"The Place Where Bison's Graze"

Last month, Aunt Marina, Uncle George, and I met for an adventure in Brooklyn's Brighton Beach neighborhood. Some go so far as to say it's the largest Russian-speaking community outside of the USSR (disclaimer: this has not been fact checked)!

Uncle George had a field day looking for gypsy music at St. Petersberg, a CD and video store on the main drag, Brighton Beach Avenue.

I wanted to get some buffalo grass to make my own Zubrovka vodka. I'd tasted it (subtle, smooth, sensational!) at Easter, when Uncle George and Uncle Eugene were drinking it in the kitchen and commenting on how hard it is to find good grass. They were right -- even in "Little Odessa" the plant was hard to find. I ended up just buying the ready-made Zubrovka at Oksamit Liquor near the metro.

In the end, we sat on the boardwalk looking at the ocean and eating kabobs, which Aunt Marina called "shashleek." People were milling about, barely clothed and the air was sticky. I didn't mind. I felt like I was in Europe.

Not one to give up on obscrure home projects, I'm thinking about buying the buffalo grass (translated as "The Place Where Bison's Graze" or called sweetgrass) from here, though it makes me a tad nervous to buy obscure herbs online with Paypal. I'll keep you posted.

The Octagon House

My latest obsession is checking the National Trust for Historic Preservation's list of historic properties for sale. Some of them are as little as $100. My favorite is the 1852 Octagon House in Barneveld, New York (right near the Adirondack Park!). It's so lovely. Here's another photo. I'm definitely going through a phase where I want to just sell all my possessions and move to the country. This seems like the perfect bed and breakfast, no?

July 4th Weekend

The holiday at Water Taxi Beach was amazing. Great atmosphere, decent hot dogs, and though the potato salad left something to be desired, it couldn't have been a better view for the fireworks. The show lasted nearly 30 minutes with everybody oohing and aahing and Eva and I had a good time catching up.

I'm thinking about joining the Sebago Canoe Club in Brooklyn. After two weeks in Vermont, where I learned to kayak on Echo Lake in Camp Plymouth State Park, I've fallen in love with it and am happy to learn I may be able to continue kayaking in the city, even at a reasonable price!

Went for lunch at this vegan place in Park Slope -- am I granola or what? It was shockingly good. Who knew vegans eat lasagna and paninis?

Tomorrow, it's back to the grind. I need to call Australia, French Polynesia, Nicaragua, and Indonesia. What a strange life!

She Who Shall Not Be Named

So, someone who shall remain nameless called her ex-boyfriend yesterday to inform him that he should never contact her again. It was an umpteenth attempt at closure. We'll see if it works. He was somewhat flabergasted and apologetic. The fact that this someone is still reeling from an email that he sent her three weeks ago was enough to push her to call him just to tell him not to reach out to her again. Now it's really over, I spose. Or I hope it is.

Then I went out to dinner with my friend Michelle and she was completely grossed out when she found a hair in her tabouli. I was preoccuppied with trying to figure out whether the flowers in the restaurant were fake. She told me her own love woes and I felt better.

Afterward, went to "an intimate drinking and eating room in Park Slope" called Beer Table. We took forever to order because we were so caught up in the adjectives used to describe the beers. Soapy, crunchy, a hint of spring, rambunctious, meaty, smoky -- Michelle, the vegan, was aghast and ordered nothing. Some of the brews were exorbitantly priced -- $95 for a bottle of beer? I don't think so. I like beer and know a thing or two about it but honestly this place intimidated me.

Michelle is excited because Feist is playing in Prospect Park this summer. Maybe I'll get tickets.

Random tidbits

Went to lunch yesterday with two lovely people from the Taipei Economic and Cultural Office . We had delicious Chinese food in midtown and I learned about a sport they have there called "river tracing," where you wade in the clear water and hike a stream or a river to its origin. ... They've also got gorgeous, little-known islands in the south China Sea called the Penghu Archipelago. It looks beautiful and under the radar. I'm trying to scheme my way over there.


I also want to take a wild food and ecology tour through Central Park with "Wildman" Steve Brill who goes foraging for edible plants (sassafras, mustrard greens, mint, field garlic). According to his Web site, he was arrested in 1986 for eating a dandelion.

Since I had already eaten my sandwich at my desk by the time 11:30 rolled around, I decided to take a free tour of the Grand Central neighborhood
with historian, and storyteller Justin Ferate.

Well, let me tell you, it may just be the city's best kept secret (though there were well over 50 tourists there). The mustachioed and bow-tied Ferate gave an energetic one man show with a Strand tote slung over his shoulder. He played everyone from Donald Trump to the Queen of England, regaling us with all sorts of deliciously improbable history. I couldn't stay for the whole thing and the tour hadn't even left its meeting point at the Whitney Museum sculpture garden when I had to leave about half an hour later. I kept thinking that my Dad would love it.

The Date Nut is back

Holla! I'm back. And I want to marry the street vendor I've been buying coffee from every morning. I'm drawn to him not only for the caffeine, but because he is so unbelievably friendly and always comments on how nice the weather is. I can't believe he sits in that cart all day with stale donuts and sugar packets.

"You're always so cheerful in the morning," I told him today. Then I ordered a large with milk and two Splenda. He smiled.

He probably drinks coffee all day.