Lazy Sunday

In the spirit of a relaxing Sunday, I sit and write this in the clothes I slept in. Have I gone anywhere today? Nope. And you can bet that I will wait til the last minute to get ready to meet friends tonight. 

But not all is lost on this Sunday afternoon, no. Today was another course in Korean culture courtesy of my wonderful Korean room mates. After we started with some basic phrases a couple days ago, we've continued to work on our new found vocabularies - mostly concerning food. Lesson today? "Korean Sushi", "kimbap" (sometimes spelled "gimbap"). Would you like to write this in Korean? Here you go, 김밥. The first word, 김 simply means seaweed and the second word, 밥 means rice. You got it, seaweed rice. It's filled with all sorts of other Korean goodies like pickled radish, something that tastes sort of like beef jerky but is somehow not a meat, egg, lettuce, ham, "bulgogi" - a marinaded and cooked beef, tuna; you name it. And holy shit is it good. The slightly salty jerky-tasting-thing balances perfectly with the mildly sweet pickled radish. 

A note on the Korean language, unlike Mandarin,  the symbols used are not just pictures, they are actually individual letters. I haven't figured out how to arrange them yet, but I do know each has a specific sound. Ya learn something every day.

Leessang - "Turned off the TV" This is a very popular Korean song right now. I can't hear the translation without giggling a little. The chorus roughly translates to "Turn off the TV and close the blinds so I can f*** you". Keeping it classy, Korea, keepin' it classy.

If anyone still reads this...another cultually exciting day in North Philadelphia

 
 After an anything-but-blissful morning, causing myself physical and emotional pain with a bassoon, and forgetting both my wallet and keys in my apartment I had had about enough.  Ready to collapse into the fetal position on our industrial (and surely bacteria ridden) couch, as I opened the door - leaning on it to open due to a lack of motivation and energy - I was enveloped in a cloud of fumes that could have only come from freshly baked cookies.  Had I closed my eyes I could have believed I was sitting in my Gramma's house on Christmas Eve.  I could feel the stress melt away. Thank God for cookies and baking. And my room mate thanks God for me - because she can't bake worth a damn. 

Halfway through making a second batch of buttercream icing, we ran out of powdered sugar. Oh, we also ran out of milk and eggs. Easy solution since we live next to a grocery store. Call me a woman, I love going grocery shopping. It's therapeutic. Grocery shopping in here in North Philly usually gives me the same happy satisfied feelings inside..but a little different. This is after all, the city of brotherly love. Take that as you will, it's true. My cultural experience of the day occurred as I walked past a Muslim man on my way to Fresh Grocer. At 4:30 on the dot I saw him roll out a rug and begin to pray. I always knew Muslims prayed 5 times a day, but growing up in a tiny rural town I had only ever knows a couple Muslim kids who were not very strict in their practice. Perhaps the best word to describe my situation there is intrigued. I think I might take a Muslim culture study for my religion GenEd...
Sauntering down the fruit aisle, I stop to look at the strawberry prices.  Here at good ol' FroGro produce, especially fruit, is overpriced. "$2.99". No strawberries today. The middle aged woman next to me had a similar reaction to my own, shaking her head as she picked up apples instead. I recommend she go to the Italian Market where I buy them at about fifty cents a box. She thanked me, but explained she didn't drive and traveling by subway was difficult for her at the age of eighty-one. WHAT? "Ma'am, you're not 81, you can't be," "I swear I am!" she replied adamantly. 
I swear black people don't age.
The rest of my adventure in FroGro was pretty ordinary. Oh, except for the guy with a handgun shoved obviously in the side of his waistband. Isn't it called a concealed weapons permit? (Keepin' it classy I see...keepin' it classy.) Laden down with groceries (there was a sale on soy milk), I hobbled outside with the plastic bags digging into my hands when I heard "HEY MA YOU NEED HELP WITH THEM BAGS?" You get used to this after a while, and learn to not look and just keep walking. Even though I did want to yell back "DO I LOOK LIKE YOUR MAMA?" Three steps. "HEY BABY GIRL YOU NEED SOME HELP?" Step, step, step, step. 
I got home just in time to save my room mate's latest batch of cookies. Now I'm here with her, her male friend from some physics class, and my man, getting down with some Latin tunes. My life - North Philly style.
 Eso Ehh - Alexis y Fido

Surprise!

headin' home

As a surprise to my mom and dad, I caught the early train for home Monday morning. Waking up early on any given Monday morning is hard. Getting out of bed Monday morning after not sleeping a wink? Darn near impossible. If for no other reason, this should show anyone how much I love my family. My wonderful neighbor and her little boy picked me up at the platform. I have never seen a kid so excited to see me - but I was just as happy to see him. His third birthday is in a week or so. Keep in mind, the only person who knew I was coming home was my neighbor picking me up.
After a short drive home, I slid my key into the lock on my door and pushed it open with a "Hello!". I heard my dad's voice, filled with a culmination of confusion and the silent thought of "fuck-someone-is-here-and-I-need-to-go-to-work" As he walked out of his shop, I saw my mom at the top of the stairs. They just couldn't believe I was there. Gotta love that feeling.
Brief catching up, mom and dad headed down to the restaurant, and I...napped. Nothing like a solid five hours of day sleeping.
Eventually I headed down to the restaurant, where I was nearly jumped upon my arrival by a dear friend. Literally, she threw down the ice cream she was eating onto the dish table and did sort of a leaping hug thing.
The night was full of the best surprises for everybody. My grandparents were shocked to see me, especially at work on a day that should have been vacation for me. Not 10 minutes after I donned my apron, my tennis coach (perhaps more accurately one of my closest and longest friends) stepped up to the counter to order our signature sundae, the Jigger. I could have cried, I was so happy with the coincidence and the many that followed.
After closing and some hard goodbyes, we commenced with our end of season tradition - champagne and fresh donuts on the deck, under the green and yellow lights - with a few family friends. A toast to Bruce Sensenig, a good friend and volunteer firefighter, who died on his way to save lives.

Front Porch Thing - Little Big Town

I've come to realize that your family is the people who surround and love you - regardless of blood relation. If home is where family is, and you are surrounded by those who love and care about you, you could never be far from it.

Eating on a College-Sized budget...easier than you think.

Enjoyed this delicious menagerie of Italy with a side of Jazz like Affair in Havana - Dexter Gordon. You should do the same.

For those of you who are college students, will be shortly, or even parents of those students, listen up. What are you paying for your meal plan? At Temple U, the average meal plan will cost you about $1,400 on top of your tuition and housing per semester. Not per year, no. Semester.
So I got thinking to myself, how much do I even eat? I'm a pretty petite person, so unless I have friends over I don't need to make much for myself. The only advantages of the meal plan are that you a. don't have to cook and b. can eat as much as you want. Freshman 15 anyone? No thanks. I don't care how late the gym is open if you just ate four hot dogs, fries, a slice of pizza, ice cream, and a salad to round it out. 
My plan: How much would I pay per semester in food (as in groceries) without a meal plan? First of all, I'm a pretty competent cook. Second, I'm a girl. If I'm going to go for dinner somewhere nice I probably won't be the one paying. Call me old fashioned, I just think it's polite for the man to pay. 
So, each month when the credit card bill comes in the mail, I simply record how much I spend in food purchases. At the end of the semester we'll see how it measures up against the traditional college-eating style.
Stereotypical as it may be, I love grocery shopping. Not only is it exciting to plan and make a meal, but it's also a nice slice of time I can just zone out between the rows of organic oranges and freshly harvested asparagus (though asparagus is heading out of season at the moment). Bliss. Saturday morning however, was not the typical shopping experience at the local Fresh Grocer. As many Philadelphians know, Saturday is market day. Italian style. 
Upon our arrival to the bustling street (South 9th) we had quite a problematic time deciding where to start. Ohh but I had my list. Fresh berries, blueberries a box for a dollar, a huge bag of basil surely picked earlier that morning was only a buck and some change. This my dear friends, is where the budget shopper needs to go. Well, until you get to the meat and cheese shops where the bulk of my grocery shopping took place. The butchers here are legit. Really. I thought I was back in the old country - even felt a little peculiar speaking English. The best place in the whole market is actually a little indoor joint that only sells about 100 kinds of cheese (at least), and cured meats, olives, preserves, and oils to accompany each flavor.  To fully live up my mini-vacation I had to buy some unpitted olives (so much better than their nasty counterparts with everything taken out of them but salt), cured meats, a few different kinds of cheese, a bottle of good balsamic infused with raspberries, and of course a loaf of freshly baked bread. 
As any cook or friend knows, food can only be properly enjoyed in the company of good people. Because I couldn't quite justify going all-out on a dinner just for myself, my best friend and I surprised her boyfriend with a gourmet meal to feed a small army.  Needless to say, I now have copious amounts of gourmet leftovers in my fridge. Not complaining.

Amazing food, great music, and the best of friends. Making TU classy one dinner at a time.

Home

Home - Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros

There is something to be said in making a new home. What exactly differs home from just a place you reside? While sometimes I have found adjustment to a new location difficult, once settled into a routine the feeling of home is almost instantaneous. If I hadn't mentioned this before, I'm a student at Temple University in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. A transplant from rural Pennsylvania, the culture shock for me was more intense than being abroad.
In Germany, it took but a few days to completely settle in, get used to not hearing English, and sleep with all of the windows open thanks to the lack of air conditioning. While the language barrier may be intimidating to some, I was thrilled to have it and even more thrilled to watch it disappear as my German language skills progressed. Furthermore, and perhaps most importantly, I was with my family. My German "Opa und Oma" loved me as if I was their own granddaughter, and likewise I felt as though I had known them all my life. 
That was then. While I can't wait to scrape together the money for another plane ticket to the "homeland", this is my new home here in Philadelphia. Not just a place of residence, but home. The photo above is probably one of the most common sights for me during the day; sitting in the cafe of Presser (the music building) chatting, doing homework, listening to music. My new life is here. Good? Bad? This is not my kitchen table back home, nor my couch with my cat curled up next to me. But, I'd say it's a good thing that I'm here instead. I'm sitting on a bench of sorts surrounded by some of the most artistically and musically talented minds in the world; a peer to each and every one of them. How amazing is that? This room has an entire wall made of glass so natural light floods the room giving it a more natural feel than simply a cafe in the middle of Filth-a-delphia.
Home is where you make it, and I'm making mine here at Presser, 1200 Broad, and my practice room on the third floor with a view of the campus. This is home for me - I have a kitchen for god's sake.