Solid eavesdropping

It seems I've naturally settled into a gentle Monday through Thursday blogging schedule. Let's go with it and see how things fare.

Andy and I are at the coffee shop today, ordering our two 8oz lattes, when a lady glides in on rollerblades. She approaches another lady—shorter, fatter, no blades—who is waiting by the counter for her coffee.

"You said you'd be here at 12:30!" rollerblades says in a thick Russian accent.

"Sorry! I had to watch my sister's kids!"

"Well you shouldn't say you're going to be here at a certain time and then show up an hour late!"

"I'm sorry! What was I supposed to do?"

We're all listening. The entire, otherwise silent coffee shop. Andy and I make eye contact with the barista. She raises her eyebrows.

This probably seems racially insensitive to you, considering the fact that I'm not even 100% sure they were Russian, but the honest truth is I LOVE these nesting dolls. My parents have a set and I was obsessed with it as a kid. The smallest one was TINY - the size of a grain of rice - and I adored it. That, and the fact that I acknowledge the fact that this could be seen as insensitive, means that it's not.

Image by BrokenSphere via Wikimedia Commons

On our way out, Andy and I pass the two women sitting at an outside table. Rollerblades is eating potato salad out of a tupperware. They're having a conversation in Russian. Things seem to have calmed down. All has been forgiven.

Once out of earshot, Andy and I wonder why they didn't choose to speak in Russian back in the coffee shop.


Cheers,
Margaret

P.S. I'm really into classic Herbal Essences. Not the new fangled, brightly colored ones with cute names (e.g. Hello Hydration), but the old school, straight-out-of-the-'90s Herbal Essences. Try it next time you run out of 'poo and 'tioner. The smell is intoxicating. If you're single, you won't be for long.

P.P.S. Andy drilled a hole in our bookcase for the WiFi router cords to poke through. The router is now disguised as a book. It's a fine achievement.

Pumpkin Spice – Disgusting or Nice?

Char and I went through the Starbucks drive-through this afternoon. We'd both had late night + early morning and we were dragging.

As we pulled up to the speaker, I spotted an advertisement for the seasonal Pumpkin Spice Latte out of the corner of my eye. I did a double-take. It's been years since I've had flavored syrup in my coffee, but I suddenly had the urge to partake.

Call it nostalgia, my afternoon sweet tooth or simply the thrill of the harvest—whatever the cause, I had visions of nutmeggy coffee dancing in my head. I'd forgotten all about my usual, modest 8-ounce latte and instead ordered a grande PSL. With whip? Yes, of course with whip.

• My first mistake – ordering a grande. Like a complete imbecile, I thought that grande is what comes after short. It's not. Grande comes after TALL. Tall is the size I was looking for. Instead, I received 16 mother-f-ing ounces of milky espresso. 

• My second mistake – ordering a Pumpkin Spice Latte. It's disgusting. The sugariness is jarring, but I suppose I could get over that. What's difficult to ignore is the way the pumpkin flavor clashes with the strong coffee flavor. It ends up tasting like sweet dirt. 

I'd hate to leave on a negative note, so here's some good news: my Halloween costume is sorted! I'd mentioned that I want to be a conehead, so my dear, sweet mother ordered me one on Amazon! She got one for Andy too. Bring on October 31st!

Headed to the 'couve tomorrow to hang out with my Grandma. Perhaps the two of us will record a video blog. 

Love ya, 

Margaret

What year is this?

Francie and I went to Olympia on business (gotta love when people say 'on business') and I felt like I had walked straight into 2001. Something about the place reminded me of high school. Maybe it was all the driving to and from strip malls that we were doing to kill time.

We went to a coffee shop and there was all sorts of bootcut jeans + coach purses +  studded belts going on. I ordered two 8-ounce, 2% lattes and a chocolate chip cookie.

"OK, a chocolate chip cookie and two nonfat lattes—anything else?" the lady says.

"Nope, thats it. But actually, do you have 2% milk for those?"

"Yep. Nonfat, 2%, same thing."

I was stunned. Not knowing what to do, I just nodded and said, "Ah, okay" as if I'd only just then learned that 2% and nonfat were the same thing. Who knew? 2% and nonfat? Turns out, SAME THING. I know, crazy. All this time I was walking around thinking that they differed by a margin of exactly two percent, but I must have been mistaken!

I don't know. The situation baffles me. At first I thought maybe she was trying to say, "We don't have 2%, but is nonfat OK?" But no. She was clear. She said that 2% and nonfat were the same thing. Here's the kicker, I honestly think she believes it.

Now don't you tell me I'm being a snob. That lady works in a coffee shop—knowing the different milk percentages is 80% of the job. Also, I didn't care at all and happily guzzled my latte in less than five minutes like I always do. No harm, no foul.

An old photo and my old boots, which I'm still mourning the loss of. 

Later,
Margaret

Ch ch ch changes

I left for Edinburgh in 2009. Now it's 2015 and I'm back. For the most part, Seattle is how I left it. However, there are a few new things that have cropped up in the past six years. I'm not sure I like them. I'm not sure I like them one bit.

• Christian coffee shops — What's the deal? I'm seeing a lot of these. Some come right out with it ('His Word Found Here' in Ballard) and others are sneakier.

• Cards Against Humanity — I'm so old that in my day they used to call this game 'Apples to Apples'.

• 'Bender & Molly' in the mornings  — Say whaaaa? What happened to Jackie and Bender? Molly, that girl from the Bachelor, is Bender's new co-host? Crazy. I've also heard that Jackie and Bender were actually married and then divorced but still did their show together for a while. If that's true, it makes sense that it wasn't sustainable. Anyone have the T on this? 

What's the shelf-life of a game like this? Is it past its sell-by date? It's no Cranium, that's what I say.

Image by tom_bullock via Wikimedia Commons

Meanwhile, as these radical changes to Seattle culture continue to throw me for a loop, I hear this song by 5 Seconds of Summer on the radio today:



WHAT is going on. Just when I thought the world was passing me by, I hear those familiar nasal tones over the airwaves. The early-2000s pop-punk male vocal sound! Is it making a comeback? They don't totally recreate it, but they're certainly playing homage to it. Takes me right back to high school, driving around Kenmore, loitering at the Safeway, watching Laguna Beach: The Real Orange County in standard definition.

I recently read a fascinating article on what inspired the Blink182-style vocals of that era. A linguist weighs in. It's actually very interesting. I recommend you read it.

That's all for now. I've been out celebrating Amazon's 20th birthday. Macklemore was there. NBD.

Cheerio,
Margaret

Tea and coffee making facilities

It's raining in Rome and we've hit a wall.

Eight days ago we left Edinburgh with bright eyes and bushy bowl cuts. It's been the holiday of a lifetime, but today's the first day that the crowded train terminals, Google Maps and giant backpacks began to take their toll. Also, men would not stop trying to aggressively sell us umbrellas. Even though it was pouring and we really could have used one, we refused out of principle.

It also happens to be the only day we haven't managed to squeeze in a nap (wah wah).

Our legs were achy and we had low blood sugar, but then something wonderful happened. When we checked into the final hotel of our epic Italian expedition, the guy at reception uttered the best words two tired tourists can hear:

"There are tea and coffee making facilities in your room."

We ran up to the room, threw our bags on the bed, clasped hands and bounced up and down, grinning like hyenas. All hail the hospitality gods! Long may it rain Nescafe instant coffee, the heavenly gift that nourishes our stomachs, hearts and minds.

Tea and coffee making facilities are actually a rarity in Italian hotels, so this was a brilliant surprise. As soon as I finish typing this, I'm going to flick on the kettle. Just thinking about the gentle hum of that small kitchen appliance is comforting.


Sincerely,

Tired (but content) in Rome

Peas de résistance

Wow.

I just met Andy for a coffee before his 7-10:30pm lesson. He's been teaching nonstop since 9 o'clock this morning, and I've been shut in at home trying to cross things off my lengthy 'To Do' list (see yesterday's post for more info).

His fried brain + my lack of human interaction = weird, surreal experience

I talked a lot about how crazy it is that postal stamps are still a thing, and how I am surprised that counterfeit stamps aren't more common. He agreed and stared into the distance like a post-5150 Britney Spears.

It's hard to explain why the whole thing was so strange. Basically, it felt like we were both state-of-the-art Japanese robots, acting and speaking like humans but completely dead behind the eyes.

Have you seen that CGI Audrey Hepburn advert for Galaxy chocolate? Our coffee meeting had that same, 'uncanny valley' vibe.

OK, now for the pea chat

This post was originally going to be a persuasive piece on the merits of peas and my desire to reintroduce them to modern, American cuisine (similar to my defence of celery from yonks ago). 

Although they're more common in British cuisine ('mushy peas' is a traditional dish here...come on Brits, you're not doing your poor culinary reputation any favours with that one), I feel like our generation doesn't have the same relationship with peas as our parents' and grandparents' generations. They're just not as popular as they used to be, and that's a shame. Peas are actually really tasty. 

But that was what this post was going to be about. The more I thought about peas, the more I realised that I actually have a few different pea anecdotes worth sharing. 

Anecdote 1: The Family Green Pea

As of getting married a few years ago, my sister Anna's last name is now Gorohoff. According to her and my brother-in-law, Gorohoff means 'green pea' in Russian. Isn't that fun?

Full disclosure, Google translate tells me 'green pea' in Russian is this: зеленый горошек. Needless to say, I wasn't able to fact check the validity of their claim. 

Anecdote 2: "I eat my peas with honey"

When we were growing up, eating peas with honey was an important tradition in our household. It was a coming-of-age milestone that helped form us Kay kids into the upstanding citizens we are today. 

Here's how it went down. Around the age of six, my Mom would teach us to recite a poem, squirt some honey onto the flat side of a knife, balance some peas on top, and then slurp up the peas in a single lick. It was precarious to say the least. This is the poem:

I eat my peas with honey

I've done it all my life

It makes the peas taste funny

But it keeps them on my knife

The things I do for this blog...

Anecdote 3: Pass the peas, please

For a while, one of my Mom's favourite pranks was to serve peas and carrots for dinner that were—wait for it—not actually peas and carrots at all, but CANDY. Delicious pea-and-carrot-shaped candy! She had found the candy veggies at a novelty sweet shop in Seattle and knew instantly that it would be comedy gold. 

As the youngest child, not yet in school and thus her default partner in crime, I helped ol' Nadinski arrange the candy peas and carrots realistically on each plate next to some real mashed potatoes and fish sticks. I rang the cowbell (yes, we used a cowbell to signal dinnertime), put on my best poker face and waited anxiously for my siblings to dig in. 

OH the look on their faces when they ate their first bite of candy peas! If you had to narrow the abstract concept of 'humour' down to a single image, that would be it. You see, they thought they were going to be tasting real peas. They expected to eat the actual vegetable. But instead, they tasted a wonderful sugary treat! HAHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHA

AHHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHHAHA

BAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAH OHAHAHA

HOOOHEE HAHAHA

HAHAHA

HaHA

Aha

Ha

haha

ha

Love,
Margaret

P.S. Yes, I know. Renée Zellweger. We're all horrified. I need a day to process it. Expect full coverage in tomorrow's post.