam [the orange one]
Baguette slice #4: nutella [a small breather from butter]
Baguette slice #5: butter butter butter
...and three cups of black coffee to help with digestion.

Adventures in France Part ID

2009-08-09T10:42:00.000-07:00

In five days' time, we've driven 3500 km and explored 14 cities.
...we're also broke because of gas bills and toll fees.

5 shades darker and 5 pounds heavier, I couldn't be happier. Even though there's still so much to see, I can proudly say that I have seen France, and not just Paris. Stephen Clarke wrote the most hilarious travel essays about France--cheekily titled A Year in the Merde-- and I feel like I have gathered enough anthropological insight into the lives of the French to make my own travel essay.

It will be aptly named
Pain Beurred in France.
Let me tell you how clever this title is, young little ones.

Pain is bread, pronounced "pahn"; le pain is considered le most important thing after beurre.

Beurre is butter; pronounced "burrrrrhhhhhh." Please attach glutteral spit at end of word.

Together "Pain Beurred" sounds like "pampered." Oui oui?

Et voila: Jimalyn feels pain beurred in France.

I think the French would disagree with Ben Franklin when he says the only things certain in life are death and taxes. They'd say it's pain and beurre. Even if the worst happens, the boulangerie will still open early in the morning, bursting with fresh baguettes. Across the street, the supermarche will still carry bricks of buerre, if nothing else.

bisoux**********

Adventures in France part IC: French talk

2009-08-09T10:34:00.000-07:00

The Scene: Jean, Marie's 13 year old brother, is trying to hook his XBox up to his grandma's TV on a Sunday afternoon. For some reason, the TV cannot sense the external hardware.

Jean: "ça marche pas, c'est encore une télé de socialistes!!! "

Translation: It doesn't work, it's a socialist TV!!!

Adventures in France: Part IB

2009-08-09T00:58:00.000-07:00

Not only do I wish to travel before things start sagging, I apparently want the world to see the goodies before oldness takes over.

I just went nude beaching in St. Maries de la Mer in Southern France and have since decided that clothes are extremely overrated.

I am also getting extremely fat and tan, i.e. a lazy Chinese farmer.

here are some random keys on a french keyboard: ù £ µ è é ² § à °

On my way to mass with Marie and Co. in Lens!!! Au revoir!!

Anti-sag Effort Part IA: France

2009-08-04T15:37:00.000-07:00

In the spirit of doing things before my twins start sagging, I have packed a tiny duffel and skirted off to France.  

DAY ONE

Met Marie at Lille and bonded over Chimay, peanuts, and crepes. Hugged Marie countless times.
Camped illegally on the beach of etretat that night. we dozed off to crashing waves and swaying wind.
Woke up and was welcomed by a gorgeous cliff in plain site.
Drank hard core coffee and dipped our pain au chocolats in it the way the locals do.
Stopped by a farmers marche and gathered sustinence for the day.
Sang Presley and Piaf in the car.
Saw a lot of cows.
Introduced Marie to powder sunscreen and dry shampoo.
Visited Bayeux. Picnic outside the cathedral, knoshing on fresh baguette, rillette and other pates, syrupy fruits and laduree macaroons. tres bobo, no?
Went to St. Michel and climbed the castle island.
Wine tasting on the road. Harrods chocolate orange covered biscuits as perfect complements.
Passed Versailles at nighttime and reunited with the wonderful Pauline.

goodnight!

ROLLING ON FLOOR LAUGHING.

2009-07-29T16:09:00.001-07:00

That's right. ROFL. ROFL. ROFL. ROFL.

go to the bathroom to pee before you watch this or else I guarantee you an accident.

ROFL.

It's hard to pick my favorite parts to this video, but there are some moments that stand out from the rest by a hair. Pay attention to: 0:39, 1:25-1:27, 1:44, 3:11, and everything after 4:24

Annie found this and posted it on Mariya's wall. this needs to be shared with the world.

Basque in New York? Find it at Euzkadi

2009-07-28T16:19:00.000-07:00

108 East 4th Street, New York 10003

212 982 9788

www. euzkadirestaurant.com

The Basque region in Spain has always been a mystery. For one, its spoken language cannot be traced to any recognizable linguistic origin. For two, it is popularly considered the gastronomic center of the world. For three, this peaceful place is apparently harboring terrorists or something..?!?! Can't be sure if three is legit.

Susan and I had every intention of going to Basque's San Sebastian during our trip to Spain in March. Unfortunately, due to time constraints, the closest we've gotten to San Sebas was Barcelona. Which basically means we got nowhere close. Our stay in Barcelona, however, allowed us to get a small taste of Basque cuisine. Standing in a small pintxo bar in El Born, speechlessly shoving "bite-sized" pintxos into our mouths (well they might be bite-sized for Susan's huge mouth) has made me antsy for more Basque. I guess you can equate my restlessness for Basque food with Ross's dry spell in Friends. It's very intense.

Euzkadi came to the rescue. At least until I return to Spain. This is what Hillary Kaylor had to say about Euzkadi, and I couldn't agree more:

A glittering mosaic paves the sidewalk entrance to Euzkadi, a small, tapas gem serving traditional and boldly flavored Basque cuisine to an arty East Village crowd. The red, L-shaped room is framed by a wood bar in back and a ceiling painted with Neolithic scenes of running buffalo. Heavily textured oil paintings, flags and wooden bric-a-brac imported from Spain add to the cozy, mid-century taverna feel. The menu hews to the region's cuisine, with seafood-heavy dishes, grilled meats like hefty pork chops and garlicky skirt steak, and slightly more imaginative tapas. Small plates-- smoky-sweet chorizo steeped in port and savory roasted ruck meatballs-- are substantial and pack flavor. The wine list showcases regional selections. Sparkling cava cocktails, and stiff pitchers of mango sangria are popular with the laid-back crowd, as is the calimocho: red wine and Coke.

So here goes.

Go for dinner on a weeknight for some spine tingling spanish guitar.

Order their mango sangria the moment you sit down.

Then get their:

1. Bomba de queso de chivo: fried goat cheese and honey croquette.

2. Gambos a la Donostia: grilled shrimp stuffed with rosemary goast cheese, wrapped in serrano ham.

3. Pintxos de setas y jamon: mushrooms with serrano ham and allioli

4. Albondigas de pato: roasted duck meatballs in a duck demi-glace sauce

5. Seafood Paella

6. Gateaux Basque: for dessert. I forgot what's in it but it's definitely gonna hike up the cholesterol.

don't forget to wash each bite down with mango sangria. I promise you a good time.

Gems of New York: Cafe Habana

2009-07-28T14:54:00.000-07:00

Anyone who knows me at all knows that I am dying to go to Cuba. The only reason why I have not gone yet is because I don't have the balls to.

So until I muster up the guts to go, I intend to undergo grand travails to find all things Cuban. Not much luck in finding its cigars, but I've hit dynamite when it came to its food.

Introducing Cafe Habana.

[17 Prince St New York; 212 625 2001]

[Hours: daily, from 9 to midnight. There's always a line. It's worth the wait.]

This small joint on the corner of Prince and Elizabeth is always packed with young locals gorging on the best black beans and fried rice the world has ever seen. Hipsters slurp handles of guava margarita-mojitos (they've merge the two...pure genius) loudly. Walking into Cafe Habana is like walking into everything I imagine Havana to be: sepia-toned lights tinting a hasbeen diner, chipped wall paintings of Cuban beauties and Fidel, a lazy ceiling fan barely moving and salsa music wafting in the background (occasionally punctuated by rhythmic drumming). The waitresses all had red lips, lusciously dark curls, and a glowing disposition about them that makes me wonder if they just had great sex or just left a salsa club.

Ever since I came to Cafe Habana with Susan, Sher, and Kenta back in June, I don't think I have gone one day without thinking about it. Especially its corn. Can you imagine what corn bathed in butter and then smothered in cheese and chili tastes like. I tell you now you can't because no one's imagination can go that far. Just look at my mom's pure bliss as she bites into it.

Forget the part where she looks like a frog. Get the corn.

Make sure to order:

Sopecitos

Sincronizada

Chuleta de Puerco a la Pimienta

Tlacoyo de Tres Marias

The guava margarita-mojito elixir.

and...well, the corn.

New York Eats: Bread

2009-07-24T20:21:00.000-07:00

20 Spring Street

(212) 334 1015

After saying goodbye to Susan in the morning, I lugged my luggage towards the nearest cafe de ubercute I could find. After walking only a block or two, I came across Bread. The decor was light and fresh, with remnants of colonial decadence found on the plated ceilings and lace curtains. Delicious tomato soup with, of course, bread. Jealous, Dr. Atkins?

I spent a good hour and a half here, just drinking coffee and people watching. Lunchtime hasn't kicked in yet, so New York seemed more neighborhood, and less hood.

I was a total voyeur but loved this scene. When I look at this, it does not even look like New York. It looks like a small family joint in Buenos Aires. Or in a cafe in Habana. I guess that is one thing I love about New York: so many alcoves are shoved up against each other on random streets, but they never impose upon each other.

So I tried to draw the view from where I was sitting, and accidentally made a boo boo and drew a mustache on the girl :(

Home Sweet DC

2009-07-23T12:37:00.000-07:00

I just came back from a week-long extravaganza in New York and have compiled the most incredible list of restaurants, shops, streets, districts in Manhattan. Some are well known and others more hidden. I will post an epic entry by tomorrow, I promise.

I can't believe I am saying this, but I'm looking forward to eating a boring salad to clean out my system after a week of non stop decadence.

Ego BOOST via Facebook

2009-07-15T21:14:00.000-07:00

Susan's friend Steve Kim made me feel like a million bucks today. More like a trillion bucks actually, since this financial debt has made "million" synonymous with "penny." Pathetic.

So Steve has always held baller status in my book, because he has been a crucial character in The Life and Times of Susan Ho. There is no denying it. And here is what he said in his Facebook friend request:

Steve says, "Dear susan's best friend, i don't think there was a single time when susan didn't mention your name. you're like a celebrity in our conversations.".

*fist pump*

Oh and check out THIS CRAZINESS which I found off Blessing's blog. It's about the economic crisis but don't let that turn you off. Even I was hanging on to every word. It is crucial that you all go to it. It takes three minutes, and you would be stupid not to.

If you did not click "this craziness" above, here are ten other chances:

CLICK HERE CLICK HERE CLICK HERE CLICK HERE CLICK HERE CLICK HERE CLICK HERE CLICK HERE CLICK HERE CLICK HERE

"When people die, they don't take their books with 'em"

2009-07-15T18:31:00.000-07:00

words of wisdom from Jim Toole, procurer of secondhand books at Capitol Hill Books in Eastern Market, DC.

Left: Housie Kaitlyn perusing

Right: Jim's classy taste in T-shirts ("Your Mom Hates Freedom")

This is what I'd imagine libraries in Harry Potter would look like. Dusty stocks piled one over the other, always on the verge of toppling over. These stacks sway yet they do not fall, as if there is a spell that holds them upright. In fact, there seems to be a spell upon the entire place. It looks a little bit like a cemetery for lost books-- all of them resting silently in peace-- until you gently pluck one off the shelves and breathe life into it once again.

Here at Capitol Books, you get the sense that books want to be read.

Fiction, music, history, language, travel, classics, obscurities...they all reside here. When one brushes his/her fingers over the binding, one wonders what made the previous owners of these books buy them, or what revelations they gained from them. To read a book that has been read before feels a little like soul-taking; not only am I reading through the author's lens, I'm reading through the previous readers' eyes.

This bookstore is probably one of my favorite alcoves in DC. It's owner, Jim, has a past just as mysterious as the ins and outs of how these books were procured. He knows where every book is. I think he's read all of them. And he has a biting sense of humor which attracts people to him, but keeps them at arm's length. You never get the full experience at Capitol Books unless Jim slides you a backhanded compliment, or just an outright insult. It's just the way he conveys affection, or so I try to believe.

Some of my favorites:

If you aren't here to buy books, at least get out of the way so the man behind you can pay.
You want a picture with me? naked or clothed? oh clothed? hrm well alright.
Wow this is a great picture of us; thank you for making me look younger, this never happens.
Please come on Second Tuesdays, I serve wine at the store. No, not because I'm nice, but because people buy more books when they're drunk.
See you soon: next time bring your charm with you so you can help me sell more books, if you are even capable of follow-through, that is. Yeahyeah you said you'd come last time too.

Jim, posing for the camera

Jim's usual expression, completely unaware of paparazzi.

I absolutely adore him, and so will you. Just check your pride at the door and enjoy the ride.

Epic Discovery: Howcast.com

2009-07-13T17:11:00.000-07:00

The Learning Annex can finally rest in peace, knowing that it will soon be forgotten.

Howcast.com has come to fill its shoes, not that those were big shoes to fill.

It's like Martha Stewart meets Youtube. Except in this case, Martha's giving us lessons on sex, car maintenance, medication and skydiving on top of the usual cookery. I couldn't ask for more. In a matter of minutes, I have learned how to open beer bottles with lighters, eat unshelled sunflower seeds, and put on a mind-blowing striptease.

Learning is a joy, especially when the menu of lessons range from "How to Kiss Like Angelina Jolie" to "How to Make Brownies in a Waffle Iron." Each video is bursting with quick how-tos for your every whim. As if Twitter/facebook/gchat/mobile games/blackberry/blogspot weren't enough to teach you how to waste time, this ought to. In fact, I would not be surprised if there were an actual Howcast lesson in time anti-management.

Gotta go now, I'm in the middle of learning how to play a real-life game of quidditch.

[discovered on Susan's blog]

2010 Globetrot

2009-07-12T20:48:00.000-07:00

Get ready for wanderlust at its finest.

Mariya came down to DC for the weekend and I expected a quaint brunch with an old friend.

Little did I know that this quaint brunch was actually the modest setting for the most marvelous travel itinerary ever to be created by mankind. Lewis and Clark can suck it.

I do not wish to divulge too much to the public just yet, because quite frankly I fear most of you will not be able to handle the spectacular details of this trip. But maybe I will tickle your interest just a little bit, because I'm a bona fide sadist.

The trip involves, but will not be limited to:

Camping on a desert
Bungee jumping off Victoria Falls
Extreme makeovers in Harajuku
Marrying Christian Ronaldo
Re-enacting Tomb Raider

Draft 1

It is obvious that the trip expenses will be hefty, so Mariya and I have decided to return to our old careers, the ones we abandoned when we escaped communist USSR/China: propaganda songwriters by day, strippers for the proletariat by night.

every penny counts.

My Muse: Susan Ho

2009-07-12T19:40:00.000-07:00

...has started a blog too.

As much as I adore her, it was not love at first sight.

I found her irritating and arrogant.

She thought I was a boy.

(don't elaborate, Susan)

Then she offered to teach me how to wax (again, no details necessary Susan)

And we connected over aloe and cold towels.

Afterwards, she gave me a lesson in tweezing.

Since then, we've traveled the world together, ranging from spontaneous weekends in Paris, sleepless nights in New York, sparkling months in Beijing, sex and the city marathons in Shanghai, lame sleepovers in Philly (sorry, it's true), flamenco evenings in Sevilla and countless more.

She's taught me fashion. She's shown me fearlessness. She's been able to pull of a last name like Ho.

She is most certainly muse-worthy.

She's gorgeous beyond belief (see left) but in my eyes, she's just an amazing mess (see right).

follow her at suzieskips.blogspot.com

Simple Pleasures

2009-07-12T18:26:00.000-07:00

Hookah with Julia at midnight

Dean and Deluca (coffee from Jerome, Barista to the Stars)

Mie n Yu Happy Hour with Abby

Moleskine

Potential Career: Matron of Honey Pig

2009-07-11T19:57:00.000-07:00

My friend Dayea (pronounced duh-YAYYUH...or you can say Diana if you wanna be culturally insensitive) has discovered food paradise. In other words, she has found me an authentic, no-nonsense, mouth-drooling Korean BBQ joint. Its name is Honey Pig. Tasteful choice, I think.

When we pulled up, the first thing we saw was Honey Pig's Matron. There she sat, fake lashes glued tightly to eyelids, raven black hair permed and picked into a perfect asian-woman-of-mid-fifties 'fro, meticulously penciled eyebrows that successfully convey 'surprise,' and cement-like foundation plastered from hairline to jawbone, not one spot missed.

I have to take a picture with her, I told Dayea. I have to.

Okay, Dayea responds with militant commitment.

So we went up to her, and with a few hand gestures we communicated our request. The Matron pulled me tightly into her bosom by the waist--we're talking complete upper body contact--and leaned her head into mine. Or at least I thought it was the head. Turns out it was the hair. But since the hair was sprayed into solid form, it felt more like a solid skull than a soft bouffant. The intimacy was so intense I had to bust out the asian peace sign to break up the tension.

(I didn't even notice her shiny butterfly clips until I looked at the picture. Me likey.)

The food was unquestionably delicious. We had Bulgogi, which is this Korean beef bbq that was beyond. just..beyond. Then I realized why Koreans are never fat. They eat healthy protein at night, while Americans gorge on greasy pizza. So basically, if I eat this, I can eat limitless amounts and be svelte. sveeeet deal. I got a bit more comfortable in my seat, and the food-into-mouth rate quickened.

Then I turned to my left and saw this (see below) and my dreams of a sinless diet of deliciousness came to a screaming halt.

...I think she was having Bulgogi too. And if any of you thought this girl was me I will defriend you on facebook. Although I wouldn't be surprised if this became me in a few months' time given my impressive Bulgogi-eating performance. Maybe the Matron was trying to tip us in on the outcomes of her delicious food with the name of the restaurant. Instantly, the "Honey Pig's" connotation transformed from endearment to premonition.

So I guess everything good in the world must be counteracted with something. Like unrestrained enjoyment of food is counteracted by health concerns. Or fantastic traveling is counteracted by bowel irregularities and fatal diseases.

But the good times must roll, and indeed it did.

Ten Reasons for Girls Not to Hit The Gym

2009-07-10T17:30:00.000-07:00

1. Only guys could pull off the sweaty look. And even then, only the ripped ones pull it off with flying colors. Girls look best matte.

2. Boobs are the first to go when one exercises.

3. Even if there are cute boys at gym, are you seriously going to get your flirt on while perspiring profusely? No amount of waterproof makeup can counter the natural makeup remover: sweat.

4. It hurts. And hence expressions of agony cannot be avoided. Not only is this highly unattractive, they lead to wrinkles.

5. That sleazebag gym manager. You all know him: the one with arms so huge that he can't put them down all the way. The one who walks like Shrek, with his shoulders leading his stride. The one who shamelessly checks out girls and offers to "help them with anything." Yeah I'll bet.

6. The politics: if you only do elliptical, you are obviously just looking to get skinny. If you run, you have to make sure you look gung-ho, especially when you might be sandwiched between two track guys. If you stretch, you should look like you once danced ballet.

7. The HILL.

8. It screws up with your morning shower regime, because you have to take a shower after the gym, and gym schedules are typically variable.

9. Awkward weight exercises (such as straddling a huge yoga ball with ankles and propelling said yoga ball into air repeatedly) should best be done in the privacy of one's home.

10. There are other ways to slim down. Such as wearing a corset to curb appetite. Nocturnal activities. Dancing on tables (not the ones at the Tombs, please). And my personal favorite, stressing about what you are gonna do after college.

picture of Madge via dailymail.co.uk

Happy Bruno Day!

2009-07-10T07:28:00.001-07:00

via moviesonline.com

Skeet Shooting Anyone?

2009-07-10T06:42:00.000-07:00

I felt so badass telling my housies that I was going skeet shooting over the weekend. I totally adopted the rebel countryboy persona as I walked up to the platform, rifle in hand, fearless/pissed/baller expression in place. I even wore t-shirt with a scared boy's face on it (see pic for clarification) in case people thought I wasn't serious. Well that little boy knew I was.

Then it's my turn to shoot, and my rep came crumbling down. I didn't know how to hold the rifle, much less load it. Much less aim. Much much less shoot. Fearless/pissed/baller expression morphed into pathetic/ditzy/whimpering face. A sound effect even accompanied the look. It sounded like a shrill murmurmmmuhhhh. I guess that is how I interpret terror in a sound. And then the most incredulous thing happened.

I became a complete and utter girl about shooting. I would purposely act stupid, and need special guidance when it came to everything. I would squeal and jump when I actually pulled the trigger (whether or not I hit the target is a non-issue at the beginner's level). Note to all other aspiring skeet shooters: no squealing or making of loud noises since it sounds off the birds and that pisses the management off. My voice got an octave higher, I played with my hair a lot more (difficult, since holding a rifle is a two-handed effort), and I skipped. It was already a sausage party at the venue and I just had to drive home the fact that I am a total girl way over her head, handling a gun like a barbie doll.

But. here's the catch. I actually did pretty well in spite of my shameless display of estrogen. So instead of being Cher Horowitz from Clueless, I was more Elle Woods from Legally Blonde.

Disclaimer: this is perfect skeet-shooting posture. I did not shoot like this 90 percent of the time. I actually asked the instructor (see right, he looks like Robert Redford...swoon) to help me pose for this picture.

Real World in DC?

2009-07-09T18:13:00.000-07:00

Reality fever has hit DC. After happy hour with housie Abby, I turned and found myself amongst a group of curious passerbys. What's the fuss? Three girls filming MTV's real world DC. Although I am no fan of Real World, I couldn't resist taking a picture of them on my baller babyberry. A, to check out the resolution (terrific) and B, because even I am not above star fever.

As one can see from the picture, they are not hot. So I'm guessing that they got recruited because they are hot tranny messes. What I would do to give that girl in the middle a lesson in fashion.

As expected, I texted my housie to tell her. She told me to make out with one of them and get on TV. Obviously I totally did.

...syke!

Young Broke and Fabulous. Get it.

2009-07-09T14:09:00.001-07:00

...as Emily so fiercely states.

Blessing and me in subway, on the way to Gansevoort Hotel. We got kinda rowdy and pissed some people off…a few actually got off the subway before their stop because Taz almost sat on one. And then opted to use the safety bar as a pole. We got a few evil eyes, no lie.

They just wish they were young and fabulous like us. and they are probably broke too cuz of the economy so I don’t blame them for ridiculing our youth and energy. They just want a piece of it. I guess at this point all they can do is fake it with botox.

Gypsy + Jetset = Gypset

2009-07-09T12:42:00.000-07:00

Inspired by a feature story in Elle June '09. Torn from moleskine

Feeeeyuhs Bride

2009-07-09T12:35:00.000-07:00

I never liked the idea of a veil, until I saw this. Givenchy does it again!

via jakandjil.com; Givenchy Fall/Winter 09

My First July 4th in OOSA

2009-07-09T11:48:00.000-07:00

A few musings over my first 4th of July in Amurrca.

1. Fireworks are fabulous. Naturally we were seated next to a group of rambunctious boys who played hip hop on full blast. As proud Americans strained their necks to take in the sparkling bursts, Nelly is gettin' low in da club with some no-name slut in the background. Blessing begs, "turn off the music" and the music gets louder. If I were their mother...

2. DC is a very fit city, which is why I always found it hard to believe that most of Amurrca is overweight. That is, until hoards of obese patriots decide to cram into their chevies and drive on over to the nation's capital for the holiday. There they lay, like a sea of hippos sunbathing on a bed of paisley and gingham. I now see the magnitude of this epidemic. It is no small problem. Not just domestically; the Chinese-- once known for their svelte figures in the rice fields-- are becoming pale pudgy Buddhas who wolf down Big Macs rather than lotus seeds and peaches. Way to bring down other countries' labor productivity along with ours.

3. Peruvian chicken is the best chicken out there. Even better than Chinese chicken. 'nuff said.

4. DC is a fantastic place. I have never seen a nation's capital done so well. I don't care if the Washington Monument is just a huge pointy penis. I don't care what conspiracies Dan Brown alludes to about the layout of the city. When I step onto the mall, and I look left...and then right, all I can think is God Bless America.

5. Blessing and I went to the Newseum and that just made me believe even more in the importance of freedom and the value thereof.

Babyberry <3

2009-07-09T11:40:00.000-07:00

I have finally gotten off my high horse and came to grips with reality. In other words, I have blackberried myself. And in the process, voluntarily consented to becoming an addict. When the lovely man at the AT&T store handed over the Bold, I felt the gates of heaven open. I swear I saw a beam of light shine directly on it, while everything else around me faded into nothingness. It’s like that scene in Transformers 2, where Shia Labooblit picked up that weird spearhead thing and a flash of light pierced through his pupil and shook his core. I felt that as the screen lit up for the very first time. Libertango blasts from celestial cloudspeakers as the world rejoices in my official debut into thumb typing addiction. I reach out my hand and I hear someone say, “here child, thy sweet poison.”

I cling on to the blackberry, its sleek form instantly conforms perfectly into my grasp. I no longer pay attention to the world around me. The glazed screen staring back at me has become the screen unto which I see the world. Within the first blissful hour I have already ignored stoplights, forgotten to stop and small talk with acquaintances, and altogether thrown all manners of social etiquette into the trash. Forget friends, as long as my blackberry loves me.

I am told that it is customary to name one’s blackberry. This came to no surprise since we tend to name things that we feel tremendous affection for, such as pets, jewelry, genitalia…(what?). Friends vouched for the cliche “crackberry” but anyone who knows me knows that I am far from ordinary. So I went with the second-most cliche: baby. In an attempt to put a clever spin on the name, I merged “blackberry” with “baby” and came up with “blackbaby.” A little racist? Although I find it completely endearing (and accurate since the Bold is, well, black) one can never be too careful. With all the anger surrounding fellow Americans in this financial clime plus the fact that I do reside in DC, I would hate to find myself screaming “WHERE IS MY BLACKBABY DAMMIT” in Southeast DC at any point in time. Those could very well be my last words, and I don’t know if that is more depressing or the fact that I died because of my intense infatuation with something neither of, or relating to, food, men, or art.

So I gave up on naming my blackberry. Until my dear friend Shiori helped me along and said…”why not babyberry instead?” And that is how genius is done, friends.

There was a brief moment last week when my whole world faded to black for two endless minutes. I was in a shuttle back from Dupont Circle, and felt that familiar twitch in my thumbs. You know, that uncontrollable twitch that occurs when your hands have been out of contact with its babyberry. I quickly reach into my bag to retrieve the drug, but it fails to be found. Horse shit. Where is my blackbaby? my babyberry? WHERE IS MY CRACK? I break into cold sweat, my fingers frantically swim through an ocean of lip glosses, crumpled up receipts, and nameless crap. Nothing. Scenes flash by, as I think about all the things I have lost. Numbers, bbm chats, pictures, my soul. I panic, and my ears start to plug as I spiral into a dark abyss of anonymity. I take a deep breath, and notice that my baby was safe and sound in my other hand.

I guess I need two.

Moleskine*

2009-07-09T11:14:00.000-07:00

I have decided to create visual diaries of my adventures, whether large or small. I have been thinking of doing a blog for a long time now, but never thought I had enough to make it interesting or worthwhile. Then I realized how selfish that was; sharing is caring. So take whatever you can out of my pages, and if you are thinking about traveling to any of these places, email me for more information. Better yet, take me with you. I am always wanderlusting :)

From one of my many trips to New York. Blessing and I finished an entire bottle of wine, and scarfed down chicken pate like starving children. Poise is irrelevant when old friends reunite. The entire weekend was a gastronomic adventure. That evening was topped with tapas and sea urchin sandwiches at El Quinto Pino. Unctuous deliciousness. To top it all off, I splurged on a 700 dollar Rag and Bone silk trench. I wasn't able to fit into it by the end of the weekend.

New York II was much more laid-back, since it was mainly a catch-up with my lovely Shiori. She's moving from the village to SoHo, and anyone who's moved knows how much of a pain that it. And how ridiculously emotional it gets. Even those rickety stairs you always trip on suddenly hold sentimental value. We brunched at Cafe Reggio and ate delectable mahi mahi at Cornelia in the evening. No matter how ghetto Sher's place was, she's def gonna miss the village's neighborhood charm.

I have come to enjoy creating these books. they have become super treasures. If there were to be a fire and I could only take five things, it would be 1) pillow 2) vintage emporio armani scarf 3) rag and bone silk trench coat 4) this moleskine 5) a photo album my dad made for me, documenting my life from 0 to 18. *

*money, passport, and blackberry are all permanently taped to me, so these necessities will naturally by rescued from the fire.

Before Things Start Sagging

2009-07-09T10:22:00.000-07:00

I've decided to harness Youth before it escapes me.

So much of my youth has been spent planning a colorful and adventurous life. It finally dawned on me that these dreams will soon be mere magazine cut-outs, stuffed in dusty scrapbooks unless I stop planning and start doing. I see it all around me: zesty girls and boys excitedly flirting with the idea of living like nomads discovering spicy alcoves of paradise, only to embark upon a less-than-fantastic life of 9 to 5.

Before my youth gives out, I intend to exploit it. I will taste daring and innovative dishes while my metabolism is still on crack. I will jump off mountains and plunge into deep seas before blood pressure becomes a worthy concern. I will dance with no inhibitions before my joints weaken. I will master the sultry glance before wrinkles frame the corners of my eyes. I will find laughter, rather, I will be laughter before my dimples transform into crescent lines. I will dress fearlessly and boldly.

Meanwhile, I vow to apply sunscreen daily so as to extend my youth-ness.

I will live a sensuous life. I will live it now, before things start sagging.