Showing posts with label obsessions. Show all posts
Showing posts with label obsessions. Show all posts

Friday, October 1, 2010

No Place Like Home

Dear No One in Particular,

Well, hello there. Fancy meeting you here.

I bet you thought I had forgotten about this little space. Not a chance.


I'm back from Australia, although I was sorely tempted to become a permanent ex-pat. Seriously: I LOVED it. It was so much more than I had hoped it would be, and nothing like I had dreamed. Something had pushed me to Oz, told me something incredible awaited me there. Not to sound too San Francisco-hippie, but I left the States knowing that the universe had great plans for me.

It's hard for me to recount, what exactly, was so amazing about being there. I wasn't given anything tangible -- not a souvenir, a job offer, or even a picture of a single piece of magnificence -- to hold up and say "THIS. This is why I had to go." But the fact remains that I'm a different person now. Visiting Australia, even for that short period of time, changed me. I can't wait to go back and see what else will happen.

I do, however, have a highlight reel and tons of photos:

If you're planning your Mighty Life List and thinking Australia should be on it, let me be the first to stand up and shout a resounding yes! It's an incredible place and there is so much to see, that I recommend making multiple trips if you can swing it. Or, if you have more stamina than I, take a long, long vacation and travel the entire country. I only made it to the big cities, and my only regret is that I didn't allot time to visit the Great Barrier Reef while I was there.

This is technically a wallaby, but my point still stands.

One thing that every visitor to Australia must do is feed a kangaroo. Honestly, I almost edited my Life List to include this, because I wish I had thought of it sooner. I'd only seen kangaroos in zoos, behind plexiglass walls, so when my cousins told me that I would get the chance to feed them -- feed them with my own hands -- I just about peed myself with excitement. It was hilarious and amazing and kind of cheesy in a really great way.


In fact, all of the Australian wildlife is pretty great:

Case in point.

My favourite vacation fun fact: all of the koalas in Australia have chlamydia.

This is the face of chlamydia.

Speaking of wildlife, the fairy penguins? SO PRECIOUS. I was a bit hesitant to actually drive all the way out to Phillip Island, since I had heard that there were more tourists than penguins these days. I was even more hesitant when they told us to dress extra-warm, since we would be sitting on concrete bleachers at dusk on the beach. But! All of that changed when we saw the first bitty penguin waddle up out of the surf and scurry across the sand toward safety. The Centre is built right on top of the penguins' natural migration path, so you can walk up the hill alongside the tiny tuxedo-ed birds. No joke, it was the cutest damn thing I'd ever seen.
Unfortunately, there are no pictures of this event, since camera flashes scare the penguins. I snapped one photo inside the Visitor's Centre, which conveniently has little peek-a-boo windows into the fairy penguin's burrows.

Real live fairy penguins, in a real live fairy penguin burrow,
having a real live fairy penguin cuddle.


Another "must-do", specifically if you're in Melbourne, is see an Aussie Rules Football game. Don't worry about trying to make sense of the game; the rules are ridiculous and obviously made up by a bunch of drunk criminals who were bored with cricket. It's obscenely violent, but the fans are incredible (they put soccer hooligans to shame) and the players are gorgeous, in a very beefcakey, missing-multiple-teeth sort of way.


Remember how I said that Melbourne was the place I most wanted to see? Yeah, I take that back. Don't get me wrong -- Melbourne is marvelous! The Queen Victoria Market is heaven on Earth and I would kick a puppy to have even the palest imitation of it here in San Francisco. But I wasn't totally in love, ready to drop everything and set up home in Fitzroy -- not for Melbourne, that is.


I loved Sydney. LOVED IT, you guys; loved it like ... I can't even think of a proper analogy, I loved it that much. We had flown out of Sydney to spend a week in Melbourne, and on our flight back in, I remember the plane's wheels hitting the tarmac and sighing internally, thinking "Ahhh ... we're home." 5 all too short days in this glorious city, and it had imprinted itself on my mind as home. Every so often I wake up with my heart strings tugging me back to Sydney, and I want to cry.
I'm not so sure why I loved Sydney more when all signs pointed in the other direction. The food was better in Melbourne (marginally, because I must say the food in Australia is altogether tremendous; it's a country full of foodies), it's much less of a metropolis and more of a cultural hub, etc.

But Sydney, with it's gorgeous weather, delightful people, and cinematic familiarity just felt right. It felt as if the whole sun-soaked city reached out, hugged me close, and whispered "Welcome. We've been expecting you."

I've been mulling this over for months now, wondering why I felt so strongly about Australia in general, and Sydney (Sydney!) specifically. Before I left, I spent months dreaming about Oz and the wonders it held for me. Those dreams still continue, urging me to go back, to return home.

Australia isn't done with me yet, not by a long shot. But for now, I have photos to remember and a special place in my heart carved out for the land down under.

--amanda


Oh! Before I forget: remember, how, like 2 years ago, I asked Santa to bring me a pygmy hippo for Christmas? I SAW HER. No joke, she now lives at the Melbourne Zoo and I thought I had managed to stop screaming long enough to take a couple of photos of her walking around underwater, but apparently they were so blurry and out-of-focus that the Boy deleted them. But trust me: Monifa (hilarious name) is adorable and wee and just so precious.

Friday, April 9, 2010

Off To See the Wizard

Dear No One in Particular,

I know this blog has been long neglected. I'm afraid that it's going to be neglected a bit longer, since I am indulging my wanderlust again and fleeing the country.

I'm crossing off the #1 item on my Mighty Life List: Go to Australia.
In t-minus 9 days, there will be a check next to that sentence, and I can't be more excited.

Obviously the "stay as long as necessary" bit isn't applicable; I am, however, going to be in Oz for 2 glorious weeks. There's so much to do and see in Down Under, so I'm severely limiting the number of places the Boy and I are visiting. That way, I can cap my spending and really get the feel of a city AND I've given myself an excuse to return.

The Boy and I are only hitting up the major cities, Sydney and Melbourne. I can't tell you how excited I am to visit Melbourne. I've already made birthday dinner reservations -- that's amped I am to be exploring the city.

So far the itinerary includes: Bondi Beach, Queen Victoria Market, a football game at MCG, a looong drive down Great Ocean Road, and cooing over fairy penguins on Phillip Island. I am really looking forward to spending a couple of afternoons picnicking in Melbourne, just people-watching, and soaking up the sun on Bondi and Manly beaches.

Anything we're missing? My cousin (who will serve as tour guide) has also mentioned taking us on wine tastings in Yarra Valley, and I have no doubt she has a ton of fun stuff planned. We have a guidebook, but if you've been and know of something I absolutely MUST SEE, please let me know!

Au revoire!

--amanda

P.S. I have a 14 hour flight ahead of me, so if you have book recommendations, send them my way! Something light and fun, but not totally brainless would be lovely. Thanks!

Monday, February 1, 2010

My Mighty Life List

Dear No One in Particular,

If you've spent any time on the interwebs at all, you've no doubt come across bloggers' life lists. Alternatively, you might remember a quirky, more-than-slightly-morbid film about two geriatrics on a road trip crossing items of a wish list.
I blame this trend on blogger extraordinaire Maggie Mason of Mighty Girl fame.

I'm a sucker for projects like these, especially since I've finally accepted the fact that I'm a Grownup and it's up to me to make my life as mighty wicked as I wish it to be.

I've been working on this list on-and-off for months now, and it's in no way a final draft. Part of constructing these lists is giving up a bit of control, shifting priorities, and learning to love whatever life throws at you.
The list is dominated by travel and food goals, which makes sense. My life comes down to two questions: where did you go and what did you eat? Other goals are long-term -- I won't know I've attained them until I'm old and grey. And a lot -- I mean a lot -- of these goals have a story behind them: wine and cheese parties, Bernadette Peters, the Showgirls deluxe DVD set. I can't wait to tell their stories and tell the story of how I made that dream come true.

The world is a treasure chest, my darlings. What gems do you seek before your time comes?

Amanda's Mighty Life List:
  • Go to Australia. Stay for as long as necessary.
  • Visit Olduvai Gorge and root around in the dirt
  • Visit Patagonia; see penguins up close and personal
  • Climb the Great Wall of China
  • Eat offal
  • Kiss the Boy under Juliet’s balcony in Verona, Italy
  • Explore every Smithsonian Museum in DC
  • Visit Dollywood; stalk/meet Dolly Parton
  • Swim with bioluminescent plankton in Isla de Vieques, Puerto Rico
  • Partake of entirely legal recreational drugs in Amsterdam
  • See a shadow play in Thailand
  • Eat stinky tofu in Taiwan
  • Go dog sledding in Alaska
  • Drive across the United States
  • Become entirely fluent in Spanish
  • Make wine and cheese parties a weekly tradition
  • Eliminate financial worries
  • Live a life with no regrets
  • Dance underneath the Golden Gate Bridge
  • Dinner at the French Laundry
  • See Bernadette Peters in concert
  • Rescue all future pets
  • Create the perfect lemon square recipe
  • Open The Nifty Bakeshop (aka: open my very own bakery)
  • Pick berries and apples and make pies with the harvested goods (related: get over fear of making pie crust)
  • Visit the catacombs of Europe
  • Celebrate El Dia de los Muertos in Oaxaca, Mexico
  • Visit Gobekli Tepe, Turkey (http://www.dailymail.co.uk/sciencetech/article-1157784/Do-mysterious-stones-mark-site-Garden-Eden.html)
  • Sit in a cafĂ© in Prague; ponder deep, existential, pretentious thoughts
  • Give the Showgirls Special Edition DVD set to a girlfriend as a baby shower present
  • Do a NYT crossword in pen
  • Write a story worthy of This American Life
  • Get Carl Kasell to do the recording on my voicemail
  • Read more
  • Have a greener lifestyle
  • Wear matching undergarments every day
  • Shop the Witches’ Market in La Paz, Bolivia
  • Live in a foreign country
  • Eat durian in Indonesia
  • Pull an all-nighter in Ibiza
  • Always have fresh flowers in my home
  • Learn to drive a stick shift
  • Can my own jam
  • Pick up the bridge toll for the car behind me
  • Go vegan for a week
  • Eat dulce de leche and steak (not together) in Argentina
  • Exercise regularly
  • Grow my own fruit trees
  • Ride a donkey in the Grand Canyon
  • Make my own salted caramel chocolate truffles
  • Bowl a 300 game
  • Win a National Geographic photography contest
  • Ride a bike through a vineyard
  • Make pistachio macarons that rival -- nay, surpass -- Miette’s
  • Give $100 to a talented street musician
  • Hug a baby bonobo
  • Visit the Valley of the Kings
  • Give thanks for all I have and all I have done every day

Wednesday, July 8, 2009

Cupcake Dreams and Bugaboo Mornings

Dear No One in Particular,

HI THERE. Remember me? I missed you.

Based on the theme of my last posts, I'm sure no explanation regarding the radio silence here at BFNOIP* is required, but the one word that sums it all up is "chaotic". "Soul-crushing" is another good one, considering the fact that I graduated university only to be thrust into a crippling worldwide recession. If ever there was a time to join the world of adulthood, now would not be it.

I keep hearing two conflicting pieces of advice regarding the economy, and therefore, my future. One is "Now is a terrible time to be looking for a job!" and the other, naturally, "Have no fear: there are tons of jobs out there!"
Oddly enough, I've found that both are true. Yes, there are tons of jobs available -- any cursory glance at craigslist would tell you that -- but what the proponents of #2 are forgetting is that with unemployment rates through the roof, there are also tons of people looking for jobs. Competition is stiff, folks, so if you're securely employed count your blessings. If not, there are tons of jobs out there!

After a really rough couple of weeks spent staring vacantly at craigslist, desperately shooting off resumes, I've finally landed a job. I won't go into specifics for fear of being dooced, so all I can say is that I work for a good company with a fun name and if you have any questions about strollers or anything baby-related, I am here to help.
On the flipside of the paycheck, I have much less free time. I'm hoping against all hope that this doesn't cut into my writing too much, but we'll have to see.

I keep having to tell myself that my current position is simply a job and not a career. It's difficult to see the difference, especially as a new grad having to field oh-so-unique questions like "What are you planning on doing now?" and "Where do you want to work?"** The hard part -- the part that keeps me awake at night and constantly second-guessing myself -- is that I just don't know. I have a degree, but, like most degrees, it doesn't amount to a whole lot. There is no set path in front of me; I have to pull out my machete and start blazing my own trail. The difficult part? Figuring out where to start.
We all want our careers to be something we love doing. No one sets out dreaming about working in a forest of cubicles, just making it through the week. I've spent a lot of time mulling over what makes me happy -- really bone-deep, I-could-do-this-for-a-million-years-and-wake-up-with-a-smile-on-my-face-happy. One of the few passions that fit that criteria is baking. I l-o-v-e baking. As anyone who's looked at my twitter stream knows, I bake a lot. The kitchen is my happy place***. I've named my KitchenAid and have more muffin tins than any one person should be able to own. And lately, I've been dreaming about opening up my own bake shop.

I've been feeling down recently, for various reasons. I decided the best thing to do to fight off the blues would be to use up the giant bag of lemons and the pint of blueberries in the fridge and make some muffins. I love muffins, especially when people say they're healthier than doughnuts in the morning. They're mini-cakes for breakfast, you guys. Anyway, I found this lovely recipe on smittenkitchen and decided to give it a try.

I love lemons.


Lemon rind + sugar = lemon sugar!

Little sapphires


Only I screwed it up. By a lot.
I kept trying to course-correct based on my meager knowledge of baking science (thank you, Alton Brown), but eventually I just tossed the lot into the oven, fingers crossed.

I can't be the only one who thinks these look vaguely nipple-like

Not so much when there's four berries ...
at least, I hope your nipples don't look like this!



And they turned out just fine.
Sure, it could have been a bit more lemony, but they were nice and moist and the blueberry the perfect foil for the citrus-sweet of the cake.

Fresh out of the oven!

Berry ooze

I'm slowly realizing that baking is going to be my career. Dreaming about cupcake flavours or new twists on cannoli fillings -- that's what makes me wake up with a smile on my face. Peddling strollers and eco-friendly diapers to gather enough cash to make The Nifty Bakeshop (working title) happen is simply a cut through the brush.

Glamour shot of one of the mini-muffins

Big, bronze beauty

The muffin version of Rob and Big


So, interwebs, that's what's been going on with me. What about you? What's new in your world? Tell me; I'd love to hear something lovely.

--amanda



_________________________
*My God that is a catchy acronym. Say it out loud, and I bet you $1 that someone says "God bless you!" and hands you a tissue. BlofoNOiP, perhaps? No; that sounds vaguely dirty and drug-related.
**My stock answer: "I plan on working for whomever pays me." So far, so good.
***I choose my choice, third-wave feminists!

Friday, April 10, 2009

Wear Some Flowers in Your Hair

I woke up this morning with an intense bout of homesickess.


I don't know what brought it on. I suppose I had a dream about San Francisco, and the emotions that came to me in sleep carried over into wakefulness.

My friends and I jokingly resent the fact that we were lucky enough to grow up in the Bay Area. To us, it is the perfect place to live: temperate weather, incredibly diverse population, a city nestled between the sea and mountains surrounded by former hippie enclaves. There's no way we can move away and top that. (And we have tried. Trust.)


I also blame the Bay Area for making me a food snob. I see San Francisco as the gastronomic capital of America; the incredible diversity of Bay inhabitants leads to an incredible diversity of restaurants: some serve up deliciously authentic ethnic foods, some are on the cutting edge of culinary trends, some are hole-in-the-wall mom & pop operations serving up French toast so divine you will see God.

Of all the things I miss about the Bay Area -- Chinatown in all its morbidly hilarious glory; gold and red cable cars rumbling up the hills; former hippies mingling with "ironic" hipsters in notorious neighbourhoods; the chill, slightly salty air; stinky, barking, bellowing sea lions; The Palace of Fine Arts's terra cotta dome; passing over the salt flats as the plane dips into SFO; the Berkeley Bulb and the hidden, graffitied castle, perfect for wine and cheese parties -- I miss the food. Cheeseboard, Fentons, Citizen Cake, Kan Zaman, Sol Food -- oh, God, I miss Sol Food! I dream about their tostones. I wish I were kidding -- the entire Ferry Building: I could travel around the Bay Area and never eat the same food twice.

I have rituals whenever I go home; I have to eat at specific restaurants, eat certain foods I can't find in Honolulu. I have to have burritos, I have to visit Sol Food at least once, I have to have Cheeseboard pizza. It doesn't matter who I go with, I just have to eat these things -- these foods -- that I can't help but associate with home.
There is one restaurant, one ritual, that I absolutely have to do with my mother. As soon as I get home -- like, as soon as we get in the car to leave the airport -- we make plans to go to Out the Door. We must share a MANGO PUDDING as soon as possible. That's how we talk about it, in all caps: MANGO PUDDING. "Are you free Friday to get some MANGO PUDDING?" Naturally, they serve other things -- they have the most delectable summer rolls I have ever eaten. Seriously, I hate peanut sauce, but I just about lick the bowl when I order their summer rolls -- but for us, it's all about the MANGO PUDDING.



[all photos via: The Boy]

I haven't lived in the Bay Area for about 3 years now and sometime this summer, I'll be moving back an unemployed college graduate. I don't know what the future holds for me, but I know there will be much eating. Who knows -- I may find myself yearning for Honolulu.

So, no one in particular, is there a place your heart yearns for? Home? A favourite vacation spot? A fantasy home or vacation spot? Share with me and we'll pine together.

--amanda

Tuesday, March 31, 2009

A Quick Programming Note

Dear No One in Particular,

Posting has been nonexistent, and I feel terrible about it. I know I promised that I would be updating with more frequency, but last week was my Spring Break and oddly enough, was one of the worst Spring Break's I've ever had. I'm not about to go into it (this blog has enough navel-gazing as it is); it was a bad week, and it's in the past.

I would like this to be more than just a quick update, but apparently, I have a midterm tomorrow? My professor and his army of T.A.s decided that they didn't need to actually update the syllabus, nor let the students know via mass email, so I'm swamped with test prep right now. I promise I'll be back by week's end.

Before I sign off, I have one question: anyone else watching "Any Dream Will Do"? It's fantastic: dozens of (slightly) fey Brits with panty-dropping accents competing to follow in the illustrious footsteps of Donny Osmond? Solid gold shit, maestro. The show is hosted by Graham Norton, who can be deliciously catty, and the soundtrack is fantastic. They (seemingly) unironically play Eminem and Queen, and whenever Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber appears, they play the Phantom's theme. It's totally worth the cable bill.

--amanda

Thursday, March 19, 2009

Things I Haven't Bought, But Still Love

Dear No One in Particular,

Since I've found myself sans employment and with more free time than I know what to do with, I've decided to be slightly more productive and not wile the hours away by watching Top Model marathons on cable television. Because honestly? Ty-Ty is rotting my brain. The other day, the Boy was telling me a story and I picked up on some random detail and responded with "You know, that reminds me of when I was 16, 17 and a young model in Paris and I was all alone and the girls were so mean, but you know what? I stuck with it and now I'm here and I'm a top model, coaching all you girls to be top models, too, especially if you can smile with your eyes. Who wants a weave?"
Yeah, that was the exact moment I knew I needed a new way to fill the hours.

So I'm going to implement an actual schedule for Blog For No One in Particular. I'll do my best to post something interesting at least twice a week, so there'll be no more month-long stretches between verbose essays on the state of popular culture as regurgitated by the Interwebs.

All righty then. The credit for this post comes from the lovely Inkytwist at Lemon Love. She recently posted a list of things she's got a yen for. So inspired, I decided to create a list of things that kindle the fire of consumerism deep inside me.

Let's go Windows shopping, shall we?

Someone get my swooning bottle!
  • To make a decision about my calling cards. Yes, really. This completely unimportant bit of utter nonsense is still driving me up the wall. I can't make a decision to save my life, and I'm still waffling about the design. Really, this should read: some Xanax and a pin the tail on the calling card game.
  • The perfect pink lipstick.
MAC feeds my drag queen sensibilities.

I'm hapa, which means I have a hell of a time finding flattering makeup. Lipstick, on me, tends to go one of three ways: a) it doesn't show up at all; b) it looks like I've borrowed the tube from a porn star; c) it looks 80's-tastic bright fuschia. None of these are looks I am aiming for.
Cyd Charisse was a goddess. Don't let anyone tell you different.
  • Hugh Jackman. I suffered through that festering sore, Australia*, simply because he starred in it. The least he can do is thank me by showing up on my doorstep. Shirtless. As Wolverine.
I mean, honestly.
Is that swooning bottle still on hand?
  • The new(ish) Lily Allen CD. Yeah, it's been out a while now, but I still haven't gotten it. I adore Lily and her adorable girl/foul mouth shtick.
I love that she needs to stand on tip-toe to smack the paparazzo.
Adorable AND in need of anger management, bless her wee heart.
Nigella is Love.
  • Black ballet flats. For someone who loves shoes, I don't own a pair of basic black ballet flats. I've been looking for a pair for, oh, a year now and I haven't found one that fits my specifications. I want a pair that show off some toe cleavage (ugh, that phrase), are well-crafted, and have some support to them. Any recommendations?
Hello ... is it you I'm looking for?

That'll be it for me. Anything caught your eye? What are you craving? What can't you live without?

--amanda


______________________________
*Baz Luhrman is an immensely talented director, but a little heavy-handed with the schmaltz as a screenwriter. Nicole Kidman needs to put the Botox needle down; she's killing her career as she freezes her face.
**Only I'm much shorter, as if you shrunk Nigella in the dryer instead of taking her to the dry cleaners like the care label said.

Tuesday, March 3, 2009

*insert high-pitched noise here*

OMFG YOU GUYS:


A PINK DOLPHIN. A FREAKING PINK DOLPHIN.

I'm pretty sure that I wished this majestic creature into existence on my 6th birthday, along with a purple unicorn with a glitter horn. Only in my wildest Barbie-Hello Kitty-Princess-Lisa Frank dreams did I think it would come true! The only way this could be better is if sparkles and rainbows were expelled from its blowhole.


Now. Who wants to buy me plane tickets to Louisiana? Some lucky bastard has seen Princess Fancy Flippers "40 to 50 times in the time since the original sighting". I want to see it once. Just once! So I might die a happy, happy little girl.

--amanda

[edit:] FIXED IT!


Sunday, January 25, 2009

Beauty Misadventures: MyChelle, MyBelle

Dear No One in Particular,

I have seriously troubled skin. You know those ProActive commercials that feature teenage boys* who traded in their dignity for some cash? The ones who are all pits, and whiteheads, and scary cystic acne that makes you cringe just to look at them? Yeah, I have skin like them. And I've had bad skin for a long, long time.

I've tried just about every thing to help calm my acne-ridden, greasy skin: ProActive, which served the same purpose as poking a sleeping dragon with a very sharp stick -- it just made it angrier; Retin-A, which helped for a while, but did little-to-nothing for my scars and giant pores; Neutrogena products, which may as well have been pure water for all the results they provided.

I recently stopped using Retin-A for various reasons and my skin has staged a rebellion of epic standards. So I decided to return to a line skin care products that has worked wonders for me in the past: MyChelle Dermaceuticals.

I found them a couple of years ago, while trolling the aisles of a local Elephant Pharmacy. I figured, I'd gone the intensive chemical route to no avail, so why not try a kinder, gentler, more natural route? I've since discovered that the less I try to beat my skin into submission, the more likely it is to calm down on its own. Enter MyChelle.

MyChelle is an all-natural, paraben and pthalate free, vegetarian friendly, cruelty-free, all-around good for you line of "dermaceuticals". Essentially, they take a "non-toxic" approach to skin care, opting for plant-based ingredients to better revitalise and heal skin. It's a feel-good, good-for-you, crunchy-happy-people attitude that's easy to get behind, especially since their products work.

As I previously mentioned, I have terrible acne and extreme combination skin -- the T-Zone looks like the Exxon-Valdez wrecked all over my face, while my cheeks are flaky and desert-dry. I opted to control my biggest problems (acne and oil), following MyChelle's suggested skin care routine**. Here are my findings:
  • White Cranberry Cleanser: this used to be just the Cranberry Cleanser, but all of MyChelle has undergone a major reformulation/makeover, like the Swan. This was the first product I ever tried, and it made me a believer. It cleared up my acne right quick; quicker than one would expect with an all-natural line. I did find that continuing to use it after my skin had cleared made my skin really tight and dry. Should this happen again, I'd probably work a gentler cleanser into my routine and phase this one out until my skin flares.
  • Clear Skin Serum: I incorporated this into my routine out of desperation. I wanted my acne gone 2 years ago, and was willing to pay any amount to see it out the door. This stuff was surprisingly strong. You only need a tiny bit; it's very thin, and very potent. True story: I saw a dramatic difference in the size, amount, and intensity of my acne the very first time I used it.
  • Fruit Enzyme Mist: a total waste of money. I have no idea why people continue to use toners; I have no idea what purpose they serve. I was told, very adamantly and by a large number of people, that I absolutely had to use a toner after using the cleanser or else my face would fall off and the universe would collapse. So, not wanting to shoulder the blame for the downfall of all life forms ever, I bought some. And immediately regretted it. You may as well rub sugar water on your face for all the good this stuff does. It goes on heavier than you would think and it made my face feel sticky, like I rubbed sugar water all over it. It does have one thing going for it: it smells really good. But that's all.
  • Oil Free Grapefruit Cream: "cream" is a bit of a misnomer in this situation. It's actually a very thin lotion, which works well for me. It does a fair job of reducing my sebum production, and it also works to clear my skin. It's a nice moisturiser to have in my arsenal, but I'm not about to sing praise and hallelujah from the mountaintops. Also: it smells nice, which is important in a moisturiser.
  • Incredible Pumpkin Peel: This, I will sing praise for. It is AMAZING and I will end you if you try and take it from me. It's not perfect, but for all the wonderous things it has done to my skin, I am willing to overlook the faults. First, it burns. Don't let anyone tell you it simply "tingles". No, it's a distinct burning. But, on the flipside, you'll get used to it in no time. I can leave it on for upwards of 10 minutes (although you probably wouldn't want to) and I don't need to put a leather strap in my mouth to deal with the pain. Another important piece of information: it's not a peel. I don't know who comes up with the names for these things, but you don't peel it off. It's a simple mask. I guess it's like a chemical peel? I don't know but lord it is good. My skin is smoother, my pores are smaller, my acne less furious and plentiful. Baby ass skin, people. Also: it smells like pumpkin pie. Good-smelling products seems to be a theme with MyChelle, and I'm not going to fight them on it.
Ok, here's a piece of advice you may or may not want to follow, depending on how high your pain tolerance/how dumb/desperate you are: after washing off the heavenly Pumpkin Peel, slather on the Clear Skin Serum. I know I said that the peel burns by itself, but it's not that bad. Well, the combination of the two is just tortuous. I could deal with the peel, but when I slapped some serum on my freshly exfoliated baby skin? I was fanning my face like an idiot (which I was), begging "DEAR LORD TAKE ME HIGHER".

But.

My skin never looked better.

Clear skin overnight. Like my face had miraculously been transplanted with Freida Pinto's, it was so good.
Naturally, I've done this many times and every time I found myself doing the same thing: fanning my firey face praying to be lifted up. And every morning, my skin looked amazing. Totally worth it, in my sick mind.

The big, big downfall to MyChelle? You have to be Warren Buffet to afford it.
I am not, but I am willing to use whatever money I have to maintain/continue my quest for good skin. There is a tiny consolation, however: their products will last you for.ev.er. It took me about 5 months of twice-daily use to use up a tiny bottle of cleanser, and, 1 year later, I'm still eeking out my grapefruit cream.

Despite the exorbitant prices, MyChelle Dermaceutical products are worth it. They work fast, they work hard, and they're good for you.

Totally worth it, in my (sick) mind.

--amanda





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*Speaking from personal observation, teenage boys tend to have worse skin than girls. Probably because grimy bastards don't invest in decent skincare.
**Yes, I used all of these products every week. The majority were used both AM and PM. I should have stock in the company.

Wednesday, January 7, 2009

Make a Man Out of You

Dear No One in Particular,

I love gentlemen. True, old-fashioned, dyed-in-the-wool chivalrous gentlemen who dress well, hold doors open, refer to women as "ladies" and not as "bitches" -- true men.

You see, the majority of young men I know are ... well, gay, but that's beside the point. The straight ones tend to be more concerned with how they impress their male peers than their female peers. And unfortunately, with the befuddling popularity of gangsta rap, masculinity has become synonymous with acting like a hoodlum.** Young men puff themselves up, in hopes of appearing agressive and therefore hyper-masculine; god forbid they show respect to women, or have a genuine moment -- they might be labelled feminine! No, they have to be "hard", put their "bros before hoes"blah blah bullshit. God forbid they give up their seat on the bus for an elderly woman, lest they be labelled a "pussy".***
Of course, there's the whole boys-in-eyeliner, emo movement to consider, but even that is troublesome and far from the old-fashioned gentleman I hold so close to my heart.

There's something about a well-groomed, sharply dressed man who speaks with all the charm of Sinatra and has the manners of Leopold that makes me go weak in the knees. You know those books Porno for Women and Porn for New Moms? Yeah, that's what The Art of Manliness is for me.

I refuse to believe that the gentleman is a dying breed, romanticized figureheads of a bygone era. Luckily, the geniuses at The Art of Manliness agree with me, and better yet, are working to transform the schlubby young American male into dashing gentlemen.
I found the website while cruising the 2008 Weblog polls (TAoM is up for a Best Culture Blog) and was drawn to the name, wondering if it was tongue-in-cheek. I fully expected blog posts
laden with sarcasm and praise for how bad-ass WFC is -- like this website*, but with more violence.

I was pleasantly surprised to find that The Art of Manliness is entirely genuine, but not without humour or self-awareness. Their articles are fun to read, educational, and just make my heart swell with romance and hope for a new league of 21st century gentlemen.

Their two best posts, in my opinion, are "The Mechanics of a Man Hug" and "Teaching My Son to Be a Man". The former exhibits just how genuinely funny the site is, while the latter is more sentimental, but deeply genuine and poignant.

I'm particularly smitten with their style tips; like Barney Stinson, I am firmly pro-suit. I've been known to demand that the Boy "suit up!" and as we're approaching graduation from university, with adulthood looming larger than ever on the horizon, the Boy's aggressively casual uniform of a t-shirt and jeans is slowly morphing into dress shirts and blazers, much to my delight.

Their relationship articles are also particularly poignant, reasserting the importance of romance and chivalry, especially in a (post-)feminist age. Some of my favourite articles include "How to Save a Marriage", a guide to spicing up a long-term relationship with romance, and "The Virtuous Life", a series based on Ben Franklin's quest to "man up".

Of course, no site is perfect, and my one large criticism of the site is that it is rather hetero-normative. Which, I suppose, is reflective of American society at large, but c'mon. We all know that gay men can be manly men too, and not just in the "butch vs. femme" way, either . Granted, I haven't scoured the website from top to bottom, but really, there's a disturbing lack of discussion of homosexual lifeways.****

I adore this website, and highly recommend it. Pass it along to the men in your life! I did.

--amanda





---------------------------------------------
*The first time I saw this website, I laughed so hard I fell off my bed. True story.
**I'm aware that I sound like a granny, all "kids these days!" But bear with me here, folks.
***I'm also aware that I'm speaking in what appear to be cliches, but trust me, these are deeply rooted in personal experience. I wish they weren't, but god knows they are.
****In the sense that the relationships advice covers only male-female romantic relationships, never male-male.

Friday, November 28, 2008

Monday, November 24, 2008

It still hurts, American Girl. Still hurts.

Dear No One in Particular,

Last month I blogged about my distress over American Girl's decision to retire beloved Samantha Parkington. Apparently, I wasn't the only outraged doll owner: I received an email today linking to a story about equally bereft bloggers taking to the internet to express their grief.

It's an interesting read (the PB&J metaphor pretty much encapsulates how I feel about this move) and it's really good to know that while the doll might be pushing daisies, the books are still available. The books, at least for me, were the foundation -- the whole point, really -- of the American Girl franchise. The lovely dolls were simply icing on the cake: pretty figures to aid in acting out the events of the book, tools to nurture the imagination.

I'll miss Samantha, and will continue to believe that she was one of the best characters in the American Girl pantheon. She was one of the most fully realised, and most true to life: she could be a total spoiled brat, but she was really kind at heart, with wide open eyes and an open mind.
While young ladies today might not have a Samantha Parkington to cuddle and play dress-up with, her world is still available to them in her books.

--amanda

T-Day minus 4 Days

Dear No One in Particular,

Thanksgiving is bearing down upon us and I couldn't be more excited. Which is weird for me, since I normally hate this particular holiday. I've come to realise that I'm super-juiced about Thanksgiving this year because it's all mine -- no cooking for people I don't like, no cooking foods I won't eat. I'm calling the shots this year, and damn it feels good.

I'm also really looking forward to the cooking itself. I love to cook, but I've been so busy recently I haven't had much time to really experiment with new dishes. I'm looking at Thursday not just as another food-laden holiday, but as a chance to get back in my element and whip up some tasty eats. I have a ton of work bearing down on me right now, and I'm trying desperately to finish the majority of it before the holiday, but all I can think of is brined poultry and mulled wine. Obviously, this train of thought does not translate well when writing about Fatimeh and Ali Shariati.

The Boy and I finally put together a finished menu for our Thanksgiving dinner, and we're going grocery shopping tonight. Normally, I hate grocery shopping, especially here in Hawaii. It's pretty depressing, really -- everything has to be shipped from either Asia or the mainland, so what we get is usually half-rotted/beaten to hell and expensive. Milk is $8 a gallon! Lemons are $1.50 EACH. It's ridiculous.
But! Whole Foods has arrived! And it is glorious. Yes, it's expensive, but it's quality organic food -- something Honolulu is severely lacking. Something about wandering the aisles of a Whole Foods is soothing to me, knowing that there is no ingredient I won't be able to find. Having such a store is invaluable, and it seriously eases the tedium of grocery shopping.

Anyhow, here's the final menu for our Thanksgiving dinner:

Starter:
  • Spinach salad with cranberries and goat cheese
  • Mulled wine
Entree and Sides:
  • Chicken, roasted and brined
  • Bourbon-glazed sweet potatoes
  • Rosemary and sage stuffing
  • Spiced cranberry relish
Desserts:
  • Pumpkin gooey butter cakes
  • Maple apple crisp with vanilla ice cream
Good Lord I'm excited. How about you? Any fabulous Thanksgiving plans? Or perhaps you would just like to talk food. Let's chat!

--amanda

Friday, November 21, 2008

Beauty Misadventures: Scents for the Streetwalker in Your Life!

Dear No One in Particular,

I've been wanting to blog for a while now, but I'm currently wrapped up with a ton of school work, specifically a 15 page/4,000 word (whichever comes first) essay on the role of women in the Islamic Revolution. Fascinating stuff, no doubt, but not fun to write about -- at least not to that length. I have a couple of features all lined up, but they'll have to wait for a bit longer.

I'm taking a quick break from my marathon writing session* and browsing my new favourite website, Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab. I'm a bit obsessed with perfume right now, and am trying to find a signature scent. BPAL's names really tread the line between quirky and obnoxious (a little too OMG so goth! for me), but themes are cute, and the selection is bananas -- almost to the point where I overload and want to lie down for a bit before looking at the lists and lists of oils available.
But lo! They have "imps' ears": 32 oz sample vials of their perfumes for the low price of $3.50 each or $20 for a selection of 6 scents. Fabulosity for ficklehearts like me. So, utilising my best friends, the search box and MakeupAlley.com, I begin to seek out 6 possible perfumes.

Sounds like fun, no? Um, kind of. Here's a list of the scents I've shortlisted for my shopping cart:
  • French Love
  • Sacred Whore of Babylon
  • Loralei
  • Delight
  • Rapture
  • Old Venice
  • Phantasm
  • Cheshire Cat
  • Succubus
  • 51

Apparently, I want to smell like a French bordello. **
Or at least like a whore. With a predilection for Alice in Wonderland and alien-based conspiracy theories.

I guess ladies of the night really like jasmine and neroli? Because that's what I was searching for. I'm looking mostly for a complex white floral, but what comes up are skanky scents christened with the names of floozies.

Has anyone else out there tried BPAL? Have a signature scent you just can't live without? Do tell! The next time I'm out and about, I don't want to be solicited when all I'm doing is waiting for the light to change.

--amanda


--------------
*My sincerest apologies if this update makes little-to-no sense. I'm already half a bottle of red to the wind, and I'm a bit of a lightweight.
**Not true. Very much not true.

Friday, November 14, 2008

La Petite Amelie

Dear No One in Particular,

I, like just about everyone else on the internet, am utterly entranced by Capucine, the wee French girl people are calling "Amelie Jr." Adorable to the bone, and ridiculously charming, I want to move to France to babysit. (Ignore the fact that I don't speak French -- Capucine can teach me!)

My favourite video involves her telling an wonderful story about a hippo who dies and goes to heaven against his will and a crocodile and a lion who becomes king, among other things:


Once upon a time... from Capucha on Vimeo.

I would kill to possess 1/10 the amount of imagination and joy she has!

--amanda

Friday, November 7, 2008

An (Early) Christmas Letter

Dear Santa,

I know I've spent the last few years asking you for a doggy and/or pony for Christmas, and I would get pissy when you didn't deliver (really sorry about tipping off the IRS and UN on you re: elf-slaves and back taxes. Really sorry), but I really had my heart set on a new pet.

I'm more mature this year, and I've been a very good girl. So this year, I'm asking you for a baby pygmy hippo.

WOOK AD IT:



You can't deny me the adorbs.

Thanks and hope Mrs Claus and the slaves elves are doing well. Give the reindeer hugs and sugar cookies for me!

--amanda

Saturday, November 1, 2008

Feliz Dia de Los Muertos!


*click to view full image*
taken at the Museum of Popular (Folk) Arts in Mexico City (2006)

El Dia de los Muertos is one of my favourite holidays. I've written a bit about it before, but I'd like to reinforce the fact that this, like Halloween, is not a day of fear or morbidity. It's a celebration of life as much as it is a celebration of death.
People visit the graves of their deceased family members not just to mourn their death, but to celebrate their lives. It's a way of remembering that while they might be gone, they made an indelible impact while still alive.

El Dia de los Muertos reminds us that, so far as we know, we only have one life -- make it a good one. Surround yourself with good friends, good food, and good drink; make laughter the soundtrack of your days; see the world through rainbow lenses. Life is too short to be bland.

--amanda

Monday, October 27, 2008

T-Day minus One Month

Dear No One in Particular,

I am sitting on my couch watching Paula Deen make fudge with Max Brenner, and I can't bring myself to think about anything other than cooking. Specifically, cooking Thanksgiving dinner.

I love cooking, baking especially. I bake to reduce stress, which means that there's almost always cupcakes or brownies in my fridge. As much as I love my Boy, he can't cook. Like, at all. I once caught him trying to boil sausages in a frying pan. Natch, I do pretty much all the cooking for the both of us.

We're both stuck in Hawaii for Thanksgiving this year, which isn't a big deal so far as I'm concerned. I really don't like Thanksgiving -- I know, there are people out there ready to shoot me for such an admission. Honestly, I hate most traditional Thanksgiving foods: turkey repulses me, cranberry jelly with the can ring-imprints terrify me, and I HATE pumpkin pie. That leaves a handful of side dishes for me to munch on, so I don't really get that food-coma that most of my family self-induces. And don't get me started on the Pilgrim-Indian nonsense.
I've slowly started to come to terms with Thanksgiving. I've realised that this is a holiday that most people really, truly enjoy and look forward to; in order for me to enjoy it as well, I had better take the reins, culinarily speaking.

That said, I'm getting more and more excited about this Thanksgiving. While I know the Boy is disappointed that there won't be any turkey or pumpkin pie, he trusts that I can pull together a great meal for the two of us.
I've created a preliminary menu; it looks like a ton of food, and well, it is. Especially considering that I'm cooking for just two. But! I believe that if we're going to have Thanksgiving dinner, we may as well have the 3-weeks worth of leftovers, too.

Amanda and the Boy's Thanksgiving dinner (so far):
--mulled wine
--roasted chicken with sage and herbes de Provence
--cornbread stuffing
--bourbon sweet potatoes
--spiced cranberry sauce with pear
--brussels sprouts au gratin/green bean casserole*
--maple apple crisp a la mode
--pumpkin gooey butter cake**

So, internets, what are YOU having for Thanksgiving?

--amanda


-------------------
*I haven't decided which one to make yet.
**Just because I don't like pumpkin pie doesn't mean I don't like pumpkin -- quite the opposite! And we need a pumpkin dessert.

Wednesday, October 15, 2008

Goodbye, Victorian Rose

Dear No One in Particular,

I received wind of some particularly sobering news this morning: American Girl has announced that they are discontinuing the entire line of Samantha dolls. For good. Tears all around.

Samantha was my absolute favourite, but she wasn't my introduction to the American Girl series.* I remember seeing her picture in the catalog and falling in love with her because we shared a hairstyle (I could be a very shallow 8 year old, but at least I liked to read historical fiction). But really, Samantha was the bomb-diggity. She was incredibly rich, with all the best toys -- her party set was THE best thing a girl could have: little painted petit fours, a working ice cream maker, and don't get me started on her fabulous wardrobe! Fur muffs! Velvet dresses! LINED PURSES, YA'LL. I seem to remember a steamer trunk, too, but I can't be quoted on that.

But despite her very My Super Sweet Sixteen-seeming lifestyle, Samantha was the tops as a girlfriend. She was BFF with her maid/"servant girl" Nellie, and somehow, the relationship didn't seem contrived or condescending. Samantha truly saw a kindred spirit in poor illiterate Nellie, and it didn't matter the stations they were born into.

Samantha was witness to a changing world (really, most of the girls were) and her experiences shaped a lot of little (real) girls' view of history and the world around them. Samantha's grandmother was a hard-ass Victorian prude, but her beloved uncle and his glamourous girlfriend were automobile-owning suffragettes! Samantha was privileged, but she was by no means sheltered. I remember reading the historical notes at the back of "Samantha Learns a Lesson" and crying over the pictures of children working in factories. I had no idea how good I had it, and neither had Samantha. Petting her long brown curls, I realised that we had both learned a lesson about the world and it's cruelty.

R.I.P. Samantha Parkington, raddest American girl of them all. (Kit Kitredge is a punk.)

--amanda


-------
*That would be Felicity, the spunk sprightly colonial girl ... or something to that effect. My grandmother gave me her entire set of books one Christmas and I read them until they fell apart. I blame Felicity for my love of colonial American history.

Sunday, September 28, 2008

Heaven is an endless library

Dear No One in Particular,

I love to read, and always have. I was a solitary child, and so spent much of my time holed up in my room reading. I would escape to far off places, befriend whole worlds of new people; books are my escapist drug.
I'm also aware that it's somewhat en vogue to pretend to be dumb(er), and to shown disdain for reading. I also think that's incredibly stupid. While I often struggled to fit in -- and honestly, still do -- I never pretended that reading was a chore. So many beautiful things lie buried in those words, waiting for our imaginations to set them free!

As an intense bibliophile, I carry around long lists of "To Read" books. I have a list entered in my BlackBerry, another in the Boy's iPhone, and a Moleskin notebook with a list 4 pages long. I can never visit a bookstore without padding out my beloved lists.

And here's another one: 75 Books Every Woman Should Read, as determined by Jezebel (and Jezebel commentators). A response to Esquire's 75 Books Every Man Should Read, Jezebel created a woman-centric list that provides a yin to Esquire's yang. (I bet they would love to hear that!)

I've become increasingly ... upset, I suppose, by my current preoccupation with what I call "mac-n-cheese" literature. Mostly chick lit, and picked mostly for their nonsensical plots, bad writing, and incomprehensible page-turning addictiveness, I feel I've been rotting my brain with books that, while easy to digest, are not particularly stimulating.

So, I've decided to read all 150 novels (yes, both lists for sake of a well-rounded reading experience). I've already completed 26 of the tomes over the years, and am currently making my way through Flannery O'Conner's A Good Man is Hard To Find, which I am absolutely falling in love with. Granted, I've long been an admirer of the short story (Salinger, holla!), so O'Conner's brutal prose is right up my alley.

I invite you, dear reader(s ?) to join me in this epic quest of required reading. Naturally, I'm not going to limit myself to just these books -- sometimes, you just need some mac-n-cheese to better appreciate the prime rib -- but I would love to form a sort of book club with someone, plowing through these greats of literature. I'm trying to convince the Boy to join me: I bought him Tim O'Brien's The Things They Carried and Jack London's Call of the Wild, two books that brought me to tears, but he's in the "reading's not for me" camp right now.

What do you think? Interested in joining me in this purely intellectual experiment? Read any of the books and have opinions that burn like the clap? Tell me! I love talking books.

--amanda