Mildred Pierce

Forget Mad Men. Let's watch Mildred Pierce.

(UPDATE: I just realized that I actually can't watch this without HBO. But I like that it exists.)

Mad Men: Season 5

Well, finally. But seriously, a year?! AMC, get it together. Or hire me to sell ads for you.

In the meantime, and for the next YEAR, let's watch this scene again:

Summer Solstice

It's officially summer. Today marks the summer solstice and the longest day of the year here in NY. If we were in Scandinavia right now, we would decorate our homes with birch leaves and dance in the sunlight at 3am. In New York, it just means that we sweat more.

Well, it also means rooftop dinners and street fairs and lazy days at the park and my boss surprising me with frozen yogurt most days of the week. It means concerts and outdoor movies and irresponsible Sunday afternoons. I spent the majority of this past weekend sweating and dancing like a crazy person-- first at a concert on Saturday night and then on a FILM SHOOT last night where I was asked to play a dancing extra for a friend of mine. (I giggled the entire time and most likely won't be asked back, but LORDY it was fun.) Hello, Summertime, I love you so.

There is a fantastic episode of the West Wing about the Summer Solstice and the myth that you can stand an egg on it's head at the exact moment of the Summer Solstice (wait, was it the summer equinox? Shoot.) and only at that moment. CJ is positive of this news and swears that she's seen it, while Toby (always the downer), Josh, and Sam mock her relentlessly for believing so. The entire episode is a metaphor for blind faith and it's really quite wonderful.

I tried to find a clip for you all, in honor of the Summer Solstice, but it doesn't seem to have made the Internets yet, so in its place I give you another worthy clip from an episode about maps. Well, its an episode about democracy in its rawest of forms, a day when Leo sends his staff to meet with fringe special interest groups who are not usually heard from at the White House. C.J. and Josh are assigned the Cartographers for Social Equality, and it's awesome. That's all. Enjoy the solstice :)

(If the video isn't showing up for you, like it isn't on my stupid Droid, here's a link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n8zBC2dvERM)

The West Wing

Good morning, New York. It's 8am on a Saturday and I'm here with my coffee watching The West Wing while snow falls in my pseudo Brooklyn backyard. I actually don't have a lot to say about The West Wing or the clip above at this time (other than it being the greatest television show ever written, and that Josh Lyman absolutely makes my heart stop.) I just thought you might want to watch it here with me.

It's been a big month, February. A month of change and revolutions. A sea change, you could say. (I've always liked that phrase. Shakespeare, right?) I had two New Year's resolutions this year, each more surface and silly than the other. I wanted to grow out my hair and I wanted to cut out the sugar in my coffee. Well, not for nothing, I'm sitting here with hair four inches past my shoulders and sipping my coffee with only milk. It feels great. I feel quite clever to have figured out how to grow hair in less than two months, and I've come to enjoy the bitterness in my morningtime. It's where bitterness belongs-- in a cup, not in conversation.

That's all I'm going to say for now, but stay tuned. Much more to come...

Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog

Wow, have I never posted about Dr. Horrible?! I was just having an exhilarating workday conversation with Karen about Barney Stinton and the episode of How I Met Your Mother when he makes Lily watch his play, which is basically him saying 'moist moist moist' over and over again when I discovered that Karen didn't know about Dr. Horrible. Which led me to believe that many of YOU don't know about Dr. Horrible! That's horrible!

I actually have about 10 bullet points to write about why Dr. Horrible's Sing-a-long Blog is the best thing to hit the Internet since this, but I don't have very much time right now. I have to go meet John and Jim to play Jenga. Or maybe Connect Four.

For now, just go to itunes, or whatever illegal downloading system you may have (or click here, I suppose) and download Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog and be ready for your life to improve exponentially.

More later.

Love Darts

In honor of my very favorite month, February, I give you the loveliest couple in all the land-- Kelly Ripa and Mark Consuelos. NOTE: If you press play and think I've gone crazy, or believe my credibility to be completely shot--wait for it (or skip to 3:45 into the clip if you must)... wait for young Joaquin Consuelos and his partner Julie explain snail mating patterns. You will not be disappointed.

Happy early Valentines Day, New York. :)

With a Little Help From My Friends

Let me share with you a little story called 'My Wednesday.'

It actually started about three months ago when my colleague Vivien announced that she had just won tickets to The Daily Show with Jon Stewart. Looking back, I'm a bit confused as to why I decided to then immediately try to win some myself-- as I haven't ever actually SEEN The Daily Show-- but win them I did.

I coaxed John and Katie to come as my guests to see the taping this afternoon. We arrived at Jon Stewart's studio around 3pm (all the way out on 11th avenue and 52nd street which feels like the ends of the earth) dressed in many layers with hot Starbucks cupped in our mittened fingers. John and Katie soon admitted that they too had never seen the show (if you are a huge Daily Show fan, my sincere apologies for taking these tickets from real fans. Basically we all just thought Jon Stewart is sexy and had very few other opinions on the matter) but stand there we did. In line. For almost THREE HOURS.

Now, the first hour was fun. John, Katie, and I act like fifteen year olds when we get together. We people watch, make fun of each other, talk about boa constrictors, old professors, and laugh, and laugh, and laugh. I love them, and there are very few people who can keep me as entertained in a line all the way out on 11th avenue in the freezing January wind for an hour as Katie and John can. But bit by bit your girl Sarah eventually here got a little fussy.

And by hour two she got REAL fussy. Might I remind you that I had reserved tickets for all of us? And here we were, standing in the freezing cold waiting to be told what the hell we were doing out there for over TWO HOURS.

By hour three I had about hit my limit. I was cold. I was hungry. I was tired of standing, and I was annoyed at the world. (At this point I probably should have just gone home, but my story continues...)

We were finally let indoors to a quite shabby studio (like, LOW BUDGET studio, people. Could have been the Gage County Fairgrounds for all I know) with fingers, toes, and noses that had gone completely numb. I shot daggers with my eyes at 'Phil' who told us about a kajillion times to take off our belts before going through the metal detectors (to which John, without fail, just audibly asked 'do we have to take off our belts?' each time Phil asked if we had questions) and grumpily fell into my seat at the very edge of row three.

Katie and John did their best to stay positive, but things like 'at least we get to see John Stewart!' become less than appealing to someone who doesn't even watch the program. We joked some more, we watched two slightly nerdy teenage boys from Jersey flirt with an intern, and I complained. 'I don't even care about famous people!' I ranted. 'Famous people no longer excite me at all, this is the worst idea ever, its only for tourists, WHY are we still waiting!?'

But then.

Oh, but then.

I was humbled.

Humbled by-- ironically-- a very, very famous person.

A person that once made America swoon in unison.

Ladies and Gentleman, Ringo Starr appeared. Not only appeared, but started to sing. And your girl Sarah-- the one who was so crabby that the warm-up guy 'Paul' called me out in front of the ENTIRE audience for not clapping or repeating his idiotic questions ('Are you ready to see John Stewart?!' ' I SAID, are you ready to see John Stewart!?' 'You can do better than that, ARE YOU READY TO SEE JOHN STEWART?!' and so on.)--- started to cry. I burst into happy tears, right there in the middle of my hissy fit.

If there is one Beatles song that will always, without fail, bring me pause and a smile to my face it is 'With a Little Help My Friends.' It reminds me of my childhood-- of my mother's old psychedelic box of 45's that my sisters and I used to play on our playschool record player in the basement. It reminds me of my first ever crush-- Kevin Arnold from The Wonder Years. It reminds me of high school-- of swaying back and forth at prom with my best girlfriends to cheesy songs about friendship, and it reminds me of my old Chevy Lumina and the road trip I took to Colorado with Meghan upon graduation. And you have to admit-- even without emotional attachments-- It's just a good song.

And I, out of nowhere, got to see Ringo Starr perform it live (with Ben Harper, of all people) three rows from the makeshift studio stage. So there I stood, in complete awe and sincere thanksgiving to Jon Stewart and Ringo Starr for humbling my jaded spirit. It's been a rough month for me. It has. I've had ups and downs that you wouldn't believe. But in that moment I was able to look over at Katie and John, who for the entire evening had put up with my sour attitude then loved me anyway when I continued to pout. I was humbled to know that yes, I will get by. I'll get by with a little help from my friends.


***Note: No, I did not know that Jon Stewart would have guests on the show, and until he was announced, I did not realize that the guest would be Ringo Starr. I assumed it would be someone political. Also, John Stewart was AWESOME. He is a gracious human being who joked with the audience, was kind to his staff, and complimentary towards Starr and Harper. He seemed like a first rate human being, and if you were wondering, is just as sexy in real life as he is on TV.

Flying: Confessions of a Free Woman

"I never wanted to be a girl. The way girls were supposed to be. I wanted to be like my father. I wanted to be free."

Flying is the autobiographical-documentary-mini-series by Jennifer Fox about-- to put it simply-- women. Alison and I have been watching weekly Sunday night installments at her place for the past month or so out of both interest and fear.

At the age of 45 Jennifer, a constantly traveling New Yorker who only wanted to be 'single and free' woke up to discover that she might want a baby. That she might need a commitment. That she might have misjudged what would actually make her happy all of these years.

She suddenly became deeply conflicted about marriage, about babies and about the affairs she was having with a married South African (Kai) and a Swiss cinematographer (Patrick).

Fox is a celebrated independent documentary filmmaker but for this project she quite bravely (and a bit indulgently?) turned the camera on herself and women around the world. She interviewed countless women about the experiences of being female, wherever they happened to be. Most of her own narratives involve lots of tears and sadness. They show her sitting at home or in a hotel room crying over Kai or crying over her potentially failed life. Its depressing, of course it is. But its also extremely enlightening.

Her subjects include Cambodian women forced into the sex trade, social activists in India and Pakistan, film making friends in Berlin and London, a darling Russian babushka, and her own family members. It's fascinating. Troubling, heartbreaking, and fascinating.

What struck me as the most odd in this film was that Fox doesn't shy away from her own issues even when talking with, say, sex slaves in Cambodian war zones. She keeps coming back to her lovers, her sexuality, her sudden need to have a child, her verbally abusive grandmother, her parents' marriage. It's beautiful in that she doesn't see a division between herself and these young girls dying of malnutrition and STD's, but at the same time... come on, Jennifer.

Al and I found ourselves screaming at the television as she repeatedly went back to her 'lover Kai' who was married with children at the time. For being such a strong, independent, awesome woman she was still flawed, still vulnerable, still had an INTENSE need to be loved. We wanted to shake her, but at the same time, we understood her.

Jennifer repeatedly came back to the same conclusion. All women fall into two categories: mothers and whores. It is a terrible realization to come to, especially for a woman who doesn't necessarily believe in marriage and who has been sexually active for over 20 years. But as each episode introduced a different culture of different women, the statement became all the more relevant.

In the most extreme situations, like in Pakistan, the label 'whore' could mean a death sentence without any hope for a husband and therefore income and food and basic needs. In the LEAST extreme, like our girl Jennifer here in New York, it means feeling like a failure. It means having to question your capabilities as a woman.

Alison made homemade pasta with red pepper sauce last night for the final installment. We watched Jennifer's very elderly Grandmother die. We watched her attempt IVF only to see a single line. We watched her cry some more. She told herself that she was going to stop crying and try to be happy. She made a commitment to PATRICK, thank goodness (we were rooting for him.) She moved to Switzerland for a while, which is awesome. She started smiling again.

The film ultimately made us talk about our own lives, as I'm sure it was meant to. Al and I along with all of our other girlfriends have had ongoing conversations since our first viewing about Jennifer and her 45 year old New York predicament-- being super successful professionally yet unmarried without children and suddenly feeling inadequate. I will graciously spare you the details of THOSE conversations, but I can tell you that this film was eye opening to say the least.

In a great Times article about this series, Fox says that life is like a layer cake: nonlinear, potentially messy and occasionally gravity-defying. It's a nice little metaphor for the film too-- a messy pastiche of different ingredients coming together for an indulgent common purpose. And it makes me crave cake.

Also: A special thank you to Annie Llewellyn who gave us these films. THANKS ANNALICIOUS!!!!

Beeker

Sometimes when I need a little mid-week-pick-me-up I watch things involving Beeker on youtube. Things like this. I love that little guy!

That's all. :)

I wish he were my boyfriend (part II)

GUESS who was on NYmag Daily Intel on Val Day... Josh Lyman. What are the odds?!

Spain: On the Road Again

When I first heard about this show I was both extremely skeptical and extremely interested. Gwyneth Paltrow is traveling around Spain with Mario Batali??? What? Mario Batali, the guy who always gets an exasperated channel flip from me whenever he is on the Food Network, taking precious time away from Giada, Sandra, Rachael, Alton, Ina, and Nigella?! And on PBS? That's weird.

On the other hand, I love anything having to with Europe and wine and olives and cheese and the education of it all. The history, the process, the tradition. I love that stuff. But the fact that this random waify movie star and this gluttonous Italian chef are the road trippers threw me off. But it totally works.

As promised, I downloaded Spain: On the Road Again to my itunes and have been completely obsessed ever since. I watched 5 episodes in a row while painting this weekend and afterwards felt like I could actually speak Spanish and should be analyzing the amount of rainfall in the Galicia region and the best time of year to fish for mussels in a delta. I felt tired of processed food and decided that I deserved a daily siesta. And I desperately want to visit Spain.

The show works for many reasons, one of which is the fluid chemistry between Mario and Gwyneth and the two other personalities who joined the trip-- the lovely Claudia Bassols, a Spanish actress, and Mark Bittman, one of my favorite NY Times food writers (and bloggers!) The four are constantly giving slack while simultaneously bring out the best in each other. Aw :)

Bittman, por ejemplo, is a known curmudgeon yet the other three have him laughing and singing like a schoolboy in the back seat of the Mercedes convertible. Gweenie (as the Spaniards call her) feels like an old soul and someone that you absolutely want to be friends with. Its shocking how normal and gracious she is and how giggly she gets when Mario says inappropriate things (which is often.) Listen to her speak about her children... its so very endearing and so obviously from the heart. She even sings the Dora the Explorer theme song to Mario. That is one of my favorite scenes.

Mario is annoying, as a human, but every once in a while he starts talking about his childhood in Spain and his children's' love for the color orange and suddenly we see this interesting, content, excited person who really does exude an infectious energy. Claudia is a popcorn ball of positive thoughts and a genuine craving of knowledge. She balances Bittman beautifully.

The heart of the program does come from this nourishing of knowledge, the nourishment of learning. Its not actually about food, in the end. Part of my skepticism came from an idea of a gluttonous journey of the privileged few. A flaunting of wealth is never attractive and I envisioned Mario stuffing ham into his already full jowl and Gwyneth demanding extra pillows and towel service. But its nothing of the sort. These four individuals bask this opportunity to learn the history, culture, and products of Spain while enjoying its riches.

The food is rarely lavish-- its often quite simple-- consisting of fresh meat and vegetables cooked over an open flame seasoned with only a drizzle of olive oil and sea salt. The point is exactly that... what makes Spanish (and Italian) cuisine so very desirable its is very intimate relation to the earth. Its about local ingredients, local flavors, and simple preparation. Its about eating what is available and preparing food to best suit its natural flavors, not the other way around.

Its the opposite of French cuisine. The French cook for a taste created with sauces and very specific heat and labored preparation. They value the delicateness of a chef's art and of mastering the most complicated of recipes. Recipes are sacred and should only be handled by those who understand the beauty of creating aspic, fois gras, or cassoulet.

The Mediterranean idea, in contrast, is simple, fresh, and anything to bring out the innate flavors of the region. The Spanish eat the oysters raw and WITHOUT seasoning... even in restaurants. The vegetables are barely seasoned, the meat is without sauce. And that, my friends, is why this road trip was essential. In order to actually taste Spanish food one must be in Spain. I love that idea. It's romantic and nostalgic and this girl eats it up. (As I write this I am eating pink and white Keebler frosted animal cookies and feeling very guilty about it, by the way. Mario would slap them out of my hands...)

My parents and I once shared a meal on a farm in the Clay Hills region of Tuscany. Everything we ate was prepared on the property on which we sat. The bread, the meat, the cheese, the wine, the olive oil... everything. It was the best meal I've ever eaten and know that I will not have another like it unless I go back. What grows together goes together, sings Mario, and he's right.

Wine from Basque is enjoyed best with lamb from Basque and cheese from Basque and asparagus from Basque. Get it? It takes the guessing out of cooking. Food nourished by the same earth has a harmonious effect on the palate. We simply can't get food like that here in the city. We make fabulous efforts (many of them by Batali himself) and many of them outstanding... but grapes don't grow on Canal Street.

During the same meal mentioned earlier, my parents and I learned about the Slow Food movement. I later studied and did a presentation of this movement in college for a Global Interactive dinner and earnestly believe in its benefits. Its about eating locally, consciously, and slowly. Tapas aren't food, I learned in the episode on Catalunya. They are a way of eating, a way of understanding life. Tapas are small bits of food meant to be shared and enjoyed in moderation amongst friends and conversation (and wine, of course with wine). One doesn't eat tapas over a sink standing up in their apartment, as I often eat. They are an event, a gathering. And again, I love that idea.

I have a few more episodes left to watch and almost hate to start because it will only mean that the end is near. The road trip did come to an end eventually, but thankfully there are recipes and ideas and conversations for all of us to take with us into American life. Come on over, I'll cook a mean tortilla española while we toast our cava.

I wish he were my boyfriend.

I can't figure out how to add video, but just click here, it will take you to YouTube. Nothing else to say other than I wish Josh Lyman were my boyfriend.

Gossip Girl

I am slowly coming to terms with two things:

1) I actually don't have time in my life to watch television.
2) I am not as smart as NY Mag Daily Intel.

So... I haven't seen any of this season of Gossip Girl, even though it is the best show ever. However... I do read about it every week on my favorite blog. Even if you don't watch Gossip Girl (you should) and even if you are pretty sure you are too good for it (you're not), read this. Its brilliant... such smart writing. (I mean, come on. They reference Matlida in this week's blog, along with the Spin Doctors and 'slutty apricots'. So funny.) Reading NY Mag's recap will quickly become one of the best parts of your week. And read all of the comments as well-- New Yorkers are amazing in their wit and genuine enthusiasm.

Honestly, the blog might be better than the show. Funny how that happened... a show about a blog... :)

xoxo...