girlfiend

Grace Paley is dead. The death of public figures doesn’t ordinarily have much of an effect on me since they’re public figures, not people I know or care about, but Paley is different. She spoke at my college in 1996 or 1997 and she had a profound effect on me. She stood at the podium in the Great Room in our Student Center and read short stories and essays for close to two hours. I’d read some of her stories before, but that night I learned about her life. Born in the Bronx in the 20s to Jewish parents she spoke English and Yiddish at home. As an adult she married and had children and found it wasn’t enough so she became a writer and protester. Her stories are wry and sardonic and at times they are very, very funny. Paley was an inspiration to me at a time in my life when I was too jaded to find much inspirational.

After the reading I waited around. I wanted to speak to her and tell her how much I loved her work. It was late and I was embarrassed and didn’t know what to say but she shook my hand and spoke to me for a few minutes anyway. I remember looking down at her- she was a good two inches shorter than me- and being acutely aware of just how much I’d like to be like her some day.
The Telegraph’s obituary is the best I’ve read so far.

Maud Newton writes about meeting her when she was in college and links to Paley interviews and audio.

I usually avoid it because it’s not as good as Reading Terminal and it seems totally overpriced, but a few weeks ago I stopped at the Ardmore Farmer’s Market after I couldn’t find something I needed at Trader Joe’s. I couldn’t find it at the produce stand their either, and the Fiendling was fussy after waking from a nap so I left, but not before noticing the spice stand on the way out. Sunday I stopped to browse at the stand, Adriana’s Caravan, and I’m glad I did. They have everything and the woman who works there (the owner?) knew exactly what I wanted when I asked for a Moroccan spice blend and offered me four to choose from. Then when she asked what I was making and I told her I was trying b’stillas again only this time using this recipe instead of this one she corrected my pronunciation, asked if I planned on using pigeon or chicken, and when I told her chicken she said ‘good.’

I ended up buying unsweetened coconut for a thai green rice recipe, tahini just because I’m almost out, and ras el hanout for the b’stillas because I forgot the recipe and I didn’t have a shopping list, but if I’d had one I probably would have purchased the cardamom pods and allspice berries too. Anyway, I just wanted to let you know it’s there and it’s good and you can order online too if you’re even lazier than I am when it comes to wrangling a baby on public transportation with many, many shopping bags because who doesn’t leave the Reading Terminal with too much stuff to carry? And some of you may or may not recall that the last time I took the bus to the terminal I had so much stuff that I ended up leaving my purse on the bus. And parking by the convention center means I either circle for 20 minutes affair with a baby who wants OUT or pay for a lot which just isn’t an option because why pay for a lot when there’s street parking out there somewhere. (I’ve heard rumors of the $2 validated lot. I’ve yet to use it.)

I don’t know why I just made all of those excuses for not taking the bus to the Reading Terminal. But I did and they are all valid.

At least I’m semi-well-rested. The Benadryl worked the first night, but not nights two or three. But then either we upped the dose and it worked or the Fiendling just got really tired or used to the cast and he’s slept through the night the past two nights. His mood has improved some too, which means mine has as well. I’ve stupidly been using his nap time to hack away at a thorn bush in my neighbor’s yard that’s grown through the fence into mine. It’s a gorgeous bush in the fall, but the thorns are like an inch long and hurt like a motherfucker. It’s totally overgrown and my neighbors said they’d get rid of it but since it’s not high on their list of priorities I’ve been trying to cut it down some so my rose bush that got one bloom last year might get some light. It’s slow going because every branch needs to be cut into small pieces so I can dispose of it without killing myself. I’m covered in tiny scratches and when I get the one down to size there are two more to work on. I need full body armor.

By the by, did you know that this very important anniversary has passed? The Real World turns 15. That first New York season where everyone actually had lives and looked like real people and didn’t just cavort in hot tubs seems so long ago. Remember when Julie wanted to sleep in a shelter with the homeless or when she and Kevin had that screaming match in the street? And Andre was just boring all season long? Dude, I feel really old now.

Pigs’ book club read The Color of Water, a book about a black man who learns as an adult that his mother was a white, Jewish woman.* At her book club meeting everyone brought an item of Jewish food. There were bagels, latkes, cheesecake, and Pigs brought hummus. If I were to bring Christian food to a book club meeting I’d probably bring ham and hot cross buns. Maybe a communion wafer, if I could get my hands on one.

Anyway, check out the comments in the post. Guess which one annoyed me.

*My mother gave me that book a few years before it was the 2004 selection of the One Book One Philadelphia book discussion, saying, “It’s just like us, only you’re not black!”

You may recall that back in November, when I got the stomach flu the first time this season, I got a bit obsessed with the Food Network. Today, while the Fiendling* napped I somehow got completely wrapped up in Food Network bashing. I was on Phillyblog in the Food and Drink forum reading a post about Giada vs. Rachael Ray and ended up following a link to a guest post by Anthony Bourdain (a guy previously unknown to me) talking smack about Food Network personalities. Though I don’t agree with everything he writes (I think Paula Deen’s a good time) some of his opinions, especially his opinion of Sandra Dee (yes, she is pure evil), are right on. I ended up getting totally sucked into the more than 500 comments and still haven’t finished reading through them all. The debate is hilarious. Most of the commenters (commentators?) agree with him but some that don’t think he’s just bitter because he’s not as successful as the bobbleheads he describes. Since I’d never even heard of him until following the link to his post on someone else’s blog, I can see their points. (The debate within the comments, sort of reminded me of the war between Rogan and Mencia fans that takes place in the comments of this blogger’s post. I spent more than an hour watching the videos and reading the commentary Saturday night. My weekends are nothing but fun these days.)

The comments at the Bourdain post led me to a similar article from Matt at Deglazed. Matt’s take on the food network chef’s was even more entertaining than Bourdain’s. Again, I don’t agree with everything he writes, but dude, Bobby Flay is a cock and Rachael Ray is indeed a whore who makes buying Ritz crackers an altogether unpleasant experience. Here’s a quote from his piece about why Rachael Ray sucks.

-EVOO - Extra Virgin Olive Oil. That’s what she actually calls it: “E-V-O-O, Extra Virgin Olive Oil”. Note, I did NOT say she calls it “E-V-O-O.” If she just stopped there, it would be merely stupid. But she goes all the way to the level of “taking the short bus to school” by using the acronym, and then spelling out what it means for us right after. WHY?!? What is the point of using an acronym if you are then going to say what it means right after it? Pick one or the other! I don’t go around saying, “Yeah, I need some money from the ATM - automatic teller machine, but I can’t remember my PIN - personal identification number, so I guess I can’t check on the balance of my CD - certificate of deposit.” I would sound like a retard, and thus, I guess be eligible for my own cooking show.

Matt, in a different post, also linked to this Rachael Ray drinking game, which I can’t wait to try some time when I’m not on mom duty.

Today in my internet travels I learned that Sandra Lee probably slept her way to the top, Michael Chiarello isn’t (as I’d assumed based on his bizarre show where he invites young college guys over for dinner) gay, and monkeys (well, terry cloth monkeys )can make truffles. I was also reminded of the Two Fat Ladies and Ming Tsai, both shows that I loved that the food network can’t be bothered with any more.
* I need new pseudonyms. I’m sick of typing Boyfiend and Fiendling and initials are lame- suggestions?