Monthly Archives: March 2013

Thai and Nets in Brooklyn

Last week, my person celebrated a birthday, so this weekend we decided to venture into the still-30-degree-even though it’s March-weather and check out the now Brooklyn Nets in their new home, The Barclays Center. As a life long New Jersey Nets fan, my man was thrilled to see their new arena for the first time. But two people need to eat, right? And since we arrived in Brooklyn several hours early, we decided to peruse the area for an easy and delicious pre-game dinner. We found just such a place on Fulton Street; this unassuming thai restaurant:

thai food, thai restaurant, brooklyn, flatbush, authentic thai, pad thai, thai basil chicken

I know it doesn’t look like much, but this little Brooklyn gem has got to be some of the most authentic, delicious and non-pretentious thai food I’ve had since Thailand. The space only has four or five tables and is BYOB, which is exactly how I roll, so I was sold. They also had my very favorite Thai Basil Chicken dish on the menu, so double sold:thai food, thai restaurant, brooklyn, flatbush, authentic thai

“Well that tastes like Thailand,” was the review of my person after having one bite of my dish. He, himself, opted for the ever-popular Pad Thai he loves so much. This one did not disappoint:thai food, thai restaurant, brooklyn, flatbush, authentic thai, pad thai, thai basil chicken

Since we B’d our own B, I figured I’d rather look like a hipster than homeless so I swapped the brown paper bag I was provided with this super sexy Freaker from the crazy kids down in Wilmington running Freaker USA. If you haven’t freaked a beverage lately, I suggest you check out their site; they have 18 “Fresh Styles” just waiting to make your day. freakers, freaker usa, thai food, thai restaurant, brooklyn, flatbush, authentic thai, pad thai, thai basil chicken

It was a Colt 45 we were sharing, for anyone interested. … Just kidding, it was a Sierra Nevada. Hashtag-BeerSnob.thai food, thai restaurant, brooklyn, flatbush, authentic thai, pad thai, thai basil chickenAs someone who genuinely prefers to watch sporting events from the relative comfort of my futon, I must admit that this was a very fun night. I think in-person basketball games are superior to in-person football and baseball games and here’s why: they’re shorter and they have constant entertainment. At every 30 second break there is some type of dancing or exhibition making what is already a short-ish game move even more quickly. It was a beautiful arena, the fans were wonderful and the the cake was free. But that’s another story for another time.

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Mementos and Memories

There’s a difference. Mementos are the things we hold onto to remind us of the memories within our souls. They, in and of themselves, are no more than things and yet the emotional attachments we form with them can be very real. In the 18  months since my mother passed I have spent nearly every morning drinking from a mug that I gave her a few years ago. It reminds me of her every day and I’ve grown incredibly attached to this morning routine. Attachments can be comforting. They can also be damaging. In this case, I knew the fragility of the memento I used to retain this particular memory would eventually be tested. No one has the same coffee cup forever because coffee cups are made of ceramic and people are made of human and humans drop things. When this inevitability did finally come to pass this weekend, my initial reaction was, well, not good. It wasn’t anger I felt, but fear. The empty fear that I would have to say goodbye to those mornings and to those memories. As I tried to hide my tears by chopping an unnecessary amount of onion, my love worked hastily to try and repair my mug, my memories. I assured him it was fine, not something to worry about, it’s just a mug. But he knows me, knows my soul and would not be deterred.

Then it happened. The radio started…

The devil went down to Georgia, he was looking for a soul to steal.
He was in a bind ‘cos he was way behind and he was willin’ to make a deal.
When he came across this young man sawin’ on a fiddle and playin’ it hot.
And the devil jumped upon a hickory stump and said: “Boy let me tell you what!”

I couldn’t help but smile. Everyone has songs that remind them of a specific place or person. This Charlie Daniels classic does both for me. It takes me back to Schlitterbahn as a youth, a water park my mother and I went to every summer for as long as I can remember. Schlitterbahn was our thing. It was a yearly tradition for just the two of us and part of the tradition was that we had to spend the entire day behaving like children (this went on until I was 18). I remember one year “The Devil went down to Georgia” came on the loudspeaker and my mom and I sang and danced along like, well, children. Until, of course, it got to the end and the line was edited as “I done told you once you son of a gun..” and Jeanie loudly corrected the loudspeaker, “I done told you once you son of a bitch, I’m the best there’s ever been.”

She ruled.

Back in 2013, I’m now laughing through my tears, trying to explain the significance of this well-timed tune to my person. If ever there are signs we are supposed to take heed of in this life, “The Devil went down to Georgia” coming through my radio at that moment was one of them. Mementos will come and go, but there are an infinity of memories that can never be broken. And even the most delicate of mementos can be repaired and repurposed. My person, who cares more for my tender little heart than I’ll ever understand, glued my mug back together piece by piece and we are going to use it as a little planter. Thanks to him, we can now grow new memories out of the old. Jeanie would like that.

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Bossypants

For Christmas this year I was given Tina Fey’s “Bossypants” by my best friend, John, who was quick to mention that he’d like to read it, too, so could I kindly hurry up? Never one to disappoint, I finished this book swiftly in between the 4th and 5th installments of A Song of Ice and Fire. This hilarious and quirky memoir made for the perfect reprieve from Westeros and the Free Cities and led me instead into Charlottesville, Chicago and ultimately New York City. As someone who firmly believes internet shorthand like “omg” and “brb” have destroyed our grasp of the English language, it pains me to say that Ms. Tina Fey had me laughing out loud with this book (that’s “lol” for any post-millenials reading).

From her dashing description of her dad, Don Fey, to her honest recollection of taking a job from someone who needed it far worse than she did, this book felt real. I feel it necessary to admit that I do, of course, think Tina Fey is a genius. I find her particular brand of humor to be smart and effective on every level. It’s high brow pretending to be low brow. It’s Tracy Morgan making a poignant statement about social inequality while slipping on a banana peel. It’s brilliant and accessible, as was this book. The honesty with which she revisits her life is refreshing and relatable. She speaks of the struggle balancing a high-pressure career with having a child, but is quick to compare her “stress” to those who actually have stress:

tina fey, bossypants, snl, 30 rock, amy poehler See the distinction?

As someone who loves a good memoir, this was one I was ecstatic to read and it did not disappoint. It did however reaffirm my desire to be Tina Fey. We’ll see how that works out. Read the book; you’ll like it.

 

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