How do you eat your noodles?

Not gonna lie, I enjoy watching and judging how people slurp their noodles (and I take great offense when there is no slurping!). Most of the time, I can’t help but laugh; especially when a server offers the diner a fork. Sometimes, I think their style perfectly matches their appearance. And, once in a while, there’s nothing to judge because they employ the same technique I use.

But once, only once in my many pho-loving years, was I thoroughly impressed. This Asian woman used her chopsticks to grasp a few noodles very close to one end. Then she twirled the chopsticks around the bowl a few times. When she lifted the chopsticks to her mouth, a nice little noodle pile resembling spaghetti twirled around a fork was just waiting to be relished.

I’ve tried to replicate this technique but I just end up with broth all over the table, my lap and everywhere but where it should be: in my belly. So I stick to my tried-and-true method of eating pho and wonder if there’s someone out there who thinks it’s cool/methodical enough to be duplicated.

Maybe bacon is too much his favorite

E! Online tweeted: "'Top Chef' Finalist and Favorite Dish Parting Ways"

I clicked the link to find a picture of Kevin (the one with the beard and the pig tat who jams to bacon) and I immediately thought he and bacon were on the outs.

It turns out Kevin and his wife are divorcing.

Reaction #1: Tsk, tsk E! for a misleading headline. Especially since this is a serious topic.

Reaction #2: Thank goodness Kevin and bacon are still going strong!

Reaction #3: I'm probably going to hell.

Reaction #4: What if bacon was mistresses #1-14?

My little dog

Edith Wharton once described her little dog as “a heartbeat at [her] feet.”

My little dog, Phoenix, is my heartbeat. Sometimes, at my feet. At times, on my lap. Most often, cuddled up against my leg if I’m sitting up and my side if I’m lying down.

Phoenix’s highest religion is body contact. Incomplete and restless until he has obtained the most physical contact possible, there is no distance he won’t travel, no heights he won’t climb, no blankets he won’t dig through. Sometimes, I think he isn’t even satisfied with laying on me; like he needs to be even more closely connected, like he wishes he could crawl inside my being and lounge alongside my vital organs. Especially on cold days like today.

What he doesn’t know is that he’s already there; he’s just as vital as my lungs, stomach and liver. In spite of his occasional snoring.

There's something about Jersey...

Oh, Jersey. Having spent some of my most formative years in Staten Island, I know it well. The northern part, anyway; it was the best and closest place for reasonably priced gas, tax-free shopping (even after NYC removed the tax on clothes and shoes) and days at the shore. Southern Jersey, however, is as alien to me as Siberia and Arkansas.

Thanks to MTV’s new reality show “Jersey Shore,” everyone, regardless of geographic location, can share in the wonders of The Garden State. I missed the premiere and doubt I will ever make the effort to watch the show but, unlike UNICO, many Staten Islanders and the Jersey Shore tourism board (who even know this existed?), I’m not offended by it.

Italian-Americans should just suck it up. You can’t always be represented in a positive or multi-faceted light. Asian-Americans don’t bitch and moan about their men being stereotyped as computer nerds or karate masters and women divided into dragon ladies and exotic flowers; and those are the nicer generalizations of a diverse ethnicity.

Staten Islanders need to s.t.f.u. and get a sense of humor about this whole thing. (And, before you get mad at me, know that I lived in Staten Island for nearly twenty years of my life and Brooklyn for a year before hopping over the Verrazano.) First of all, the show’s not even set in Staten Island. Saying a reference to Jersey also includes Staten Island is sort of akin to saying people are talking about Staten Island when mentioning Manhattan—completely ridiculous and big-headed. The line between Jersey and Staten Island is slightly foggier because so many people move from Staten Island to Jersey and the stereotypes are more than similar. Is that why you’re annoyed? Because it touches so close to home? If so, get over it and find a sense of humor and some perspective.

Secondly, you know you make deprecating jokes about Staten Island, Brooklyn and Jersey all the time. I know I did and continue to; especially when someone refers to “True Life: I’m a Staten Island Girl.” (Just think about that for a second. This episode first aired my senior year of high school—2002—and people still talk about it more than seven years later. That’s sort of amazing. At least I think so.)

The Jersey Shore tourism board should thank their lucky stars for all this free publicity. Ask California, North Carolina’s Outer Banks and New Orleans. It’s hard out there for tourism these days.

It’s actually perversely flattering, all this attention on this tiny part of the country. Seriously, what did Jersey (and Staten Island) do to warrant it?

Furthermore, what’s the big deal if some kids from Jersey make fools of themselves on national cable TV? Who cares if viewers make judgments? Anyone with a brain knows MTV’s “reality” shows are far from actual reality. MTV knows what its viewers like and they accordingly cast, script their shows and edit their footage.

You know, if you think about it, you shouldn’t even be mad at the show or MTV; but at the individuals who allowed MTV to film their lives and their antics and willingly lived up to what MTV asked for. I guess some anger can be directed at MTV for exploiting the ridiculous and exalting these stereotypes for profit.

But, mostly, just laugh and endeavor to live so that people learn not everyone is like the MTV stereotype when they meet you. Besides, your ire is drawing more attention than the show alone ever could.

This one time, on a swamp tour...

I had a few things I absolutely needed to do while in New Orleans: treat myself to a cafe au lait and beignets at Cafe Du Monde; drink a few hurricanes/hand grenades on Bourbon Street; see the Ninth Ward; try to stalk Brangelina; eat at one of Emeril's restaurants. I checked off all of these and something else I didn't expect to do: go on a swamp tour and see real-life alligators. 

Cajun Encounters at Honey Island Swamp in Sidell, La.

 

A real life shrimp boat!

Great white egret taking flight

Who knew swamps could be so pretty?

Gators eat two things: Yanks and marshmallows. Thank goodness the guide had a lot of marshmallows!

Great white egret in greenery

West Pearl Bridge, requires 4-hour advance notice to be lifted

 

Pretty sure this guy's name was Brutus and he was a BIG boy!

Family day in the sun!

Blue Heron. Apparently, they're feisty!

 

I guess turtles aren't the only ones who like to sun themselves on fallen trees.

Spanish moss is really pretty.

Did you know Spanish moss isn't really Spanish? It was so named because it resembled the goatees of the Spanish conquistadors.

The swamp was really unlike anything I imagined. No bugs. No smell. And incredibly lush.

Blue heron taking flight

 

End of the tour.

Just for shits and giggles.

finis.

It’s like déjà vu all over again

President Barack Obama, addressing the nation from West Point Military Academy on Tuesday, formally announced the 2010 deployment of an additional 30,000 troops to and the 2011 withdrawal of soldiers from Afghanistan.

His speech lasted 34 minutes and wrung its audience through the emotional gamut from the pride for FDR and World War II to the pain of 9/11 and Iraq. He invoked grand deeds of the past and established lofty aspirations for the future.

I wanted to believe in the words coming from Obama’s mouth; I wanted to believe in this cause; I wanted to believe in the President of the United States, my President. But I couldn’t. Even the careful crafting of his words couldn’t hide their lack of substance or deny the fact I had heard these points and themes before. And been disappointed and frustrated by my country’s inability to live up to these lofty promises.

Obama’s efforts to pacify the conservative right, fire up the liberal left and inform the general public failed. The right is still boiling, the left still clamoring for peace and the American people know the same information they did last week (if they stay current on the news, that is).

President Obama, directly addressing the West Point cadets seated in front of him, said, “As your commander-in-chief, I owe you a mission that is clearly defined, and worthy of your service.”

The mission, as he elaborated: sending 30,000 additional soldiers to contend with al-Qaeda forces in Afghanistan and appealing to America’s international allies for aid; pursuing a more sustainable and secure civilian strategy; and forming an “effective partnership” with Pakistan.

He spent more time discussing the steps he took to reach the decision to send more troops—yes, we know he prefers peace to war and voted against the Iraqi invasion, signs condolence letters to families who lost one of their own to war, visits “wounded warriors at Walter Reed” and personally met the caskets of 18 soldiers—rather than the decision, and even the mission, itself.

Obama used the phrase “reasonable cost” when skirting around the issue of the time and resources he is willing to dedicate in Afghanistan. What does that mean? Why didn’t he elaborate? “Reasonable cost” is certainly a relative term. What is a “reasonable cost” to President Obama, the commander-in-chief, in comparison to a mother with a son in the army, a daughter with a father in Afghanistan, a husband with a wife serving in Iraq? Obama says he does not lightly take the loss of life yet lives have been lost since he took the oath of office and also in the time he took to decide on the mission in Afghanistan. Still, he is unclear with what “reasonable cost” means.

What was the point of this address? To keep Obama at the forefront of national news and not because of a party-crashing, attention-craving, wanna-be-reality-TV-stars twosome? To bring Afghanistan back into the fray of today’s political discussion? To steal some of the thunder of Tiger Woods, his golf-club-wielding wife and his illicit affairs?

Maybe it was a little bit of all of these. Mostly, and quite sadly, it seemed like the purpose was to rephrase and reiterate George W.’s words. He said some nice things about Americans, a few true things about America and many circuitous things about the war which seemed to be the speech’s intended subject. I guess we’ll have to wait and see whether America has another Vietnam on its hands or if troops really will start returning home in 2011.

What goes around, comes around?

Last year, a friend betrayed my trust and repeated my personal rants to their subject: his sister. It resulted in a catastrophic blow-up that brought a parent into the ridiculousness. No, it was not mine. I’ve had to fight my own battles and win my own wars since I was old enough to start them. My mother taught me, if I was old enough to get myself into trouble, I was old enough to get myself out of that trouble. Their mother does not believe the same. (The sister will turn 22 in February.)

This Thanksgiving, this same friend addressed an aside to his father about his sister. And, according to the friend, it was more of a look than a distinct comment. The next day, his sister texted him, “If you don’t like me doing that, you should just tell me. I’m sick of you treating me like a five-year old and thinking you’re better than me.” {pro for karma}

Granted, this entire situation could have been avoided if my friend had listened to me {pro for karma} and broached the topic with his sister when his frustrations first arrived a week earlier. He’s a little passive-aggressive and hid behind excuses instead of taking action. I could have said something but I’m already too easy a target to pin the villain tail on. I wanted to stay out of this spat. {con for karma}

He actually listened to my advice this time, responding, “I would have talked to you sooner about this but you always had company. I think it’s best to talk in person,” and then called his mother for how best to talk to his sister.

His mother, of course, unleashed all her fury on me. {con for karma} God forbid her children are capable of any wrongdoing and, in case you couldn’t tell, passive-aggressiveness slightly runs in the family. Even with me going out of my way to stay out the sister’s way and avoid any arguments and awkwardness, I still get dragged into this mess. Because I’m forthright and honest, people who don’t know me or willfully misunderstand me label me a bitch. I deserve neither such censure nor such praise. {con for karma?} But it certainly is easy to direct frustrations at me; especially in ongoing situations.

This “argument” has yet to be resolved so I’ll keep you abreast on whether karma wins out or not. Oh, and on the whole friend vs. sister thing, too.\

Just call me the G-Chat life coach

An unemployed 25-year old in denial about falling in love and growing up is probably the last person to approach for advice on career, love and life in general. Unless I am that 25-year old. My friends come to me for advice on just about anything and everything from wardrobe advice to office etiquette. I despise telephone conversations and e-mails so the best way to reach is via text message or G-Chat (the 21^st century’s instant messenger) and, in this battle, G-Chat wins. Texting is terrible for serious discussions. Seriously, what sadist came up with character limits? Word limits I understand; they make sense. But character limits?! Pure, irrational torture.

Just call me that GoogleTalk (or G-Chat) “Dear Abby.”

This amuses and confuses me. I mean, I am terrified of ending my (f)unemployment, finding a new love and growing another year older. The word “terrified” is an understatement.

At the same time, I almost understand why they think so highly of my opinion. In addition to a lot of time on my hands, I have exceptional clarity and thorough optimism when it comes to their lives.

For the most part, I don’t mind listening to my friends’ problems. I enjoy trying to help them—I mean, what else are friends for, really? And I especially love laughing at the occasional ridiculousness they find themselves in. (I am only human, after all, and I believe seeing the humor in a situation never hurt anybody. It’s better than taking it too seriously, that’s for certain.)

But, once in a while, all I want to do is pull my hair out, rip my ears off and scream at the top of my lungs. Like I said, I am only human. As such, I am not impervious to the draining effect of their constant complaints and queries.

Self-examination is a normal exercise of mine. For me, it is just as vital as breathing, laughing, crying and singing. I can only wish my friends agreed and did the same. I’m sure they would still ask for my input. For instance, when I state something so thoroughly obvious, they tell me, "I know that. I just needed someone else to say it." I understand the need for an external perspective but a little self-analysis would still go a long way in getting to the heart of the problem and allowing me to return to my life outside the G-Chat life coach role: an unemployed 25-year-old woman with many of her own problems.