I Spy With My Wee Little Eyes (Dulles Airport, 5:30 p.m.)

A couple with thick Southern accents.
Man: "Look, Sugar, there's your favorite."
Woman: "Do I look like a five-year-old boy to you?"

A man in the international terminal, unrolling his prayer mat and facing it east.

A gawky German boy ordering an appel joos. 

A literal HORDE of American high schoolers in sweats and Uggs.

Two European men drinking out of those tiny Starbucks cups you always thought were just meant for samples of the latest seasonal mocha. 

A Spanish woman customer and an Ethiopian bookstore employee, having a conversation about the newest Paulo Coelho novel, in which neither of them can recall the word "paperback." 

A Midwestern contractor en route to Afghanistan, trying to wile away his 7-hour layover making phone calls to his boss, employees, wife, daughters, and anyone else he can think of. 

A garrulous electronics salesman with an impossible-to-place accent.

A black American girl with curly hair pretending to listen to music but really eavesdropping on the pair of young British reporters seated near her. 

A toddler throwing a temper tantrum while his dad, nearby, looks embarrassed and his mother, in the pre-board line, looks disgusted. 

A tall red-haired woman -- a soccer-mom type -- having a loud phone conversation about one of the two scenarios:  trying to convince a colleague/superior not to fire someone who has potential but needs coaching, OR, trying to convince her husband their child needs to switch Little League teams because he has potential but he needs some coaching.

3 Best: Stop-Motion Videos

Sorry I'm Late



(Seen first on http://whereshouldistart.wordpress.com/)

The Joy of Books



(First discovered via Neil Gaiman's Twitter feed ... yes, I am one of the 2,000,000 people following @neilhimself on Twitter ... follow him, and you'll see why!)

Her Morning Elegance



(I don't remember where I saw this first! But it's, honestly, my favorite.)

10 Reasons I Like Toronto, and Why I'll Still Never Move There: II

The border agent looks at me incredulously when I announce my reason for entering the country.

"So ... you're going all the way to Toronto ... to ... do homework?"

"Yes." I reply.

"Why?"

"I had the day off."

"What's wrong with doing your homework in Buffalo?"

"... Have you been to Buffalo?" I ask. "I like to get out when I can."

He laughs and, miraculously, permits me to enter Canada.

Numero Dos Reason I Like Toronto:

I go to a coffee shop on Spadina. It's in the same building as an awesome organization that rents out hourly office and conference space to artists and other interesting people who do interesting things.

I order a macchiato. What I receive is, in fact, a macchiato. As in, delicious espresso stained with perfectly-creamy steamed milk, served in a tiny cup. As in, contains no caramel.

I sit at one of the communal tables (I love communal tables, because I love spying on people). At this table, there are nine other people, and no fewer than:

• 4 MacBooks,
• 5 iPhones,
• 1 indie filmmaker pitching his film to a handsome someone wearing a fur hat with ear-flaps,
• 1 man taking notes in a book of industrial architecture,
• 1 girl with hipster bangs simultaneously knitting and reading the obituaries,
• and 1 fellow working on writing some kind of script.

... And Why I'll Still Never Live There.

I bought gas at a PetroCanada, where the advertised gas price was 122.5. I have no idea what that means. Is that per ... liter? How much is a liter? Is that per kilosomething? Whatever it is, I don't like it. It feels expensive.

10 Reasons I Like Toronto, and Why I'll Still Never Move There: I

Here, you may observe my mother, my niece, and me, coercing my father into a "food experience." We are sitting in a rustic little cafe in Kensington Market in Toronto. After embarking on a search for lunch, and having an unsuccessful first 30 seconds, I began to sense my father's growing impatience. As we rounded a corner, my heart (and stomach) gave a great leap and I took my mother's hand, making a beeline for the cafe with the giant wooden sign reading "The Grilled Cheese."

I had heard of this place, a cafe that only serves grilled cheese. A glance at the menu posted outside confirmed it. Ten different kinds of grilled cheese sandwiches, and a daily soup (today they offered potato-leek soup ... I nearly swooned).

A cafe that only sells grilled cheese sandwiches. How brilliant! How novel! How perfectly sensible!

This is reason #1 why I like Toronto.

But I'll still never move there, because having to obtain a visa just to move two hours away from your previous residence reeks of folly.





You can read my brilliant niece Sadye's account of the trip on her blog, Tales from Sagaboor.

That Stuff That I Hate is Starting To Fall From the Sky Again, What's It Called, Oh Yeah

Snow.

These are precautions I'm taking in order not to fall into a snow-induced breakdown(in which I huddle indoors day and night with my electric blanket, fuzzy slippers, and Hulu Plus subscription):

1. I'm making soup. If there's one thing that can make a confirmed winter-hater sit up and say "ah," it's homemade soup. This season, I've got dozens of soups planned for rotation through the snowy winter months and the irredeemably snowy spring months. Potato leek, tortilla, squash-kale, potato-kale, tortilla II, veggie rice, lentil, tomato, minestrone, black bean, tortilla III ... with fresh bread, with dumplings, with noodles, with biscuits, with fried tortilla strips ... in cups, in bowls, in bread bowls, in tupperware bowls. No doubt about it, there will be much soup.

2. I'm starting to like sweaters. Or, rather, I'm making myself start to like sweaters. They are cozy (I tell myself), they are easy to wear (I tell myself), they mean having to hand-wash several pounds of laundry and them lay them on towels all over the apartment for days (I avoid telling myself).

3. I'm crocheting myself a headband-earwarmer sort of thing. It's made with fine alpaca yarn from Peru (thanks, Mom!), and if I ever finish it, it will make my ears warm as can be.

4.


5.

This is a post that's not about anything ...

Except that it's about this.

Which isn't anything.

So ... that's all for now.

The Frozen Californian! Returns From an Unintended Hiatus and Tells Us What She's Thinking About Instead of Thinking About Her Thesis!

My niece's half-crocheted Christmas present
My sister's as-yet un-crocheted Christmas present
Bones, Season 7
The Jamie Oliver cookbook
My pasta maker
Tobias Wolff
Lunch
Movie trailers
Episodes of Suits
Hulu
Netflix
Obscure British TV sitcoms
Obscure Chinese romantic comedies
Obscure French infidelity comedies
My sister's impending wedding
Handmade wedding invitations
Bridesmaid dresses
Online shoe stores
Facebook
McSweeney's
My unfinished novel
My unfinished short story
My unfinished screenplay
Jane Austen
Impromptu trips to Toronto
My food blog
My whine-and-moan blog
My untidy closet
My untidy kitchen
My untidy bedroom
My bed
Self-pity
Urban Solace's Cinnamon Buns with Caramel-Pecan Sauce
La necesidad practicar espanol en voz alta
Dinner
Craigslist ads for flats in London
Craigslist ads for apartments in New York
Craigslist ads for houses in Seattle
Craigslist ads for jobs in New York, London, Chicago, Washington, Los Angeles, San Francisco, Seattle, Boston, and Beijing.
Alec Baldwin's Twitter feed
My toenails
My neighbors' argument
The rotting vegetables in the crisper drawer of the fridge
My student loans
and Hugh Jackman