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By Jess, August 31, 2009 10:41 am

I’ve read that moving is the third traumatic thing after death and divorce that one experiences in life.  In the next 31 days, I’ll be moving twice… well, presumably.  I actually haven’t found a place to live for October.

I’ve moved many times before: from New York to California with my parents; from California to DC for college; from DC to London for study abroad; and from London back to DC to start my Senior year.  But I’ve never moved with such an amorphous future in front of me.  Perhaps a blank slate is a good thing for a change?

More on this later.  For now, I’m off to caffeinate, work from home, and squeeze in some laundry and packing in between.

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By Jess, August 6, 2009 11:21 am

When a friend invited me to her house in New Jersey for a weekend trip, I accepted without much thought. I needed a break from my 60-hour work week, and New Jersey was the excuse I needed. But who knew that the Garden State would turn out to be my summer paradise?

I’m just as surprised as you are. I’ve driven through New Jersey a dozen times or more but have never noticed anything worth stopping for on the Turnpike. It’s not surprising considering my New Jersey knowledge consisted of the following:

1. New Jersey music obsessions include Bon Jovi.
2. It’s Guido central. See “My New Haircut.”
3. There is a disproportionate amount of Georgetown students from New Jersey.
4. New York is better.

And the list goes on. Still, the allure of a break from DC life was stronger than my half-joking prejudices.

Being far from home and family, I am easily won over by any situation involving a.) family togetherness or b.) motherly love, so spending time with not one but TWO Italian families was a micro paradise. I was showered with love and attention from heavily accented and heavily tanned women while their own children, my friends, looked on. Is it strange that this is part of what made my vacation great?

I also adored the beach. I grew up in Northern California where the beaches are plentiful but hard to access. Drive over a mountain to a cliff, find parking, descend cliff via shoddy stairs, sheepishly remove sweatshirt, and boldly enter frigid waters. When we went to the beaches of the Jersey Shore, we drove on FLAT terrain, pulled into a parking lot, and walked on FLAT ground to the sand only seconds away. My preference for the East Coast just keeps growing…

The nearby Seaside Heights boardwalk was a scene straight from the 1980s. The signs, the colors, and sometimes even the fashion. Everyone, young and old, had tattoos. And more importantly, everyone had a pack of cigarettes next to their SPF 4 sun tan lotion. I had my SPF 50 ready to go.

I’m back from Jersey now with a new appreciation for the so-called Armpit of America. “When in Rome, do as the Romans do.” I didn’t get a tattoo, but I got a decent tan, smoked a cigar, and hung out with Italian Americans. That’s a great vacation, even if it was only a weekend.

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By Jess, July 11, 2009 11:29 am

Once in a while, I ask myself, “Jessica, are you being unreasonable in your judgments?  Are you high maintenance?”

(Note: I address myself formally in moments of deep contemplation.)

Then I wake up to burnt coffee and a huge mess on a Saturday morning and I say, “No, no you’re not.”

Sometimes I might seem a little high-strung.  The pictures above hopefully explain a little.  New blog post coming soon.  Happy weekend, everybody!

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By Jess, June 21, 2009 7:07 pm

I used to dread Sundays. I’d snicker at references to it as the “day of rest” throughout my epic Catholic education (15 years = a whole lot of snickering). For me, Sunday meant strategically timed showers and meals in order to waste as little time as possible. It meant regretting starting Saturday night at 6 o’clock, because I didn’t get enough reading done.

During the worst of Sundays, I’d put on a little soundtrack to bask in my Sunday angst. The Pretenders’ cover of Morrissey’s “Everyday is Like Sunday” was a particular favorite. To fully comprehend the angst, here’s the first verse and chorus:

V1: Trudging slowly over wet sand
Back to the bench where your clothes were stolen
This is the coastal town
That they forgot to close down
Armageddon – come Armageddon!
Come, Armageddon! come!

C: Everyday is like Sunday
Everyday is silent and grey

Before you judge, listen to the song. It’s damn good and perfectly captured my sentiments about Sunday. While I’m still a fan of of the song and other Sunday songs, including “Sunday Morning” by The Velvet Underground, I am no longer a hater of Sunday.

Sunday is my savior! It’s a day off in a 6-day week when nine hours of sleep feels like fifteen; when I drink coffee just for the taste; when folding laundry is relaxing. Even the half-mile trek to the grocery store is satisfying. Today I splurged on some Norwegian cheese, Snøfrisk, and bought some locally grown blueberries. These little treats seem like child’s play after seeing the delicacies (and obscene prices) at the Dupont Circle Farmer’s Market, but they’re the little joys that make Sunday special.

The day is almost gone now, but it was a good one. When I can wait contentedly at the bus stop for over an hour and make friends with a Cuban named Omar, it’s been a decent day.

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By Jess, June 19, 2009 10:04 pm

Because I promised a post, I will briefly discuss the best thing about commuting to work.

It’s the podcasts. At all other times of the year, podcasts pile up in my Itunes library. That pesky exclamation mark appears next to each and every subscription reminding me that I’m masquerading as a pseudo-intellectual. I could never just sit in my room for an hour and listen to a radio program.

Times have changed, my friends. I’ve cried on the GUTS bus listening to Dan Savage recount his mother’s battle with cancer on This American Life. I’ve fallen in love with The Low Anthem’s “Charlie Darwin” on All Songs Considered. I’ve rolled my eyes about Obama’s controversial “conscience clause” on Slate’s DoubleX Gabfest.

Perhaps things have gotten a little out of hand. I now subscribe to ten podcasts, some of which take a few weeks to get around to listening. But if you have an Ipod and you commute, I highly recommend you give Lady Gaga a break and listen to some storytelling. Or news. Or comedy. Anything! Spice up your life with a podcast. When the day’s done and you’re looking forward to going to sleep as soon as you can scarf down your pasta dinner, it’s something to look forward to.

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By Jess, June 18, 2009 8:23 pm

I learned last week that I cannot work hard, play hard. I can work hard, rest for a night, do some laundry, and then can play relatively hard.

I’m getting into the groove of working three jobs, but sadly my blogging has suffered. Big things are in store for the blog though, including a move to WordPress and a new domain! Get ready.

In the meantime, look for a Friday night blog entry.

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By Jess, August 26, 2008 10:56 pm

via Darkman’s world Flickr

Summer has come to a close and on this occasion, I offer a Best/Worst summary.

Best
1. Visiting the Cape
2. Seeing movies (The Dark Knight, Pineapple Express, Tropic Thunder)
3. Sports (vball, tennis, climbing)
4. Cooking
5. 4th of July
6. 21st Birthday
7. Concerts (Aimee Mann, Fleet Foxes, Tilly & the Wall)
8. Work

Worst
1. Mosquito bites
2. Work

Ay, ay, ay. It was my last summer between school years where I could have hypothetically done nothing at all! It was a good one, but I’m happy the school year is starting. More updates and less lists in the near future. Slowly but surely, I’ll be blogging more consistently… and on more interesting topics. Until then, happy hump day.

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By Jess,

Funny article in Slate entitled On Not Owning A Vacation Home by Timothy Noah. Read in full here.

I do not own a summer house. The summer house I don’t own has not been in the family for three generations. It’s a simple, shingled affair, weathered and dear, with fishnets not hanging from the ceiling, duck decoys not arrayed on the shelves, and a large, yellowing map of the area, festooned with incomprehensible nautical markings, not stuck to the wall with pushpins not manufactured in 1954. I love the scent it doesn’t give off of mothballs mingled with mold.

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By Jess, July 11, 2008 9:26 pm

Photo courtesy of Picture Perfect
Watching Clueless on a Friday night is my idea of fun. In fact, it’s a luxury since returning from television-less Londontown. But even though I’m having fun, I didn’t necessarily choose my fate of apparent loserdom. Yesterday while playing tennis, in a heroic sprint to answer my cell phone, I ran full speed into the handle of the net crank. A few tears, a Sweet Green sweet flow, and one burrito later, I was happily limping home.

I continue living a charmed life in DC working MWF’s and sleeping in on days off. Climbing and the journey to the climbing gym are meditative experiences, solo and wonderful. I listen to my Pimsleur Basic Norwegian audio lessons on the way and mutter phrases to myself on the Metro. And yes, I am learning Norwegian for no reason at all other than I feel like it (and the cds at Barnes & Noble were cheap). Perhaps German is next? Who knows. For some reason, practical languages like Spanish are so discouraging because being conversational seems significantly less attainable than for a seemingly useless language like Norwegian.

Next Friday I head up to the Cape for a long overdue reunion with my sister. I say “the Cape” like I know what I’m talking about, but really, I’m confused and hope it’s not over-populated with Vineyard Vines-toting, critter pants-wearing, collar-popping socialites. Is there a hippie/hobo part of the Cape? I’m excited to ride bikes, fly kites, swim, and frolic in the ocean. The ocean! I realized while abroad that it’s incorrect to refer to any sea/ocean as the ocean. Before I thought that “sea” and “ocean” were synonyms when in fact, Europeans refer only to the Atlantic, Pacific, and Antarctic Oceans as “oceans” and only to seas, like the Mediterranean, as “seas.” Maybe everyone knew this already, but I was enlightened.

I’m all blogged out so for the curious, here are some pictures of my humble abode. No huge plans for this weekend except probably a Nats game tomorrow and my first pseudo-day at Patagonia on Sunday. My foray into outdoor retail continues… happy weekend!

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By Jess, September 12, 2007 8:41 pm

After realizing that the piece of paper I mailed to LSE was some kind of unnecessary formalized process for making you think that they’re involved with the class selection process, I chose new classes online. Now I’m signed up for:

1. Development Economics
2. Political Economy (where I actually get to learn what my Georgetown major means…)
3. Intro to Econometrics
4. Latin America and the International Economy

Choosing classes for geeky people like myself is one of the most exciting parts of going to school, so forgive me for repeated postings on the subject. A Georgetown friend of mine is in all of these, so I’ll have some comfort that I won’t be suffering alone (solidarity, woot). I’m a little bit scared of Intro to Econometrics, although I can be thankful that I don’t have to take it with the infamous Westbrook at Georgetown. Political Economy looks… interdisciplinary? I’m hoping for less theory and more application, please God. Development Econ looks like it might be the biggest challenge. And finally, Latin America and the International Economy looks like a breath of fresh air.

I’m reading this book called Imagined London: A Tour of the World’s Greatest Fictional City by Anna Quindlen and it’s giving me a little flavor of my future home. Admittedly, some of the literary references are flying right over my head, but I like it anyway. I wouldn’t call it the best book to introduce me to London, but bookstore travel sections are full of crap. I don’t want to know what walks to take in London or a travel guide. I want to know about it, it’s history and its anecdotes, with a hint of suggestion for places to visit. That proved to be a tall order, so I settled with this book.

What has this summer done to me? Reading a book about London? That’s not really me. I read books for school and occasionally picked up a leisure book during summer, but I was put to shame by my housemates. The four girls of my house (sorry, not the boys) read books with an appetite that I’ve never really seen before. Ayn Rand? Sure… just for fun. So I, in order to preserve my faux-intellectual ego, read with them. Granted, not Ayn Rand, but read nevertheless. So here I am continuing my “habit.” Any London-ish suggestions? Please. Not Londonistan.