My New Digs Or...

...the place where I've parked my ass until I get on my own two feet.

One Way Ticket

Before I Leave, Capogiro

You already know about my admiration for Capogiro's gelato. It was pistachio and coconut on Monday night. The coconut melts too quickly. Should have gotten pistachio all the way, as in a whole pint of it. Oh, mine greedy eyes.

Before I Leave, Brunch at Valanni's

It's a bit embarrassing, to say the least, that the majority of my to-do-one-last-time-in-Philly list is comprised of activities that encourage my gorging on super tasty high calorie meals. I guess this is how we've become one of the fattest cities of America.

This is Valanni's grilled romaine salad. But don't let the salad fool you into thinking that it's good for you. It's doused with roasted peppers, applewood smoked bacon, parmesan encrusted polenta croutons, and a creamy chipotole caesar dressing. Think fat on grilled lettuce. It's delicious.

And when at Valanni's, one must have a second meal immediately following brunch...I also had their caramelized rum bananas dessert: crispy cinnamon phyllo cup (although I think they forgot the cinnamon), toasted coconut, crushed walnuts (I think they missed these, too) and vanilla bean ice cream. The waitress said, "I've never seen anyone finish that dessert" when she took away my empty plate. Um, ditzy waitress friend - did you NOT see the remaining phyllo cup on the plate?

Rolling out of a restaurant is never a pleasant experience, but enjoying a scrumptious brunch with a make-you-laugh-until-your-sides-hurt friend is simply delightful, especially on a Sunday afternoon after you busted your behind hauling all your earthly possessions into a third story storage unit in the biggest metropolis of America.

Saturday, August 25th, 2007

7:40 am. You couldn't see a thing through the fog.

On the way to WC - they wouldn't tell me what it stood for!
Basking in the glory of clam strips.
17 cardboard boxes, 4 suitcases, a Hefty bag of clothes, an additional set of boxes (count unknown) full of more stuff, 1 television set, 1 DVD player, and enough bedding for a 3-bedroom house: these are the items affectionately termed "Julia's Junk" that remain in my possession snugly sitting in a metal storage crate somewhere in the Upper East side of New York City. I suppose it would have been fun to take some pictures of the jam-packed Philly Car Share minivan (by the way, their car rental service kicks mega arse) which Emily so very strategically crammed with my belongings in the most efficient Tetris superstaresque method possible. Unfortunately, I was too busy holding my breath from taking in the nasty dumpster fumes from my building's loading area and trying to keep my nerves in check in preparation for what turned out to be a three hour drive to the Big Apple. Anyway, thank heavens for Emily and Tom. Without their help, instead of sitting in an echoing barren apartment these lonely nights, I would just stare at the heap of junk sitting in the middle of my living room.

Just like the last time I moved, it was super muggy, humid, and hot. Of course I was the only complainer. After sweating bullets, flexing muscles, interpreting Daniel's accent (our British male GPS voice) and being stuck in a car for half the day ---all in the name of Julia--- Emily insisted on White Castle and Tom followed suit with a request for Dunkin' Donuts. Nothing too glamorous for these helpers!

A Cab Driver's Worst Enemy: The Credit Card

Since some high court mandated that all Philadelphia cabs must accept credit card payments from its patrons, I stopped fretting about whether I had any cash in my wallet for emergency situations. It was great...in theory.

Imagine my annoyance today when my cabbie pulled up to the curb and I saw the "Closed for Vacation Until Labor Day" sign sadly gracing the door of Vietnam Restaurant. I sighed deeply and then I hear the cabbie tell me that he doesn't accept credit card payments. I simply didn't have enough cash to cover the $6 + tip fare. Could I just not pay him, then? He asked if I had a five. I only had a twenty. He said I was his first customer of the evening so he didn't have any change. I was REALLY not chill with that. Seeing as how I would not budge, he then asked if I had three dollars. Three dollars. We were quibbling over three freaking dollars. He doesn't realize that at this point, he would have made more if he just let me pay with a credit card and incurred the damn fees that he's responsible for anyway.

I tossed the two singles I had in my wallet and another two dollars worth of quarters and dimes into the general direction of his outstretched hand and calmly stepped out.

What sketchy people will do in this world for a buck: it's simply mind-boggling.

I started juliaipsa as a journal to record my mundane life escapades, thoughts, mood changes, nervous breakdowns, etc. As far as I was concerned, I merely switched from longhand to typing. Unfortunately, once you start blogging, you begin to understand the full scope of the blogosphere and inevitably, you will find yourself clicking incessantly on random blog rolls bopping from one stranger's world to another. You'll go from a blog dedicated to an amateur pastry chef's recipes, to one by an eccentric hat collector, to another of a Peace Corps volunteer chasing chickens in some remote African village. There's loads of crap out there, but every now and again, when you least expect it, you'll stumble onto a blog that just cracks you up (no pun intended) with images like this one.

Before I Leave, A Stroll

Despite minimal progress on the packing front, at 10:30 this morning, I headed out for Boathouse Row to Kelly Drive, the Art Museum, and the Rodin Museum. After much internal deliberation, I opted to skip Capogiro seeing as how I was soaked from walking in the rain since the Art Museum. With my squishy flip flops reverberating loudly through my building lobby, I marched into my apartment and threw a frozen Amy's organic pesto pizza (thank you, Whole Foods, not just for this, but the organic strawberries, too) into the oven. I was dry and chowing down by 3:30.

Before I Leave, Pho And A Cannoli

On a smallish scrap piece of paper, I have jotted down a short, yet respectable, list of things I'd like to do one last time before I leave Philadelphia. There aren't a ton of items on this list, but it's important that I make an honest effort to get through as many of them as possible. Who knows if and when I'll ever return to the City of Brotherly love? I began tackling this list today.

Today, I lunched at Pho Xue La, a local favorite hole in the wall Viet-Thai restaurant in Chinatown, for a last bowl of hot pho - hold the cilantro, and careful on the intake of MSG-laden broth. Just enough satisfies the craving, but too much will have you sleeping like a baby within the hour. On the walk home with my refreshing Pho Xue La strawberry shake to go, I meandered through the Reading Terminal for some produce at Iovine Bros. and picked up a classic Termini Bros. cannoli on my way out. The ricotta filling has delightfully small chocolate chips in it. Oh, how I will miss all the fatty foods this city has taught me to enjoy.

Ring Ring From Korea

It turns out that even in Korea, where mobile technology ranks the highest in the global industry and mobile phones cost hundreds of dollars, if you hold your phone in your pocket as you walk along your merry way, you can accidentally dial someone in your phone book. In fact, you can call Julia all the way in America and rack up long distance minutes without the faintest idea of what's really going on in your pants.

I didn't recognize the number on the screen, but an "8" at the beginning of the number that pops up on the screen usually means it's an incoming call from Korea. I hesitated, but reluctantly answered my phone on what felt like the seventh ring, and then listened to muffled Korean mumbo-jumbo on speaker phone for a good long while before hanging up. Whoever called (was it one of my uncles or aunts?) will have a rude awakening when they get their bill for an eleven minute phone call to Philadelphia THAT THEY DIDN'T EVEN MEAN TO MAKE.

I guess a phone will always be a phone no matter how advanced the technology of your country.

Excellent Professional Karmas

I swear that the people in my life all have the most excellent of karmas. What else could explain the mad slew of awesome news I received in the span of 24 hours?

• Soeur shares (in a very reserved -or was it bored?- tone), that her company has their annual conference in SPAIN in a few weeks. That's Europe, baby! Rock it, sista'.
  
• Barb receives her quarterly bonus at work. Very excited for her, but then she reveals that she also received appreciation gifts to the tune of thousands of dollars from her boss in addition to her bonus. Yippee! Well done, lassie.


• Jenny's boss returns from her Europe summer and presents her with a Longchamp tote and matching mini Longchamp tote. Ok, so she wasn't particularly enthusiastic about it, but it still means a lot when an employer takes the time and trouble to do such things. It's nice to be recognized occasionally, isn't it?

Even the "strong work ethics" argument doesn't fully explain this. Plenty of folks work super hard and their bosses don't give a rat's ass. On the other side of the spectrum, plenty of folks don't do jack and their bosses still reward them. But karma has smiled kindly upon their professional lives and they work hard and their employers DO recognize. Bravo, ladies.

Iowa 2007

Being the stubborn fool I am, I refused my Xanax (its generic counterpart, of course, since anything related with health care in this country sucks LIKE A LOT) traveling to my destination this past weekend. Julia went to not Idaho, not Ohio, not Ottawa, but I-O-W-A. In case you were wondering, what they say about the midwest is absolutely true: folks are super nice, the land is flat, there's lots of corn, it's peacefully quiet, and you just can't get enough of the wicked clean air. It was nice to get away from Philly for a little while.

If you haven't already had the pleasure of meeting them, let me introduce you to the cornerstones of the strongest family unit in the entirety of the United States of America. These people are human rocks - solid, good, real, genuine people - and I'm so lucky to have met them in Philadelphia. Not only should they be featured on the cover of last month's, this month's, and next month's Parenting magazine, but Dave should have his own political commentary column in the New York Times and Dawn should try out for the next Top Chef. I joke that the only reason why I continued to sit on Matthew was because of the dinners Dawn would prepare. I cherished my time with her parmesan chicken, beef stew, spaghetti, empanadas, and basically everything that woman touched in the kitchen. The weekend's feast highlights comprised of swordfish (I love all white fish, I've decided), fresh roasted pepper salsa with bright tomatoes and leafy cilantro from Dawn's very own vegetable garden (and it was delicious, even the cilantro), juicy pork chops (did you know that Iowa is known for its pork?), and delicious brick oven pizza, all interspersed with healthy helpings of fried foodage and desserts. I can't believe I didn't take pictures [sigh].

Despite my sorta ruining the trip by coming down with something the likes of a mean and ugly 24 hour flu on the last morning of my visit, my first glimpse of the heartland of America was kowabunga great. For those of you who have been waiting for this report on my journey, thank you for not badgering me (ahem) and your patience while I dealt with the unexpected cancellation of my home internet service.

The Little Photographer

It was certainly unusual that I neglected to whip out my camera everywhere I went this time around. Maybe it was the heat, maybe it was the fresh air, maybe it was because it was far more delightful to watch my Matthew practice his amateur photography. Yeah, that's it. Here are some of his very first compositions. Someday, these may even help him pay for college. You saw it on juliaipsa first!