tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-51642769436002203842024-03-05T12:39:02.496-05:00Embrace the struggleLeah Franquihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03486291322862758156noreply@blogger.comBlogger143125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5164276943600220384.post-77718258821435841772012-05-15T16:50:00.001-04:002012-05-15T16:50:09.206-04:00Struggle Sees the LightOne of my favorite television shows, Happy Endings, had a line in it this season that almost perfectly summed up my feelings about the universe. One character says to the other, "And to what degree of shambles would you say your life is in?". And that's how I feel most of the time. It's not a matter of "are you okay" it's a matter of "how much of a struggle are you undergoing, is it the labors of Hercules or is it trying to get a prescription pill bottle to open" (PS: Prescription/vitamin/painkiller companies, according to Jewish law I've been an adult since my Bat Mitzvah so WHY DOES CHILD SAFE PACKAGING STILL ELUDE ME?). So you must trust me when I say this has been a strugglesome year and know that I truly really deeply mean that on many levels.<br />
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You know, when I was young, I kind of assumed that the older you were, the more you would have figured out. And in college I thought, it's okay that everyone around me is an enormous struggle because soon enough we will have graduated and then we will get everything together. But now, having worked for the past year with a group of strangers, adults, people who really should by all rights be complete human beings by now, I understand that that was all a lie. Because people? Are a flipping mess.<br />
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Maybe it's because I work in the non-profit sector, specifically in arts management (by the way, shoot me in the FACE with arts management, my god, some days you step out of a meeting having just spend two hours arguing about what to do with audience surveys and concept of surveys in general, emotionally, artistically, financially, spiritually, and you think, aren't people starving, somewhere?), but the people around me sometimes seem like they are back in high school. Which I suppose is what happens when you spend your life playing pretend and drinking whiskey. Still, that's no excuse for not paying your gas bill, or doing your laundry once a month, at least, or, I don't know, having an honest conversation about your needs? As a person? In life? I just don't know. But if this is adulthood, i.e., just like adolescence but with more bills to pay and more concerns to have, well, I don't think I want any part of it.<br />
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So I'm going to graduate school. Just gonna extend my pre-adult life for as long as possible. I've see the other side, people, and I'm not having anything to do with it. Instead, I'm going to go to playwrighting school i.e. clown college and pretend that reality is indeed the stuff of dreams.<br />
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Still. I'm going to NYU-Tisch to join greasy hipsters and pretentious poets and learn how to write for Law and Order. I'm sure that's not going to be a struggle AT ALL. Smooth sailing. Bring it on. And until then, there is the summer. Stay tuned, people, I know I've got a lot more to say these days.<br />
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All that being said, check out some particularly strugglesome photos I've shot recently:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh44-NEo2vCtRBc_2smM1nUNPDvVuE11T9EBzJZYDDy_nljFvzazjurOoly8p5VTY-dK5ganXqMZo18y59UJjLLu5V5HqF00pZ_85Cm3zAEavF3AssA_3oPXbyvkCKbqIXZ1KMPb29cKScv/s1600/IMG_4185.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh44-NEo2vCtRBc_2smM1nUNPDvVuE11T9EBzJZYDDy_nljFvzazjurOoly8p5VTY-dK5ganXqMZo18y59UJjLLu5V5HqF00pZ_85Cm3zAEavF3AssA_3oPXbyvkCKbqIXZ1KMPb29cKScv/s400/IMG_4185.jpg" width="266" /></a></div>
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Oh good god.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgICeMgTCytEBUxQICLbtFjZ1383X2ZRg-c_IC9E6ONhmjSOhRUB6WEo8VGTDtGT5PgDk_NV_HcZ4lcurVgMw5aVfDbCAoRq-haoX_J2iEmiMUAGNjtJYehJeBIUqMwuOqU4cxB8kh3FLe4/s1600/IMG_4189.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgICeMgTCytEBUxQICLbtFjZ1383X2ZRg-c_IC9E6ONhmjSOhRUB6WEo8VGTDtGT5PgDk_NV_HcZ4lcurVgMw5aVfDbCAoRq-haoX_J2iEmiMUAGNjtJYehJeBIUqMwuOqU4cxB8kh3FLe4/s400/IMG_4189.jpg" width="266" /></a></div>
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Something about all of these people eating just really perturbs me. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRK_q-rVFC1ELgh3EINRTJmYee-MrWNc84YClh59UPp3W3I-bfo4ZIaF8eZvwUYV5lPghiOzNO2eMN7-_6fnT73wg9luUbklh70LEBE2lQ_o4WF0FRh7gUBbSj8WO9DTJVOcBzTO5mH9H2/s1600/IMG_4186.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRK_q-rVFC1ELgh3EINRTJmYee-MrWNc84YClh59UPp3W3I-bfo4ZIaF8eZvwUYV5lPghiOzNO2eMN7-_6fnT73wg9luUbklh70LEBE2lQ_o4WF0FRh7gUBbSj8WO9DTJVOcBzTO5mH9H2/s400/IMG_4186.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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I don't even know how to say what the best part of this image is. The guy? Is HE the Messiah? The website? Or the fact that there is a NUMBER you can call? To, I assume, SPEAK to the Messiah? God, who even knows. </div>
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But hey, that's some good news, right? Whatever other struggle is happening, at least the Messiah has come! </div>
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<br />Leah Franquihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03486291322862758156noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5164276943600220384.post-38857175949956996992012-02-17T16:10:00.000-05:002012-02-17T16:10:54.339-05:00Struggle Gets Train RageLately it has been of a chilly nature here in my fine city of Struggledelphia, and despite the odd warmer day, I've been taking the El fairly frequently. What, say you, is this "El" of which you speak? Well, it's our sorry excuse for a subway. It has a plethora of lines! (It has two lines.) It can take you anywhere you want to go! (If you want to go somewhere around those two lines.) It's an easy way to get around! (If getting around means living, working, eating or hanging out around those two lines.) In a word, it's miserable.<br />
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The subway in Philadelphia is not like the subway in other cities. In New York, for example, all kinds of people take the subway, hipsters off home to Brooklyn, yokals desperate to catch that showing of Legally Blonde: The Musical, hungry interns and annoying Columbia students, all together in harmony. That's because it's an efficient system of transportation. And I've been to many cities like this. When I lived in Moscow I saw people literally take the subway back home to Kiev. KIEV. That's not even IN Russia anymore! (Note, this may or may not be a slight exaggeration). This is not the case here in my hometown. I take the subway, because I happen to live right by it. Other people who take the subway include the homeless, illegal immigrants, Temple University students and the gently insane. That's about it.<br />
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For example, my subway rides, if they had titles, could include ones such as "neck tattoos have I known" and "smoking inside, a how-to-guide" and "subway tracks: the untold garbage cans of our time" and "how many rats can you see at once?" and "singing to strangers, do or don't?" and "bling my burka!" (which, by the way, is an AMAZING reality television show idea, so someone make that, please. Thanks. Oh, yeah. It's a thrill a minute on the Philadelphia subway.<br />
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And clearly advertisers are beginning to pick up on the more charming aspects of my morning commute by offering us signs like this:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZSP0yO2_hWh0ZmAEFGHcayKm31M1JRWaiXZzxQJBQd-PgMfloGFQqNGVyLhD5dK2PxaHjkGuoPZx0uS1AfaSS9mqFUxbQfeDJ6mWQTR7s6XcqMS7rD4ijNyC-UPkTFS5HT9vys3L0Z3KG/s1600/IMG_2566.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZSP0yO2_hWh0ZmAEFGHcayKm31M1JRWaiXZzxQJBQd-PgMfloGFQqNGVyLhD5dK2PxaHjkGuoPZx0uS1AfaSS9mqFUxbQfeDJ6mWQTR7s6XcqMS7rD4ijNyC-UPkTFS5HT9vys3L0Z3KG/s400/IMG_2566.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
and this gemstone, sparkling in the morning dew:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3utsDRKeTNCDpiiPIk4lTavdpGxLn7-y8JBFV3PqxX1TQe_62opOm1OS0yyAVoSYQ6ROIjdvPi5OxvaCBxLUaEe3RQHqL0d05-hDlvPcBvg5cPve5AEnBlJ5Xz855VtAFQ9ZqcTbbD5ZC/s1600/IMG_2746.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3utsDRKeTNCDpiiPIk4lTavdpGxLn7-y8JBFV3PqxX1TQe_62opOm1OS0yyAVoSYQ6ROIjdvPi5OxvaCBxLUaEe3RQHqL0d05-hDlvPcBvg5cPve5AEnBlJ5Xz855VtAFQ9ZqcTbbD5ZC/s400/IMG_2746.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
Let me give you a close up, because that's fun:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZJC-bvTXUPscaQpNcbqVjzaYc3PNf-t9TAyaz0vVOVtnc2E3fXaQdIuFGaBC7O8vjU-BasjZLTugAQQxnu1FyGn540BJY6ZxZuPNsrB6SXO6_OpZsXTppbgWi0o0xmwdKnxd0sG7sVpTe/s1600/IMG_2748.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZJC-bvTXUPscaQpNcbqVjzaYc3PNf-t9TAyaz0vVOVtnc2E3fXaQdIuFGaBC7O8vjU-BasjZLTugAQQxnu1FyGn540BJY6ZxZuPNsrB6SXO6_OpZsXTppbgWi0o0xmwdKnxd0sG7sVpTe/s400/IMG_2748.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
But nothing, and I mean NOTHING, can top this little number:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmyu_go4eA9SW-LcEGUhCk3kSB_6mRReVw9Or0hhsA4tSw_2PuALjgzJRf2k6tRZDutpOsfvoEAeN8J7v1VGmmZpYdk8qaDNJJ8pPu9r3QVtfVPou2OgmoSdAjHL7X6YoIxN95wyow3Hku/s1600/IMG_2749.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmyu_go4eA9SW-LcEGUhCk3kSB_6mRReVw9Or0hhsA4tSw_2PuALjgzJRf2k6tRZDutpOsfvoEAeN8J7v1VGmmZpYdk8qaDNJJ8pPu9r3QVtfVPou2OgmoSdAjHL7X6YoIxN95wyow3Hku/s400/IMG_2749.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
Let me break it down for you, shall I? Number 1, those are two pieces of sperm. That's what that's supposed to be. Sperm. Anthropomorphic Sperm. Chatting. Have a bit of a tete-a-tete, if you will. And the one sperm, that knows about sperm banks (don't worry about the logic of a sperm wanting to be contributed to a sperm bank, there's no time for such a thing now) is obviously richer, better educated and more cultured then the other sperm, as evidenced by his briefcase. And suit. And the other sperm is just some punk, with a sweatband, like all the kids are wearing these days, and a sports costume of some sort. So if you do donate sperm and get that sweet sweet 150 dollars, you should go out and blow it on a suit and a (presumably) empty briefcase, and then go tell your friends/strangers you meet on the subway, about it. That's what I'm getting out of this.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5h7huHw3YZuiUpGY4qTV7KxnKLLtZtWj8cCRhYPUG9n2GS3kf34LCsg9TTDv2sksKCPHEfOWbSTYrvhYEmH_jZBL2eZztcEsP1cWONTWocRcoCk0d8pdbTzgWh9_7t20wb42YPkilels-/s1600/IMG_2750.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5h7huHw3YZuiUpGY4qTV7KxnKLLtZtWj8cCRhYPUG9n2GS3kf34LCsg9TTDv2sksKCPHEfOWbSTYrvhYEmH_jZBL2eZztcEsP1cWONTWocRcoCk0d8pdbTzgWh9_7t20wb42YPkilels-/s400/IMG_2750.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Just because context is important, I thought you might like to know that this ad is sandwiched between an ad for a different kind of bank and an ad for <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Henry_Ossawa_Tanner">the Henry Ossawa Tanner show</a> at the <a href="http://www.pafa.org/">Academy of Fine Arts</a>. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">So that's my morning commute. You stay classy, struggledelphia! </div>Leah Franquihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03486291322862758156noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5164276943600220384.post-23363904438709784092012-01-12T12:48:00.000-05:002012-01-12T12:48:33.571-05:00Aud Land Struggle<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRe3B3Zrp_TdCTTElQWa4QLLEBhNhqEJLaxKSl9WqZEQ_3uFoYl-xHHdQXritAaxsGuSIZUf2-htT1Uwx2SgHKiNcSJavLpq4lX4o-XPPI-f4LChIxEfC8jDsapDe6I-jDXC4StMvSkr0u/s1600/IMG_1887.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRe3B3Zrp_TdCTTElQWa4QLLEBhNhqEJLaxKSl9WqZEQ_3uFoYl-xHHdQXritAaxsGuSIZUf2-htT1Uwx2SgHKiNcSJavLpq4lX4o-XPPI-f4LChIxEfC8jDsapDe6I-jDXC4StMvSkr0u/s400/IMG_1887.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is a taxidermy coyote in a rain slicker. Like you do. </td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
So, for some reason blogger wouldn't let me post this last week, because it's seen the title of this blog and decided to contribute to my continuing pain and sorrow. Like blogging platforms do. But enough about that, happy 2012, people! Assuming the Mayan calender is wrong (I mean, can we really trust people who could figure out about chocolate but NOT about adding sugar? That's like inventing paper and then being like, this will be perfect for clothing!) I think this is going to be a great (strugglesome) year and that the world will not (possibly) be ending. Why, you ask? Well, honestly, at lot of that has to do with the fact that I've gotten really into some new TV shows and looking forward to them is pretty much the only thing that keeps me going. I kid. Do I? Yes (no).<br />
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But most of it has to do with my new mantra, which I straight up stole from my friend Kate (thanks Kate!). It's, "Let things go, or you will be dragged". It's simple, it's effective, and I have pretty much a 1% chance of keeping it. I am just not a person who can let things go. For example, last year around this time I was having a conversation with someone and I brought up <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Frederick_Jackson_Turner">Fredrick Jackson Turner's Frontier Thesis</a> from the 1893 Chicago Worlds Fair (like you do, over drinks, you know) and he (the person, not Turner) was like, yeah, but that was over 200 years ago. And I was like, I feel strongly that that is incorrect, but I didn't say anything, I just internally cringed. AND I'M STILL CRINGING. Somewhere that knowledge lives inside of me, and if I might be perfectly candid, from that point on I've always thought less of that person (again, the guy, not Turner). These things LIVE inside of me, somewhere, grating against my nerves like a spoon playing a washboard in a hillbillie band. I am, on many levels, the Vendetta Kid.<br />
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And obviously this is not a particularly healthy way to live your life. In theory I truly believe that if you just breathe and give in to the universe, good things will happen. I've just never actually be able to do that. Instead I write bible-length emails about the 1893 Worlds Fair which, and this is very VERY important, NEVER GET SENT. It is the only way I've managed to avoid being tarred and feathered by angry villagers. So when I have a strugglesome vendetta I just spew all of that out into a notebook or an email or a handy google document and then there we go. Oh, don't mistake me, I still have black-out moments of mindless rage and fury over an insult I received a good 10 years ago, but it's lessened, somehow, by the knowledge that somewhere out there is a 14 year old's notebook with a well crafted scathing response to "Dude, your sister has more underarm hair then I do" (I was 14! And I wasn't aloud to shave yet! God, what a JERK!).<br />
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Still. Someday, when future generations find said notebooks and google docs, no doubt they will publish them like the brilliant pieces of personal petty grievances they are. In which case, Cosi salad guy who put blue cheese on my Greek salad instead of feta because you want to make me CRY, you will finally get what's coming to you.<br />
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Yeah. I'm totally going to get dragged, aren't I. 2012. Already a great year.Leah Franquihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03486291322862758156noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5164276943600220384.post-33323308744546511812011-10-28T17:00:00.000-04:002011-10-28T17:00:37.755-04:00Fall Into StruggleYou know how life can get away with you? My life has totally gotten away from me. I thought I was cool and keeping things together and then I realized that I haven't posted on this blog since August. AUGUST. Holy hell. August. I don't even remember August. I can barely remember August Osage County and I saw that, like, two weeks ago. What the hell happened to me?<br />
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Well, I'll tell you. I went on Birthright (that's a trip to Israel, for all my goyim in the audience). Then I came back, moved out of my parents house into my own apartment, started a new job and started directing a play. All within one week. And since then it's pretty much been "go-go-go" that gets briefly interrupted by breaks for sleeping and drinking water (i.e. booze).So the struggle, oh, it continues, does it ever continue. A highlight reel? You got it. With photos that have nothing to do with anything but are still hilarious? But of course! <br />
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Struggles have I known, Autumn Edition:<br />
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1. I almost got arrested by airport security in Ben Gurion Airport, Tel Aviv, upon departure back to the mess that is JFK because I had organic date honey in my bag and apparently there is a thin line between condiments you were bullied into buying on a kibbutz (Pushy Israelis? No! Say it ain't so!) and bombs. I politely explained to the nice (horrible) woman at airport security that if I was a terrorist, wouldn't it make more sense for me to be bringing things INTO Israel rather then sneaking them out? She was not amused. <br />
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2. I moved into my new apartment and had an incident with my smoke alarm, and by this I mean that it just went off one day and would not stop beeping. Literally WOULD NOT STOP. At 10pm. On a Sunday. So then when I tried to fix the central alarm box in the common hallway, I locked myself OUT of my still-beeping apartment, in my Pajamas. I couldn't go to my parents house to get my spare key because not only was it raining, but I wasn't wearing shoes. Or appropriate undergarments. So I had to call my father to come and help me out. That's right. I called my daddy. Struggle.<br />
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3. The day before my Fringe Show opened, my sound designer quit. And despite the vodoo dolls and fist waves at the sky, I still had to actually figure out a solution and run the damn sound myself. Just another name to add to my death-list book. <br />
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4. I went to the theater and a complete stranger told me to punch my new boss in the dick. That one was pretty funny, actually.<br />
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5. My hair still doesn't know what it wants to be when it grows up.<br />
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So, sorry for the delay, anyone who might be reading this, but I promise, I'm back, and struggling more then ever. But hey, you probably called that, right?Leah Franquihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03486291322862758156noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5164276943600220384.post-53136379738936833502011-08-17T17:48:00.000-04:002011-08-17T17:48:27.346-04:00A Struggle Is Worth a Thousand Words: San Juan 2011 EditionI don't even know what to say about Puerto Rico anymore, I really don't. You've heard about all the crazy there is to hear, right? Hahaa, oh, silly reader, of course you haven't, such a thing is foolish. There is ALWAYS more crazy in the Caribbean. If they can't find it locally, they import it.<br />
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A few years ago when we visited San Juan we were informed, upon arrival, that all of the water was off. As in, the water company, in what is apparently a rotine move, will periodically shut off water in various parts of the city to repair/maintain the pipes. So if you happen to visit during such times, don't worry, relax, have some rum, but don't expect to be able to shower, use the bathroom, or get some water. That's fine, though, really, I mean, who needs it?<br />
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I thought that was the worst trip ever. And really, it was. But this time when we went to Puerto Rico for your favorite Struggle's birthday, the electric company had surged our home and left us with no power. Okay, yes, we got it back eventually, but not before a week of anxiety, many broken bulbs, a fridge full of spoiled food and a broken microwave and dryer. Oh, and HOURS on the phone being passed between people who don't know what they are talking about. And if you think that's bad in English, you might want to try it in Spanish. Just saying. Sigh. I still had fun, though. It was probably the rum. And of course, I saw some strugglesome things. And I like to think that the universe works hard to make my birthday a complete struggle every year just because it can. I appreciate it, even, I think it's nice. At least is something special, right?<br />
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For your viewing pleasure, struggle in San Juan 2011, a photo display:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivEt-RLGN6DHSz7acwgTI4M93X-BBGPa_iGwVu8ND_QDXZD9-BFEXxRKzuKbzumRsW32X6TPUjH-hkdMydUyYIFadJLrWFP4k5KEZdlYMocAtLF5cMfdSY1xU-FzLzHeibVbtvoRrXrhWU/s1600/San+Juan+July+2011+080.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivEt-RLGN6DHSz7acwgTI4M93X-BBGPa_iGwVu8ND_QDXZD9-BFEXxRKzuKbzumRsW32X6TPUjH-hkdMydUyYIFadJLrWFP4k5KEZdlYMocAtLF5cMfdSY1xU-FzLzHeibVbtvoRrXrhWU/s400/San+Juan+July+2011+080.jpg" width="266" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikT0FtHoD7QHEN7QGb4jLahx1G_naoyXgRYGlSNTR_mZ1eWlbmq9u68mKaGecFbodjW2bcAgF6Zq130rhRP67nYTpMY6KKp5EckzRpSH0VkWL3firJo0OfAoLssth8UJ57zFG6EKlgKFIo/s1600/San+Juan+July+2011+082.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikT0FtHoD7QHEN7QGb4jLahx1G_naoyXgRYGlSNTR_mZ1eWlbmq9u68mKaGecFbodjW2bcAgF6Zq130rhRP67nYTpMY6KKp5EckzRpSH0VkWL3firJo0OfAoLssth8UJ57zFG6EKlgKFIo/s400/San+Juan+July+2011+082.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWlTfdtJSbY-FKtSppEPM0TZQyPk3M1fGrGszEffHivpa6ezn7JXua0XI6eblTrn0e-m2RhNopwoh5x-A8HgnYzh9Zq2roW_D6FI8F7A9NxNphAooISWdB8n9dHL-3GkoROlumGNxp_G1t/s1600/San+Juan+July+2011+106.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWlTfdtJSbY-FKtSppEPM0TZQyPk3M1fGrGszEffHivpa6ezn7JXua0XI6eblTrn0e-m2RhNopwoh5x-A8HgnYzh9Zq2roW_D6FI8F7A9NxNphAooISWdB8n9dHL-3GkoROlumGNxp_G1t/s400/San+Juan+July+2011+106.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjndbwBKQEgMnca4b5OpP53g5B52xpkJG9eXCM_S0Outm83W0qx1OnbewPeN8yd5GecaZkeevLuVG1uLAJa8xgU2UsOLEk5kQ1aPi_d47Ha0zyaiQOPFewHufpYwd_bBwYfC-ydkTQe4Jtf/s1600/San+Juan+July+2011+108.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjndbwBKQEgMnca4b5OpP53g5B52xpkJG9eXCM_S0Outm83W0qx1OnbewPeN8yd5GecaZkeevLuVG1uLAJa8xgU2UsOLEk5kQ1aPi_d47Ha0zyaiQOPFewHufpYwd_bBwYfC-ydkTQe4Jtf/s400/San+Juan+July+2011+108.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9i7SLxzgWEQlQexYdmyIsPJviGeLGME0dYpGf9WOB6lcGBEA2k99dpFpFnsJfPPexJMxOAjmqfChZ2bgASP_RH53vmjzGSjqmZhhFum5LLe2c0ZkWeFN3t9BFPu3tzzlpo1fOp9TFoLxO/s1600/San+Juan+July+2011+159.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9i7SLxzgWEQlQexYdmyIsPJviGeLGME0dYpGf9WOB6lcGBEA2k99dpFpFnsJfPPexJMxOAjmqfChZ2bgASP_RH53vmjzGSjqmZhhFum5LLe2c0ZkWeFN3t9BFPu3tzzlpo1fOp9TFoLxO/s400/San+Juan+July+2011+159.jpg" width="266" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYp2l2JWkUazXUkwpw00xAutgx3LUcfdUHOqv726cAd5u4dcO2yeQHOguFTy0Wffjg0_ZinjSjiO-81O-npxVERazNuWwJfBTpzqI4XR5db436m3R1gbkxfplh08-kspUrcHnBeeMdYh9y/s1600/San+Juan+July+2011+098.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYp2l2JWkUazXUkwpw00xAutgx3LUcfdUHOqv726cAd5u4dcO2yeQHOguFTy0Wffjg0_ZinjSjiO-81O-npxVERazNuWwJfBTpzqI4XR5db436m3R1gbkxfplh08-kspUrcHnBeeMdYh9y/s400/San+Juan+July+2011+098.jpg" width="266" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLT-T8QkTLbdY_1T7D_mgqxj7S_EqpirgUcCJ41xFf3P1xKHGESElp5QZFtQJWBlSC9aWqig463jFbsOsZUmgVuu2Sc72064bhmObAppWpo1PEPp6p2UbmCUjoR8z3kTs_KEXH5FO3VrDq/s1600/San+Juan+July+2011+154.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLT-T8QkTLbdY_1T7D_mgqxj7S_EqpirgUcCJ41xFf3P1xKHGESElp5QZFtQJWBlSC9aWqig463jFbsOsZUmgVuu2Sc72064bhmObAppWpo1PEPp6p2UbmCUjoR8z3kTs_KEXH5FO3VrDq/s400/San+Juan+July+2011+154.jpg" width="266" /></a></div>There's a lot to think about here. Plantain soup in a bag. Hedgehogs as spokespeople for soda. Pulpo. Prado. Struggle. I'll leave you to it.Leah Franquihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03486291322862758156noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5164276943600220384.post-29912743948417866352011-07-01T01:08:00.000-04:002011-07-01T01:08:02.670-04:00Struggle has just one thing to say<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPFrhYC0EAF9ZgIXZRmGM8Ii5bt_6lBK2tRCwdn674ntK7CJ7eethiPt05WDOklt20_JX9EUvkkVcF7LCPbTfM1imcmUuwbZrrL3tefnIAvManX_Ed8V7v5wqscbqYJP5P4T89HEuBfoht/s1600/IMG_8553.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPFrhYC0EAF9ZgIXZRmGM8Ii5bt_6lBK2tRCwdn674ntK7CJ7eethiPt05WDOklt20_JX9EUvkkVcF7LCPbTfM1imcmUuwbZrrL3tefnIAvManX_Ed8V7v5wqscbqYJP5P4T89HEuBfoht/s320/IMG_8553.JPG" width="213" /></a></div><br />
My foot is 100% better. All clear. So today, TODAY, I win, struggle. I beat you. Enjoy the sweet taste of defeat, my friend. you've earned it. And besides, I'm totally failing again tomorrow. Maybe I will break the other foot....dream big, baby.Leah Franquihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03486291322862758156noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5164276943600220384.post-72746727715556060712011-06-14T23:55:00.000-04:002011-06-14T23:55:52.659-04:00Struggle Waits It Out<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv2fGdRaziJsM_IsgkXlhQ5JlgN2edij4ejvaESjPL6wOVCpL7P1nJ4g7hophMPMMjWfm-pkjalKpH2YXDhR_1f6OkVltHflkt2cnCKFVNBof7BOAbCvAluZrNlW7vKU73NdIfqGXylKX9/s1600/photos+6.6.11+015.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv2fGdRaziJsM_IsgkXlhQ5JlgN2edij4ejvaESjPL6wOVCpL7P1nJ4g7hophMPMMjWfm-pkjalKpH2YXDhR_1f6OkVltHflkt2cnCKFVNBof7BOAbCvAluZrNlW7vKU73NdIfqGXylKX9/s400/photos+6.6.11+015.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I am not great at being patient. It is not one of my many virtues. Don't get me wrong, I'm a super virtuous person, I got em all, charity, simplicity, big hair, sturdy extremities....but patience, no, that's not really my bag, baby. Which is really a problem when you have broken a part of your body and you are waiting for it to heal. Because you kind of need patience while the bone cells regenerate and knit themselves back together. And yelling at your foot to "Heal faster, you jag!" doesn't actually work as well as one might think it would. So I present to you for your reading pleasure and deep edification my tips and tricks for fast foot healing. At the very least, they can save you. It may be too late for me, honestly, I'm thinking about just scrapping the thing and putting a wheel there. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">1. Double up on your calcium. Hell, triple up on your calcium! Shotgun milk, slurp down yogurt, or do what I do, and chew on Calcium supplements the size of horse tranquilizers. It has the added benefit of being extremely attractive to members of the opposite sex. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">2. Use your crutches as weapons, indicators, cat prods, make things fun for yourself! The nice people at the hospital gave a physically unbalanced person long pointy metal sticks. Clearly they want you to USE them. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">3. Febreze your walking boot. I don't care what time of year it is or if you think you among all the people on earth are immune to sweating. People in your life will thank you. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">4. Do not say "my boot is so smelly!" and then force friends and loved ones to smell it. Trust me, they will not appreciate being a part of your healing process in this way. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">5. Do indulge in as much Law and Order as possible. This is just a general life/sick/bored/snow day/heat wave day rule. Nothing makes you feel as good as watching Ice T fight crime. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">6. Do offer to help around the house, and then pathetically be unable to do so. This provides a constant reminder to others that you are in pain and special and need their constant devotion and care. Try whimpering gently as you fold laundry or attempt to wash a dish. People love a good whimper. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">7. Do make up interesting stories about your injury. I put my foot on the ground and it broke? So what, it's boring. I heroically rescued a baby tiger from poachers, only to have it turn on me? I'm a rock star. Other alternatives include knife fight, hooking, and falling meteor. And no, you can't use those. They are mine. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">8. Do not drink and hop. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">9.When you drink and hop, make sure no one is around to see how foolish you look. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">10. When you finally get off of the crutches and out of the boot, don't be an idiot and break your foot again. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Just to be clear, that last one was mostly a warning from me to me. Come on, little foot, keep it together, don't fall apart on me again! </div>Leah Franquihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03486291322862758156noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5164276943600220384.post-31409327912612804882011-05-17T12:37:00.000-04:002011-05-17T12:37:50.552-04:00Struggle Goes Down For The Count<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6-udV-OtOHzsbeA2td_z6lG2inljr_mu26ObXsywqd_14_imBE64zCB_EfvOuWL8msLwq40mUVYIVKMl3dPRdo3PXgW0e2iRYXF6jpfO1dyOhOYloTBzZNhUKyBxb9J7H_uIFT_QHqILk/s1600/IMG_8079.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6-udV-OtOHzsbeA2td_z6lG2inljr_mu26ObXsywqd_14_imBE64zCB_EfvOuWL8msLwq40mUVYIVKMl3dPRdo3PXgW0e2iRYXF6jpfO1dyOhOYloTBzZNhUKyBxb9J7H_uIFT_QHqILk/s400/IMG_8079.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>It seems that I am destined to hurt myself in really mundane and uninteresting ways. When I was 16 I broke my right foot literally tripping over a shoe. I've burned myself many times grazing up against too hot stoves and too scalding pans. On time, in Arizona, I walked right into a Saguaro cactus, and my mother spent the evening with a pair of tweezers and a flashlight picking spikes out of my head. Aren't family trips the best? But what I did yesterday might be the least intelligent way I've ever damaged my body. In my defense, however, do you really expect to fracture your foot by placing the thing on the ground? No? Well, apparently you need to START, folks, because yesterday I placed my poor left foot on the ground and broke it. Like you do. When you are a huge struggle.<br />
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Picture a stoplight, and a girl on a bike, wind in her hair, stains on her shirt, just trying to get to her offices to show some apartments. The girl, in accordance with the laws of Philadelphia and, you know, gravity, stops at the light, placing her mid-sized elegantly shod left foot on the street below. And it promptly crumples, pulling her body down with it. The girl feels a gentle snap. That's interesting, she thinks, and continues biking. She then shows several apartments to an older gentleman who comments that she may more may not be limping. Limping is for losers, the girl explains, and continues on her way. However, her foot seems to be swelling at an exponential rate, which doesn't seem all that normal, and when she shows it to mother, Mama Struggs says that thing is broken. Strugglemano says her foot looks FAT, which is a very Los Angeles statement and therefore can be ignored. Padre Struggle just laughs, which is way the girl asks her MOTHER, the only supportive person in the WORLD, to take her to the emergency room.<br />
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Once at the emergency room the girl is asked all sorts of questions like Does She Feel Safe At Home (yes), Does She Have An Eating Disorder (no), Is She Pregnant (given her complete lack of a love life, the girl just laughs at this one. The nurse is not amused) . X-rays are taken, a nice comforting lead blanket covering her reproductive organs to ensure that if she ever gets herself a love life she might actually be able to GET pregnant, and the break is, indeed, revealed. The girl is whisked to the orthopedist where after a brisk two hour wait she is fitted with a neat little black bootie, and told she has had a perfect break. What joy! thinks the girl, a pefect break! One does so love to achieve in all directions. She is then sent home with her black bootie, a pair of crutches, and assurances that this recovery will take about four weeks until she's back on the bike that first brought her to the hospital. In the mean time she can keep her appendage elevated, "listen to her foot" for when to start putting weight upon it, and be the fascinating spectical hopping around and sliding up and down the stairs that her family and cats will marvel upon. Oh, yes, and watch her foot turn interesting colors. If you think about it, it's really a gift!<br />
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Or a huge struggle. Any guesses as to how I'm thinking about it? And so, there you have the epic saga of how I totally broke my foot by putting on the ground. Watch out for that ground, people, it's a sly minx. When those jetpacks finally happen, I'm buying twelve. Of course, knowing me, I will probably be the first person to set themselves on fire with my jetpack. Wish me luck with my foot, Strugglenation, and with daytime television. I feel like I'm going to need it, on both counts.Leah Franquihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03486291322862758156noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5164276943600220384.post-46903280083722760652011-05-01T19:34:00.000-04:002011-05-01T19:34:04.876-04:00Struggle is the Cruelest Month<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWr4CeJ0-RSvTgNG0M6S76G34jLSRdW37kv-1ory1fsIQB_-SRWQvhN1qm7O51v68X1TBLVBaAD0Pw6nyjOqiaNI9BSEsJTQgdP5v9JwdLBxp0mTdSZWydmUbL-b_Dole7qUc-18i9jqoR/s1600/IMG_8332.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWr4CeJ0-RSvTgNG0M6S76G34jLSRdW37kv-1ory1fsIQB_-SRWQvhN1qm7O51v68X1TBLVBaAD0Pw6nyjOqiaNI9BSEsJTQgdP5v9JwdLBxp0mTdSZWydmUbL-b_Dole7qUc-18i9jqoR/s400/IMG_8332.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>Struggledelphia is by all accounts a fantastic city. This is a fact, and anyone who wants to dispute it can come over here and FIGHT me. No, they can't, actually, please don't, I bruise like a peach, but the point is, I love this crazy strugglesome city, I think it's tops. I think it's amazing. It only has one tragic flaw, one horrible element, one bad apple spoiling the bunch. Is it our widespread obesity? No, of course not, that's crazy talk. Is it our complete lack of real public transportation? No,no, that's charming. No, it's the Wharton School of Business. And it's bringing us all down.<br />
<br />
Let me explain something to you about business school students. They are, perhaps, the worst people with whom you may ever come into contact. Look, I don't know your life, you may be hanging out this dictators and child molesters and clowns all the time, and in that case, maybe it's time to make some better choices, but do what you must, I suppose. However, for the majority of us who actually like decent human beings, Wharton students may be as bad as it gets. Because there is no one as entitled, as argumentative, as straight up horrible as a Wharton student. And in April, they descend. They fall upon Philadelphia like Locusts, searching for apartments, evaluating West Philadelphia, generally acting like the worst possible versions of ourselves.Picture people who are more entitled then Prince William (Royal Wedding!), more aggressive then Margaret Thatcher (I'm on a roll with this British thing) and more unpleasant then, um, English cuisine. Then multiply them. Then picture them running all over the city, ruining our bars and restaurants with their stupid whining selves. It's enough to make you sick.<br />
<br />
Look, I recognize that sometimes people need to go to business school. Maybe you aren't attractive, maybe you can't whittle worth a damn, maybe you have some sort of childhood trauma that makes you incapable of doing any other profession, again, I don't know. I just don't know. But what I do know is that if you by some chance find yourself being introduced to a Wharton student, you slap them, and you run in the other direction. To be fair, of course, my own father was at one time a Wharton student, as was my grandfather, but these nice gentleman are exceptions. The majority of them? Are just the worst.<br />
<br />
Or at least that's what I thought until I went to a street fair on Saturday and was confronted with a collection of horrible human beings pushing, shoving, and leading their wretched little children about while screaming about the crowds. What is it about street fairs that makes otherwise normal people start acting like vicious hose beasts? I'm just trying to walk down the street here, people, you really don't need to make my life the most painful thing ever just because you prefer to stop and stare. Are you Wharton students by any chance? Yes, you are? How shocking. But at least I got to see this:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM2hI6YY60lKgLeiK2iwVSIPnaHkUe6vAPSDP_tvm_lZsz2K3tvhuemuAi1unCR-sTHpHpRZa5rL8b_FwlY7rM3JqzWCuX0Wmzqb2oDoCbwA61irhVoAbIaFvx9DgLkoLYeoJKeA311One/s1600/IMG_8323.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM2hI6YY60lKgLeiK2iwVSIPnaHkUe6vAPSDP_tvm_lZsz2K3tvhuemuAi1unCR-sTHpHpRZa5rL8b_FwlY7rM3JqzWCuX0Wmzqb2oDoCbwA61irhVoAbIaFvx9DgLkoLYeoJKeA311One/s400/IMG_8323.JPG" width="266" /></a></div>Wharton Students aside, totally worth it. Obviously.Leah Franquihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03486291322862758156noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5164276943600220384.post-50529922346554084982011-04-20T18:28:00.000-04:002011-04-20T18:28:44.381-04:00The Feast of Unleavened Struggle<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKX-hOG8HXdJ9YRG2TCuxvBGg3z7itv_Us2lhkuWEcN0oagGOeUMVoPW9DLKO2F4QbHcQjNFyu3ZRhcD1B8oHIhdyY3-hpZ01lDHVXVZj7nH9iNykG8Qn-dJGIkCB-i3nxZzvjxT-enuye/s1600/Pianos+and+Ladders+020.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKX-hOG8HXdJ9YRG2TCuxvBGg3z7itv_Us2lhkuWEcN0oagGOeUMVoPW9DLKO2F4QbHcQjNFyu3ZRhcD1B8oHIhdyY3-hpZ01lDHVXVZj7nH9iNykG8Qn-dJGIkCB-i3nxZzvjxT-enuye/s400/Pianos+and+Ladders+020.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>It's that special time again! The time that non-Jews coo over large square crackers and Jews groan over the thought of a week without bread (I don't know how they do it in Asia, I really don't).That time we celebrate our last vacation in Egypt (it...didn't go well) and enthusiastically devour large quantities of disgusting fish. Incidentally, the woman at our favorite fish place in Redding Terminal Market charged us 4 dollars per fish head and frankly, we were robbed! Who the hell else is buying those fish heads? Passover must be the prime time for fish head price inflation, I swear. And as I celebrate this so delicious festival (I really do love gefilte fish. Honestly, being Jewish is like 75% liking weird fish and 25% everything else) I want to share with you a step by step guide to a strugglesome Seder, just in case you want to host your own. Because nothing says celebration like a holiday devoted to flat bread products and collective guilt!<br />
<br />
Step 1. Buy the criminally expensive fish heads. (PS, the butcher gave us the lamb shank for free. Thanks, guy, like you were going to use it for ANYTHING). <br />
<br />
Step 2. Invite over some strangers, anyone you want to torture with a long involved ceremony before a meal without rolls. Make sure they bring wine, this is important. Do NOT let them bring Manischewitz, unless you hate your mouth and WANT a vicious painful sweet wine induced headache. Hey, you might, I don't know your life!<br />
<br />
Step 3. Rid your home of all bread products. I personally have never actually done this, but it is what you are supposed to do. Give them to people on all carb diets or toss them to the birds, whatever you like. We just hide ours and feel comfortable with this decision.<br />
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Step 4. Make a meal. This can include several things. Traditionally we make a lamb dish, something with potatoes, some vegetable, obviously Chicken Soup with Matzo balls, and some dessert that we all pretend is decent even though it's made with ground Matzo. Unless of course you have the excellent luck to be Sephardic, and then your meal is awesome, and we all hate you.<br />
<br />
Step 5. Welcome your guests. Welcome the Prophet Elijah. Get everyone drunk, including Elijah. Trust me, drinking only improves the taste of cardboard crackers. I promise.<br />
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Step 6. Repeat the next night. Then spend the rest of the holiday gripping about Matzo and staring at bakery windows like it's pornography and you are a....man. What? Some stereotypes are true.<br />
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Happy Passover, everyone. And for those of you who celebrate Easter, you enjoy that too. I see you rabbits who lay eggs and rising from the dead and I RAISE you parting of the Red Sea and manna in the desert. What's your next move? Marshmellow birds? Weak.Leah Franquihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03486291322862758156noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5164276943600220384.post-18846834636126480842011-03-23T16:52:00.001-04:002011-03-23T17:40:26.597-04:00Struggle Gets Dishy: Just DuckyEvery once in a while I get the urge for new foods. I mean, like, entirely new, I want a new bird or a new animal or a new vegetable or something. Not just something I haven't eaten in a while or tried before and I certainly don't intend to eat bugs and pretend that's awesome or what have you, but an amazing new type of food. Like a new thing that isn't chicken but works like chicken. That would be amazing. <span id="goog_517989700"></span><span id="goog_517989701"></span><br />
<div><br />
</div><div>Of course, I have yet to find such a thing, and given that I'm not taking any deep space journeys any time soon (though not for lack of trying...stupid NASA), I sometimes have to fool myself with foods, I hide them or wont buy them for a long period of time to try to trick my palette into forgetting about them so that when I encounter them again I can almost believe that this is true novelty. I've read about how cats normalize themselves to toys and then lose interest, only to rediscover them with the joy of a new exploration, but I had to stop reading about it, because when you get to the point in the day with you envy your cats it's time to take a long look in the mirror and maybe pour yourself a drink.</div><div><br />
</div><div>This normalizing thing can backfire, though. Because sometimes you re-encounter a food, say, cherries, and then all you want to do for like two weeks straight is shotgun cherries and you even consider a move to Wisconsin because wouldn't that just make perfect sense? This is another point in time when you might want to take a shot of something bracing and shake it off. Just saying. So when Ben and I made duck a few weeks ago, it kind of got me going, and now all I want to do is eat duck. So as it turns out my last duck post shall be one in a series of three. Welcome to the second of three tales of marine ornithological adventures. Get excited. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Pasta with Duck and Asparagus and white wine:</div><div>2 duck breasts</div><div>1 pound of asparagus, ends cut off, cut into 2 inch pieces on a bias</div><div>2 shallots, sliced</div><div>3 cloves of garlic, minced</div><div>1 cup of white wine</div><div>olive oil</div><div>salt, pepper</div><div>Parsley</div><div>Water</div><div>As much pasta as you and your family, guests or pets care to consume. </div><div><br />
</div><div>I'm going to include a lot more photos then usual because A. I like photos and B. I have the photos and C. this is a visually lovely meal, so you deserve to see it frame by frame. </div><div><br />
</div><div>The issue that I have with duck, in fact, one a lot of people have with duck, is how fatty it is. Duck, especially duck breast, is basically a fatty no friends, which is excellent if you are an aquatic bird who lives in chilly waters and wants to stay alive and execute your biological imperative, but less useful if you are a human being who doesn't want to consume huge amounts of duck fat. And it is, of course, delicious, most things that are horrible for you are. When I was in London last year for New Years, Andrew and I (hi, Andrew!) had a discussion then went like this: Duck Fat? Love it! But my god, we will be the fattest people ever, and we will die alone. Can we take that risk? Well, maybe just this once.....</div><div><br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div>Or twice. Or 20 odd times. It's fantastic, but it's not for every day. So this recipe, we will cut off all the duck fat and keep it in reserve: </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGfBlJfTgcCdJUtU13MBvcg81pn84Mhf_xyLAuyEdhGuIJllWP6kmN79rSRm794owFf1vgLaitV6jh3BsIDm00D_kX-2ue139tlpVd61jMYqgJS9JZjugrgGAr7sOE1-r7nLnvwPai_4kI/s1600/19128+Spruce+%25232+2011+Renovation+001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGfBlJfTgcCdJUtU13MBvcg81pn84Mhf_xyLAuyEdhGuIJllWP6kmN79rSRm794owFf1vgLaitV6jh3BsIDm00D_kX-2ue139tlpVd61jMYqgJS9JZjugrgGAr7sOE1-r7nLnvwPai_4kI/s400/19128+Spruce+%25232+2011+Renovation+001.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div>And this would be a good time to boil it in a small saucepan with a little bit of water and then cool it to congeal. And that will look like this:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi0zQaic3HgYBh0_A4JZaZzsy9HmzNj0F43wkl7HP4bAVetqM2dKPbLShS0Fcr_y-g-8nv9q-va9u2697C9zQMqvSr2BJmgeElj2wW9Hx3wAL0_4QtE7UMRfMcCu3BmZ3BHonTBDhtux1J/s1600/19128+Spruce+%25232+2011+Renovation+032.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi0zQaic3HgYBh0_A4JZaZzsy9HmzNj0F43wkl7HP4bAVetqM2dKPbLShS0Fcr_y-g-8nv9q-va9u2697C9zQMqvSr2BJmgeElj2wW9Hx3wAL0_4QtE7UMRfMcCu3BmZ3BHonTBDhtux1J/s400/19128+Spruce+%25232+2011+Renovation+032.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div>This does not look magically delicious. Don't worry, just cover it up and put it in the refrigerator. We will deal with it on another occasion. Fill up a large pot with water and make sure to salt the water generously. Cover the pot and set your burner to medium-high. This will be for the pasta, so make sure to time things out so your pasta is ready when your sauce is. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Now take you duck, which should look something like this:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYLyUjfULWN7CuI9CJW7tkQQSZ1NDva8pHobx_zz-Rgu5POD4ozFpVNhcr9IkIIfJNb1g0FvBqSr6jLtBBhPi3F0wKDcpGS45IhBUbrvXBRBZYSisXI1r1wMxXv6JSAQsr1i5kY0pQbrAi/s1600/19128+Spruce+%25232+2011+Renovation+002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYLyUjfULWN7CuI9CJW7tkQQSZ1NDva8pHobx_zz-Rgu5POD4ozFpVNhcr9IkIIfJNb1g0FvBqSr6jLtBBhPi3F0wKDcpGS45IhBUbrvXBRBZYSisXI1r1wMxXv6JSAQsr1i5kY0pQbrAi/s400/19128+Spruce+%25232+2011+Renovation+002.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div>Heat two tablespoons or around that neighborhood of corn oil or any vegetable oil in a large saucepan and brown the duck:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHmT4kq6HlGv5GjQloBAX_xb9h5XA0QiAXTODdDlKEcV3VdFpeisI2qnjRsbrQ9BpQmmWwQ_cvjvkPQvXq2R7iO5JEAT_2aLpCTXNcv1SLFjOapmjGp54glZs3gaHGNEj7QYkVtzKKZTAK/s1600/19128+Spruce+%25232+2011+Renovation+004.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHmT4kq6HlGv5GjQloBAX_xb9h5XA0QiAXTODdDlKEcV3VdFpeisI2qnjRsbrQ9BpQmmWwQ_cvjvkPQvXq2R7iO5JEAT_2aLpCTXNcv1SLFjOapmjGp54glZs3gaHGNEj7QYkVtzKKZTAK/s400/19128+Spruce+%25232+2011+Renovation+004.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div>Then remove the duck from the pan and set aside. All together, you should be looking at something like this:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF0c0HRebTVxiS5IW0qB_LNo4D6UtkJoEWglUVe4VBlUMoOW2b3BEHyL70fF3aQO7MysEcwYxRA3pr6eZnskn7HQO8CLzYXL1IXL8Tt4oMIYJfLrBb6howus6ok8C6M_aruoQslU2HCfSn/s1600/19128+Spruce+%25232+2011+Renovation+010.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF0c0HRebTVxiS5IW0qB_LNo4D6UtkJoEWglUVe4VBlUMoOW2b3BEHyL70fF3aQO7MysEcwYxRA3pr6eZnskn7HQO8CLzYXL1IXL8Tt4oMIYJfLrBb6howus6ok8C6M_aruoQslU2HCfSn/s400/19128+Spruce+%25232+2011+Renovation+010.jpg" width="266" /></a></div><div><br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div>Large scary knife is not required, but it is recommend. When the duck has cooled you are going to chop it up and this will look something like this: </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk2dDT9PgR3vpu4xSPFucU4gj-NMbzOBI-uPy-QUaImbfFhES8TY6huNA_VAAOF3PcY7kkddLNfQJUZ_LYDEnWeDeexWvDZbdL2UaAI9cYUhvSaxt-HAv9i-w7WXmcDJuJ92Fm4jpOCvdA/s1600/19128+Spruce+%25232+2011+Renovation+021.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk2dDT9PgR3vpu4xSPFucU4gj-NMbzOBI-uPy-QUaImbfFhES8TY6huNA_VAAOF3PcY7kkddLNfQJUZ_LYDEnWeDeexWvDZbdL2UaAI9cYUhvSaxt-HAv9i-w7WXmcDJuJ92Fm4jpOCvdA/s400/19128+Spruce+%25232+2011+Renovation+021.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div>Meanwhile, throw the shallots and garlic into the saucepan over a medium heat:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCjGj4f-CDD0TL3jLTocRYVYPhVOThAKKntsuYy9kQ0Ps3m5AAHxDjKjo5Dt0fwWsAB9JN0Ml9II07NpWMInRu3sKPr3yP30DUGIoA5becnQm2BH-moZlxnGuFbhzEBh9V6HFy_hdQ_N9c/s1600/19128+Spruce+%25232+2011+Renovation+015.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCjGj4f-CDD0TL3jLTocRYVYPhVOThAKKntsuYy9kQ0Ps3m5AAHxDjKjo5Dt0fwWsAB9JN0Ml9II07NpWMInRu3sKPr3yP30DUGIoA5becnQm2BH-moZlxnGuFbhzEBh9V6HFy_hdQ_N9c/s400/19128+Spruce+%25232+2011+Renovation+015.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div>Once the shallots have softened and are growing golden, throw in the asparagus, the wine, and some parsley. Cover and turn the heat down to low or medium low. Your water should be boiling by now, so cook the pasta according to the instructions on the package. I usually use this kind of pasta:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhndhtrpwydUPmN48oxzEvC4huT8nICRv2_ffJ5BpqcqrGSnzpCVbw7a_u9ViHYNvHIJ9mEYNklcgCkAdnaDD4C9hXhEaq6oKAXxalncBLmqPcDf7nOrtEPteL4YQdAMAnlM8zms5zdTx_/s1600/19128+Spruce+%25232+2011+Renovation+022.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhndhtrpwydUPmN48oxzEvC4huT8nICRv2_ffJ5BpqcqrGSnzpCVbw7a_u9ViHYNvHIJ9mEYNklcgCkAdnaDD4C9hXhEaq6oKAXxalncBLmqPcDf7nOrtEPteL4YQdAMAnlM8zms5zdTx_/s400/19128+Spruce+%25232+2011+Renovation+022.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div>But you should do whatever your little heart desires. I like pasta al dente, and I consider it a great crime against humanity to over cook pasta, but everyone is different. And some people are just better. Once the pasta is done, season the sauce to taste and serve it over the pasta. I like to sprinke on some parsley at this point: </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibB8z1nL1NHdCaWlfbUFq8mnM9cbN-Gt4kRNjcgpqYfHJdqZGGqWJf_jXD0xXk8xN47GHJZ1OQVMhlMyCKdIBzRLvsIFeAwVHFJFk4GKsas5FGnbFTIoIcp0enea3A_OD742BhJQmuISkr/s1600/19128+Spruce+%25232+2011+Renovation+025.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibB8z1nL1NHdCaWlfbUFq8mnM9cbN-Gt4kRNjcgpqYfHJdqZGGqWJf_jXD0xXk8xN47GHJZ1OQVMhlMyCKdIBzRLvsIFeAwVHFJFk4GKsas5FGnbFTIoIcp0enea3A_OD742BhJQmuISkr/s400/19128+Spruce+%25232+2011+Renovation+025.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div>I also like cheese:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnTGoVnN9gIgeN0_HwtTEWfHwdU6tSHr7p6GW7bEsvQkvQH2urYWhUKuyAdc4i4cF9JYP2cxhHmbH6Gb34C42kG-cTPzkdxaULVqPxOd0OHbx7nbvgbsuFpuPhq0_dPn7vJbPSqxyzoAmA/s1600/19128+Spruce+%25232+2011+Renovation+024.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnTGoVnN9gIgeN0_HwtTEWfHwdU6tSHr7p6GW7bEsvQkvQH2urYWhUKuyAdc4i4cF9JYP2cxhHmbH6Gb34C42kG-cTPzkdxaULVqPxOd0OHbx7nbvgbsuFpuPhq0_dPn7vJbPSqxyzoAmA/s400/19128+Spruce+%25232+2011+Renovation+024.jpg" width="266" /></a></div><div>And that will look something like this:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh5cxSjZqMUzGTEWRcDDHRUi1FeCpyjpvgQ1AWOMl4ZbChTh0lS_aBClKjGGobN1jnE7n1C1vZfyoDv-VcIxCUZsDTvalIaTFx5PxhNEXlGVQ5S0OLxlIBfkB6n9ui-4JB9XNMDrTzZOYh/s1600/19128+Spruce+%25232+2011+Renovation+029.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh5cxSjZqMUzGTEWRcDDHRUi1FeCpyjpvgQ1AWOMl4ZbChTh0lS_aBClKjGGobN1jnE7n1C1vZfyoDv-VcIxCUZsDTvalIaTFx5PxhNEXlGVQ5S0OLxlIBfkB6n9ui-4JB9XNMDrTzZOYh/s400/19128+Spruce+%25232+2011+Renovation+029.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div>And this is absolutely delicious. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYf59Xm0BalCx-dzpJVMehMVoHyvCBSUWZnqbBk9HrDk1ZQHnqWjPMJKMjL3gZg8aj-iBWOEQLheJKTc6h8Mm10OxcBdDhr8ffn0CsauIqyAfD3YbUGlqdK_Q21D6CoxhikrDvOaDamM2Y/s1600/19128+Spruce+%25232+2011+Renovation+030.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYf59Xm0BalCx-dzpJVMehMVoHyvCBSUWZnqbBk9HrDk1ZQHnqWjPMJKMjL3gZg8aj-iBWOEQLheJKTc6h8Mm10OxcBdDhr8ffn0CsauIqyAfD3YbUGlqdK_Q21D6CoxhikrDvOaDamM2Y/s640/19128+Spruce+%25232+2011+Renovation+030.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div>But you don't have to take my word for it. Go make it yourself, you lazyface. </div>Leah Franquihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03486291322862758156noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5164276943600220384.post-60389704520108249502011-03-16T16:48:00.000-04:002011-03-16T16:48:15.103-04:00Fall Back, Struggle Forward<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil6fNj_CU-fZBP4sGhd5O-SKp3YHN3_3RsQkmWuxm8RsTF6TDBEL3BFu-RrERWO5HXsl3J3HoGi_B_PoRJ5CPiAmz0PZwesXgZoqdlcx2hu1xFXkdD9-6NeLh76tl97wRU2ANPFGXFVKbR/s1600/1107+North+3rd+062.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil6fNj_CU-fZBP4sGhd5O-SKp3YHN3_3RsQkmWuxm8RsTF6TDBEL3BFu-RrERWO5HXsl3J3HoGi_B_PoRJ5CPiAmz0PZwesXgZoqdlcx2hu1xFXkdD9-6NeLh76tl97wRU2ANPFGXFVKbR/s400/1107+North+3rd+062.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>I don't know about you guys, but I find this time change business extremely rough. Look, I know it's only an hour, and I've certainly faced worse and greater jumps in the time space continuum (you try flying from London to Dubai to Shanghai being chased all the while by an Icelandic volcano and you just tell me how you like that), but I feel like it's different when you travel. For one thing, you are traveling. so you can justify the lack of sleep and complete confusion as to what day it is by saying, well, everything is foreign here, and time is no exception. Time hasn't actually changed, I'm just one French time,and bound by the laws of cigarettes, or English time, and bound by the laws of tea and class warfare, or Chinese time, and bound by the laws of....never mind, China has no laws, just suggestions. It's much like <a href="http://gawker.com/#!5782448/sex-with-33-girls-too-much-for-old-berlusconi">Italy </a>that way, really...<br />
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But this whole hour ahead hour behind thing has really got me rattled. For one thing, I resent the syntax that tells me I'm losing or gaining time. How did I lose that hour? Is there a hole in my time-purse? I was so careful with it, too! Can I replace it? No, it just returns to me in the Fall, like a prodigal son. And I don't even have any children! See, right there, that all sounds like the crazy person who sits outside of your local 7-11 and asks you for change. But I'm not that person. I don't even know where the nearest 7-11 is! (This is a lie. It's on 22nd and Lombard. And it's creepy. Don't go in there.) Time is not a pair of socks or a debit card, you can't just let it fall out of your pocket or lose it in the dryer. But SOMETHING has happened to that hour that disappeared on Sunday morning, and I miss it. I want to put up signs, have you seen this hour? Do people put things on milk cartons anymore?<br />
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Or maybe that's just the exhaustion talking. Because why my clock says 4:40pm, my body say 3:40pm. So when my clock says 12:40 in the evening, my body says, silly brain, it's only 11:40, stay up, read, you have all the time in the world! But body, my brain says, the time, I've lost it! You can't lose time, silly brain, that's crazy talk. But, the farmers, my brain queries tentatively....Farmers? Says my body, What farmers? What is this, the feudal system? And then my body and my brain start to fight about the validity of an agricultural based time system in these modern days, and I stay up even later. And then I think about what it would take to reserve myself a spot behind the 7-11.<br />
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So I haven't really caught up yet with this whole Spring forward business. But as it grows miraculously lighter, and ever so slightly warmer (never trust a groundhog, people, they get you every time), I start to believe that maybe, just maybe, someday I will finally grow accustomed to this hour forward thing. Though, knowing me, that will be just in time for fall.Leah Franquihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03486291322862758156noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5164276943600220384.post-62813043759725270162011-03-03T00:21:00.000-05:002011-03-03T00:21:59.212-05:00Please, Sir, I Want Some Struggle<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">What do you do when your are home alone? Do you run around naked? Do you dance around to loud music? Do you throw wild parties? Do you re-paint? Or do you, in fact, cook large meals for yourself and a good friend? Can you guess into which category I fall? </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirLkQPR3Gvw_m95QDoRt82vAwYomMgZaKCaTXLOuZx_ECK5k87bbsb47x7V-QKmBiaOv-lDkI11Uf8k-icC1Fy1H7sDo9mtTGcyUv1dLu2ExyCM4Ds8KxaOG0W6aUR1qEe0Feln2ca011R/s1600/2430+Spruce+2R+2011+012.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirLkQPR3Gvw_m95QDoRt82vAwYomMgZaKCaTXLOuZx_ECK5k87bbsb47x7V-QKmBiaOv-lDkI11Uf8k-icC1Fy1H7sDo9mtTGcyUv1dLu2ExyCM4Ds8KxaOG0W6aUR1qEe0Feln2ca011R/s400/2430+Spruce+2R+2011+012.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Yeah. I make large meals with my friend Ben. Obviously. Ben and I got together this past Saturday night and prepared ourselves a simple meal of spice rubbed duck breast (Ben) brocolini blanched and sauted with garlic(myself) and curried saffron rice (more of myself). </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin8RvuYABH4j5-v5EpgpKG7blbylOAjdCFU4y_EehC3EY2I7sEaBHZzXcTpvO2q4KIrT-aei9eWyjUauG-gDciobnIY8XVMNWKFVo_760Er8TdW4GRGf-RoDzesWmtpPfqQTlD0qV9i_Ql/s1600/2430+Spruce+2R+2011+015.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin8RvuYABH4j5-v5EpgpKG7blbylOAjdCFU4y_EehC3EY2I7sEaBHZzXcTpvO2q4KIrT-aei9eWyjUauG-gDciobnIY8XVMNWKFVo_760Er8TdW4GRGf-RoDzesWmtpPfqQTlD0qV9i_Ql/s400/2430+Spruce+2R+2011+015.jpg" width="266" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;">And wine. And cheese. And gossip. And maybe I'm crazy, okay, I'm definitely crazy, but it was a really lovely evening! No clubs, cabs or critical hook up moments, no embarrassing statements or stranger danger, just a nice evening with a friend. Because here's the thing, most people I know? Are struggling. At least, most young people I know are struggling. I mean, obviously, I'm struggling, it's right there in the name, but I mean in terms of the nightlife. Between the job situation and the social stuff and the constant fear that you are missing something on TV, things can get a little rough out there. So while my peers may feel the need to fill every evening with a constant stream of activities and location changes (BEN), I really enjoy nights that have one, maybe two main attractions. Honestly, much more then that gives me sensory overload and the extreme need for a snack. I know we have the fountain of youth pouring through our veins and whatever Romantic era metaphor you prefer, but doesn't anyone want to save some of that up for middle age? Every night isn't New Years, guys, you can take an evening off and wear sweatpants. No one will know but me, I promise, and I wont tell. (Yes, I will. Do it anyway.) I mean, good lord, people, don't you get tired? It's all well and good to say you will sleep when you are dead but....I REALLY like sleeping. </div><div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-P08M7J3D2jMJNLj-BMqUxNj2_DvE2rK-jUTbGpE4lSiikU2ZGRhyNgStIE4dio4xNkDWJFmki2Q0abRBYB70JC5rP-qCrFDMguKmcPA-iJdhOOFNQDve85kv3bov8U9I3HNFWjzq_t34/s1600/2430+Spruce+2R+2011+016.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-P08M7J3D2jMJNLj-BMqUxNj2_DvE2rK-jUTbGpE4lSiikU2ZGRhyNgStIE4dio4xNkDWJFmki2Q0abRBYB70JC5rP-qCrFDMguKmcPA-iJdhOOFNQDve85kv3bov8U9I3HNFWjzq_t34/s400/2430+Spruce+2R+2011+016.jpg" width="278" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">See? Don't I look happy? All well rested and happy? And with a nice glass of wine instead of a horrible but calorically conscious vodka and soda water? Ben brought, in addition to duck breast, his usual heavy snark, which pairs excellently with my own generous helping of sarcasm, and together we gorged ourselves on olives and political commentary (read, pop culture references) until Ben had to bail to go out for the evening. And me? I nestled my way into my pajamas, curled up with some USA network shows (as one does) and enjoyed my evening off of being 23 years old. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZP6K3jK4YGL-4gxsVclVEDuwJ2W8P6kQ12ZTFKniB8J578JXVK1uK-vSQ62mv_fVdNuR8t803OaXMZ_UmCCLaaVO03WTgt-uLvpNxgcQGc73AT7qnpb2dbK1TxivV8R66c6vjdxP14Jmf/s1600/2430+Spruce+2R+2011+010.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZP6K3jK4YGL-4gxsVclVEDuwJ2W8P6kQ12ZTFKniB8J578JXVK1uK-vSQ62mv_fVdNuR8t803OaXMZ_UmCCLaaVO03WTgt-uLvpNxgcQGc73AT7qnpb2dbK1TxivV8R66c6vjdxP14Jmf/s400/2430+Spruce+2R+2011+010.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This is how is all looks before my expert plating. The brocolini is the easiest thing in the world, blanch it, saute it with chopped garlic, sprinkle some red pepper flakes and salt and pepper over that sucker and you are DONE. Ben used a combo of spices and brown sugar with the duck breast, which we pan seared and then finished in the oven. The brown sugar gives it that deliciously crispy crust of caramelized goodness, so whatever combination of things you rub on the duck, make sure it includes brown sugar. In this case, it's like foodie crack, I swear. </div>Leah Franquihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03486291322862758156noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5164276943600220384.post-4752711906856321212011-02-25T16:14:00.000-05:002011-02-25T16:14:42.830-05:00The Struggle Hill MallThought it pains me to admit it, sometimes I can't get everything I need in one place. I wish I never had to leave the warm comforting arms of Struggledelphia for any reason at all. I wish I could have unlimited wealth and access to a never ending store of cupcakes as well.But given that I work in the arts and I don't want to end up on one of those horrible weight loss shows, neither of those things look like they are going to happen any time soon. And neither can I stay in Struggledelphia forever. Sometimes the winds of fate and sands of destiny (why....would destiny want sand? It gets in everything. Just saying.) compel me to to seek my fortune elsewhere, and so I must venture forth and explore the wilds of civilization beyond the reach of our fair city. And so it was, with a heavy heart and a warm coat, that I ventured, last weekend, to the Cherry Hill Mall.<br />
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The Cherry Hill mall is located, surprisingly enough, in Cherry Hill, New Jersey, the sight of many white collar crimes, 50's style diners, and single level shopping centers. Plus they also have a Wegmans not too far away. Basically, it's everything you could ever want without anything you actually need. As an urbanite, I'm fascinated with malls, and I always have been. Plants! Mall walkers! Hot Topic! (Have you ever seen a Hot Topic outside of a mall? Think it through.) Malls seem to have a plethora of stores and businesses that do not exist outside of their air conditioned climate controlled food courted halls. I certainly have never thought about the Mall as a social activity. I thought people only "hung out" in malls in movies, <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0083929/">Fast Times at Ridgemont High </a>springs to mind. Oh, gentle readers, I could not have been more wrong....<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuo-ivtotEXmYe4cx9NdRv-e6DkGFvbgrvkacllpoCujqvLMDpsYSJYlwbbQYBRxqJA0HYWzo6Rnndisp86o4MjNggUvx5rCf66QlJD6PAQYqSA8B-rVsdKmg0lXCrwcUA7ZBhuaGOpvlx/s1600/1107+North+3rd+026.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuo-ivtotEXmYe4cx9NdRv-e6DkGFvbgrvkacllpoCujqvLMDpsYSJYlwbbQYBRxqJA0HYWzo6Rnndisp86o4MjNggUvx5rCf66QlJD6PAQYqSA8B-rVsdKmg0lXCrwcUA7ZBhuaGOpvlx/s400/1107+North+3rd+026.jpg" width="266" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">This is a mall modeling talent search. It looks like they got some winners. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9tNbx-0pU2Y_4ZTVDF3Ayk5uWHzaKgnnRLHN_rEPEMF5PSN7cNC_0vfSA2aiPqQDI5rpTdhULvDDWOQXoFZY_TTS59rkPZxrsAVt36LhggljNeJ_Dd-QHaxEFSiZCBktzD-BGzTqUo63o/s1600/1107+North+3rd+030.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9tNbx-0pU2Y_4ZTVDF3Ayk5uWHzaKgnnRLHN_rEPEMF5PSN7cNC_0vfSA2aiPqQDI5rpTdhULvDDWOQXoFZY_TTS59rkPZxrsAVt36LhggljNeJ_Dd-QHaxEFSiZCBktzD-BGzTqUo63o/s400/1107+North+3rd+030.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">This is not good parenting. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh46-gjkh-UPgvW3LDEhAcWaTqdysaI-zxJ_sk33ltX0LqSej1UQSFWtZNwdmqY5wACFr9e8-feCjFRdkBQRY_fwWesTXmSCuHoENqCX3gbX1tNEuZ7ckhtWwd3LxPaoVBQqQHZLtMd4Ing/s1600/1107+North+3rd+032.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh46-gjkh-UPgvW3LDEhAcWaTqdysaI-zxJ_sk33ltX0LqSej1UQSFWtZNwdmqY5wACFr9e8-feCjFRdkBQRY_fwWesTXmSCuHoENqCX3gbX1tNEuZ7ckhtWwd3LxPaoVBQqQHZLtMd4Ing/s400/1107+North+3rd+032.jpg" width="266" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">This does not seem like a great deal. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYK38_SIZ_0MRzrWa5QB3VS8GfXSJW1VxVNOfuI77Y5g9Z5CJ2Jz2CSuWptAxQhNGWnP5Pejnd5ugF6KFOcQwOzb2t9KvPSPSe2b3DDcscLutFy1pW80rxONU-xfpjX6j5-cgUy9qtzgCu/s1600/1107+North+3rd+035.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYK38_SIZ_0MRzrWa5QB3VS8GfXSJW1VxVNOfuI77Y5g9Z5CJ2Jz2CSuWptAxQhNGWnP5Pejnd5ugF6KFOcQwOzb2t9KvPSPSe2b3DDcscLutFy1pW80rxONU-xfpjX6j5-cgUy9qtzgCu/s400/1107+North+3rd+035.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">This is how New Jersey does hair. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8fh_A03OW0diHKhK-ByfOXfOZrUu4Nob2LT4VZbK1ATPQntAHe-sC52vjXdBP5wr8e6DB8E04is63HiiFEvm7IbL31GSMkwjERAVGPWUG3oZYfHIgG8JoYfZs_GkunBIlJG_zTlZFH7Lq/s1600/1107+North+3rd+036.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8fh_A03OW0diHKhK-ByfOXfOZrUu4Nob2LT4VZbK1ATPQntAHe-sC52vjXdBP5wr8e6DB8E04is63HiiFEvm7IbL31GSMkwjERAVGPWUG3oZYfHIgG8JoYfZs_GkunBIlJG_zTlZFH7Lq/s400/1107+North+3rd+036.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">This is not a store I've ever seen in real life. This is a man, on the verge of the <a href="http://www.edvard-munch.com/Paintings/anxiety/scream_3.jpg">silent scream</a>. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6zzahcppVFmUoDTXIAITEFKQUw6uSpam_ZJHXoeGc4QwmpUIF0fHH6pJ_lMJ7i904aOedkFtWT_BnXN4K9zPmD-Jnqx4pJu3nJ0G2W0uaUN_XP7amyhR3f0nyWkQ7Gv5DDlxA00wUSMdj/s1600/1107+North+3rd+043.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6zzahcppVFmUoDTXIAITEFKQUw6uSpam_ZJHXoeGc4QwmpUIF0fHH6pJ_lMJ7i904aOedkFtWT_BnXN4K9zPmD-Jnqx4pJu3nJ0G2W0uaUN_XP7amyhR3f0nyWkQ7Gv5DDlxA00wUSMdj/s400/1107+North+3rd+043.jpg" width="266" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">This is another way New Jersey does hair. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7v9e_JWwE4DnaOwfj8yaYDcvq51AAD3kD0T1O6s7belShNcWVK1b6yB3jJZN19_mPBt27g64vnffsw5aDMBCDaYeQHha_u5FkQCpYPwS_wj5hjqvq5bvT_RISCesdAcS5JNu0EB5YHv2z/s1600/1107+North+3rd+037.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7v9e_JWwE4DnaOwfj8yaYDcvq51AAD3kD0T1O6s7belShNcWVK1b6yB3jJZN19_mPBt27g64vnffsw5aDMBCDaYeQHha_u5FkQCpYPwS_wj5hjqvq5bvT_RISCesdAcS5JNu0EB5YHv2z/s400/1107+North+3rd+037.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">This is another imaginary store. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_kToFDySwHRgb_7suGVHnnJHEUj-Un9eDE7oZev7XmlJDlvM0RTwugW4esYijPte32Mj_ET5Q76s_sczOKCaETcuxPCRy6wF7JDoOVhAQqwtURvZXIIijQK9HHTNkMrp8WSisq8g6NmjB/s1600/1107+North+3rd+053.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_kToFDySwHRgb_7suGVHnnJHEUj-Un9eDE7oZev7XmlJDlvM0RTwugW4esYijPte32Mj_ET5Q76s_sczOKCaETcuxPCRy6wF7JDoOVhAQqwtURvZXIIijQK9HHTNkMrp8WSisq8g6NmjB/s400/1107+North+3rd+053.jpg" width="266" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">This is what <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Betty_Friedan">Betty Friedan</a> was talking about. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivTGNAPc2GqSB_YrHvdgeYlgrQT3M2d7Go2XwFJsVWdAU0uUGcDLRMayuhRSkSOHaFHxSuLaATR0sYUHcVYqoNiZZIvFa9RsjDWWzpuEYxtq8k0289yUkSU0-zrSk7MmflDUsoe-0wlPhJ/s1600/1107+North+3rd+044.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivTGNAPc2GqSB_YrHvdgeYlgrQT3M2d7Go2XwFJsVWdAU0uUGcDLRMayuhRSkSOHaFHxSuLaATR0sYUHcVYqoNiZZIvFa9RsjDWWzpuEYxtq8k0289yUkSU0-zrSk7MmflDUsoe-0wlPhJ/s400/1107+North+3rd+044.jpg" width="266" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">This is me. I am not amused. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">I really hope Struggledelphia gets a Forever 21 soon. Because I'm not relishing going back out to New Jersey and living through that grotesque carnival of human misery again....I'm completely kidding. I love that place. Bring it on, New Jersey, I can take it. </div>Leah Franquihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03486291322862758156noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5164276943600220384.post-43846633242970957792011-02-11T15:30:00.002-05:002011-02-11T15:48:47.435-05:00Struggle Gets Dishy: Side BenefitsSo, good old Puxutawny Phil neglected to see his shadow, which means an early spring for all of us! Good news, right? A cause for joy and celebration? Ah, my friends, you could not be more wrong.<br />
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Why? Well, for starters, I don't care what that deceitful little rodent says, it's still dangerously cold here in Struggledelphia. And why are we trusting our fate to a small ground dwelling mammal anyway? I mean, what does he know about meteorology, he doesn't even have a weather based name or a bow tie or any of the things I expect from my local news carrier. Trusting the weather to a groundhog is like saying my cat can make prophesies about the future. And considering that my cat's favorite activities are sleeping and licking itself in it's swimsuit areas, I'm not so sure that we want to live in that future, frankly.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJiErulOXh0QFT568Dq8nzrvShDd2lT-MyxmlNRHRZvyxb1z8-kP9gpISoHLLH8difLYtmuR9WQ8Ir-kDLOaEnfLSAjBVYoGvB8TVFLftxeLB6UTtlU-DgQFL6UvWxTAVRdqJYZH3ABXC7/s1600/Festival+2010%2521+020.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJiErulOXh0QFT568Dq8nzrvShDd2lT-MyxmlNRHRZvyxb1z8-kP9gpISoHLLH8difLYtmuR9WQ8Ir-kDLOaEnfLSAjBVYoGvB8TVFLftxeLB6UTtlU-DgQFL6UvWxTAVRdqJYZH3ABXC7/s400/Festival+2010%2521+020.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
And don't even get me started on Staten Island Chuck. To think, New York calls US the second class city...<br />
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Additionally, after this long and painful winter, is anyone REALLY ready to strip down to their daisy dukes and halter tops and bare all that pasty pale skin to the light of day? Of course not! It's not time for that sort of thing! It's time for snuggling up into fleece blankets and not moving until an animal of slightly more intelligence then a groundhog tells you it's time. When a dolphin let's me know about the weather, I'll be happy to listen. But not before then.<br />
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With all this in mind, my crusade for carbohydrates continues, with a potato based recipe sure to fill you with enough fat to insulate those pesky little organs without which you would expire. So, this Valentine's day, give you sweetheart and yourself the gift of starchy root vegetables. It is truly the gift that keeps on giving. And what could be more romantic then that?<br />
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Roasted Red Potatoes and Leeks:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2BSj3ykNMugayVxMpuvNE-Ehs2o6fyWk99Iox2U7iyQg8ZQS2CLaYlK33aYojaVQLZ30bBmo9vDG1nKpmySp8FtJa7ZIuOloWW03uUsTUfdsGzH1BTqEYSZTi-si_TYgdku6sWcYwhREU/s1600/Food+and+Snowy+Struggles+001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2BSj3ykNMugayVxMpuvNE-Ehs2o6fyWk99Iox2U7iyQg8ZQS2CLaYlK33aYojaVQLZ30bBmo9vDG1nKpmySp8FtJa7ZIuOloWW03uUsTUfdsGzH1BTqEYSZTi-si_TYgdku6sWcYwhREU/s400/Food+and+Snowy+Struggles+001.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
I love this side dish because its pretty, filling, and fantastically easy. There's a double entendre there somewhere, but I'm too cold to make it.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCAu4yzvJ-t7MMje6P4DjrDNt37t10BcLcLJuEndbreHR0IiV2sOveVjPbbxOJZ2NYJp2WMLNfWk7vvU-wlQe6khyl20vl6x_u7aKkuZHCMmzojQ1NSEWKP0zoWtB5pqEaUQriI7tOUjbO/s1600/Food+and+Snowy+Struggles+005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCAu4yzvJ-t7MMje6P4DjrDNt37t10BcLcLJuEndbreHR0IiV2sOveVjPbbxOJZ2NYJp2WMLNfWk7vvU-wlQe6khyl20vl6x_u7aKkuZHCMmzojQ1NSEWKP0zoWtB5pqEaUQriI7tOUjbO/s640/Food+and+Snowy+Struggles+005.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
1 pound small red potatoes, rinsed, eyes removed (if they exist. The eyes of the potato are the little sprouts which may have been allowed to grow if you, like me, buy things and then forget that you own them. It happens.)<br />
2 large leeks.<br />
Salt<br />
Pepper<br />
Olive Oil<br />
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Preheat your oven to 400 degrees Fahrenheit. Slice the potatoes into 1/4th of an inch thick rounds. Thinly slice the leeks (both white and green parts, personal issue of mine, I hate when people just use part of a leek, use the whole leek, people, pretend this is the frontier), on a diagonal, and toss the potatoes and leeks with olive oil, salt, and pepper. Spread potato and leek mixture on a baking sheet. Make sure that there is a single layer of potatoes and leeks, if the sheet is too crowded neither will roast properly. Treat yourself to a second baking sheet if needs be, you deserve it, I promise. Roast vegetables about 30 minutes, or until potatoes and leeks are browned and potatoes flake apart when tested with a fork or knife. Season with additional salt and pepper, if that is your desire, and serve. Enjoy!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJUcJy2m7GBJIdGXUA5ocZqiIGtV8G-vfAFsOMSE1v1zIBBEq7sa5TNB6tzmjkCfTHipiZlp367t6rhYzKlJWBHMmjhDS6cRbIZF7dliJCE99UOf3QmqR_jpsTb80vVCRKOuMvBmF87oc_/s1600/Food+and+Snowy+Struggles+005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJUcJy2m7GBJIdGXUA5ocZqiIGtV8G-vfAFsOMSE1v1zIBBEq7sa5TNB6tzmjkCfTHipiZlp367t6rhYzKlJWBHMmjhDS6cRbIZF7dliJCE99UOf3QmqR_jpsTb80vVCRKOuMvBmF87oc_/s400/Food+and+Snowy+Struggles+005.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
Delicious.Leah Franquihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03486291322862758156noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5164276943600220384.post-23508476214561837552011-01-31T12:19:00.000-05:002011-01-31T12:19:22.240-05:00Give Us This Day Our Daily StruggleI walked to work this morning. I had a meeting part of the way between my job and my home and it didn't make sense to go all the way to work first, and this city is basically bereft of public transportation so I walked. I walked through mountains of snow, because even though it has been almost a week since the last storm apparently it's been decided that the sidewalks of Struggledelphia should remain as scale models of the Alps. And I walked through rivers of ice, because salt is for pansies and the city government would prefer that us Struggledelphias bravely take on the elements with nothing more then our bare hands and Quaker determination. And I fell. Right on my knees. At the corner of Struggle Garden and 11th street. Thank you, good people of City Hall, for teaching me that valuable lesson about falling down in public.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUEVKTWS4Ysz3XwDkQZUMz6VjCrLdN5fzTJ97ToOun6ou-Ai_3a114dwFchTZsCOQTUbwi4ZPx47XN1x5RtYOfuBozN9Z8C7lNKqCK2ewi-NrQpMw1zumsUV0LDr3cYkAamv8lnMAHr86A/s1600/Give+Us+This+Day+Our+Daily+Struggle+004.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUEVKTWS4Ysz3XwDkQZUMz6VjCrLdN5fzTJ97ToOun6ou-Ai_3a114dwFchTZsCOQTUbwi4ZPx47XN1x5RtYOfuBozN9Z8C7lNKqCK2ewi-NrQpMw1zumsUV0LDr3cYkAamv8lnMAHr86A/s400/Give+Us+This+Day+Our+Daily+Struggle+004.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>But on some level I'm glad I walked all the way in because my path took me through all kinds of struggle, and as I always carry around my camera, I can now share some of that for you. Enjoy. Happy end of January. If February has this much snow, I'm moving to Mexico. Who's in?<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv9OVpWjKjfDP2puZ_mJBx-wRDo-kWnnwIqpbf1rDWIYvSksbvRJVXbKB5VLG0ujwF436RFOHhF_MNUsUuCUdomQ3m9Xl-cTVEInW2tcRVSja1wnZnIHQ8Q5877iTHf5BZzJN2fhrvmQqS/s1600/Give+Us+This+Day+Our+Daily+Struggle+003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv9OVpWjKjfDP2puZ_mJBx-wRDo-kWnnwIqpbf1rDWIYvSksbvRJVXbKB5VLG0ujwF436RFOHhF_MNUsUuCUdomQ3m9Xl-cTVEInW2tcRVSja1wnZnIHQ8Q5877iTHf5BZzJN2fhrvmQqS/s400/Give+Us+This+Day+Our+Daily+Struggle+003.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5QO0iylY5bcM1heUzzclYjdoxQsrhkgTsqENRriI9XGtPPGdawbGVsw2qPh2dlc9JSkTLNPi2UgfKANJY9L6QnaE3GVLTj7d4i0tT5URYHMRKaxGfgrt7rLGrfwNbTgMhfwQKEs2ahWNS/s1600/Give+Us+This+Day+Our+Daily+Struggle+002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5QO0iylY5bcM1heUzzclYjdoxQsrhkgTsqENRriI9XGtPPGdawbGVsw2qPh2dlc9JSkTLNPi2UgfKANJY9L6QnaE3GVLTj7d4i0tT5URYHMRKaxGfgrt7rLGrfwNbTgMhfwQKEs2ahWNS/s400/Give+Us+This+Day+Our+Daily+Struggle+002.jpg" width="266" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9Zgy709KxFdVjPmMXyYOGuyfHcTdA5ROmJE9Cl6ydN76l1CRao5IkyfetFQ2_eM43byZiEkxlroRCcFgrB0_GutkbirfzSSW70v_OVu-1yJCOnuc02QymjUb5oejuDQc6jwZ0tIsQW5cV/s1600/Give+Us+This+Day+Our+Daily+Struggle+008.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9Zgy709KxFdVjPmMXyYOGuyfHcTdA5ROmJE9Cl6ydN76l1CRao5IkyfetFQ2_eM43byZiEkxlroRCcFgrB0_GutkbirfzSSW70v_OVu-1yJCOnuc02QymjUb5oejuDQc6jwZ0tIsQW5cV/s400/Give+Us+This+Day+Our+Daily+Struggle+008.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt3u-Kb3i_-jIh_wt3B9DsSvvxciWm41oYUopZhKLgxjkH2mSUAdWbFSMRmVmrVLKSZnOFjjsOpu8lLRuky-nfz8BQJkqayKD64hNyo7Ml_W45PXX7XfHtGjRs6elICr7NzJoj-094DPOX/s1600/Give+Us+This+Day+Our+Daily+Struggle+007.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt3u-Kb3i_-jIh_wt3B9DsSvvxciWm41oYUopZhKLgxjkH2mSUAdWbFSMRmVmrVLKSZnOFjjsOpu8lLRuky-nfz8BQJkqayKD64hNyo7Ml_W45PXX7XfHtGjRs6elICr7NzJoj-094DPOX/s400/Give+Us+This+Day+Our+Daily+Struggle+007.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgperMGd_FEmJs1KhrcZEpEOXngG0HNu83rXX6ocsxdc-K8YH1HjdT59YTo6CuWf4XvVeUNlAlDNbghDu57n0X6HPptKZd7jA0Bw-2iOdXoScuvOmkENuWOYg9tr1CoMpHNqapdI9rUhFbG/s1600/Give+Us+This+Day+Our+Daily+Struggle+010.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgperMGd_FEmJs1KhrcZEpEOXngG0HNu83rXX6ocsxdc-K8YH1HjdT59YTo6CuWf4XvVeUNlAlDNbghDu57n0X6HPptKZd7jA0Bw-2iOdXoScuvOmkENuWOYg9tr1CoMpHNqapdI9rUhFbG/s400/Give+Us+This+Day+Our+Daily+Struggle+010.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO8nDl3UaOzxyhwfaNXX8908lub0r_Cpvna8ZzZAJzgDYK1_al1fnV6ozL4WoBGpPtI1ps9bJGGc5nM4vx7MTxjoLaYp4tEmBgFounIF6YjTwumZikXmCItfer1SHGQ-Iyi3ie4IFJkaka/s1600/Give+Us+This+Day+Our+Daily+Struggle+014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO8nDl3UaOzxyhwfaNXX8908lub0r_Cpvna8ZzZAJzgDYK1_al1fnV6ozL4WoBGpPtI1ps9bJGGc5nM4vx7MTxjoLaYp4tEmBgFounIF6YjTwumZikXmCItfer1SHGQ-Iyi3ie4IFJkaka/s400/Give+Us+This+Day+Our+Daily+Struggle+014.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRqQmnf2w9inONj5me5HSSDtkrosjQtmdOw9Z9WHn82xa9I-ile9bOtXzltMDeqOeuL9nmItGRBUy05zekZAu5S4OvvW991PcqO2Fzpe8uUO28704fVLgixefFKITdAfViRKPEZE3TjCX4/s1600/Give+Us+This+Day+Our+Daily+Struggle+017.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRqQmnf2w9inONj5me5HSSDtkrosjQtmdOw9Z9WHn82xa9I-ile9bOtXzltMDeqOeuL9nmItGRBUy05zekZAu5S4OvvW991PcqO2Fzpe8uUO28704fVLgixefFKITdAfViRKPEZE3TjCX4/s400/Give+Us+This+Day+Our+Daily+Struggle+017.jpg" width="266" /></a></div>Leah Franquihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03486291322862758156noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5164276943600220384.post-71032530853158962172011-01-28T11:32:00.000-05:002011-01-28T11:32:38.402-05:00Struggleslovakia<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyXba1nGKumbv0uva8XtBoTnBOBDM50RgSRRnxZUNWl3U4FhofHKtGoDh33jWl2ym0VNwUXF3aODyE_LJuspbFkg2frNHftAjhgPr5VYWwrbgGvmMX11BRTidlfE6n7jER-2SmkZyudqV9/s1600/Food+and+Snowy+Struggles+017.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyXba1nGKumbv0uva8XtBoTnBOBDM50RgSRRnxZUNWl3U4FhofHKtGoDh33jWl2ym0VNwUXF3aODyE_LJuspbFkg2frNHftAjhgPr5VYWwrbgGvmMX11BRTidlfE6n7jER-2SmkZyudqV9/s400/Food+and+Snowy+Struggles+017.jpg" width="266" /></a></div>I was driving in downtown Struggledelphia the other day when I came upon a deeply perplexing sight. Cold the wind was, and icy breezes blew through the city. Wrapped in fleece and down, the noble inhabitants of my fair struggle hurried on their way, faces turned from the bitterness of the day. None of this, of course, is surprising, it's been insanely cold here in Struggledelphia, the kind of weather that makes you understand why so many Colonial beverages mix hot liquids and alcohol (Have you had mulled wine lately? A hot toddy? Cider? It's all working for me right now). But what WAS surprising was the large typically vacant office building at the corner of Market and StruggleFirst street which was festooned with pictures of actor Bradly Cooper's face in some kind of pseudo political campaign. But the weirdest part? That political campaign was for the city of New York.<br />
<br />
Now, I'm fairly certain that Struggledelphia is not, in fact, New York. I know for a fact that there are at least 5 people in our Chinatown who speak English, which is 500% more then New York has. Also, we barely have a subway system. Also, a bottle of water costs under 5 dollars. So it seemed unlikely that the two cities had in fact fused together overnight and that I was at the corner of Struggledelphia and Broadway. Although that would be an awesome Twilight-zone....<br />
<br />
And then it occurred to me, none of this was real! It was, in fact, a movie. A movie being shot in here in Sturggledelphia but set in New York. Right, Because the two cities look EXACTLY alike. We have a Statue of Liberty as well. It's called the Benjamin Franklin Bridge. Looks exactly the same, if you squint. And have glaucoma. And it's nighttime. And raining. And all the power is out. Right?<br />
<br />
And then I realized, as I dodged Bradley Cooper fangirls (and boys, let's not be heteronormative) and tried to make it to my pilates class in something approaching on time, they have been shooting a lot of movies in our fair city. Last summer they shot the completely unsuccessful "<a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1341188/">How Do You Know</a>", and the as yet unreleased "<a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1438251/">The Best and the Brightest</a>". The movie that has prevented me from punctuality recently is called "<a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1219289/">Limitless</a>". And apparently the trailer for "Ceder Rapids" features the Struggledelphia skyline, even though the movie is supposed to be set in, well, Iowa. Thanks, guys, that was kind of you. Next time you are here, we are spitting in your stupid cheesesteaks.<br />
<br />
So what does this add up to, pray tell? Why, it's obvious! Struggledelphia is the new Prague! Think about it, Prague is the stand in for every European city ever. Movies are shot in Prague all the time, because it's cheap, it's beautiful, and stupid American movie audiences will never figure it out. Unless they actually go to Prague...but of course that's crazy talk. Americans don't travel. We are literally incapable of being outside of a 50 mile radius of a Starbucks and/or a McDonalds. Everyone knows that. But really, think about it some more. Prague has never been bombed. Struggledelphia has never been bombed. Prague is famous for it's history. <i>Struggledelphia </i>is famous for it's history. Prague was the capital of Bohemia. Struggledelphia has a naked bike ride! Prague has had not one, but TWO defenestrations. Struggledelphia recently got a Barney's co-op! I could go on like this all day, but I think you all get the picture. Struggledelphia is the new Prague. Come visit us quickly before we convert to the Euro and all the cigarette prices go up.Leah Franquihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03486291322862758156noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5164276943600220384.post-64541510730560986912011-01-12T23:25:00.000-05:002011-01-12T23:25:21.354-05:00Struggle Gets Dishy: Mambo ItalianoI don't know about all of you, but when the temperatures drop and it starts to rain white crap from the sky, I personally can dispense with the salads. I love gazpacho as much as the next girl (assuming the next girl REALLY loves gazpacho), but wintertime, especially wintertime here in Struggledelphia, the not-quite-Northeast, means substance. It means style. Hell, I'll say it, it means pasta.<br />
<br />
Remember those few awkward years (not that that narrows it down) when everyone was all about carbs being the devil? First of all, the Devil is the Devil, people, stop trying to make the Devil into bedbugs or reality television stars or Christine O'Donnell (though obviously that last one is some kind of minor minion, a sub-demon, perhaps, something along those lines). He is that he is, folks, he's not hiding in your bagel. So I don't care if this causes a group of priests to come down on me like a load of bricks, exorcise all you want, folks, I'm eating pasta. And I'm eating in all sorts of different ways. Why? Because it's filling. Because it's delicious. And because if animals can get all fatty-no-friends and store up winter fat then, by God, so can I.<br />
<br />
Considering that the horribly cruel local news stations had spent the weekend predicting doom and gloom and more snow then a cocaine dealer would know how to handle, I thought it prudent on Monday evening to whip up a dish that would give me the warm fuzzy feeling of carbohydrates, the solid strength of protein and the mildly superior sensation of having eaten something vaguely healthy. A tall order, perhaps, but it's all in a day's struggle:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxsWifkR_0Oov5hqkx38YXD_kYWTw3N-GdRKqHe3F-kIhXGOh5FBnPG8-raxOICwRFKH8vDHcnnYlMNrNv43fdf32duooSE2zUpGh8wH7dYAU7tWBUe06Z97ZyvAYJYzYtx1IVrelVDSgK/s1600/IMG_6614.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxsWifkR_0Oov5hqkx38YXD_kYWTw3N-GdRKqHe3F-kIhXGOh5FBnPG8-raxOICwRFKH8vDHcnnYlMNrNv43fdf32duooSE2zUpGh8wH7dYAU7tWBUe06Z97ZyvAYJYzYtx1IVrelVDSgK/s400/IMG_6614.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxmB3SANBmzx_qH5iZnG89tw5oJbwhIqlHtnvcYtontaGyOahNa43SZtrX9fvrUAS99NYBKeS-Krk9pXcdbgyTrpgbDRmZZQqvykGhU8TAvDbCrVNYnr8jn8urBhpp4iIbOqHs25osw7ng/s1600/IMG_6613.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxmB3SANBmzx_qH5iZnG89tw5oJbwhIqlHtnvcYtontaGyOahNa43SZtrX9fvrUAS99NYBKeS-Krk9pXcdbgyTrpgbDRmZZQqvykGhU8TAvDbCrVNYnr8jn8urBhpp4iIbOqHs25osw7ng/s400/IMG_6613.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
Orecchiette with Spinach, Peppers and Sausage:<br />
Serves 4<br />
<br />
Water<br />
Enough dry Orecchiette for four people (depending on your appetites and pasta needs)<br />
4 turkey sausages (or pork, should you not be a chosen person)<br />
4 cloves of garlic, minced<br />
2 red peppers, diced<br />
1 large bag of spinach (about 6 cups)<br />
Salt, pepper<br />
olive oil<br />
<br />
Bring a large pot of salted water to boil. Meanwhile, heat up olive oil under medium heat in a large heavy saucepan. Cook sausages until almost completely cooked through and browned. Remove sausages from the pan, set aside to cool. Maintaining a medium heat, add the minced garlic to the pan, and saute for one minute. Add the diced peppers, saute together for several minutes while pepper starts to soften. Slice sausage into long diagonal slices about 1/4 of an inch thick each. Add sausages to the saucepan, then add washed spinach and salt and pepper (according to your tastes/sodium requirements). Cover the pot and lower the heat to medium-low, allowing the spinach to wilt and cook and the flavors to meld. Add pasta to water once the water is boiling, and cook according to the package directions. Remove pasta from heat when it is still al dente. Spoon sauce over the pasta, and serve with Parmesan cheese. Enjoy the sweet sensation of added layers of lipids insulating your winter-prepared body. Not everyone does.Leah Franquihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03486291322862758156noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5164276943600220384.post-91659807954098696242010-12-23T14:54:00.000-05:002010-12-23T14:54:51.726-05:00How the Struggle Stole Christmas<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKCnb0A2DceTXVOAXyZMMfkZqb5RfxuynxEeoZNs3SjcabIv2BAsilyEFHip4Nws2sX3lh_-YfJhEXDyloGY99FwCcD-vQmC-iIVrwm5BqegcnVBbITuXH_Lu55lm8XY5zeg6YQWakFFWU/s1600/Struggle+Always+Continues+008.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKCnb0A2DceTXVOAXyZMMfkZqb5RfxuynxEeoZNs3SjcabIv2BAsilyEFHip4Nws2sX3lh_-YfJhEXDyloGY99FwCcD-vQmC-iIVrwm5BqegcnVBbITuXH_Lu55lm8XY5zeg6YQWakFFWU/s400/Struggle+Always+Continues+008.jpg" width="266" /></a></div>First of all, I want to apologize to all you, my loyal readers, for my sudden drop off the face of the earth. What with my job and my search for a more interesting job and my life and my search for a more interesting life and all this business with the red and the green and the birthday party for an infant (I don't know why people bother, really, I mean, it's like taking your kids to art museums or Europe or really nice restaurants if they are under the age of 8, they aren't going to get it and they are ruining it for the rest of us. Yes, I just said children ruin Europe, and I stand by that. Fact.) I haven't had a chance to chronicle my struggles, which is a real shame for all of you, as they have been PLENTIFUL. Ah, if we had world enough, and time...but we don't and we live in a culture of speed, so instead of giving you the Russian-classic length story of my comings and goings (and fallings...) of the last month, I'm going to enumerate them in list form for you instead. So sit back, relax, and hunker yourself down for a litany of someone else's bad decisions. After all, tis the season.<br />
<br />
My Naughty List:<br />
1. During the whirlwind rush that is Hanukkah (which came way too early this year, I mean, that thing practically arrived before Thanksgiving. Thank you so much, ancient harvest calender, for having me stuff myself with Turkey AND latkes in the space of one week. You're a peach.) I went up to New York for a reading of a new play I wrote. The reading itself was a mixed bag, the good being that I go to hear the play and the bad being that it would of been nice to have people who can actually speak English reading it. But my friend Gabriel (hi, Gabriel!) was in it, so that's a win.<br />
<br />
2. In New York, I stayed with my friend Michael (hi, Michael!) in his apartment (tiny by Struggledelphia standards, a veritable Palladian Villa by New York estimates). After running up and down the West side like a maniac trying to see some so called friends (is it too much to ask that people drop everything in their lives and come find me the second I arrive in New York? Oh, it is? Crap.) Michael and I celebrated by making dinner, drinking copious amounts of Trader Joe's Finest vintages and braving the elements to see our extremely white, Jewish, well bred friend Aaron (hi, Aaron!) rap at a bar in the East Village. And you know what? He was secretly awesome. And Michael dropped me on the dance floor. Thanks, buddy.<br />
<br />
3. Upon my return to the fair city of Struggledelphia, I found myself at a house party in Fishtown the very next weekend with my friend Kate (hi, Kate!). One look inside the converted garage/performance space/living room up in the heart of blue collar white supremisist Northern Fishtown, and Kate and I realized we were way too dressed up for this. Not only were neither of us sporting awkward facial hair, chunky thrift store sweaters or tights and shorts (no. just...no) but we had committed the cardinal sin of cleanliness. If you think about it, there is something really bizarre about the icon of the dirty hipster. Hip away all you want, folks, but if you are going to be in a confined space for any amount of time, at least consider sporting a pinch of deodorant. Isn't that what <a href="http://www.tomsofmaine.com/home?cid=search_tomsofmaine_branded_branded_general_misspellings">Toms of Maine</a> is for?<br />
<br />
4. Decided that I'm in no place to drink PBR, even if it's meant to be done ironically, I curled up with a hot toddy (nothing says Struggledelphia like a colonial themed beverage) and enjoyed the spectacle and the scream band. After enjoying ourselves for a few hours and bowls of vegetarian chili, Kate and I realized our lack of hand rolled cigarettes weren't making us any friends, so we absconded with our clean hair still intact.<br />
<br />
5. The next evening, I won quizbowl. That's right, true story. So despite the fact that my not-Yale education has yet to procure me a job in my field, a handsome and extremely successful trophy husband, OR world dominance, at least I can still earn the respect and envy of my peers by answering questions about Christopher Marlow quotes and the population of Latvia. Happy Holidays to ME.<br />
<br />
My Nice List:<br />
1. Um, I give money to same charities....<br />
<br />
Oh, screw it, I've got nothing. Happy whatever-the-hell you do this time of year, and be safe. Make me jealous with your New Year's plans in the comments. Me, I'm thinking about renting a movie.Leah Franquihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03486291322862758156noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5164276943600220384.post-55614197322532530532010-11-23T14:21:00.000-05:002010-11-23T14:21:16.638-05:00Farce, Thy Name Is Struggle<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQEkGcL_EKsvIwafR4Dtba2FNCYe1J38poz18WVRZToJ5KTALnNK_bedvVVY_3-1OU2XBi3-RPbjJDdQ4LUrypG4bwJktUZ8iie67FgMhsb6MQ7EbOuOCgyBq6Ni36x4lpxffHSlLTOk13/s1600/Struggle+Always+Continues+007.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQEkGcL_EKsvIwafR4Dtba2FNCYe1J38poz18WVRZToJ5KTALnNK_bedvVVY_3-1OU2XBi3-RPbjJDdQ4LUrypG4bwJktUZ8iie67FgMhsb6MQ7EbOuOCgyBq6Ni36x4lpxffHSlLTOk13/s400/Struggle+Always+Continues+007.jpg" width="266" /></a></div>Sometimes life is lovely, wonderful and shining, full of possibility. But most of the time? It's not. For example, I SHOULD be out there, enjoying the the gorgeous fall weather here in Struggledelphia, frolicking amongst the leaves, wearing cute sweaters and drinking pumpkin lattes (of course, I would never do that last one because I dislike pumpkins and really really dislike lattes) but instead I'm sitting in my home shotgunning tea and getting really into Make it or Break it (it's seriously hilarious, I can't stop watching it. I hate you, Hulu.) And how did this happen, you may ask? Well, that's sort of a long story.<br />
<br />
I should back up here, and explain that I am of the opinion that life is like one of those <a href="http://www.anl.gov/Careers/Education/rube/rubenapkin.html">Rube Goldberg machines</a>, that is, it takes about 8 million steps and reactions before the chicken hits the ball (or spills the water or lights the lamp, whatever, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rube_Goldberg">Rube Goldberg </a>was a sick man). So the story of how I got sick (first cold since Hamburg in March, not to shabby, Franqui!) is therefore not just point A to point B, but involves many little steps in between. And the steps are as follows:<br />
<br />
1.After a stressful week I lose my debit card AND my license while attending a truly painful production of Uncle Vanya with Mama Struggs. Killed my wine buzz from dinner, luckily left my bank account intact.<br />
<br />
2. Poor Mama Struggs rolled over something (Broken glass? Stick with a nail in it? Switchblade? Scythe? You never can tell in my neighborhood!) and two of our tires suddenly underwent an air-reduction. That was fifty percent of our tire, right there.<br />
<br />
3. Then Mama Struggs got sick. In a valiant effort to avoid illness I tried to create a three foot barrier around us at all time.<br />
<br />
4. Unfortunately, because I live with and work with my parents, that proved more difficult then I had previously imagined. And what with the arrival of Strugglemano for my favorite holiday, the planning of said favorite holiday, and all the stress of, well, struggling, I woke up yesterday with the clogged nasal passages and throat on fire feeling indicating less then perfect health. Super.<br />
<br />
So now I'm blearily staring at a computer screen, lightly congested, gently delirious, wondering when it would be acceptable to dive into the day's third bowl of soup. This better clear up before I have to spend the day arms deep in a turkey carcass. Although, that would give me the perfect opportunity to make the REST of my family sick while I'm well on my way to recovery...Something to think about.Leah Franquihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03486291322862758156noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5164276943600220384.post-74965840007432052092010-11-05T17:22:00.001-04:002010-11-05T17:29:31.241-04:00Struggle Takes A NapaThere are many ways in which I am nothing like an early 19th century prospector/explorer. For one thing, my greatest fear isn't dysentery or rattlers. I'm certainly not interested in forming my own polygamist religion featuring terrible hairstyles and bunkers, nor am I often found searching the soil for gold. I bear no ill will towards Native Americans (or is it first peoples, now?) and while buffalo is DELICIOUS I can usually resist the urge to kill one when I see it. So clearly there is a strong divide between me, Leah Franqui, strugglextrodinare, and, say, Louis and Clark. Nevertheless, I recently found myself unable to resist that great and wild urge present in all members of the United States (at least according to Fredrick Jackson Turner). That's right, my friends, I went West.<br />
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More specifically, I went to San Fransisco. Apart from the fact that Padre Struggle had a hankering to see some free lovers-turned-litigators (can you imagine California Law Schools in the 1970s? It's like, guys, guys, guys, look at this legal brief, but really, LOOK at it. It's beautiful.), Strugglemano only lives a brisk 6 hour drive south (you can cross five state lines on the East Coast in the same time it takes you to get from Los Angeles to San Fransisco. I cannot understand California).<br />
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On day one the trifecta of struggle found itself awash in the salty breezes of the Pacific, climbing up hills, more hills, some other hills (we took a walk around the city and it was uphill BOTH WAYS. HOW IS THAT POSSIBLE?), peering at charming Victorian homes and their filthy hippie residents (thank you, Haight Ashbury, but I would not like a hit of that), stuffing ourselves with Dim Sum in Chinatown, dodging gangs in the Mission, and generally having a wonderful time. We walked so much on that first day that my shoe literally fell apart, and when I bought a new pair and asked to dispose of the now-derelict sneakers, I was advised to give them to a homeless person. They were accepted gratefully, I'll have you know, which just goes to show that one man's trash is another man's treasure.<br />
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Having all pulled leg muscles exploring the city, we decided to spend day two relaxing in Berkley. First we went to Chez Panisse for lunch, and the only appropriate word I have for Alice Water's flagship enterprise is FOODGASM.<br />
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Then we saw the university. Maybe it's just because I went to not-Yale which, despite it's many graduate programs and hugely inflated ego, is really rather small, but Berkeley seemed enormous to me. I mean, I can't understand how students navigate the place without becoming extremely lost! We comforted ourselves with Ethiopian food and South African wine, as one does.<br />
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Day three had us wandering the hallowed halls of Stanford, whose golden buildings and palm trees made me think of the University of Salamanca crossed with Hawai 5-O. At this point Strugglemano and I also learned a new life rule, that every major university in the United States has an Alexander Calder. Every. Single. One. Any evidence to the contrary is merely an illusion. I then spent the evening hanging out with high profile lawyers in their late fifties/early sixties. If I ever recover from that experience, I will let you know.<br />
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Day four, ah, day four, a day that will live in my dreams, day four, we went to Napa. Glorious Napa, fragrant with the stench of fermenting wine and expensive brunches, filled with rolling hills of grapes and, well, nope, that's it, grapes. Strugglemano, being our resident wine expert, arranged three tasting for us at three different wineries, and may I just say, there is nothing quite like the buzz of wine you will NEVER be able to afford consumed well before 5pm (East Coast AND West Coast time). Dear lord, it was glorious.<br />
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And so, several thousand pounds heavier (give or take), Padre Struggle and I boarded the plane back to Struggledelphia, while Strugglemano contemplated the long drive back to Southern California. Take heart, Strugglemano, car beats wagon trail hands down. Nothing like a Westward Ho! interlude to refresh the soul, eh? Or at least get it drunk enough so it forgets about work on Monday.Leah Franquihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03486291322862758156noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5164276943600220384.post-30505251242642256402010-10-26T15:58:00.001-04:002010-10-26T15:58:26.046-04:00San Franstruggle Volume II just got back to Struggledelphia from San Franstruggle. It was my first trip to the Fog City, and, to be frank, I was not expecting to love it. After all, I have very negative feelings about the OTHER city in California (if you can call a place where a car is a non-negotiable a city...) and didn't expect to find a town built by robber barons and gold prospectors to be that interesting. However, I don't know what the hell I was thinking, because obviously anything built by robber barons and gold prospectors is BOUND to be awesome, number one, and number two, it was Padre Struggle's law school reunion, and number three, Strugglemano took a one-man six-hour road trip to meet us, and as a result, hilarity ensued. And while I will be happy to break down all the crazy in due time, for now, I'm just going to give you some images, and let you imagine the rest. The best story will get a large prize! And by prize, I mean bragging rights. Come one, don't give me that look, there is a recession on!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvNBLQr_h_zdBxcZI43nytVB4D4yiSb5Kp9WSFu7XbGr2vTK7TgfiAMVNcgwzrkxbwEKjy4JcUj0hbNMSzojlZrq1W1LvNGGDgEGJiEzCgelELrvrfLnH46a7VZukO7JZkV4qGtLyj_Cum/s1600/San+FranStruggle+007.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvNBLQr_h_zdBxcZI43nytVB4D4yiSb5Kp9WSFu7XbGr2vTK7TgfiAMVNcgwzrkxbwEKjy4JcUj0hbNMSzojlZrq1W1LvNGGDgEGJiEzCgelELrvrfLnH46a7VZukO7JZkV4qGtLyj_Cum/s320/San+FranStruggle+007.jpg" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAXpvJelMI47hH4yT_MLKdYcdYh4e21kFgDvw7Xdk1-KrZjMu6bMm0jUc7W4lfrCwMIhoqLP5-bzsmb0aTGPPO1-bC2xPAIAds2jqSK2mGg1fn5kvaxOWCL-F8qkdh7Uapi_qqGtsXFxZk/s1600/San+FranStruggle+011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAXpvJelMI47hH4yT_MLKdYcdYh4e21kFgDvw7Xdk1-KrZjMu6bMm0jUc7W4lfrCwMIhoqLP5-bzsmb0aTGPPO1-bC2xPAIAds2jqSK2mGg1fn5kvaxOWCL-F8qkdh7Uapi_qqGtsXFxZk/s320/San+FranStruggle+011.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGljpiSKwJ-4IT-cTqE6_xW2vjheIEfKhC8s9sUjMud7yfUuFSJ8M0UxH1IN2_v4hTf8O3pxyOOgvhpohXGYr5e-vf_Z94xbnxsDbSySeIoXCb7Fsn-NTiLgEhCm6u4po_r1Bhqy01dohT/s1600/San+FranStruggle+016.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGljpiSKwJ-4IT-cTqE6_xW2vjheIEfKhC8s9sUjMud7yfUuFSJ8M0UxH1IN2_v4hTf8O3pxyOOgvhpohXGYr5e-vf_Z94xbnxsDbSySeIoXCb7Fsn-NTiLgEhCm6u4po_r1Bhqy01dohT/s320/San+FranStruggle+016.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5ZIFVRawciVX0Xhiv6SAMRiYD72UAbX8Z_phWZIXwTwvRcHIFaG3UzS7xTV1-Hx550wYk4lnIdOXy1QEGLEVIL_ZWLrM7lj6Z9rgREs1F18lBfsAdnGiIgIfu7u1a1qNFavBqixxbG1V_/s1600/San+FranStruggle+002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5ZIFVRawciVX0Xhiv6SAMRiYD72UAbX8Z_phWZIXwTwvRcHIFaG3UzS7xTV1-Hx550wYk4lnIdOXy1QEGLEVIL_ZWLrM7lj6Z9rgREs1F18lBfsAdnGiIgIfu7u1a1qNFavBqixxbG1V_/s320/San+FranStruggle+002.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlKdQv1ufYbX7qnR7bXDFz4T9IiMfFHYeO-WrlxS9p5hJPAHgP8NwwiMr9gCMUvVsc_S2XE94RPF5AoDIinj2SY93JNzrCrSlJ1b9o-twSm9KM61wXC3gOl5ByF9WZRPonNgHpL5REfVSb/s1600/San+FranStruggle+008.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlKdQv1ufYbX7qnR7bXDFz4T9IiMfFHYeO-WrlxS9p5hJPAHgP8NwwiMr9gCMUvVsc_S2XE94RPF5AoDIinj2SY93JNzrCrSlJ1b9o-twSm9KM61wXC3gOl5ByF9WZRPonNgHpL5REfVSb/s320/San+FranStruggle+008.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Leah Franquihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03486291322862758156noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5164276943600220384.post-54558524077199101012010-10-01T15:46:00.000-04:002010-10-01T15:46:13.724-04:00Struggle Cuts It Out<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjehSo50FCV1TC5pcISmycsuX9F4yCMho8s5oQLGna4d6S50VKyMvDLpbR7bQBm-QoChQcOvKWVowMpTzMspS6yo3s4-D1lWwwf1we0yXLadUvyoYIA6Tw7uBVTNplS1RnTfklbwhW_FkFR/s1600/Struggle+Always+Continues+010.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjehSo50FCV1TC5pcISmycsuX9F4yCMho8s5oQLGna4d6S50VKyMvDLpbR7bQBm-QoChQcOvKWVowMpTzMspS6yo3s4-D1lWwwf1we0yXLadUvyoYIA6Tw7uBVTNplS1RnTfklbwhW_FkFR/s400/Struggle+Always+Continues+010.jpg" width="266" /></a></div>Liminal seasons as they are, fall and spring seem to be the times of year in which we most crave change. Call it spring cleaning (or fall dirtying? why doesn't fall get a thing?), but I always feel like doing something new when the weather changes, like changing my nail polish color or shooting a man in Reno just to watch him die or something. You know, something festive and fun. And normally I would be eagerly anticipating the change of seasons with joy, but this year, well, I can't really get into it. Why, do you ask? It's the silence.<br />
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You see, I've been applying for jobs for a few months now, and, things being what they are in the world, etc, I've found myself facing a flurry of rejection, a handful of awkward interviews, and a giant void of silence. The rejection I can deal with, I mean, I went to high school in the United States, so, I've got that down. The awkward interviews don't faze me, awkward is, frankly, my calling card, so I make it work, taking each one with a grain of salt, (and, later, a shot of tequila). It's the silence that has begun to get to me, though, it's the silence that is bringing me down. You pour your heart and soul and the better part of an hour into a cover letter explaining in great but succinct detail how you would be the perfect development assistant/fry cook/baseball coach/mayor, and you check that everything is correct and that everyone possible has been thanked for their consideration, and then you carefully send it off by email/mail/carrier pigeon, and you wait. And wait. And wait. Godot himself walks by during your time spent waiting, he says hi, you two have some coffee, he moves on. And all you are left with is silence, nothingness, the sound of one hand clapping. No wonder they called it the Great Depression, because this is painful.<br />
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Look, I know that in this situation the companies and businesses and clown troupes have the power; there are ten million of me and only a few of them, I get it. And I'm certainly not expecting a hand written thank you note every time I send in an application. But really, is sheer silence the only option? Can't there be any kind of acknowledgement that I have, in fact, made an effort and you have received the fruits of my labor? Because as it is I can't help but imagine my job applications floating out there in the universe, blowing the wind, disturbing sleeping homeless people and amusing squirrels. I don't like squirrels, and I really don't appreciate the image of them getting acorn pieces all over my cover letters and mocking my special skills section on my resume. I'd like to see THEIR resumes, stupid squirrels...<br />
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In times like these when you find yourself confused, concerned, and contemplating squirrelicide, the best solution is to breathe, try to relax, and find yourself something else upon which to place your focus. And if you can't change your career path and the authorities wont let you hunt squirrels in public places, there is no better place to go then to your appearance. And so I cut off my hair. Well, I say I did, but really it was a nice man with expensive scissors and more product then that one character in <a href="http://cdn.buzznet.com/media/jj1//2010/04/glee-madonna/glee-madonna-tv-guide-08.jpg">Glee</a>. After all, if change wont come to you, you might as well go out and find it.<br />
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So, I'm still applying for jobs, I'm still living in the huge hit of silence and suffering, and I still hate squirrels. But I look good. So, you know, net gain, I say. Happy October, people.Leah Franquihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03486291322862758156noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5164276943600220384.post-50532838743869642362010-09-21T17:59:00.002-04:002010-09-21T18:11:02.482-04:00All the world's a struggle<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOOVrOA7Kdhjnd9lzsbXTPr4fv8z75WQheW3vGr9TmrlG67ylPzVNq6cEaR1YgKxbvLxEmA3Wf-lD5b6NITvmsLoP70NlMIQab1V_F4TeFbXycxR-96uXg1o4dwXFIKGqrrmEltr7Kcd1Q/s1600/Struggle+Always+Continues+002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOOVrOA7Kdhjnd9lzsbXTPr4fv8z75WQheW3vGr9TmrlG67ylPzVNq6cEaR1YgKxbvLxEmA3Wf-lD5b6NITvmsLoP70NlMIQab1V_F4TeFbXycxR-96uXg1o4dwXFIKGqrrmEltr7Kcd1Q/s400/Struggle+Always+Continues+002.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Oh, man, I can't believe that the Live Arts/Philadelphia Fringe festival is over! It seems like only yesterday I was leafing through the Gutenberg Bible that is the guide, and now it's gone, with the wind, but without the southern accents, obviously. I saw punk rock musicals and telenovelas and children's stories and dance and music and all kinds of delights, and that was just in one weekend. And while there was just SO much good in this year's festival, there was also a large ratio of struggle.And I'm going to focus on that because, well, petty as it may seem, it makes me feel better to point out the short comings of others. Yes, I know, but at least I have the guts to express what we are all thinking, right? Happy Yom Kippur to ME.<br />
<br />
And so, without further ado, I present my rules to you for how to avoid making bad theater. You know how they say only a very good actor can play a very bad actor? You will be interested to know that in my experience this is not always the case...<br />
<br />
1. Don't offend the costumer. Seriously, don't do it. She/He/They will make you look so bad that small children will run, scared, screaming from the theater. And anyone who manages to stay and watch will be consumed the entire show with the question of what the hell you did to the costumer to PUT YOU IN THOSE SHOES. They will construct elaborate theories of how you ran over their puppy while holding their grandmother hostage and seducing their significant other and remaining at least ten pounds thinner then them at all times. And whatever else you are doing on stage will not at all matter because all they will be thinking about is that poor puppy. I promise you, this can all be avoided if you just buy the costumer a cup of coffee and compliment their shoes. Be cool, okay? Don't offend the costumer.<br />
<br />
2. Don't write a play that is solely about your last failed relationship/job interview/search for the perfect pair of skinny jeans. No one finds it as interesting as you do, and the fact that you sit in the front row crying during each run is a dead give away. Living well is the best revenge. Setting your last personal tragedy to the music of the Beach Boys isn't.<br />
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3. Don't assume that just because it's a Fringe Festival no one will notice the lack of lights/sound/plot just because you've included nudity. They totally will notice. They may not CARE, but they <i>will </i>notice.<br />
<br />
4. If you absolutely must do a pure improv show (and the jury's still out for me on this one, unless we are talking about my friend Ned, hi Ned! who is legitimately great at improv) please be legitimately great at improv. Otherwise it's like watching a young boy's bar mitzvah, it's awkward, everything is cracking, and even the after-party booze doesn't erase all the memories.<br />
<br />
5. Don't do anything by <a href="http://www.ronslate.com/files/rs4/MametHat.jpg">David Mamet</a>. Admittedly, this one might be a personal preference, rather then a real rule. Nevertheless, I'm allowing it.<br />
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So that's my advice to you. Stick to these five basic rules and you should be okay. Or, make a show that is entirely composed of these five elements and let the chips fall where they may. Who knows? It might be so deeply bad it's secretly awesome, like, say, the <a href="http://archive.supreme.ph/wp-content/uploads/2008/07/hfs_new-90210.jpg">new 90210 </a>or <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiVGKA5nj4gqd7R-6YJwz6VO79Ov0bmv2wS7Rq48YP07YXMoXQPgSQ6MEcQF4taImRkNXExmuvgFQ6AX1_PXKW07RJJCm_djUo7zf4fu9G-jrzYg2JNN9Dww8iwPmLvaMsjz3lRTwmFve1/s400/Vegemite.jpg">Vegemite </a>. If that turns out to be the case, can you score me a ticket? Because I totally want to come.Leah Franquihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03486291322862758156noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5164276943600220384.post-46600802747287496682010-09-08T16:39:00.001-04:002010-09-08T16:42:08.294-04:00I pray thee, good Struggle, wither goest thou?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8Zn4RhRUkt5DWtGK-lPNAvFw7wl7GeskeWa2w4xbWU6-JpHM9WdX8CRsv_mwfpQVZXNTRcRfL_wvRs2Bvbl-9qYksD-P5GQ7FjiHNh4CrTQc80pvK6bjiDVboKokGLkxr3Q63h9_gvomj/s1600/Struggle+Always+Continues+036.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8Zn4RhRUkt5DWtGK-lPNAvFw7wl7GeskeWa2w4xbWU6-JpHM9WdX8CRsv_mwfpQVZXNTRcRfL_wvRs2Bvbl-9qYksD-P5GQ7FjiHNh4CrTQc80pvK6bjiDVboKokGLkxr3Q63h9_gvomj/s320/Struggle+Always+Continues+036.jpg" width="214" /></span></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">If I were to be completely honest with myself, I would say that I am a person of supremely eclectic tastes. For example, I enjoy both Klezmer Music and the stylings of Jay-Z, I like a cool crisp glass of Sauvignon Blanc and </span><a href="http://www.zelas.co.uk/media/catalog/product/cache/1/image/5e06319eda06f020e43594a9c230972d/h/e/heaven_hill_1.jpg"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">well whiskey</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">, I like </span><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0061138/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">quiet foreign films about relationships </span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">and I like Star Wars. Simply put, if my tastes were a vehicle, they would be the town bicycle, and almost everyone would get a ride. But if I can combine things, for example, listening to Klezmer, drinking wine and watching Star Wars, that's the optimal situation. So imagine my surprise and delight when Padre Struggle suggested that we spend our Labor Day NOT burning steaks on the grill or fighting through crowds of </span><a href="http://media.photobucket.com/image/the%20jersey%20shore/jae973_2006/guidos.jpg"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">shwasted individuals of Italian American descent</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> at the Shore, but rather attending the </span><a href="http://www.parenfaire.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Pennsylvania Renaissance Fair</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">. I, to be frank, </span><a href="http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/kvell"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">kvelled</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">. </span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZVSdLIONTbxLTWOZehhz5c8hWvW0A8uFYiCQkR02YOybXIkgevFlWTTunmmwKbegs6K1Lfg2yQP1kti01DzepHmsC5u46Pq_8447YW71SOv5Ji8kb4NkC-i-bl-VwPjWPkvn5xHnIQMZj/s1600/Struggle+Always+Continues+030.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZVSdLIONTbxLTWOZehhz5c8hWvW0A8uFYiCQkR02YOybXIkgevFlWTTunmmwKbegs6K1Lfg2yQP1kti01DzepHmsC5u46Pq_8447YW71SOv5Ji8kb4NkC-i-bl-VwPjWPkvn5xHnIQMZj/s320/Struggle+Always+Continues+030.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikZ9W_NL-2pnNhnqNOU_A8wMNK_qKfuzaN85bD-ITuH3UUz82URfFGf8ti31CyTlfWr15B4xaPkvCt7Jz6eu-FSFJcT-t2QXi0LJGYPW1hjDex2y6UVWCUEpl0PydFq8STQm99q2C-fkCL/s1600/Struggle+Always+Continues+046.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikZ9W_NL-2pnNhnqNOU_A8wMNK_qKfuzaN85bD-ITuH3UUz82URfFGf8ti31CyTlfWr15B4xaPkvCt7Jz6eu-FSFJcT-t2QXi0LJGYPW1hjDex2y6UVWCUEpl0PydFq8STQm99q2C-fkCL/s320/Struggle+Always+Continues+046.jpg" width="214" /></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Let me explain something here. I love the Renaissance Faire. I have always loved and will always love the Renaissance Faire, and no amount of public ridicule or private humiliation will ever sway me from my vast abiding love of the Renaissance Faire. I should make Greensleeves my RINGTONE that's how much I love the Renaissance Faire. And as fairs go, Pennsylvania has a pretty amazing one. Not only is it 30 years old and ridiculously well attended, but it has it's own </span><a href="http://www.parenfaire.com/mounthopemain.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">winery </span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">and includes at least 25 different theatrical and musical shows, including swordplay, jousting, and wenches galore. I mean, what isn't to love? They have enormous turkey legs and funny hats! They have mediocre Chardonnay and jesters! They have glassblowing and a human chess match and at least seven stalls selling WINGS! It's a strugglers paradise! I mean, good Lord, it's such a struggle that it passes through the struggle barrier (that's just before the sound barrier) and actually goes through to the other side and becomes not struggle but success! Do you know how rare that is? </span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOP_tdP1pIna2kukJVgsgx8Ny2ixgmxwi62UDX6857nHGbucSZaQKs0BMazGcT6RUD2WbgTczXTYTyxCKEqLik6Y7Gv-dZVaqyesWF6y3INI2yEBLOiAmDqXVV1pqVpYR3NHmx_8DzUnpX/s1600/Struggle+Always+Continues+028.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOP_tdP1pIna2kukJVgsgx8Ny2ixgmxwi62UDX6857nHGbucSZaQKs0BMazGcT6RUD2WbgTczXTYTyxCKEqLik6Y7Gv-dZVaqyesWF6y3INI2yEBLOiAmDqXVV1pqVpYR3NHmx_8DzUnpX/s320/Struggle+Always+Continues+028.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicdQDhiETEH33SxFH4aU6y4ywa5uznq2dWgjicdEwXG3I771Q41ehOmqaLKTKBmjLX-_FK81hE5zcRXXGlYgSJUg1AuRNo1enJ7s6W8h9AQn75_26on1qbRr_qz82Uzp3YnXAqjpVLhKtw/s1600/Struggle+Always+Continues+059.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicdQDhiETEH33SxFH4aU6y4ywa5uznq2dWgjicdEwXG3I771Q41ehOmqaLKTKBmjLX-_FK81hE5zcRXXGlYgSJUg1AuRNo1enJ7s6W8h9AQn75_26on1qbRr_qz82Uzp3YnXAqjpVLhKtw/s320/Struggle+Always+Continues+059.jpg" width="214" /></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And so, as I enjoyed a hearty meal of Ye Olde Pannini and the Queens Greens, I found myself twisting my head with delight like a hysterical owl, desperately trying to take it all in. And my god, was there a lot to see. There are so many people who travel all the way to Lancaster, PA to watch people in Elizabethian outfits mangle UK accents, it's insane. And who I am to judge, really, since I'm clearly one of them. But considering that judging is like a form of breathing to me, may I just raise one point of censure, not to the Faire itself, but</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> to the other guests of the event. As everyone knows, the Ren Faire (as those in the know call it) is an opportunity to dress up in period clothing and escape the realities of 2010 while still enjoying the amenities (period clothing, yes, period toliets, not so popular for some reason). But it's called the RENAISSANCE Faire, people, not the Elven Dr. Who Battlestar Galactica Belly Dancing Victorian Goth Slutty Vampire Disney Princess Faire! I mean, how could you even fit that name on a commemorative cup? Shape up, Pennsylvania residents, and when you come to the Faire, make damn sure you come prepared. That being said, thank you so much for the </span><a href="http://www.hottopic.com/hottopic/Homepage.jsp?cm_mmc=PPC-_-TM-_-GGL-_-Brand&gclid=CKK6iO3U-KMCFWBd5QodCXiZLA"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Hot Topic </span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">fashion show, that was fun. But maybe I should just relax, and take some advice from one of my favorite fictional characters, Howard Wolowitz:</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span> </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;"><b><a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0374865/" style="color: #003399;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Howard Wolowitz</span></a></b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">: Renaissance fairs aren't about historical accuracy. They're about taking chubby girls who work at Kinkos and lacing them up in corsets so tight their bosom jumps out and says "howdy".</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;"><b><a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm1433588/" style="color: #003399;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Sheldon Cooper</span></a></b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">: Bosoms would not have said "howdy" in the Fifteenth Century. If anything, they would have said "Huzzah!"</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;"><b><a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0374865/" style="color: #003399;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Howard Wolowitz</span></a></b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">: I don't care what the bosoms say, Sheldon. I just want to be part of the conversation.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span> </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Wise words, indeed, fine Sage, wise words indeed. </span></span>Leah Franquihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03486291322862758156noreply@blogger.com0