Thursday, October 27, 2011
The Market
If you've never been to your local farmer's market you should check it out! Here's what you may be missing... Pictures from Harrisonburg Farmer's Market...
Mennonites make the best donuts.
Sunday, October 23, 2011
Treat Yo' Self
Today is my birthday.
Today is my Monster Day.....
I have a friend who told me about a friend who has a friend and this friend's mother (you're following me right?) allowed him to have one special day a year, appropriately deemed "Monster Day", in which he could do whatever he wanted outside of harming himself or others. To a small child this special day represented the most magical, extravagant, exhilarating 24 hours a young boy could ever behold within the realms of reality. At the flick of a switch and a far too easy pscyhological shift this boy would become the monster he yearned to be every other 364 days a year. He could eat WHATEVER he wanted anytime of day, jump on his preferred choice of furniture, paint his face, wear mismatching clothes, scare the animals, and deny his vegetables.... always with a victorious conclusion. I suppose his mother assumed that her beloved son deserved, no required, a certain amount of allotted time to express his inner animal in all it's glorious force in the hopes of taming, for the rest of the year, what seemed to be a most barbaric youth. And you know what? I think she may be the most brilliant woman I have ever heard of.
Once a year, every twenty-third day of October, I become the reckless child I never was but always ached to be. You see, the real child Jenna was quiet, compliant, and often scared. And I have one thing to say to her.
"Poo Poo".
For behold, now is the time to reckon her with the real force she would become! On this day, if I want to leave the water running while I wash my face.... I will. If I want to deny my personal dental hygeine.... I will. Today, if I want to eat my breakfast without utensils.... in a public restaurant... I will. If I want to hog the conversation, well, I just might do that. And if I want to listen to "99 Red Balloons" on repeat for 30 mintues... well by golly, I most likely will. And you know what? If I want to lock both sets of my car keys in my vehicle in Newport News, VA then I will! And if I want to pay someone $45 dollars to unlock my car so I can get in then I.... WILL. I will deny dinner, eat only birthday cake, then eat more cake at 11 pm STRAIGHT FROM THE CAKE WITHOUT CUTTING A SEPARATE PIECE FOR MYSELF! (And let's be honest, I'll probably eat it for breakfast tomorrow morning). And folks, if I want to throw a pillow at my mom's head while she's asleep in hopes of scaring her into consciousness then gosh darn it, I will.
Because sometimes we take ourselves to seriously. And I've realized that one day I won't be able to do these things when I turn 87 years old. I won't be able to hold my cat like a baby (more of a daily routine), or hide behind bushes to scare my dad (I'm noticing an unhealthy pattern...) or even eat the delicious, famous chocolate cake my mother makes for me every year without fail. So go ahead and do that thing you think about doing but quickly dismiss because you happen to be 43 years old. Because if you don't then you might miss out on your own Monster Day.
So here's to you Max and every other wild thing.
Love, La Loba
Today is my Monster Day.....
I have a friend who told me about a friend who has a friend and this friend's mother (you're following me right?) allowed him to have one special day a year, appropriately deemed "Monster Day", in which he could do whatever he wanted outside of harming himself or others. To a small child this special day represented the most magical, extravagant, exhilarating 24 hours a young boy could ever behold within the realms of reality. At the flick of a switch and a far too easy pscyhological shift this boy would become the monster he yearned to be every other 364 days a year. He could eat WHATEVER he wanted anytime of day, jump on his preferred choice of furniture, paint his face, wear mismatching clothes, scare the animals, and deny his vegetables.... always with a victorious conclusion. I suppose his mother assumed that her beloved son deserved, no required, a certain amount of allotted time to express his inner animal in all it's glorious force in the hopes of taming, for the rest of the year, what seemed to be a most barbaric youth. And you know what? I think she may be the most brilliant woman I have ever heard of.
Once a year, every twenty-third day of October, I become the reckless child I never was but always ached to be. You see, the real child Jenna was quiet, compliant, and often scared. And I have one thing to say to her.
"Poo Poo".
For behold, now is the time to reckon her with the real force she would become! On this day, if I want to leave the water running while I wash my face.... I will. If I want to deny my personal dental hygeine.... I will. Today, if I want to eat my breakfast without utensils.... in a public restaurant... I will. If I want to hog the conversation, well, I just might do that. And if I want to listen to "99 Red Balloons" on repeat for 30 mintues... well by golly, I most likely will. And you know what? If I want to lock both sets of my car keys in my vehicle in Newport News, VA then I will! And if I want to pay someone $45 dollars to unlock my car so I can get in then I.... WILL. I will deny dinner, eat only birthday cake, then eat more cake at 11 pm STRAIGHT FROM THE CAKE WITHOUT CUTTING A SEPARATE PIECE FOR MYSELF! (And let's be honest, I'll probably eat it for breakfast tomorrow morning). And folks, if I want to throw a pillow at my mom's head while she's asleep in hopes of scaring her into consciousness then gosh darn it, I will.
Because sometimes we take ourselves to seriously. And I've realized that one day I won't be able to do these things when I turn 87 years old. I won't be able to hold my cat like a baby (more of a daily routine), or hide behind bushes to scare my dad (I'm noticing an unhealthy pattern...) or even eat the delicious, famous chocolate cake my mother makes for me every year without fail. So go ahead and do that thing you think about doing but quickly dismiss because you happen to be 43 years old. Because if you don't then you might miss out on your own Monster Day.
So here's to you Max and every other wild thing.
Love, La Loba
Friday, October 7, 2011
South Philly
Have you ever been to South Philly? It’s a small patch of land about 8 miles in diameter (I just made that up) with a phenomenal personality that may just charm the pants off of ya. This is where I’ve been residing/mooching for the past 3 weeks and therefore can now confidently claim to have a semi-familiar relationship with this 8 mile piece of holy land (again, I have no idea if this is true).
First of all, we have the ITALIAN MARKET which should more appropriately be renamed A-KIND-OF-SKETCHY-STREET-FILLED-WITH-NON-ENGLISH-SPEAKING-FRIENDS-THAT’S-A-LITTLE-UNHYGENIC-BUT-MOSTLY-PLEASURABLE. This is known across Philly as the cheapest place you can buy produce. I’m talkin $1 dollar for 2 avocados kind of cheap which I try not to question. Then we have the famous Philly cheese steak zone on 9th and Passyunk (pronounced Pash-yunc) where two competing restaurants literally stand face-to-face a block across from each other vying for your money and lifetime loyalty. I personally prefer another beef/liquid cheese sandwich distributor in north Philly but don’t tell Vinny, I hear he is associated with a handful of mysterious sauerkraut poisonings.
But what most people think of when the word “south philly” comes up in conversation is the large population of American-Italians whose families have been here since the beginning of this city’s origin. Upon first glance, they just look like regular 60-70 year-old men simply standing on the corner of the block, enjoying each other’s company. But if you actually begin to pay attention to them you notice some very unique characteristics that confirm their placement within this demographic. First we have the New Jersey accent. I have NO idea why it’s new Jersey-ish instead of an Italian accent. “Johhhnny! Where ya been? We’ve been lookin all over for yas.” Then you notice the dress: leather jackets, slightly unbottoned faux silk button-ups, slicked back white hair and white sneakers. I have no idea why they’re not at work or at home but everyday they show up in little coffee houses and sit around with each others (sorry, I couldn’t help myself) and do one of two things 1) remain in silence, occasionally sipping their black coffee 2) Holler at their friend driving by whom then stops in the middle of the road and with window rolled down they converse in their very un-italian accents while traffic annoyingly honks away. After a few awkward transactions with my new favorite group of people I realized that if they refer to you as “Honey”, “Sweets”, “Girl”, or “Gypsy” (my personal favorite) there is a 92% chance their intentions are truly platonic and actually mean to flatter you. So now, when my next door neighbor calls me Gypsy and then tells me how he has slashed the tires of those whom dare to park in his handicapped spot that took him ten years to get and then immediately transitions into a spiel about providing anything I could ever need (tools, sugar, a helping hand) I genuinely smile at his hospitable heart and yell “Nevaaaa!” after he accuses me of having a horn under my ponytail.
These are the small things that give Philly it’s ever appealing charm.
Lova La Loba
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