The day before I left for my semester abroad, I had serious anxiety. I thought I would have a serious case of FOMO-- every single one of my roommates was back in State College, and I decided to go to France for five months and miss out on syllabus week, THON, State Patty's, and Blue/White... what was I thinking? Well, I was wrong. Turns out, Penn Staters pretty much flock to one-another even when they're in a foreign land, and I found myself partying just as hard overseas, only it was in cool French discotheques, Greek islands, 6-story dance clubs in Prague, or at beer factories in Ireland. Was I really missing out? No, I was just showing Europe how to party like a Penn Stater. In fact, one night Heather and I stayed out until the birds chirped and had to catch a bus to Budapest an hour later. I never did that at PSU.
So, cut the FOMO while abroad crap, because the REAL FOMO comes when you're a real person (RP). Here I am on a Friday night writing this blog to pass the time because most of my friends are either canning for THON, or going home, or visiting friends in Philly because the beloved Go Go Gadget is playing at some bar downtown. This is a real case of FOMO. So suck it up, all you abroaders. Suck. It. Up.
peace&love
Friday, December 3, 2010
Monday, November 15, 2010
Pickle Roots
Shopping for one person in a country where everything is sold “family size” can be quite an inconvenience—by the end of the week, the produce is rotten, the bread is stale, and the milk has gone bad. But one snack that I can always count on is the crisp crunch and sweet taste of a juicy pickle spear. Dating back to 2030 BC, it seems that the success of the pickle is a no-brainer, which is probably why Alan Kaufman decided to make a career out of it.
Owner of The Pickle Guys in New York City, Alan uses an old Eastern European recipe that’s “just like [his] mom used to make” to satisfy pickle-lovers not only in NYC, but across the nation—because although his two locations are based in NYC, his pickles can be ordered online and shipped right to your door. It’s no coincidence that Kaufman’s pickles are stationed in New York City—in fact, in the sixteenth century, New York City was the home to the largest concentration of commercial picklers at the time. However, I think it’s safe to say that Kaufman has come a long way from his ancestors sold their pickles on street carts.
But Alan doesn’t just pickle cucumbers— he pickles tomatoes, olives, garlic, peppers, okra, and even mushrooms. As a sucker for food with shelf life, I was fascinated with Kaufman’s pickling practice, and was drawn to the history of the pickle. Turns out that the practice of pickling was the starting point and inspiration for many culinary milestones—food preservation, the Mason jar, and even International Pickle Day (a day celebrated in NYC). Not only that, but ancient Egyptians and ancient Greeks believed that pickles had healing powers. And I just thought pickles were a tasty snack!
Perhaps the best part about The Pickle Guys is that they make their pickles just like the old days. Nowadays, a typical pickle is manufactured in batches of up to 40,000 pounds of pickles and using four main steps: harvesting, preservation, pasteurization, and packaging. But, ask Alan what his process is, and he’ll tell you that he uses the finest ingredients (including horseradish that he peels and grinds himself) in the comfort of his own establishment, and in batches of far less than 40,000 pounds.
With his old school methods and contagious passion, it’s no surprise that Kaufman’s pickles have been featured in New York Magazine, as well as The Village Voice. True to his roots, Alan has kept the pickle tradition alive in a city that used to be was overflowing with picklers. Once lined with pickle stores, Essex Street now relies on just one pickle store to keep the tradition alive—The Pickle Guys. So, next time you reach in your refrigerator to pluck a pickle from its jar, whether you want to accent your turkey and cheese sandwich, or just munch on it for a quick snack, remember that this clever and convenient culinary item didn’t just happen overnight—and perhaps The Pickle Guys is the best place to remind you of the true roots of a pickle.
peace&love
Owner of The Pickle Guys in New York City, Alan uses an old Eastern European recipe that’s “just like [his] mom used to make” to satisfy pickle-lovers not only in NYC, but across the nation—because although his two locations are based in NYC, his pickles can be ordered online and shipped right to your door. It’s no coincidence that Kaufman’s pickles are stationed in New York City—in fact, in the sixteenth century, New York City was the home to the largest concentration of commercial picklers at the time. However, I think it’s safe to say that Kaufman has come a long way from his ancestors sold their pickles on street carts.
But Alan doesn’t just pickle cucumbers— he pickles tomatoes, olives, garlic, peppers, okra, and even mushrooms. As a sucker for food with shelf life, I was fascinated with Kaufman’s pickling practice, and was drawn to the history of the pickle. Turns out that the practice of pickling was the starting point and inspiration for many culinary milestones—food preservation, the Mason jar, and even International Pickle Day (a day celebrated in NYC). Not only that, but ancient Egyptians and ancient Greeks believed that pickles had healing powers. And I just thought pickles were a tasty snack!
Perhaps the best part about The Pickle Guys is that they make their pickles just like the old days. Nowadays, a typical pickle is manufactured in batches of up to 40,000 pounds of pickles and using four main steps: harvesting, preservation, pasteurization, and packaging. But, ask Alan what his process is, and he’ll tell you that he uses the finest ingredients (including horseradish that he peels and grinds himself) in the comfort of his own establishment, and in batches of far less than 40,000 pounds.
With his old school methods and contagious passion, it’s no surprise that Kaufman’s pickles have been featured in New York Magazine, as well as The Village Voice. True to his roots, Alan has kept the pickle tradition alive in a city that used to be was overflowing with picklers. Once lined with pickle stores, Essex Street now relies on just one pickle store to keep the tradition alive—The Pickle Guys. So, next time you reach in your refrigerator to pluck a pickle from its jar, whether you want to accent your turkey and cheese sandwich, or just munch on it for a quick snack, remember that this clever and convenient culinary item didn’t just happen overnight—and perhaps The Pickle Guys is the best place to remind you of the true roots of a pickle.
peace&love
Sunday, November 14, 2010
I Heart Live Bands
So you and your friends want to go out, but you can't decide whether to go to an irish pub for some chatter, or a place with a band and some dancing. Well, recently me and my friends discovered the Burren in Davis Square. I'll admit that most of the crowd was at least 8-10 years older than me, but for the best of both worlds, it was worth it.
It was my first night wearing out my new nike dunks (customized and flippin' sweet), and even though the people there probably wouldn't be caught dead wearing my sneaks, they still complimented them (or were they just scared of them?) in the bathroom.
Speaking of the bathroom, I feel like I spent more time in there than in the actual bar. But that has everything to do with the fact that my friends have bladders the size of a pea and my best friend was convinced that she needed to throw up (needless to say, she also fell in the bathroom and served as an alternative form of entertainment with her shenanigans).
But when I was outside of the bathroom, I was enjoying the LIVE BAND. To tell you the truth, I didn't even like the music they were playing. But, I realized something about myself: I just enjoy live music, no matter what kind. Especially while enjoying a few tall cans of PBR. Gotta love it.
peace&love
The Facebook Experiment
Last week, I did the unthinkable. I did something that I never thought I’d do. I deactivated my Facebook account. Yes, it only lasted a week, but I’ve been on “the book” for almost six years and losing my account was like losing the hot water in my apartment—I lost part of my routine.
What I miss about Facebook is that I feel like I’m missing a part of myself—the cyber world part of me who can make witty comments without actually ever having to be witty in person (I openly admit that sometimes I take up to ten minutes to perfectly word a wall post), who can easily gain a boost of self-confidence with a simple “like” on a status update (one of my favorites being “likes you” so that the status reads “Victoria Thompson likes you”), or who, thanks to the rightful and delightful act of de-tagging, never looks bad in a picture. Yes—Facebook is a different side of me. It’s the well thought out side that balances out my outrageous, spontaneous, never-really-thinks-before-she-speaks side of me.
Facebook is not a cheap hooker; it’s more like a woman you’d take home to mom—perfect on paper, but maybe a little nuts in real life. Facebook is like your social resume. No, that doesn’t mean that you have to be “cool” to have a social life or friends on Facebook—it means that if “Dungeons and Dragons” is in your interests, all you have to do is click on it, and Facebook will list everyone who also likes “Dungeons and Dragons.” You find your own “cool” thanks to the world of Facebook.
While deactivating my account I was forced to retire from the “administrator” position of numerous groups that I created, which, even though I am still interested and active in those aspects of my social life without Facebook, the act of stepping down as administrator made me question how much I actually enjoyed these things—my field hockey team, pressing the handicapped button to open the door to buildings even though I am fully capable of opening the door myself, my study abroad program—all of these groups said something about who I am. No one would know that I like pressing the handicapped button by merely talking to me in person.
The act of “facebooking” itself is somewhat of a win-lose situation. On one hand, Facebook has helped me procrastinate, get in touch with people from my 5th grade dance class, and even helped me share the story of a man wearing a Spiderman costume trying to climb up a wall in South Boston, and it wasn’t even Halloween (what better way to inform the public of that insanity than a status update). But, on the other hand, Facebook had turned me into a photo maniac—two weeks ago I found myself looking through pictures of the boyfriend of a girl from my 6th grade class whom I maybe said four words to (never mind the fact that I have no idea who her boyfriend is!). I was appalled.
Nevertheless, Facebook has become a way of life. On the first three days of my week off from “the book,” I received a bunch of text messages from my friends saying “I just went to write on your wall, where’s your Facebook!” but mid-week, the texts stopped coming and I realized that if I have any hope of maintaining contact with people I might not ever see again, it’s up to me to stick with Facebook. I have to publish my witty thoughts, give them a status they can laugh about, and mindlessly click through random pictures, posts, newsfeeds, events, and interests just so I can put that research paper off a little longer because my name is Victoria Thompson and I’m a Facebook-aholic.
Monday, September 6, 2010
The Start of Something New
First week of classes... check
Getting over the fact that I'm not a THON captain anymore... check
Excited to visit Penn State but also knowing that I have to stay at UNH on weekends, even when it's tempting not to do so... CHECK
check, check, check, my friends.
And so it begins. I have unlocked the writers block, I look forward to taking out some poetry books and/or reading poetry daily online, and, how can I forget, I NEED TO WRITE FOUR POEMS BY THURSDAY. Not only that, but they have to be close to finished. I'm anxious already.
Can't wait for the dreams.
Getting over the fact that I'm not a THON captain anymore... check
Excited to visit Penn State but also knowing that I have to stay at UNH on weekends, even when it's tempting not to do so... CHECK
check, check, check, my friends.
And so it begins. I have unlocked the writers block, I look forward to taking out some poetry books and/or reading poetry daily online, and, how can I forget, I NEED TO WRITE FOUR POEMS BY THURSDAY. Not only that, but they have to be close to finished. I'm anxious already.
Can't wait for the dreams.
Writer's Block
Kind of like the song in The Hangover about the tiger dreaming, I'm thinking to myself, "what do writer's think about when they have writer's block?"
All I can think about is all the big things that have happened in my life: studying abroad, my dad being sick, moving, my uncle's death... all things that I have written about in one way or another. Sure, there are different aspects to explore, but I keep reading all of these poems that I assume I will be inspired by, but instead I'm thinking "how the heck did they think of that, I'll never be able to do that."
When a poet achieves something in their poem, is it because they've studied it for so long, or is it because it came to them? I'd like to think it's because the words just came to them-- but I've always written in a way where I choose my topic and go from there. But, here I am with two pages full of topics, and nowhere to take them-- not creatively, anyways.
Come to think of it, I think the only real inspiration I get is from time constraint. When I overthink things, I get stuck. And right now, I'm stuck. Then again, I had this dream (definitely triggered by major anxiety for this workshop), that I was late for class and hadn't even written a poem. So here I am, trying to be a good student, and nothing is coming to me.
And do you know what I want more than anything else? To just use a poem from last semester and turn it in. Isn't that horrible? Can I still even write? God, I hope so.
Wish me luck.
All I can think about is all the big things that have happened in my life: studying abroad, my dad being sick, moving, my uncle's death... all things that I have written about in one way or another. Sure, there are different aspects to explore, but I keep reading all of these poems that I assume I will be inspired by, but instead I'm thinking "how the heck did they think of that, I'll never be able to do that."
When a poet achieves something in their poem, is it because they've studied it for so long, or is it because it came to them? I'd like to think it's because the words just came to them-- but I've always written in a way where I choose my topic and go from there. But, here I am with two pages full of topics, and nowhere to take them-- not creatively, anyways.
Come to think of it, I think the only real inspiration I get is from time constraint. When I overthink things, I get stuck. And right now, I'm stuck. Then again, I had this dream (definitely triggered by major anxiety for this workshop), that I was late for class and hadn't even written a poem. So here I am, trying to be a good student, and nothing is coming to me.
And do you know what I want more than anything else? To just use a poem from last semester and turn it in. Isn't that horrible? Can I still even write? God, I hope so.
Wish me luck.
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