A children's clothing store in Georgetown.
Vive le capitalisme.
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Saturday, November 15, 2008
Part of the neighborhood
The bakery customers are starting to remember me!
Today I noticed a customer wearing a BAA 2007 Boston Marathon jacket. I asked her about it, she started to answer, but then she interrupted herself and said, "Wait, you're a marathoner, too! The Marine Corps. You have that really cool hat." Indeed, I do!
And later, an older gentlemen took a look at my plain white tee and remarked, "You're not wearing one of your funny t-shirts." To his buddy, "She has all these funny t-shirts." Like the sexy one below.
So great.
Today I noticed a customer wearing a BAA 2007 Boston Marathon jacket. I asked her about it, she started to answer, but then she interrupted herself and said, "Wait, you're a marathoner, too! The Marine Corps. You have that really cool hat." Indeed, I do!
And later, an older gentlemen took a look at my plain white tee and remarked, "You're not wearing one of your funny t-shirts." To his buddy, "She has all these funny t-shirts." Like the sexy one below.
So great.
Monday, November 10, 2008
Loving President Bush
At church yesterday, we prayed for President Bush. I should mention that I was at my home church, a bastion of liberalism that didn't support Al Gore in the 2000 primaries because he wasn't liberal enough. (We wanted Bill Bradley.) Lest you think I was raised in a commune of impractical hippies, I wasn't. I grew up in lovely, academic Princeton, NJ where my Sunday school teachers were professors at the seminary and where my friends' parents were professors at the university. So, yeah, maybe I was raised in a commune of impractical hippies.
Anyway, I was surprised to hear the prayer for President Bush. Maybe I shouldn't have been so surprised because, you know, we're supposed to love everyone, but I was. The liturgist prayed that the President would have wisdom and courage in the last days of his administration and that he would be able to effect positive change for the country. A reasonable prayer, I thought, but still I was surprised.
Then she started praying for President-elect Obama, and suddenly I understood. She'd just wanted to say those words out loud in church. "President-elect Obama." Crazy liberals - so predictable.
Anyway, I was surprised to hear the prayer for President Bush. Maybe I shouldn't have been so surprised because, you know, we're supposed to love everyone, but I was. The liturgist prayed that the President would have wisdom and courage in the last days of his administration and that he would be able to effect positive change for the country. A reasonable prayer, I thought, but still I was surprised.
Then she started praying for President-elect Obama, and suddenly I understood. She'd just wanted to say those words out loud in church. "President-elect Obama." Crazy liberals - so predictable.
Friday, November 7, 2008
Caramel apples and a new food blog
Behold, caramel apples. Last week I saw this recipe at 101 Cookbooks, and since there were only three ingredients on it, I gave it a try. It's super easy, but the one catch is that the caramel needs to be heated to just the right temperature. Since I don't have a candy thermometer, it turned out kinda soupy, so I will have to keep trying. In the meantime there is nothing wrong with scooping up melted caramel and eating it off the silpat. Yum.
Which reminds me: I have a new blog. Well, semi-new. It's at Fortune's Feast, and describes my attempts to teach myself Chinese cooking. As some of you know, I've long been conflicted about how "Chinese" I am, if identity even is something quantifiable. I speak Chinese, I lived in Taipei, but I have very few Chinese friends. I had all sorts of friends as a child, but somewhere around middle school is when all the Asian kids started hanging out with each other - and nobody else. This bothered me. It bothered me because I thought the practice exclusive and discriminatory. Maybe they weren't actively segregating themselves, but at one point one of my Chinese American classmates came over to my lunch table and asked, "Why don't you sit with the Asian kids?"
That bothered me. I didn't want to be exclusionary, but it seemed to be the only way to be "Asian" where I grew up.[FN1] So my response was to be not "Asian" and to befriend people of all ethnicities. Somewhere along the line, though, I think I overcompensated, because soon I had no Asian friends. That also bothered me. So I was conflicted.
Anyway, this is all a long way of saying that I have a new food blog, where I try to reconnect with a heritage I once dismissed because I didn't want to be exclusive. I write about recipes, challenges, identity, and family. Mostly it's an excuse to eat more.
----
FN1. Looking back I realize the absurdity of this all, even the very idea of "Asian." It's a wholly American concept - nobody in China actually wants to hang out with anybody in Korea. So really the attempt to be more "Asian" was something inauthentic to begin with.
Which reminds me: I have a new blog. Well, semi-new. It's at Fortune's Feast, and describes my attempts to teach myself Chinese cooking. As some of you know, I've long been conflicted about how "Chinese" I am, if identity even is something quantifiable. I speak Chinese, I lived in Taipei, but I have very few Chinese friends. I had all sorts of friends as a child, but somewhere around middle school is when all the Asian kids started hanging out with each other - and nobody else. This bothered me. It bothered me because I thought the practice exclusive and discriminatory. Maybe they weren't actively segregating themselves, but at one point one of my Chinese American classmates came over to my lunch table and asked, "Why don't you sit with the Asian kids?"
That bothered me. I didn't want to be exclusionary, but it seemed to be the only way to be "Asian" where I grew up.[FN1] So my response was to be not "Asian" and to befriend people of all ethnicities. Somewhere along the line, though, I think I overcompensated, because soon I had no Asian friends. That also bothered me. So I was conflicted.
Anyway, this is all a long way of saying that I have a new food blog, where I try to reconnect with a heritage I once dismissed because I didn't want to be exclusive. I write about recipes, challenges, identity, and family. Mostly it's an excuse to eat more.
----
FN1. Looking back I realize the absurdity of this all, even the very idea of "Asian." It's a wholly American concept - nobody in China actually wants to hang out with anybody in Korea. So really the attempt to be more "Asian" was something inauthentic to begin with.
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
God bless America
When the results came in last night, I knew I'd want to write something, but I wasn't sure what. What could possibly describe the sheer magnificence of it all? What words could I use? As it got later and later, I realized I was growing too tired to think of anything compelling, so my reflections would have to wait.
Today, however, a day after the most exciting campaign I have had the privilege to see, I've started to put my finger on it. Just now I was playing "Yes We Can," on the YouTube (because, as you know, I find continuous loops to be soothing), and I started to cry. Hard. As if it had been left up to me cry all the tears left in heaven: heaving shoulders, hiccups, a very scrunched up face. The Captain was initially amused because he's always amused by how sensitive I am (I can't watch an Army recruiting commercial without shedding a tear), but then he noticed there was something more and came over to hold me.
Because there was something more - so much more. There was the very idea of a politics of hope, the idea that despite all the cynicism and special interests and real-world practicalities, the United States is a country firmly rooted in its belief that its people can, and will, do better. The idea that this is not a country that leaves its weak and poor behind, but takes care of its own and sends them out to do better. The idea that, yes, anyone can be President, even a skinny kid with a funny name who someday promises his two little girls a puppy once they move into the White House.
And the idea that two Chinese immigrants, who spoke only passable English when they first arrived, could provide their daughter with the best education money could buy, and all the opportunities she could want. The idea that through hard work and determination, anything is possible.
God bless America.
Today, however, a day after the most exciting campaign I have had the privilege to see, I've started to put my finger on it. Just now I was playing "Yes We Can," on the YouTube (because, as you know, I find continuous loops to be soothing), and I started to cry. Hard. As if it had been left up to me cry all the tears left in heaven: heaving shoulders, hiccups, a very scrunched up face. The Captain was initially amused because he's always amused by how sensitive I am (I can't watch an Army recruiting commercial without shedding a tear), but then he noticed there was something more and came over to hold me.
Because there was something more - so much more. There was the very idea of a politics of hope, the idea that despite all the cynicism and special interests and real-world practicalities, the United States is a country firmly rooted in its belief that its people can, and will, do better. The idea that this is not a country that leaves its weak and poor behind, but takes care of its own and sends them out to do better. The idea that, yes, anyone can be President, even a skinny kid with a funny name who someday promises his two little girls a puppy once they move into the White House.
And the idea that two Chinese immigrants, who spoke only passable English when they first arrived, could provide their daughter with the best education money could buy, and all the opportunities she could want. The idea that through hard work and determination, anything is possible.
God bless America.
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
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