Philly was chilly and restful. Thanksgiving was spent flipping through back copies of the New Yorker,
while staggering dishes in the oven (this year’s menu: (1) brined
turkey; (2) apple, cranberry, challah stuffing; (3) lobster corn
chowder paired with a light, souffle-style corn pudding; (4) pork loin:
(5) molasses-free gingerbread; (6) orange-syrup-drenched
Moroccan almond cake; (7) yams; (8) green beans; (9) spiced, mulled
wine, and other spirits; and (10) fresh cranberry sauce). As
always, it devolved into an Ultimate New Wave dance party by 10:00 p.m.
Oddly, the images from the weekend that stand out are the Hermes tie boxes in Evil K’s closet and the CheeseWiz on our authentic Philly cheesesteaks.
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Oh, and find out how prone you are to spotting hucksters (it doesn’t count as a quiz if it’s from the BBC). Sadly, I scored an 11 out of 20.
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The East Coast cold and repeated NYC bed-bug infestation stories have convinced me to stay away from the Big Apple.
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Plane-reading: I don’t normally agree with what Old Hitch has to say, but here’s a very good essay on Nabokov’s masterpiece turning 50.
hm… nice article. i feel itchy now.
I read that article online at about 2 am last night (or this morning, whatever) and predicted that in less than 12 hours it would be the #1 most e-mailed NYT article.
I was right.
Really hoping I didn’t bring home any, uh, “passengers,” from my last trip to N.Y., which was admittedly more than a month ago. And glad I decided *not* to go there for New Year’s Eve!
When engorged with blood, they grow slightly plumper than the O on this page, although the nymphs, which appear almost translucent before their first meal, are not much bigger than the period at the end of this sentence.
Hehe. I imagine someone reading that on a type enlarging screen and being totally horrified.
Bah, I may have to get that album.