Various times throughout the year I talk about moving. I research general cost of living, jobs and apartment prices in cities both here and abroad. Nothing comes of it, and I just shove it to the back of my mind. This time I mean it. Adam and I have absolutely nothing keeping us here. Nothing. And I've got to believe there is something, somewhere better out there. I'm willing to give it all a try. 

Besides, Michelle said she'd move with me, and that makes it even better.

To drink or not to drink, that is the question. Whether tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of the people of New York or to enjoy a sip out of your freshly purchased Evian bottle on a hot summer day. 

1.5 million barrels of oil are used each year to create just the bottles (even more barrels are used to transport  them from as far as Fiji and then refrigerate them) for our nation-wide bottled water obsession, and it has started a nation-wide freak out. "Mayors of San Francisco, Salt Lake City, Minneapolis and New York began urging people to opt for tap water instead of bottled" this summer, because if you drink bottled water it means the terrorists have one. It also means you're helping destroy out planet, both environmentally and ethically, you pig. Good job.

In all seriousness, though, we all know how much of a tree-huggin' hippie I am, so I'm actually a little freaked by this. Purchasing bottled water is an almost daily occurance for me and I drink at least 3 bottles while at work every single day. So while I eschew petroleum-based lip balm (and use just-as-cheap and better tasting Desert Essence Lip Rescue instead) and use a motorized toothbrush (Oral B Vitality) so I only have to chuck out a tiny little brush head every 3 months, I have a recycling bin filled with empty Poland Springs! Aye dios mio!

So this past week I decided to do something about it. From now on, while at work, I drink water from a paper cup that I refill at the tap throughout the day and then throw in the recycling at night. While at restaurants, "fast food" or otherwise, I ask for ice water in a cup. When that's not an option, I get tea (delicious and good for you!) in a glass bottle. The next step is a Nalgene bottle (which I shied away from in the past after my first purchase of one was a leaky piece of crap) and they actually have some really cute ones at Whole Foods. 

So while it all sounds so hippy-dippy to give up bottled water, (btw, that's what they said about buying bottled water in the 70's and 80's) its actually pretty easy and saves you $1.29 each time you're out of the house. Viva la revolution!

source.
PS: Its kind of B.S. that this article is under the "Fashion" section of the NYT. Agreed?

Well I can't blame the lack of updates on employment. Well, up until 2 weeks ago, that is... I just bought my first pair of black, pleated, knee length formal shorts. Yes. Formal shorts. And I now find myself sitting in an oversized office with a panoramic view of apartment buildings for 8 hours a day listening to the Cool as Folk channel on Yahoo Internet Radio and aimlessly surfing the internet instead of creating formulas for prospective employee contribution towards their medical insurance covergage in 2008. And my heels are still a bit raw from a stiff pair of imitation patent leather flats that I wear day in and day out. So this is a corporation.

If you're like 53.7% of the population, your job makes you want to kill yourself. Long hours. Non-exisistant lunch breaks. Inane meetings that accomplish little to nothing. Bosses irritating demands and their even worse attempt at small talk. It all grates on our brains (and spritis) like fingers across a giant chalkboard. The cheeky bastards at [adult swim] are all too familiar with this feeling (even though, I would have to assume, working for CN must be far superior to my current position) and have created a game celebrating our most secret -- yet universally held-- desire. See if you can collect enough flesh-damaging office supplies or piss off enough overweight employees to off yourself in five minutes.

NOTE: Those with truly horrible jobs (ie. an assistant to a fashion magazine editrix) should refrain from clicking on the link for fear they may take notes and make this game a reality.

source.

 

Notice to all Bible-humpers/Republicans: gay men really are born gay and all chicks are inherently bi, and there ain't nothin' wrong with that. Now shut up and let them get married.


 source.

"The strangest thing I've tried to snort? My father. I snorted my father," 
Richards was quoted as saying by British music magazine NME. 
"He was cremated and I couldn't resist grinding him up with a little bit of blow. 
My dad wouldn't have cared," he said. "... It went down pretty well, and I'm still alive."

Someone please do this with little bits of my bones when I die. Its just too ridiculous.

source.

As a vegan it is very easy for me to go into a long diatribe about the revolting treatment of animals that are destined for America's dinner plates. So I feel a small (very small) sense of victory upon hearing that Burger King, the world's 2nd largest hamburger joint, is making a radical change in their policy by "buying eggs and pork from suppliers that did not confine their animals in cages and crates". Of course this only extends to 2% and 10%, respectively, but they promise to up the percentages when more livestock companies start upping their humanity. Burger King joins the ranks of meat peddlers with a growing conscious, like Wolfgang Puck and Smithfield Foods and the smarties banning foie gras. Of course they are all still OK with slaughtering a living thing then feasting on its flesh. 

Info from here.
To learn more about the treatment of animals and why you should care, go here.

In the back of a small, carved wood chest is a charm bracelet my grandfather procured for my mother on one of his countless journeys around the world as a merchant marine. I haven't looked at it in years (since moving out I don't have to dust the house anymore and, therefore, have no excuse to root through my mom's nearly antique trinkets), but I can distinctly remember the tiny, round coins in various shades of copper that clink together when you pick up the solid chain. I always wanted to steal it (like the gold knot earrings I'm wearing at this very moment which can be seen on the ears of Mom in almost all my baby pictures), but for some reason never did (like one of the rich silk scarves she keeps in her top left drawer). Well, the New York Times has now given me an excuse to go shopping in Mom's jewelry boxes this Easter: coin jewelry is in. Unfortunately, I can't plunk down the $1,700 at Neiman Marcus to get a ring to go with the bracelet. But the Metropolitan Museum of Art always has gorgeous coin jewelry at a more reasonable price. Or you could head over to M&J Trim and make your own then sell them on etsy.com.