Strongly Worded

Comings and Goings

So my lovely friend Melinda is moving to Chicago tomorrow. She and her husband hosted a "Scare Us out of Town" party on Saturday night. (They dressed up as a baby and Ozzy Osborne, respectively. The Ozzy costume incorporated a small bird (stuffed) with its head chomped off. )

As the party wound down, I found myself sitting between Melinda and our friend R., musing about shared good times. Along with K., the four of us have been primary friends for a good while now. Collectively, we've experienced nine job transitions, enrolled in five post-graduate institutions, broken up with seven men, married two others, moved ten times, and started two blogs.

I get all panicky when people move away. One of the hardest things about being a twentysomething in a cool area like Greater Boston is the constant migration. People go away to grad school, or move closer to their or their significant others' families, or they are misguided enough to leave for othe reasons.

I feel particularly panicky with Melinda's departure, because it makes me the last urban holdout in our group. K. has moved to Rhode Island for grad school. R. has bought a house in the suburbs. And that leaves just me breathing exhaust and lead paint in my overpriced city apartment. Without Melinda, will people still trek out for craft night at my house, with the traffic and the parking problems? I comfort myself by thinking that E., the newest member of our crew, continues to rock out in her (urban) Cambridge apartment, but I hear that she, too, is "looking to buy" which may mean another suburban defection.

R. is finding inroads to her new suburban community, which also scares me. I love hearing about the dearth of ethnic food and the strip malls. (C'mon over, anytime! There won't be any parking, but we've got Thai, Mexican, Indian, Italian, Tibetan , Japanese ... all within walking distance of my house ...). I love hearing about the not-so-progressive suburban neighbors. (You might get towed, but I can provide you with all the political correctness you could ever want!)

But I am frightened when I hear about the social scene that has cropped up in the dog park. R. has enrolled her puppy in obedience classes, and thus befriended two former city-dwellers. They are a young, hip couple with whom R. bonds in the company of their canine companions. The couple lives very close to R. and her husband. How can I compete with that? I have no dog. I have no fresh air. And I live about 40 minutes away.

I try to stave off these feelings by considering the "net gain" of friendship. Luckily, the Greater Boston Migration Phenomenon works both ways. Many people come here for school and end up staying forever, like a handful of grad school classmates, including my beloved friend Stef (and yes, I acknowledge that "forever" may be a little premature). Many people actually buy overpriced homes in the city itself (two of my friends recently became urban homeowners, which fills me with joy, because not only do they live nearby, but they will live nearby for the foreseeable future).

That doesn't make it any easier, though. Tonight I have to stop by Melinda's house and drop off the Deb Talan CD she lent me. Which brings back memories of the time when we went to see Deb Talan back before she got famous, performing in a yoga studio in Arlington, and Melinda had her pager in case she got called for a hateful-job-related emergency, and I cried during the sad songs because I had just broken up with the then-love of my life ...

There's no way around it. I will miss Melinda, her dark humor, her Midwestern sensibility, abd her unabashed appreciation of pop culture. I'm glad that, at least virtually, she'll stay just around the corner.

Posted by Dori at 4:02 PM 1 comments

Broken food chopper, anyone? Latest in 1980's college dorm technology?

A few months ago I took on a work-related project that involved furnishing the common room of a nursing home. As I've mentioned, it wasn't nearly as fun as I thought it would be. I had this brainstorm that I would impress everyone with my savvy ability to acquire beautiful yet inexpensive things, something I have done with success in the past. (I acquired my like-new Crate & Barrel Madison Table for $100, which I'm sure I've mentioned already).

Anyway. So around the time of my nursing home project, I subscribed to freecycle, which is a listserv for, well, free things. Every day I get a digest of all the things that are either wanted or available for free in my area. Through freecycle, I got a whole lot of free books for the aforementioned nursing home. Most of them were utter crap--paperback trash with dog-eared pages. I spent all this time driving around random neighborhoods in the dark, picking them up. Ultimately, it wasn't worth the effort.

However, I continue to get the freecyle e-digest, and am confounded every day by the random, random assortment of items.

Today's batch, for your amusement.

Subject: OFFER: Office Sorter, 11" B&W RCA TV
Office Sorter: 26" x 11" x 8" (w x d x h). Metal. Black with Wood trim.
Looks kind of cool. Kind of like an in-box on steroids. 6 horizontal
shelves, 3 vertical ones.

11" B&W RCA TV: Tired of watching your favorite shows on a 60" HDTV Flat
Screen that reproduces colors well into the ultraviolet and infrared
spectra? They enjoy the latest in 1980's college dorm technology! Gets VHF
and UHF channels using those clickity channel dials. Will come with a coax
converter. EMBRACE THE GREY-SCALE EXPERIENCE!

**
Subject: OFFER: radio-controlled car
Radio controlled Viper model car. About 14 inches long. Make by NIKKO. Works fine, but it drives my dog crazy. Gotta go! Needs 8 AA batteries.

**
Subject: WANTED: spice grinder, coat rack
Does anyone have a spice grinder they are not using?
Or a coat rack? I actually want the coat rack or similar stand for my room so clean an decent looking please.

**

Subject: OFFER: food chopper, clothes steamer, and 20 cd cases
1. food chopper: i think it was a seen on tv on. Manual where you turn the handle on top. Works but other handle on side broke off (you can still hold the container instead). Comes w/ chopper blade and whipper attachment.

2. clothes steamer: another as seen on tv. "Wonder Steamer" Small and plugs in but it has started to work only when it wants to and it is usually not when i want it to :-)

**
Subject: OFFER - Misc. Software
Cleaning out the office...have a number of old software packages I no longer use for the taking: Note that all are on CD ROM, most run on any Windows platform from 3.1 on. Microsoft products came with a computer I bought a long time ago and no longer have. I never used most of these and they all have Microsoft Certificates of Authenticity. Quicken Deluxe 4 (circa 1995), Microsoft Musical Instruments, Microsoft Ancient Lands

Unless someone claims these, they will go out with the trash on Thursday AM.

**
Subject: WANTED: AT&T Cell Phone
My phone has stopped working and I need to replace it. It can only be
an AT&T phone, since that who I am contracted to. I would appreciate a
phone someone's not using.

**
Subject: WANTED: Paper Shredder...
Howdy. Anyone have a paper shredder they're looking to pass on to a good
home? Home or Office Style, whichever.

Cleaning out a decade's worth of old bills and receipts and statements.
Must... thwart ... identity thieves! (Though, if they really want my credit
rating, they're welcome to it.)

Posted by Dori at 9:44 AM 0 comments

Repeater Knee!

So I deserve a medal, my strongly worded readers. I have resumed exercise after a month-long hiatus from my gym (I "froze" my membership because I had no time to go).

Alas, my membership thawed out last week, and on Friday evening I completed my well-established "Dori Circuit Training", which consists of:
20 minutes on the edge of the hot tub (dangling my feet, because I never bring a towel);
15-17 minutes on the treadmill (3.8 mph, mid-level difficulty);
5 half-hearted minutes with the dumbbells; and
another 20 minutes "stretching" on a mat and reading trashy magazines.

Because I feel like a slug lately, I am feeling newly committed to the gym, and yesterday morning, as I mentioned, I deserve a medal because I got out of bed (on a rainy Sunday morning, readers!) in time for the 9:30 "Step N Sculpt" class.

As I heaved my tired and stiff body over the step in time to the (admittedly very satisfying) '80s music, I kept reminding myself that I have an excuse for being embarrassingly out of shape (the month-long freeze). But the two heinous participants in the class did not help matters. These two women are somehow in every class. Allow me to introduce you to the Super Striver and Ms. Whoo Whoo!

Super Striver annoys me even on my less-slug-like days. This woman has an incredibly perfect body, and usually a ponytail that bounces all perfectly down her toned shoulders. She is not content to submit to the brutality that is Step N Sculpt, but must add in "power moves" at every opportunity, and will not "cool down" with everyone else, electing instead to jog and "jack" while the rest of us sweat and pant and revel in the euphoria that is the Last Five Minutes of class.

Ms. Whoo Whoo! acknowledges the brutality of Step N Sculpt, but, rather than rolling her eyes, breathing heavily, and marching in place when the going gets rough (which we all know is the appropriate response), she squeals "Whoo Whoo!" at regular intervals. Shut the fuck up, I say in my mind, over the sound of my pounding heart, the sound of 15 women stomping and stepping, and the directives of the instructor.

At the end of the class, both women headed into the studio to continue to exercise and escape my scorn. I headed out of the gym, bought the paper, made some coffee, and retreated to the fluffy heaven that is my new down comforter. Whoo whoo!

Posted by Dori at 4:19 PM 2 comments

Now My Love is Rated X

The title of this post is a shout-out to K.'s boyfriend, aka the Critic's Darling, who wrote a hilarious song correlating relationships with MPAA ratings.

And X refers to EX, most unfortunately. Since we broke up, I've spoken with my former boyfriend a few times. And we've emailed a few times. For a long while now, I've been able to see the flashing light on my answering machine and the inbox of my email without wondering if he's contacted me.

But then I saw him for the first time, and he was not in such a good place. He later confirmed that he is, in fact, far from a good place. I wonder if he is standing on the brink of the vortex of gloom, resisting the powerful, sucking force of depression. Having personally stood there many times, I am obsessively worried about him. I long to drive over to his glorious apartment and make him soup, waffles, or chicken. I am seized with the desire to hang out with him and take care of him, and serve as a comforting source of understanding and compassion.

To this end, I suggested that he call me when he gets back from his conference in Colorado (which sounds, to me, like a bad joke--what happens when you bring 200 oncologists way above sea level?).

The conference was a week ago, and he has not called. Now I'm back to the checking voicemail and email as obsessively as I did when we first met, except without the joyous anticipation. What if he yells at me? What if he thinks I'm nosy and overbearing? What if he really is really sad, what will I do? What if Colorado is, in fact, a good place for him and he's having sex with some chick at high altitude? And I'm imagining all this? Why am I so preoccupied???

There is just no way of knowing.

Posted by Dori at 12:22 PM 0 comments

Let's Discuss Our Options

Options for tonight's activities:
a) Watch TV: the Amazing Race or Commander in Chief at 9 p.m..
b) Attend an event at the Harvard Bookstore on the new book, Giving an Account of Oneself. The promo: "What does it mean to lead an ethical life under vexed social and linguistic conditions? In her first extended study of moral philosophy, gender theorist Judith Butler offers a provocative outline for a new ethical practice."

Options for general transportation:
a) Take the subway/bus, which costs about $4/day, takes 35-45 minutes, and is consistent with my public transit-oriented values.
b) Drive to and from work every day, which currently costs about $1.78 a day (considering gas expense only) and takes 20-30 minutes, and fuels (ha) the depletion of natural resources.

Options for financial management:
a) Find a place/mechansim for keeping track of all my passwords for various online financial institutions.
b) Continue to type in five or six permutations of my password and username every time I want to check the status of a transaction.

Options for professional relationship-building:
a) TELL a certain colleague to butt out of a deal I'm negotiating.
b) Evasively EMAIL said colleague, SUGGESTING that she allow me to "broker an agreement."

Options for landlord-tenant relations:
a) Demand/request that landlords extract my recycling bin from beneath their assorted collection of glass blocks, yard waste, and boxes.
b) Continue to stealthily distribute my recyclables among the bins of my neighbors.

Options for addressing the abysmal state of my wardrobe:
a) Get my ass (and the collection of ill-fitting pants I've bought with the intention of altering them since they're all designed for women without hips and/or compunctions about exposing their tushes to the elements) down to the local seamstress.
b) Continue to alternate between the four pairs of pants that actually fit.

Options for addressing the Exxon-Valdez-Meets-Sahara-Desert state of my skin:
a) Call my insurance company and the dermatologist recommended on a listserv.
b) Bitch about the aforementioned state of my complexion.
c) Find someone with whom I can have sex.

Posted by Dori at 5:50 PM 1 comments

The Dori Bibliography

Have I mentioned that I'm in a writing group? In fact I am. We convened four years ago in a very expensive writing class (financed by my cushy job which provided every employee with $500 a year for "personal and professional development"). When the class ended, we decided to keep meeting on our own, and we took turns submitting work and facilitating the meetings. Over time, we've gotten increasingly close, and increasingly lazy. We sometimes chat more than we write. Last week, the exercise was to write about why you write. It was inspired by a book, aptly titled Why I Write.

It was a thought-provoking question, and one I've thought about a lot recently, not just because of the book, but because of repeated questions about what it means to have a blog and why it's so enchanting to write for an audience (albeit a small one). It's also interesting that I enjoy the blog so much, but have little desire to submit pieces for print publication.

Upon reflection, I'd say that I enjoy writing for many reasons. The act of changing ideas into words clarifies them. Writing the words down makes them permanent and powerful. And writing for any kind of audience brings purpose to the whole enterprise. The actual technical aspects of writing also intrigue me--I love words, and sentence structure, and editing my own and others' work. One of my proudest writing achievements was fixing up a mediocre and confusing article a kid submitted to the high school newspaper. It ultimately won an award, and I am satisfied by my role in that outcome.

Additional highlights of the Dori bibliography, for your perusal:

1) The Dolphin Who Couldn't Swim (1982). First publication, kindergarten. Parent volunteers would type up kids’ stories and bind them with contact paper and velotape. We could “borrow” one another’s books through the kindergarten lending library. Dolphin, with its complex characterization and invented spelling, kicked off my literary career.

2) "Spur Sparingly" (Horse Illustrated, 1986). First strongly worded letter. I was obsessed with horses, and felt outraged by what I perceived to be an inhumane response to a reader’s question (I think it had to do with whips and spurs). I wrote a letter to the editor, explaining my position on the use of whips and spurs, and lo and behold, it was published. I brought compassion into the barnyard!

3) Andrea of the Manor (1987). First novel, a virtual homage to what was then—and remains—a favorite book, Anne of Green Gables. By the time I lost interest in it, the "novel" was about 100 hand-written pages long, and it was a plaything, a companion, a source of joy. The “book” probably mirrored Anne of Green Gables in WAY too many ways. I think there was at least one horse in it, and two evil aunts, and a lot of mist. I was big on mist. I am too embarrassed to read it now, and it sits in a box under the stairs in my parents' basement.

4) "The Passover Rap" (1988). Performance piece, debuted at a family seder. It infused religious study with the burgeoning Hip Hop movement. A key line: "Those Israelites! They rocked and ruled!/ They escaped from the Pharoah who was mean and cruel".

5) "The Lady of the Sea" (1989). Foray into poetry and the harsh light of literary criticism. The poem was about the ghost of a drowned woman, if I remember correctly. When I read it to my dad, he told me, brutally, that its last few lines "the seagulls wailing/wailing, wailing/the seagulls' cry was the only sound" was repetitive. I now realize that a) my dad knows nothing about poetry b) the repetition served the meter of the poem, which I somehow sensed without knowing what meter was and c) I probably had some nascent idea that the repetition sounded a little bit like seagulls. The poem was crap, of course. But still.

7) "Saints in Short Skirts" (1991). "Investigative" piece for the high school newspaper on the unsung virtues of cheerleaders. Part of a series which also included an editorial call for mercy in phys. ed.: "Don't Drop the Ball on the Athletically Inept.")

8) Sixteeen (1994). Play performed as part of my high school's annual "Student Writtens", in which students wrote plays which they then cast and directed. My play had the number 16 in it sixteen times. It was about 25 minutes long, and paralleled five friends' growth and development with the baking of a cake. A real refrigerator was part of the "set." The theme song was Madonna's "Borderline". It was performed between a play about Japanese internment camps and and one about a jailed rapist.

9) "Salamander Crossing" (1995). Creative nonfiction piece, written for the toughest and best writing workshop I've ever taken (I still have stressful dreams about this college class). "Salamander" compared the mating rituals of salamanders with those of sexually frustrated students at my intense women's college.

10) Strongly Worded (2005). Foray into the genre of weblogs. Source of ongoing delight.

Posted by Dori at 8:04 PM 2 comments

Out of the Gates of Repentance

So Yom Kippur is now officially over, and thus I have parked myself in front of the computer to update you all. Yom Kippur (Day of Atonement) is the only Jewish holiday I observe in any technical sense--meaning, I actually go to one (1) service, I engage in quiet reflection, and I don't go to work.

I went to the Kol Nidre service last night, which is among the most sacred services in the Jewish liturgical year. I always go to Harvard Hillel's reform service, because it lasts 1.5 hours and is near my house. In a reform service, many of the prayers are recited in English, most of the language is gender-neutral (God is referred to "Our Source of Life" as opposed to "Our King"), and instrumental music is incorporated.

Every year, some brilliant Harvard cello prodigy is invited to play the service's central song. It sounds perfect, appropriately wrenching and agonized, and it is, in my opinion, the best part of the evening.

Still, the playing of musical instruments is not permitted in more traditional congregations, and, even though I grew up in a crunchy-progressive Jewish community, which was led by a feminist lesbian rabbi with a tie-dyed tallit, I find the cello novel, and kind of religiously borderline, but I was not prepared for last night's guitar-fest.

The congregation welcomed a new cantor, a large woman wearing a white caftan and a white turban-esque thing on her head (of which I was not a fan. While I'm a full-on feminist, I don't like it when women emulate the traditional male "kippa/yarmaulke" head-covering). To start the service, the cantor started strumming the guitar and swaying and singing, and gradually everyone stopped talking and became hushed and reverent. This cantor has an amazing voice, but her strumming was over the top. It changed the dynamic from a communal spiritual process to a performance. I expected lighters flickering in the crowd.

Anyway, the cantor wrapped up her first song, and turned the spotlight over to Leah, the service leader. Every year, some bright-eyed Harvard chick does her Milwaukee/Cleveland/Miami Sunday School proud. Her name is always Rebecca or Shoshana or Rachel, and she is always incredibly articulate, polished, and devout. She's the kind of girl who can't understand why her roommate makes fun of her.

So this year's model, Leah, welcomed everyone and introduced herself and the others on the bimah. She wore a white suit and a kind of doily on her head. Her speech was so precise that the last syllable of each of her words virtually bounced off the microphone and reverborated through the room. She kept smoothing her white suit and smiling. She did a really good job, even as I secretly mocked her.

Which is not to say I was doing any mocking, or any paranoid thinking about the Former Object of My Obsessive Crush, who I actually passed on the street on my way into the building (in a city of almost a million people ...). Of course I skittered away before Former Object could see me, but I harbored fear in my heart that he would walk into the room holding hands with his girlfriend, and smilingly sit next to me, and make me all self-conscious about the Unflattering Pants I was wearing, and divert my attention away from spiritual atonement and renewal. To this end, I wedged myself into a pew that only had one open side, sitting between two families, such that I was not only inconspicuous but obscured by a large pillar.

Thus safely wedged, I felt confident that I could avoid being seen by the Former Object during the duration of the service, and barely thought about options for quick apres-service exit.

Nor did I think much about the fact that my umbrella was boring into the base of my spine (I was basically sitting against it, because, as I mentioned, I was wedged between two families, which doesn't leave much extra space for umbrellas).

Nor did I think much about the fact that many of my fellow congregants are gawky, geeky first-year college students, their outfits still resplendent from their Bar/Bat Mitzvahs. I didn't even think about how I am ten years older than them.

Anyway. Between paranoia, discomfort, ageism, and random thoughts about random things, I was able to focus for brief periods, and feel (also for brief periods) a connection with my people and my faith. There are many impressive elements in this particular service, including the recitation of an alphabetized, itemized list of sins (from adultery to zeal for false causes), for which everyone collectively asks for forgiveness. The idea is not to put anyone on the spot, to acknowledge that all of us sin whether knowingly or unknowingly, and to cover our bases in case we've left anything out. I find it genuinely powerful when the unkept vows and promises from last year are deemed null and void, during the pronouncement of a religious clean slate.

After the service and the announcements, I darted out of the building, escaped contact with the Object, and felt (somewhat) spiritually cleansed. I wanted to go home and watch The West Wing, because on Bravo there's a marathon of Season 6, but I felt that would be inappropriate, even though my snacking/secular/atheist mother urged me to do it. Instead, I read quietly and went to bed early.

Then this morning I was seized with the desire to check email/watch TV/do other everyday things and somehow I managed not to, and spent the day very quietly although not very spiritually.

So now I feel good, ready to herald in a New Year, inscribed as I am (I'm pretty sure) in the Book of Life.

Posted by Dori at 7:02 PM 0 comments

Coming Clean

After a very lovely, very social weekend, I experienced a deep sense of shame last night, when I parked myself in front of the TV and watched The Girls Next Door, which is a horrible, horrible reality show about Hugh Heffner's three "girlfriends", and their life with him in the Playboy mansion. I still do not understand what being a "girlfriend" entails, other than being blond and busty, living in a pink bedroom, and complying with a 9 p.m. curfew.

Is having sex with 78-year-old Heff part of the deal? The "girlfriends" (Kendra, Holly, and Bridget) are shown kissing him all the time, and they call him "honey" and say "I love you" in syrupy voices on their cell phones. He is pretty dismissive of them, which is understandable, since they all seem (and I know this is shocking) pretty unintelligent, and Heff, while a scummy, exploitative guy, at least has the brains to create a multi-million dollar empire while staying in pajamas all day. While I'm coming clean, I have to confess that I have watched this show on multiple occasions (it always happens to be on when I'm parked in front of the TV), and every time I get sucked in-- the sheer weirdness of it all is enough to hook me in for half an hour, even when all that happens is that the girls go to Vegas and sit by the pool all day comparing boob jobs. Once, I watched an entire episode about the girls' buying decorations for a birthday party. And (OK), another time, I watched as they "made over" Bridget's perfectly-lovely-looking-but- generally-fully-clothed sister. Heff was very pleased to see her in all her glory and the other girls took pride in this. Does anyone else find this truly repugnant? Why aren't the girlfriends' parents protesting their concubine status when they visit them in the mansion? And why do I know this? And why do I care?

While I am concerned about my willingness to watch this trash, I find myself also concerned about the state of affairs over in the Jessica Simpson-Nick Lachey household. For some resaon, I am a big fan of Jessica Simpson. I only know two of her songs, but I like them, and I think the reality show about her marriage is fascinating. I love how she is so beautiful and so dumb, and I love watching her pout and preen, while her husband Nick responds with a mixture of contempt and indulgence. I faithfully ignored the rumors about their impending break-up, until I was waiting in line at CVS this morning, and the cover of US Weekly shattered my illusions about their wedded bliss: it has front-page coverage of an alleged SPLIT with the word SPLIT printed in two-inch letters across their faces. And there is corroborating evidence! Both were photographed sans wedding rings! Nick missed Ashlee's birthday party allegedly "for work" when, as far as I know, he hasn't had a job since he was a member of the boy-band 98 degrees!

Many of my friends don't watch this appalling programming, (and have probably already stopped reading this post). They may reproach me about devoting blog-space to this nonsense. But they don't understand! They have probably never heard of Jessica Simpson, and don't know about her virginity and her "promise ring", her Vera Wang wedding dress, her anniversary trip to Napa Valley, and her love of red velvet cake.

I am, however, comforted by the knowledge that a fair number of my readers will commiserate about the Nick-and-Jessica situation, and that I can feel just the tiniest bit smug knowing that I've thus far resisted the pull of the purportedly addictive American Top Model and So You Think You Can Dance.

Unless The Girls Next Door is some kind of gateway show ...

Posted by Dori at 2:21 PM 0 comments

Great Advice for the New Year

So I spent Rosh ha Shana (the Jewish New Year) with my family. We were 14 people at the dinner table. My mom made insane amounts of very tasty food. And she called her friends beforehand to wish them a happy holiday.

One of my mom's friends has a daughter named Dawn. Dawn's family still thinks she's perfect because (I assume) they don't know that she was known in high school as "the human mattress", and had multiple encounters with cocaine. Now she's doing whatever she's doing at some fancy graduate school, and is apparently dating some doctor she met on JDate.

Dawn's mom told my mom (and even more enragingly, my mom told me), that JDate is such a great resource, and wow, isn't Dawn happy dating some medical resident she met through the site. Apparently Dawn sees her Jewish doctor all the time and they don't have issues with his schedule! Yay for Dawn! Yay for her probably-ophthalmologist-in-a-not-very-competitive -program boyfriend!

I swallowed my rage (at being "advised" to do something I've already done, when I'm not ready to do it right now), and then made some self-deprecating comment about how my skin looks like an oil field lately, and I'm too embarassed to even get a facial because they'll just be horrified at the state of my pores.

So my mom says (and I kid you not!): maybe if you were having sex, you'd have clearer skin.

Posted by Dori at 3:29 PM 1 comments

Such a Crying Shame

So yesterday was my last day at Houseware Heaven. It was great. I bought a bunch of things I've been coveting for a while, including a way-overpriced-but-adorable teapot set and a cheese slate. Everyone was ultra friendly and sad to see me go (or so they said). It was a relaxing day and I didn't make any major errors (well, OK, one, but it was easily amended).

I also had an intriguing encounter with a very cute couple registering for their wedding (a year away). They wandered around the store, clearly overwhelmed, and asked for my opinion of the these dark gray, Asian-inspired place settings they were considering. The set depressed me even under the bright lights of the store. They concluded they would quickly get sick of the dishes, chose a few other random items, and left.

Subsequently, I was browsing around on a weddingchannel.com, which is a clearinghouse for bridal registries, and, out of curiousity, I looked up the page of my former roommate, Beth, who got married a few weeks ago. Beth is profoundly sweet and lovely, but she couldn't be any less domestic. In the year that we lived together, she never once cleaned any aspect of her bedroom or bathroom (at least by the looks of it), and she subsisted mainly on cereal mixed with frozen berries. She also consumed large quantities of coffee, pickles, and salad. I don't think she ever cooked anything, and she would watch me wistfully when I cooked, as if from afar.

So I was a little rattled to learn that this chick has registered for--and received--pretty much everything that All-Clad, Calphalon, and Le Creuset have ever made, plus a KitchenAid mixer, and a number of implements (like a $149 roaster!) that I perceive as Very Culinarily Advanced.

Will her colossal-but-tasteful (it is, I've seen it) engagement ring beam in gourmet sensibility?

... or will she serve pickles and cereal in "Horizon" bowls? And warm up her leftovers in her $220 Le Creuset lemongrass dutch oven?

Or ... will all this extraordinarily expensive and beautiful cookware just languish in a box (as most of her possessions did during the whole year we lived together--she never fully unpacked), a melange of waste and good taste?

Posted by Dori at 7:38 PM 0 comments