This morning I went to Bristol Farms for pre-work coffee times. They serve Peet’s, which I find to be particularly potent coffee. I got an iced pumpkin spice latte. It was very spicy.
I got there a bit early (I was meeting someone) (yeah, I’m so popular, right?), but having a few extra minutes at a grocery-selling establishment is NEVER a problem for me.
I started out looking for fancy Malcolm Gladwell article-esque ketchups (basically anything non-Heinz), but they only had one non-Heinz brand. So this didn’t turn out to be another ketchup post. Bully for you.
Instead, I found a lot of autumn-esque products. Bristol Farms carries some items you wouldn’t find in your local Ralph’s (unless your Ralph’s is super cool), so I figured I’d bring these quirky products TO THE WORLD. I’m a good Samaritan like that.
Hopefully this makes you feel all autumn-y inside. Tomorrow is October!
First of all, something to enjoy whilst you watch “The Vampire Diaries.” (Episode 204 airs tonight… unless you’re on the East Coast. In that case… you missed it. Whoops.)
"Just add hot water for a creepy red hot chocolate potion!"
Speaking of drinks, they had personal pan Martinelli’s! Apple juice AND sparkling cider. (And yes, I have decided that personal pan applies to anything and everything. Not just pizza. I’m breaking out of the box, pizza and otherwise.)
DIY: Drink it yourself.
This next one is neither a drink nor specifically autumn-related, but I was incredibly intrigued. Thin Swedish pancakes? Why not! (This is how the Swedish stay so trim?)
I want to be referred to as "deliciously thin."
If those AREN’T imported from Sweden, they’re fooling me! (Although I haven’t noticed them at IKEA, so…) (Oh yeah, IKEA trip imminent… I will surely nab some pics there.)
Oh, but the box is in English. Hm. Then again, the Swedes are great at English. (Import or not? Anybody know?)
I said that pancakes aren’t autumn-specific, but there IS something cozy about pancakes. They’re a very Sunday-morning-in-robes kinda breakfast. And it’s a good time of year for that. (Once the heat wave passes.) Swedish pancakes and a mug of blood-red cocoa? Good times.
The whole store was filled with the very pungent, buttery scent of baked goods. Golden baked goods. I didn’t take any pictures. Sorry. The display overwhelmed me. The smell also overwhelmed me. (OH MY GOSH, have I ever talked about how certain food smells made me BARF when I was a kid?) (I was a really fun kid.) (I’ll save that story for later.) (That’s basically the whole story, though. In a nutshell.)
Until the next time I see something I want to photograph in a grocery store…
These are new to the kitchen. YES! We usually get the Terra chips that are more of a variety and I just pick out the red and orange ones. (Sorry… I’m THAT jerk.) So I’m glad to have the ALL ORANGE (aka, just sweet potato) chips.
I tried to resist putting ketchup on these, but I had to give in to the power of ketchup. Malcolm Gladwell knows what I’m talking about. (Thanks for sending me that article, Thomas!) (Everybody read it!)
The chips look a little different on the bag. The orange looks like cheese, as in, Doritos.
Orange alert!
Apropos of nothing, I’m really excited about tonight’s “Modern Family” episode. According to Movieline, it’s the one where Mitchell and Cameron finally kiss!
In the episode entitled “The Kiss” (!!!!!), Mitchell’s steadfast refusal to show affection in public turns into a tiff with Cameron.
I know I’m going to identify with this BIG TIME. I’m always negotiating how I feel about PDA (public displays of affection), re: myself and re: other couples. Sometimes I see a couple kissing and love them so much, and sometimes I see a couple holding hands and think, You clingy bastards!
And who knows what people are thinking about ME? (And… who cares?) (To clarify: I mean me kissing other people. Not myself. Then I’d KNOW what they were thinking: Weirdo.)
I wonder what Malcolm Gladwell has to say about PDA? (Speaking of taste buds and kisses, what is the taste of a tongue? Umami? Whatever you ate last?) (Yuck.)
As you’ve noticed, I document my food truck eatin’s on this blog. When I can’t remember whether or not I liked a truck that’s parked outside, I just type the name of the truck into the Daily Binge “search” box. And I get a picture AND a review. Convenient!
For once, this blog is pulling its weight.
Today both trucks were in the thumbs-down category. Lucky for me that I brought a Lean Cuisine!
I’ve probably talked about my love for Lean Cuisines before. I inherited (by nurture) my mother’s lack of cooking umph, so when I was growing up, Lean Cuisines were the height of… cuisine… in our house.
It just so happens that I brought a Sesame Chicken Lean Cuisine to work, and that picture of the old-and-new packaging Sesame Chicken Lean Cuisines was in my phone. I took it on March 28, 2010. Six months and one day ago. And it did not become blog-relevant until just now. (Luckily I remembered it.)
Isn’t it funny how things become relevant in time? Or IRRELEVANT?
My life was really different six months ago. Looking back, I’m glad it changed. (Whew.)
Well, things didn’t totally change. I’m still taking random pictures in grocery stores.
Another nice thing about this blog (lately) is that people are actually reading. (SHOCKING, I know.) Several friends/former co-workers have said to me, “I keep track of you by reading your blog.” But let me keep track of YOU, too. If you’re reading, please say “hi” every once in a while. Let’s make it a mutual stalking. (Either way, I’m probably stalking you on Facebook.) (Let’s be real.)
Want to be part of the experience? Let’s go on a snack trek! (I won’t take your picture against your will. But I might talk about you, or take pictures of your food.) (It has no will… well, depending on your beliefs.)
Anyway. While I’m eating a hermetically sealed microwave meal, my sister (Dana) sent me this picture of HER lunch.
Fancy schmancy.
Pretty plate. (I bet it’s from Target.) (Not a dig! Target has pretty PLASTIC stuff. Which is a must for klutzy dish-users like me.)
The picture came with this note: “Made ‘falafel’ out of veggie burger & spices.”
I replied, “Nice! You just balled it up?” (I’m sure that’s a technical cooking term.)
Her response: “Yup. Defrosted, balled it up, and cooked it in a skillet with basil leaves, chili powder, paprika, and spicy pepper. It was delish.”
What the WHAT?!
How the heck did she know what to put in the skillet? When did she acquire skillet skills? And apparently that spice combo just popped into her head?
I’m starting to suspect that we’re not related.
But since I know that we ARE, maybe there’s hope for me, too. (Or at least the promise of eatin’ good when I visit her!)
In case you thought I was LYING when I said it’s hot in Los Angeles right now… today was actually a record breaker. According to the LA Times, today was LA’s Hottest Day Ever. Really.
I wore shorts, knowing that the office might be over-compensatingly over-air conditioned. It was so hot in my apartment this morning, I didn’t really have any other option.
A few minutes after I got to work, I received an email announcing that the Tropical Shave Ice truck would be in our lot at 2:30pm. I don’t know when the building procured that truck, but it must have been SO in demand today. Major kudos whoever made this happen.
"Tropical shave"? That's a whole different story...
Ironically, I didn’t go outside until I went to get my shave ice. Co-worker Bryan compared the heat to a blow-dryer… it was definitely over 100 degrees (F). I actually didn’t mind standing in it for a few minutes. But I’m kinda cold-blooded, in the reptilian sense. (I also had to get warm enough to WANT the shave ice.) (Okay, I wanted it no matter what.)
I got one for myself, and one for my boss. That means… two pretty pictures! (Hers is prettier.)
Clown wig!
We both got vanilla ice cream at the bottom of our ices, which turned out to be an AMAZING finishing touch. The red in that picture is a flavor known as Tiger’s Blood. Isn’t that badass? Get me some Tiger’s Blood! (It’s strawberry/coconut.) (I totally would have ordered it, but I’m not huge on coconut.)
The yellow is pineapple and the green is lemon-lime.
I also got lemon-time, with guava and strawberry. It looks like a dirty Christmas snowball. But that might have something to do with the fact that I took this picture indoors. Seemingly in the pitch dark. (It was the room, actually.) (This photo reveals nothing.)
Don't judge me. I'm still delicious.
I don’t know how the shave ice people were keeping their ice from melting in this ridiculous heat, but it was perfection. The ice was ethereal, almost like the cotton candy of ice. So smooth. Not at all grainy or crunchy.
When I got through enough of the ice that it was feasible, I stirred it in with the vanilla ice cream at the bottom. The ice cream plus the ice and juice created this amazing slushie/smoothie… I would not have guessed that I would be such a fan of this.
A thousand times yes.
Yes, that is a tiny doggy in the background. His name is Sully. I was hoping to get a shot of him standing under my shave ice with his beggy little face, but he was preoccupied with his master. That’s okay. I get it.
Sully had a squeaky toy goose, which I thought was funny because the pilot “Sully” Sullenberger FLEW INTO a flock of geese. Dogs imitating pilots who may or may not be their namesakes! (I love you, Sully. Both of you.)
You are probably sitting there saying, “FUCK you, Elysse! It’s still over 100 degrees in my apartment and I ain’t got no shave ice truck!” To you, I say, “Fuck YOU, because you don’t know my life.”
My life is that I just invented a DIY bottom-of-the-shave-ice vanilla ice cream slushie, using household ingredients. FOR YOU. (Now I bet you feel kinda crappy for cursing me out. Serves you right!)
It’s really easy:
-Vanilla Ice Cream
-Fruit Juice (I happen to have orange juice) or Soda
-A Fruit Pop (make sure it complements the juice/soda– I had an orange Popsicle but that seemed too uniform, so I used grape)
(And by “pop” I mean frozen ice on a stick. Not Midwestern pop, which means soda.) (Weird.)
Pour the juice/soda over the pop to soften it. Add vanilla ice cream. Stir.
It’s good, right?
YOU’RE WELCOME.
Because on a hot night, there’s nothing better than a little do-it-yourself. (Or with others.)
Don’t say I never did anything for you. (Or that I never cooked.) (Okay, no heat was used. But when it’s too hot to go near an oven, this is cooking.)
Very exciting day. The Nom Nom Truck was here. People were pumped, because Nom Nom won the Food Network’s truck challenge? I don’t know, I never watched that show. You would think that a person who blogs about food trucks and TV shows would be ALL OVER IT, but sometimes I lose track of things. I guess I should have DVR’d it. Sorry. (Not really.)
Nom Nom is Vietnamese food. They could totally be ‘Nam ‘Nam. Maybe it’s a play on words. Or maybe I’m overthinking it.
I only took one picture, because I had Nom Nom once at my last job and I THOUGHT I blogged it at the time. But I guess I didn’t? Maybe I took a picture and never posted it? You may remember that the blog went through a sort of Dark Ages, when I would post once in a blue moon. (And at one point I wrote a novel… yeah.)
So I got the lemongrass chicken banh mi with light mayo, and I don’t think it had jalapenos because I did not meet a spicy demise.
The chips were overkill. My bad.
The sandwich was very tasty. In fact, I had been judging all of my food truck banh mi experiences against my original Nom Nom experience. (Before they were famous.) I kinda took too long finishing my “Mad Men” recap, and hence my sandwich was a bit cold. Nonetheless, it was still very good. Didn’t disappoint.
Though I’m not sure which is my ultimate favorite, out of the several I’ve eaten over these past few months.
I’m sleepy. (And I didn’t even wait in the sun for my sandwich. Our PA did.) (And then she went home sick.) (I’M SORRY!!!)
It’s 113 in Downtown LA, so I’m sure my apartment is a sauna right now.
Sexy?
Luckily I’m at work. Temperature controlled offices! (I just sneezed a few times. HA!) (Joke’s on me?)
AND luckily the Tropical Shave Ice truck is coming in a few minutes. BLESS this building for procuring that truck for us, because I’m sure EVERYBODY wants them today.
Though since I’m nice and cool indoors, it seems a little crazy to go wait in the sun to get some ice.
Last night’s “Mad Men” (episode 410: “Hands and Knees”) was… I mean, HOLY SHIT. Everybody is fucked!
Beware: This is a level 5 on the spoiler alert scale. (Or, like, a code red on the Homeland Security Spoiler-Alert scale.)
At the beginning of the episode, Don’s biggest concern was that Harry Crane wouldn’t come through with tickets to the Beatles concert at Shea Stadium. Did you notice that Betty was actually HAPPY when she found out that Don would be taking Sally to that concert? Does she love Don again, a little bit?
Also– I was kinda surprised that Betty was okay with Sally going to the concert, because my dad was older than Sally at the time, and he wasn’t allowed to go.
When Sally finds out about the tickets, she screams like a crazy person. Like… those girls in the Beatles concert footage. So yeah. She’ll have a great time. (Don says that he’s going to wear earplugs. Haha.) (Square!)
Speaking of Harry, what is UP with him? He needs to take a plane to California immediately? Shady business. Maybe an affair?
Anyway, thanks to Pete’s new government-y missile-making client (National Aviation? National Aeronautics?), Don’s new secretary (Megan from reception– Mrs. Blankenship died last week, in case you missed it) filled out a form to get him government clearance. And he signed it, not realizing what it was. And that THREE out of EIGHT answers were lies.
So the g-men show up at the original Draper residence and question Betty, and she keeps Don’s secrets. They have a great phone call where he thanks her. Later that night, Betty tells new-husband Henry that the g-men came to question her, because she doesn’t want to have secrets. And then Henry’s like, if things go well, they’ll be investigating me. Big aspirations. Blah blah. Bleh.
Don finds out (from Pete, who knows his Dick Whitman secret) that if they drop the $4 million Astro-whatever account, the investigation will stop. So he’s like, SHUT IT DOWN! (I kept thinking it would be kinda hilarious if “30 ROCK” and “Mad Men” merged, especially… I’ll get to that.) But Pete’s like, fuck you and your lies!
He gives this lovely little speech to Trudy about how the honest people always suffer. Oh, Pete. I mean… Peggy didn’t tell him about the baby? I guess that upset him. But he has cheated at least… two times? Three times? And has definitely done some other scummy stuff. So he’s not exactly a saint.
And also, Trudy looks like a crazy pink marshmallow in her maternity nightie.
Snuggle time!
But I love her. She’s awesome. And she wants Pete to talk things out with her. No secrets! (You know… other than the secrets.)
There’s also a funny Don/Pete moment where they get on an elevator, and Don tells some unseen person to take another elevator. Snap! Men gotta talk!
Don goes on a date with Faye, and when he gets home two guys are standing in his hallway. It turns out they’re just (conveniently) lost, and everybody wore g-men-looking coats and hats back then, but Don freaks out and has what appears to be a Level Five Panic Attack (I’m using the tornado scale).
Don thinks he’s having a heart attack, but Faye says he’s not because her father had heart problems, and his heart would hurt. Don’s like, “Fuck you, you’re not a real doctor.” Haha. Did they know what panic attacks were, back then? Apparently not.
Faye refuses to leave Don’s side because he’s obviously not well, and eventually he tells her that he switched places with the REAL Don Draper and that he’s a Korean War deserter. OH. Faye wonders if there’s a statute of limitations on things like that, but Don’s like, NO, I’m FUCKED. He’s sorry that he told her, but she’s glad he did. And then she lies down next to him, and she’s totally his next wife. NO SECRETS.
Seriously, Don is SURE sure that he’s super-fucked. Like, he sets up a trust for his kids, which Betty can access. (Bad idea?) He indicates to Pete that he might just have to disappear, and that SCDP can run without him.
We’ll discuss the thrilling conclusion of that story in a bit.
Meanwhile, Joan is pregnant. And the baby is Roger’s.
You ARE the father.
Joan has been TRYING to get pregnant, so I think the logical thing to do here is to lie that the baby is a little farther along than it is, and pretend it’s Dr. Greg’s. But Joan decides to get an abortion, and Roger chips in the $400. They get a referral from an extremely disapproving doctor, and Joan goes out to New Jersey to take care of it. (She won’t let Roger drive her.)
I guess she can’t go to her BFF gynecologist who performed the last one, because she’d have all sorts of explaining to do. Now that she’s married.
At the clinic, Joan watches as a seventeen-year-old girl gets called in. The girl’s companion starts to cry, and I totally want Joan to pull a Liz Lemon and say, “It okay! Don’t… be cry?” But Joan actually knows how to administer comforting words, so she talks to the woman and finds out that the girl is her DAUGHTER, and the woman had her when she was fifteen. So… the mother of the abortion girl is 32. And Joan is… older than that?
But, as the mother notes, her daughter seems younger at seventeen than she felt at fifteen. (These days, 30 is the new seventeen.) The mother mistakenly thinks that Joan is waiting for her daughter. Joan goes along with it, lying that her daughter is fifteen.
I wonder if that age correlates with her first abortion.
We don’t see Joan get called in by the doctor, and maybe it’s wishful thinking, but I’m not 100% sure that she had the abortion. She shows up at work the next day all chipper and tells Roger that she’s fine. I mean, I know this is Joan’s third abortion, but I’m guessing you’d be in quite a bit of pain the next morning. (I don’t know!) (Seriously, Mom, I don’t!)
Meanwhile, Roger almost has another REAL heart attack, because Douchey McAwful of Lucky Strike announces that he’s cutting off the company’s 30-year relationship with Sterling Cooper. Jerk-face reminds Sterling that he inherited the Lucky Strike account. (And Jerk-face inherited Lucky Strike. So what?)
There’s more father/son going on, elsewhere in this episode. We’ll get to that.
Roger FREAKS, because Lucky Strike is the biggest account they have ($7 million), and he begs for 30 days to get Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce’s affairs in order.
I hate you.
My first thought was, Can they hire Salvatore Romano now?! Because if you remember, he was fired for rejecting THAT GUY’S advances.
But they can’t hire ANYONE, because the company is fucked. Double fucked, because Don is forced Pete to get rid of the Aviation account. Which Pete cultivated last season, while Don was off gallivanting with the Palm Springs jet-setters. Anyway.
And Roger has to shake hands with that guy, when he really wants to murder him.
So– Don is fucked. Pete is fucked. Roger is fucked. Joan is… un-fucked?
Let’s check in with my favorite enigma, Lane Pryce. England’s finest.
So, Lane’s son is supposed to come visit. Lane has an adorable Mickey Mouse doll and some red, white and blue balloons at the ready. (Which… are both American and British colors, but I’m assuming he’s going for America-ness.) But… little Nigel is nowhere to be found. Instead, Lane’s FATHER shows up, ready to drag Lane back to England.
Uh oh.
So Lane, Don, and Lane’s father (Robert), go to the Playboy Bunny club. (Whatever it’s called.) Lane is a member, and it’s obvious that this Bunny named Toni is his girlfriend. Nice going, Lane!
Meet the parents.
Did you notice that she’s black? That shouldn’t be a problem in 1965.
But good for him! Lane is full of surprises, isn’t he? Under his straight-laced exterior, he’s all kinds of interesting.
Now that I think about it– did we see Toni before this? I think we might have, but my brain is mushy around this. Maybe I’m just having deja vu. (The last woman I definitely remember seeing him with is the New Year’s prostitute.) Either way, it turns out that she and Lane are already in the “I love you” phase of things, and he’s staying in America for her. (Is he divorced? Or just separated? I can’t remember.)
Toni’s not exactly pleased that she had to meet Lane’s father in a Bunny costume during work, so Lane decides to take Robert and Toni out to dinner, so they can get to know each other. Robert is polite to Toni, but backs out of dinner, using the excuse that he’ll be traveling in the morning. Lane sends Toni ahead so that they don’t lose their reservation.
And then… ROBERT SLAMS LANE IN THE FACE WITH HIS CANE! It’s nuts. I thought Lane was going to lose an eyeball, or that his dad was going to beat him to death. Old man justice, you guys.
America may have won the Revolution, but Britain carries a big stick. WHACK!
Out of a really crazy episode, that was probably the craziest scene. And saddest. Because Lane is… what, in his forties? And he can’t do what he wants. He’s still ruled by his father. He’s lying on the floor, totally helpless. Totally bleeding.
And he just wanted to see his son.
So… Lane is fucked. Everybody is fucked.
The partners gather for a meeting, and Pete announces that they lost the Astro-peeps (because Don forced him to, ehrm, abort the mission). Pete doesn’t blame Don. And he sits there and takes it as Roger FREAKS OUT at him. Because as only Roger knows, they also lost Lucky Strike. Triple fucked. (When Joan goes through their roster, he says NOTHING when she reads Lucky Strike. So… he’s sitting on ticking time-bomb.) (Or a missile, if we want to keep with the title/theme.)
I was proud of Pete for holding his ground, even though it’s unfair. He’s a man now. And he’s going to be a father in about 10 seconds. Don does very little to defend Pete, but Bert has the final word. He reminds Roger that accounts come and go. That’s the name of the game.
And Roger says NOTHING about Lucky Strike. ARGH!
Lane announces that since the accounts are all in order (or SO HE THINKS), he’s taking a leave of at least two weeks to put his affairs together in England. And then he just walks out. Gone. Which means he will probably be in London when the shit hits the fan. And he’s the money guy.
DON’T GO, LANE!
Um, are Pete and maybe-pregnant Joan (and absent-from-this-episode Peggy) going to be left alone with Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce? Is there even going to BE a SCDP by the end of the season? They’ve lost their biggest account, Don’s ready to run at a moment’s notice, Lane may or may not return from England, and Roger and Bert are old and sickish.
Mrs. Blankenship was the canary in the coalmine, maybe. (She died. Sorry, I didn’t recap last week.) (Or maybe I did a small one? Why is my brain so crap?) (I’m drinking so much water! It can’t be dehydration.) (Maybe my brain is waterlogged?)
At the end of the episode Megan brings in the Beatles tickets. She’s like, yay, everything worked out. Can I go now? (It’s 8pm, but the sun is shining. Does that happen in NYC?) (It happens in Vancouver in the summer. I LOVE VANCOUVER!)
Don stands staring at Megan as she reapplies her lipstick. At first I was wondering, is he macking on her? What about Faye?
Then I realized: He’s probably thinking, how can you be so cavalier? You filled out the form that FUCKED ME. And your life just goes on like nothing happened. (But she was just doing her job.) (And he signed it without reading it.) (That’s what he does!)
But hey, the Beatles tickets came through! They were the red herring. (But still, something’s up with Harry.)
It was a great episode, filled with so many “Holy shits!” and moments where I just burst out laughing. I’m probably forgetting some of the funnier moments. Or maybe they weren’t funny, so much as shocking. But this was definitely… wow. We’re on a roll. Which means the finale must be looming.
Okay, time to eat some banh mi! And revel in the fact that I am not any of the “Mad Men” peeps. They are SO fucked.
They’ve all been whacked with a cane, literally or metaphorically. Cut down. Thus, episode 410 is called “Hands and Knees.” Will they crawl out of this mess intact?
Next week’s episode is called “Chinese Wall.” Not “Great Wall of China.” Just “Chinese Wall.”
As I’ve mentioned in the past, “30 Rock” has a lot of parallels with my life. My friends tell me that I remind them of Liz Lemon, in my words and actions. I’ve been a page. I’ve been Cerie (a head writer’s assistant). There was even that episode where Frank wore an outfit right out of my wardrobe.
But “30 Rock” takes place at a live sketch show on NBC in New York City, and that’s all foreign territory to me. People often THOUGHT that my page-dom was similar to Kenneth’s, but NBC pages are… much more prestigious. I would say– trust me, guys, my pagedom was NOT like that.
What was my pagedom like? I don’t know if I feel like getting SUED today. But I have some great stories.
For now, I’ll let Kenneth sum it up for you.
REAL.
Kenneth: Welcome to the Late Show with David Letterman. Please have your tickets out. And now, as with all studio audiences, we will sort you according to attractiveness.
Kenneth is not the only person who has graced TV screens across the nation with that blazing red blazer. I know I have a no-photos-of-me on the blog policy, but just this once…
The Price is my dignity.
That is me in the background, with my hands clasped as if I am SO HAPPY for that girl. Where’s my Best Supporting Actress Daytime Emmy?
Also: YES, I paused my TV and took a picture of myself on it. (High tech.) In my defense: When am I ever going to be on TV again?
But enough about THAT. (For now.)
I have to admit that I’ve never seen an episode of “The Barefoot Contessa” (is she really a contessa?), but nonetheless I was tickled by the Liz/Matt Damon storyline. I actually might be more of an Ina Garten than a Liz Lemon.
Liz: It’s perfect. I’m like that woman on the Food Network whose husband only comes home on the weekends. And she spends the rest of her time eating and drinking with her gay friends.
And Matt Damon sobbing was beyond hilarious/priceless. I love that Liz always bags these handsome guys who turn out to be a little bit (or a lot bit) nutty when she cracks the surface. (His character is named Carol, but I’m just going to call him Matt Damon. I don’t know if I’m spelling Carol right.)
Here are some quotes that I loved from the scene where Matt Damon reveals that he wants their relationship to evolve into something deeper.
Matt Damon: (sobbing) I’m not like Jeffrey Garten! I’m not as strong as that guy!
-They cut to a clip of Jeffrey Garten while Matt Damon is crying, and the juxtaposition is hilarious. Because Jeffrey Garten is a sweet little teddy bear of a man.
Liz: No! It okay! Don’t… be cry?
-Liz is so freaked out by Matt Damon’s outburst that her brain seems to turn off. Like, full-on no idea what to do. She kind of moves to pat his shoulder, but doesn’t actually touch him. Or form complete sentences. I think we’ve all been stuck there in Awkward City, thinking, How am I supposed to respond to THIS? Maybe it’s early, but I think this is going to be the “30 Rock” quotable of the season.
Matt Damon: (still sobbing) I want grown-up love!
-This “grown-up love” stuff is deep. I don’t want to get into it right now. I’ll end up writing a thesis. But I think it’s hilarious that the few hours a week that Liz sees her guy, they sit around in matching flannel shirts, eat a block of cheese and Wheat Thins, drink white wine, and watch “The Barefoot Contessa.” (That may or may not be my MO…) (With less cheese.) (And “30 Rock” instead of the Contessa.)
Liz: I can’t believe I tried to clean my bathtub for this!
-Not long before watching this episode, I scrubbed my bathtub. I’m such a Liz. But I’m 24. I guess the joke is that she’s… too old to be a Liz anymore. (She’s a showrunner. She should totally hire a maid.)
And this one made me laugh, because… budgets. Also: Valuing writers as monetized items rather than people.
Jenna: Liz, the writers can’t take a car service at night anymore. I’ve crunched the numbers, and it’s cheaper for us to just replace anyone who gets murdered.
You guys, I am melting. It’s sooo hot in my apartment. And I don’t GET hot, so I know it’s REALLY hot.
Time to eat some ice cream and watch SNL, which I didn’t even realize premiered last night. That’s why DVR is such a gem.
When I imagine my coolest self, I see her browsing farmers’ markets and using her purchases to whip up delicious little meals. (Or maybe my imaginary boyfriend would whip up meals… if we’re going full fantasy here.) (But I would help with the shopping and the cooking… and the eating. Definitely the eating.) (Best imaginary girlfriend ever?)
Every Sunday when I exit the gym (I start my Sunday off with some weightlifting… fierce!), I see people going into the Hollywood Farmers’ Market across the street. But I never go in, because I don’t have any cash, or because I don’t want to go in alone, or I’m too sweaty, or blah blah excuses.
Until today. I stuck some cash in my gym bag, and post-workout I headed into the fray.
Loyal blog-readers (and people who actually know me) know that while I’m game to try all sorts of cakes and burgers, my REAL favorite foods are fruits and vegetables. Healthy things. (Shocking? You don’t know my life!)
I thought that the farmers’ market was only a block long. I didn’t expect to take pictures or blog it. But it turned out to be a sprawling affair, running down Ivar from Sunset to Hollywood. About halfway along Ivar the market broke off along Selma, running from Cahuenga to almost-Vine. (Trader Joe’s was a few hundred feet from the boundary. Ha.)
From above, the market would probably look like a lower-case “t.” Kinda.
I think I went into must-blog-this mode when I realized that there were FREE SAMPLES. Post-workout, what’s better than free fruit slices, of the organic farm variety? (I ate a fig! Like, a green one with red insides. Not in a Newton.)
Everybody wants a piece of this.
The market had a very laid-back vibe. People of all ages, lots of hip young couples with babies. (As I walked to the market, I passed a cool dad strapping his son into a stroller. “You haven’t been in this bad boy for a while,” the dad said. “You must be pretty excited!” And it was funny, because I bet that dad used to be a badass.) (He still is, but dad-style.)
The Selma cross-street had breads and actual cooked food, like kabobs and ravioli (and the Border Grill truck). But I only took pictures on Ivar. (I WISH I’d taken a picture at the snail booth. They had a hand-made sign that said, “Good snails are back.”)
Look at these personal pan watermelons! They are called sugarbabies! They are actually personal pan size. (Sorry, Trader Joe’s.)
Sugarbabies!
That imposing shadow is me, with my hair pulled back. The sun is RAGING today. So hot right now.
I was VERY tempted to purchase a honeyloupe. Who can keep honeydew and cantaloupe straight, anyway? I always say one when I mean the other.
Mad science.
Sadly, no free honeyloupe samples. But how could it not be delicious? (Then again– how do beautiful people have ugly kids?)
These eggplants were ELECTRIC purple. I don’t even think a photo can capture the eye-grabbing intensity. I spotted them from afar, which is very uncommon with my shitty eyes.
Purple people-pleaser.
Seriously. Intense.
Let’s cleanse our palates with MORE SAMPLES.
Yes please.
There were also non-food amusements. Busking musicians. A man making balloon animals. And… you know, cute young guys playing in an Old World-style ensemble.
Braving the heat.
Not pictured: mushrooms, meats, seafood, flowers, pretzel bread etc etc. What can I say? I got fruit-happy. I’m such an Appleface. (Also I only took pictures of things if the vendors were busy/not looking.)
There was a disappointing lack of all things pumpkin, at least as far as I could see. I was READY to buy some pumpkin butter, or some spice cake. Sad face.
It was really nice to discover such a pleasant environment, right in the middle of Hollywood. I was reminded of childhood visits to the Orange County Swap Meet, and also of an outdoor market I adored in Southwark, London. (I just googled it, and I believe it’s the Borough Market.) It’s nice to know that I can have this without going home or abroad. Just part of my Los Angeles routine.
Gym, farmers’ market, laundry. How “Jersey Shore” of me. (I probably could say I did a full-on GTL, because I was really worried that I was getting a sunburn at the market. I probably got at least a few freckles.)
Now I just have to buy something/learn how to cook.
“Bored to Death” season 2 begins tonight! On HBO! I’m excited.
If you didn’t watch this show last season, you missed out. Jason Schwartzman. Ted Danson. Zach Galifianakis. BROOKLYN. Cameos by every funny comic actor ever. This:
"Therapists are heroic. They're the heroes of listening."
Need I say more? Get on the train.
Which train? Where? I have been studying up on my Brooklyn with my Ork poster.
Where to?
And no, I don’t live in Teddy Bear Heaven. I just messed with the exposure because the poster looked dark.
Don’t worry, I’m not self-loathing. I also have the LA poster. I just happen to be from Brooklyn once-removed. (My dad was born there.) And if I didn’t live here, I’d probably live there.
(Sad truth time: As far as I know, I have only ever been in Brooklyn once, a few years ago. We were driving through at night, in a car, and we were only there for a few minutes. We didn’t get out.) (That’s why I need to visit my cool hipster Brooklyn friends, STAT!)
Incidentally, I rescued that teddy bear from an all-male strip revue. (Not sexy. Totally cheesy.) The teddy used to hang out on the bookshelf at my last office, but he lives in my room now. The Zach Galifianakis with the sex thought bubble was on my bulletin board at my old office. (I had it in postcard form.) That’s also somewhere in my room.
Yeah, my room is cluttered with weird stuff, but with any luck I’ll buy a ROOM bookshelf today. And put all my weird old office crap on it. (And hang that picture? But I kinda like having it in my eye-line when I type on my bed.)
My new office (aka my cubicle) is somewhat less lurid, decorations-wise.
Well, maybe not. There IS a fake blood bag. (Still unnoticed… so obviously not too shocking.)
“Bored to Death.” Tonight. You won’t be! (I hope.)
Okay, I’m in the room today so this is gonna be a quick one. But there’s not much to say. Co-worker Bryan is the best, because not only did he bring bagels today, but he brought PUMPKIN CREAM CHEESE to put on them!
Noah’s officially calls it “shmear,” but I just say “cream cheese.” Saying “shmear” makes me feel like a stereotype. (Kind of confusing, because I embrace many other Jewish stereotypes.) (I guess everybody has their arbitrary limits.)
Between this and my Starbucks pumpkin latte last night, I’m very happy with my pumpkin consumption levels right now.
If I were a woman of leisure, I would totally be at Sprinkles right now, purchasing a pumpkin cupcake (and a chai tea cupcake!). Friday is the best day at Sprinkles.
But who wants to be a woman of leisure? I’m IN THE ROOM! (It’s fun.)
And there’s pumpkin cream cheese at work!
Love at first sight.
But maybe you don’t like pumpkin and you’re saying, “Whatever, Elysse! What’s in this post for ME?”
Well, Bryan was thinking of YOU, too. Here’s a picture he sent me yesterday. It made my draggy-drag Thursday afternoon so much more BEAR-able. (Sorry.) And hopefully it makes your whole Friday! (If not: What’s wrong with you?)
YOU'RE WELCOME.
That was taken a while ago (I gather) at Urth Caffe in Downtown.
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