EastGirlsWest

Peggy Post was on These Days today, discussing wedding etiquette. It was a fantastic hour, full of entertaining listener calls and, as you might expect, good advice. My favorite little morsel from the segment? That second and third time brides are now known as “encore brides.”

Apparently, I’m an Encore Bride. And after doing a bit of online research, I discovered that this is a whole big thing. Who knew?

For some reason, I love this. It’s both appropriate and polite yet mildly judgemental in a can’t-prove-it-in-court kind of way.

The Omnivore’s Dilemma, by Michael Pollan.

I’m not finished yet, but so far this is a fascinating trip down the food chain. What I thought I knew about where my meals come from turns out to be not much. And my interest in reading about soil nutrients, the evil by-products of corn and the amount of petroleum used in the grocery supply chain is greater than I imagined, thanks to Pollan’s prose which is as fascinating and lively as great dinner conversation. Tracing the origins of four very different meals, from the scary creation of Chicken McNuggets to the living quarters of an organic bird named Rosie, he’s answering every question I could think to have about what I put in my mouth.

Since this is a book club pick and we’ve yet to meet, I’m going to hold off on further commentary. But I don’t think it’s too early to say this: if you eat food, you might want to get this book.

In the meantime, you can read more of Pollan in yesterday’s NYTimes Magazine.

For three years in the 90s, I lived in Rochester, New York. I spent the bulk of my time there with a flock of other transplants - we had all moved to Ra-cha-cha (as it was known to us) from bigger, better cities. Like New York. And Boston. While Rochester eventually became a pleasant place to live, it took a bit of adjustment.

In an effort to cheer up and convince ourselves It Wasn’t So Bad, we began compiling a list of places and things that made life in our gray, chilly corner of upstate New York bearable…even occasionally fun or interesting. The farmer’s market, a good diner, the one cute store where you could find a unique gift. The list was christened, “Rochester We Feel Good About”.

While I don’t think San Diego is in need of anything near the boostering and spin that life in Rochester required, I can’t help building my own feel good list about it. Especially when I’m getting on The 8 for the eighth time in one day because it’s impossible for me to drive goddamn anywhere without getting on a highway. Because really, I’ve never lived anywhere that involved so much merging and multiple lane nagivation.

Is it really east coast of me to say highway? Should I be saying freeway? Are they interchangeable?

My point it this: the highway is worth it when it gets you to certain places, like Venissimo Cheese. Tay brought the first Venissimo bounty into our home a few weeks ago, and I finally made it there myself today. And while Venissimo is now on my SDIFGA list, it has it’s own list of charms:

- free samples of any cheese you’d like to try
- each cheese card marked with a cartoon sheep, goat or cow to let you know from which animal the cheese hails
- friendly staff (they give out free samples!)
- cheeses named “ewe-phoria” and “ewe-f-o”
- a detailed receipt that includes the cheese name, a long description, and wine pairing suggestions

I adore cheese. I feel really good about this place that sells the cheese. In fact, Tay and I just enjoyed some Pata Cabra and Lamb Chopper on sourdough with picholine olives, a tasty bottle of red and an overall sense that this Monday was not so bad.

The second and final chapter of The Wedding Dress Saga begins on The 10 in Los Angeles, heading west. Tay and I drove up there for three bridal shop appointments, on what was to be the last day of shopping. Because it’s perfectly logical that when you find the wedding dresses in La Jolla are too pricey, you head for Beverly Hills to find something more reasonable.

I don’t know what we were thinking, or how it all worked out so well. Apparently we had reached a level of blind faith that I would find the right dress, the perfect dress, on this one day in LA. Tay is extremely intuitive, and she had a feeling.

In the meantime, I had a feeling of my own. A strong feeling of desire for one of the dresses I had tried on at a shop in La Jolla. We’ll call it the funky lace dress. From M Bride.

So we had just pulled into LA. We were on the 10. My phone rang. I answered it.

It was Michelle from M Bride, telling me she just decided to order a new sample of the funky lace dress, and did I want to buy the current sample, which fit me almost perfectly, at half price?

I said, is this a cruel joke, because I JUST DROVE TWO HOURS TO START A LONG DAY OF DRESS SHOPPING.

Then I passed out and Tay had to take the phone.

When I came to, I decided this was definitely a sign. I mean, actually not a sign, right? A sign is more subtle, like a bolt of lightening hitting the car. This was an actual phone call that could help me make an informed decision about the very thing for which I thought I needed a sign.

But reality being, well, real…there were two lingering issues:

1) Half of utterly unaffordable still equals barely affordable. Or still over budget. Or more than the monthly mortgage. You get the idea.
2) I was already in LA, for the sole purpose of wedding dress shopping. As Tay wisely counseled, it seemed like bad karma to cancel my appointments and just turn around.

I gave Michelle my best “I know you can’t hold it unless I say I want it and I’m pretty sure I want it and please hold it even though you can’t hold it and maybe I’ll get there as soon as I can and oh god I’M FREAKING OUT.”

Then we stuck with the schedule. I put on dress after dress after dress. I stepped into them. I swam through them. I put so many layers and yards of fabric over my head I thought I might pass out from the lack of oxygen. When I tried to fall asleep later that night relentless visions of satin, tulle, taffeta, beading, sashes, lace and zippers in every possible shade of white kept moving rapidly in front of me like scenery on the highway.

I spent the entire day thinking about the dress at M Bride. Was it meant to be? Or a cosmic trick, an ironic twist, a red herring to throw me off course? At the very least, I felt I had an expensive backup plan. But looking at it that way made me only more determined try on every last dress in front of me.

The last stop was the place I had the least amount of hope for. From the first moment we got there, it had so much going against it.

For example.

“Hi, I’m Tay. We have a 4:30 appointment for my sister, Jessica.”
“Hi, I’m Shannon. It’s a pleazsh.”

That’s right, Shannon actually felt the need to abbreviate the word “pleasure”. She also, later in the day, abbreviated the word “nasty” to “nas”. I’m now wondering why she needed to use that word in the first place.

She had only two responses when I tried on a dress.

“You are TOTALLY rocking that dress!”

or

“Yeah, you’re not really rocking that dress.”

At the conclusion of our day, over a civilized glass of wine, Tay wondered why Shannon had chosen the super cazsh approach with us. Was it because she thought it would be the best way to connect with Tay, the person clearly in charge?

I looked across the table at Tay, wearing fingerless gloves, a sequined scarf, designer jeans, hot pink lipstick and an overall rock star attitude.

“Honestly, I don’t know what would give her that idea.”

But things with Shannon were not all nas. The very last dress she handed me, at the very end of our day, when I was clinging to my very last shred of hope and patience? I TOTALLY, TOTALLY, TOTALLY rocked that dress. So much so, that it made me forget all about…what was it? Oh, right. That other dress.

So at 6:00pm I put almost the exact amount of my original dress budget on a credit card, bid farewell to Shannon, and floated out onto Sunset Boulevard - the proud new owner of a gorgeous gown to get married in. And for the entire drive home, I felt nothing but pleazsh.

So I had my first, non-fundraising radio gig yesterday.

I’ve been on the air in many cities and on several stations over the years, always for the same purpose: to ask public radio listeners for money. Not to blow my own horn, but I have become rather skilled at this, and am comfortable in front of a microphone when ending every sentence with a phone number.

But yesterday everything was wacky! No phone number, no “why you should support this station” message points, no coffee mugs to describe in loving detail. Yet, still the microphone.

I was in the KPBS studio with David Coddon of the Union Tribune, and Tom Fudge, host of These Days, to talk about some interesting and worthwhile stuff going on in San Diego this weekend. The show does a fantastic job covering arts and culture in San Diego, and it was so much fun to be there and contribute a small piece to the ongoing conversation.

The segment is called Weekend Preview, and you can hear it every Thursday at approximately 10:40am. Rumor has it I might get to make an occasional reappearance, so keep listening. As for my debut, you can check it out here. Also, a few quick links to my recommendations:

- Eva Zeisel & John Dirks exhibits at the Mingei International Museum
- Wine Vault & Bistro
- The Soft Lightes at The Beauty Bar

And if you found this information helpful, and enjoyed listening to Weekend Preview, perhaps you’d like to call 1-800-576-KPBS and support great programming like These Days with a financial gift to your local public radio station. The number again is one, eight hundred, five seven six, KPBS.

Tonight’s dinner:

White wine and lemon risotto, with eggplant, leeks, and fresh thyme, creamed to perfection. Gently tossed with shaved parmesan and baby arugula. Topped with sea scallops seared in lemon zest, garlic and black pepper.

Sublime.

Perhaps you read the Dooce entry last week in which she posted one of her college diary entries. She was inspired to do this by her blogger friend Sarah Brown and her Cringe project. Cringe is both a series of monthly readings in Brooklyn, and a book that Sarah is compiling. The content? Old journal entries, diaries, poems, letters and other great works written during one’s teenage years. Cringe, indeed. Dooce’s post was the first I’d heard of Cringe, but I was intrigued.

Coincidentally, it turns out my brave friend Mary C. Matthews shared some high school journal nuggets at the last Cringe reading. You can see a video of her performance here (spoiler: it involves many references to Dances With Wolves). I laughed so hard I couldn’t stop crying while I watched it.

I am now inspired to sift through the detritus of my own youth in search of something cringe-inducing. Shouldn’t be too hard. I remember somewhat recently reading through some notes I passed during class with my best friend in high school. Every single one was about how my hair looked.

More soon on this topic, I promise. I’ll start digging into the back of the garage tomorrow.

Before I moved to Southern California, I had the distinct impression that it might be somewhat lacking in the area of art and culture (or as they say in Boston, aaht and cul-cha). I’ve since discovered that this stereotype of So-Cal, no doubt invented and perpetrated by east coasters like myself, is not entirely true. I mean, there’s definitely some stuff going on.

In fact, there are three events, all happening in the next few weeks, that I feel compelled to share. If you live in San Diego you should check them out. If you live somewhere else, I offer these events up as proof that, well, there’s definitely some stuff going on. Pretty good stuff.

SPACECRAFT GALLERY presents New York artist Craig Kane

Spacecraft is the super cool new gallery and studio space in North Park, conceived, built and run by my uber talented friend Chris Puzio (among others). Here’s the scoop on the featured artist according to the Spacecraft crew:

“A San Diego native, Craig Kane returns to America’s finest city with a large exhibition of small painting and sculpture at Spacecraft Gallery in North Park. Craig’s miniature painting and diminutive scenes impart his urban melancholy with humor, surprise and magic!”

The opening receptiong is this Saturday from 6-9pm, and the show will be up through 2/9/07. Spacecraft Gallery is located at 2865 North Park Way (behind the North Park Theater).

JOHN DIRKS, SCULPTOR — A Retrospective

John has been honored with a beautiful exhibit at the Mingei International Museum - featuring 40 sculptures spanning four decades (including a piece from the Hanson/Betrothed collection). The Mingei says “These elegant architectural sculptures combine exotic woods and acrylic.” I say his work is simply stunning. Check out Kelly’s photos if you can’t make it. If you go, make sure you get there before February 11.

¡VIVA OBJECTS!

Avid collectors Steve Aldana, Ron Kerner and Dave Hampton are the masterminds behind Objects USA - an online gallery and resource for mid-century art and design. Later this month they present ¡VIVA OBJECTS!, the latest in a continuing series of sales exhibitions. The preview and reception (not to be missed!) is on Friday, Jan. 26th at 7pm, and the show will be open on Jan. 27th and Jan. 28th from
10 to 5.

Items for sale are all vintage, from the 1950s, ‘60s and ‘70s, and include paintings, sculpture, pottery, furniture and functional objects for indoor and outdoor use. Many of the pieces are rare finds, often from the artist’s personal collections, and are offered for sale and viewing for the first time in decades.

So for several weeks now, one of the most emailed articles on NYTimes.com has been Questions Couples Should Ask (Or Wish They Had) Before Marrying.

Of course I emailed this to The Betrothed the first day it was published. And of course he rolled his eyes when I told him I thought we should discuss all the questions, one by one. I lieu of a good, long DTR (Discuss The Relationship), I not-so-subtly tackled the questions one by one, over the course of about ten days. Generally, I waited until we were trapped in the car, or caught him in a different place that he couldn’t flee easily - like the shower.

The questions included:

#14: If one of us were to be offered a career opportunity in a location far from the other’s family, are we prepared to move? Well, we’re screwed on that one. Let’s hope I never get offered that dream job in Iowa.

#8: Do we truly listen to each other and fairly consider one another’s ideas and complaints? I don’t know. We reached a stalemate on this one because he wouldn’t listen to me while I told him how wrong he was.

#4: Have we fully disclosed our health histories, both physical and mental? Stupid question. Obviously not.

My favorite is #7: Will there be a television in the bedroom?

Wouldn’t you know, this question was the one we had the strongest solidarity on. We may not agree on how save or spend money, or how to raise children or if we’ll even have them. But when it comes to TV intruding on the marriage bed, we’re in lockstep. And this, I think, is an EXCELLENT indicator of our future happiness and the longevity of our relationship.

For as long as we both shall live, there’s no way we’re falling asleep to the eerie glow of the plasma screen in our own bed. NO WAY. We do that on the couch.

I pedaled on the elliptical alone the other day. Angela was traveling back from Erie, and Tay was out gathering supplies for our New Year’s Eve party. Forgetting to charge my iPod ahead of time, I was left with only my thoughts for 40 minutes. And in the final hours of 2006, I found myself focused on what a new year means.

Of course, one of the first thoughts I had was about resolutions. Would I make any this year? Then I realized that I make the SAME damn resolution every year: to commit to exercising. This year, for the first time in my life, I’ve made it happen. Chalk one up to progress.

On Christmas Eve my family played a game. Twenty-six pieces of paper were put in a bowl, each with a year written on it starting with 1980 (the earliest Tay can remember). We took turns drawing, and then had to share something about the year we got. It could be a small moment or a huge event. Something funny, sad or meaningful. Something that would be a good story.

It was hard for us to remember really specific moments within a year. We all tended to focus on a big event, like “I moved to Boston”. Or in some cases it became a year in review: “I switched jobs, started skiing and went to Italy.” The small moments blend together, especially the older we get. Oddly, the farther back the year, the easier it was to remember and share a smaller moment. I guess that’s just how we remember our childhood - unwrapping a special gift on our birthday, what we wore on the first day of school, who we sat behind in third grade class. Not years, just little pictures.

I drew 1985, the year I started high school. The first thing I remembered was walking to high school for orientation day with my best friend Jessie. We were both nervous, but she made me laugh the whole way there. Jessie died in 1994. Even the happy memories often remind us of what we’ve lost. People we loved who are no longer in our lives. Olde acquaintance, be forgot. And I suppose each year after a loss is another milestone in the healing of our grief.

When 2001 was drawn, it was hard for any of us to recall anything except 9/11 that year. We knew exactly where we were, what we were doing, and who we called first. And for all of us, 2002 represented a time, after the election of You Know Who, when this country took a devastating turn. And as much as YKW likes to wish it so, I can’t imagine that a decade from now I’ll remember 2006 as the year Saddam Hussein was executed. Likely I will recall it as the year that the majority of Americans finally woke up to the inanity of this war and made their feelings known during mid-term elections.

Leaving Cape Cod the day after Christmas, I sat next to The Betrothed on the bus to Boston. As we watched the bare trees beside the highway move by in a blur, we reminisced about the past year. Vacations, good meals, house projects, career changes, health challenges…I was only halfway through reciting this list of things that defined our year when The Betrothed interrupted. He just looked at me and said “I love you.”

My eyes welled up, and he put his hand over mine, and I could feel his chin on the top of my head when I leaned into his shoulder. I knew I would never have to try to remember that moment, because it’s always there.

And I think that’s what he was trying to say. Our year, our 2006, wasn’t the list of events. It was us - living it together. The list of events will change, some years more than others. Life will be hard, and wonderful. Some things we will remember, and others we will forget.

So maybe the calendar change just marks a renewed commitment to keep moving, alongside all the people I love. On the bus, definitely on the elliptical, and on my increasingly strong two legs.

Happy New Year.