A Lovely Little Post

A Valentine's Day treat to try... the classic New York crumb cake:

The ingredients for deliciousness.

Yes. I even bought buttermilk, which by the way, does not taste like milk in the slightest. I thought my roommate was going to gag when I took a shot of it.

Separated yokes, too much butter, and plenty of sugar = a healthy dessert!

Starting with the crumb topping, I added sugar, flour and cinnamon together.

Finally, melted butter was thrown into the mix. And that was the end of the crumbs.

The cake was a little more tricky. Alternating between eggs, buttermilk, and flour, a cake-like dough is created. Two egg yokes, salt, baking soda, sugar, and butter are also throw in to the bowl throughout the process. But the results were delectable...

From me, to you dear readers.

My roommate and I decided to share the love. I took half the cake to work in fear that I would gain 100 pounds over the weekend. The recipe did call for several sticks butter...

These little guys are best served warm with butter melted on top, or even a drizzle of syrup. They are also great as is, and pair perfectly with a hot cup of coffee.

And there we have it - my first cake from scratch! That's what happens when you sit at an internship all day and look at delicious pictures of food.

Happy Valentine's Day peps.

Oh and PS, this cake is in dedication to the fabulous Alice Ricks. Happy Birthday Lissy!

Thursday’s Things New Yorkers Say: Woodpeckers and Wizards

So sorry for the lack of blogging this week. School is fully underway, my internship is more intense, and work has just switched around all the merchandise in the store. Never the less, New Yorkers keeps talking… and here’s what they’re saying:

Just coming out of the subway station on 23^rd near 8^th Av:

I have my headphones on, but a very excited, normal looking 40-something-year-old man is peering up and then looking at me… and then back up. “Do you see him?!” he says with a New York accent, loud enough I can hear him over my music. I push pause, and ask “What – see what?” He continues with, “Do you see him! You see that woodpekka! He’s got bright red hair…look, look you see him?! Yeah, yeah… in that tree that’s drippin’ wit ice.” I kind of laugh, “Oh yeah I do see him… haha thanks for that…” As I’m walking away, I hear from behind “Aw man – lookata him!”

I’m not sure if this man had never seen a woodpecker before, or if he told me because I have red hair like the “little fella” but I’m glad I was apart of one of the most moving moments in this guy’s life.

Walking towards 9^th Avenue on the way to MS Living, I hear the following scene playing very loudly in a car:

“Harry hurtled around the whole of the second floor, Ron and Hermione panting behind him, not stopping until they turned a corner into the last, deserted passage. 

"Harry, what was that all about?" said Ron, wiping sweat off his face. "I couldn't hear anything. . . ." 

But Hermione gave a sudden gasp, pointing down the corridor. 

"Look!"

No! The CD stopped! Then the car turned off, and an older man who dressed well and could have passed as a mafia member got out of the car – by himself. No little daughter or grandson – and I swear he smiled at me.

But the worst part? I knew that monologue was from “Harry Potter and The Chamber of Secrets” upon hearing the phrase “deserted passage.” HP nerds unite.

There were also a few phrases from a bar in Astoria my roommate and I went to for the Super Bowl along the lines of, “Oh my gosh, I’m an actor too,” and “Ben Roethlisberger is a very bad man!” to “You’re driving me home, right? And you know how to deal with an automatic transmission, right?” to which point I said, “Ummm… I think I’ll have another drink,” and after which I promptly walked home to watch Glee.

You got to love it.

So Anna and I went a little crazy at Sweet Afton during the Super Bowl Specials. We ate the chili...

devoured the wings...

and finally, we enjoyed fries, fried pickles, with several Abitas or black and tans. It was disgusting amazing - but most importantly, the Packers won.

Thursday’s Things New Yorkers Say: In the Snow and Rain

I’m not sure that I’ll ever be able to top the Indian story. But here are a few phrases and tales from the streets of New York during our wintery weather:

Woman at work talking to another woman at work:

“My god. It is so bad outside,” Tall Lady says to Sitting Lady. “Tell me about it,” she responds. “I mean – getting to work this morning?” Tall Lady continues while the Sitting Lady nods her head vehemently. “I know, I know.” Tall Lady continues her saga. “I almost busted my butt coming out of my house trying to get to my car!”

Hold up. Empathy stopped right as she said the words “trying to get to my car.” Um, excuse me? You have a vehicle? Pardon me, but did you actually have to walk 15 steps outside? Oh I see, almost 20 steps in the snow… funny. I WALK 30 MINUTES TO WORK EVERYDAY, WOMAN.

My snarky side almost came out. Can you imagined if I screamed that? Ha! We would have to change this segment to “Stupid Things That Britney Says” - because there are plenty.

The main streets in Astoria.

Speaking of walking to work, this conversation took place on 10^th street crossing over to 26^th and the Martha Stewart building:

I was listening to my Ipod as the rain began to blow into my face. Honestly, the commute hadn’t been too bad that morning and my coffee and been above par, so I wasn’t very angry. But I must have looked exceedingly pathetic with my fur hood hanging miserably around my head. Everything was wet and slushy.

“You can stand under here,” I heard someone say to me. Now usually, words like that mean trouble. So I glanced hesitantly to my left. A man with beautiful coral flowers was standing under a large plastic umbrella. He looked like a fabulous African American God with that dry and enticing umbrella!

I didn’t think twice. “Well thanks!” I said, jumping to stand right beside him.

“Honey, you looked like a drowned rat!” he smiled while I laughed and slipped off my headphones. “Where you going – 601?” he replied, saying the address to my building. “Actually I am,” I said. “Yes, yes I thought so. I deliver flowers there all the time. Usually once a week… Daaaang it’s cold. When’s this weather going to end? Walking around flowers all day makes you want some Spring!”

I couldn’t complain anymore. Not even about the Tall Lady with the house and the car who annoyed me with her “getting-to-work-is-so-hard” griping. This man delivered flowers in the snow all day long, and still was one of the friendliest people I’ve met. Plus he didn’t ask for my number or do anything odd except tell me to have a “pleasant rest of the day.”

Sometimes New Yorkers say very nice things.

People got a little creative with the snow...

and yet there's still nowhere for it all to go.

Coming Soon

Start preparing your own embarrassing tales from internships or entry level jobs. While I still need to figure out a few specifics, this much is certain: I want to have guest blogger spots with entertaining stories of "a day on the job" and possible mortifying moments. Prizes will be involved, as well as voting. So let the brainstorming commence...

You're the Intern, Right?

“Britney… Britney Fitzgerald?”

I didn’t want to turn around. There was an unfortunate feeling in my stomach, reminding me of a possible miscommunication that was now coming back to haunt me. I sat at my desk, frozen to the keyboard, and managed to squeak out a, “Yes?”

Let’s backtrack. I was doing a “product roundup” for some of the editors at Martha Stewart Living, looking for the most highly reviewed sleds of the season. Clicking around the internet, I stumbled upon Mountain Boy sleds. The majority of buyers enjoyed the product, so I added it to my list.

Taking a closer look at the website, I saw that many of the sleds had “low in stock” alerts next to their descriptions. I found a contact email and asked about the quantity left for buyers. I said something along the lines of “Hi…my name…im the intern at…saw your product…liked it…but I saw your low in stock…wondering how many are left for the readers… let me know numbers…thanks…”

Because what’s the point in including a product if there aren’t any left to buy?

A day later, I received a response. All it said was something about shipping, and to have a great day. I showed my boss, and we both shrugged off the email. There had been no real answer to my question but… I included the sleds anyway.

Flash forward.

“You’re Britney, right?” the mailman said to me. I hesitantly looked over my shoulder with a Gilly-like smile and responded with an "uh-huh." Behind him was a huge rolling rack, with 56 pounds of sleds I was required to sign for, as they had been addressed to me—Britney Fitzgerald, Editorial Intern, Martha Stewart Living. This was oh so discretely plastered all over the merchandise.

There are two long rows of approximately 16 people lined up, with large Mac computers in my department. Most of the time, the intern’s job is to lie low, observe the environment, and assist in any way possible without too many questions. At the moment, the intern is entertainment. She is also slightly embarrassed as 24 eyes turn to see what she could have possibly ordered that required a rolling rack and 3 brown boxes the size of her apartment.

Yes. The sleds were not only over $130 each; they were additionally quite HUGE.

“Well, just put them in the Free Box,” my boss said. I assumed she meant next to the Free Box, since the sleds and toboggan would have actually smashed and killed the Free Box had I placed them inside the laptop-sized container.

Lucky, several parents had taken the sleds by the end of the day, and it snowed that evening, giving kids a guaranteed ideal sledding experience.

Majority of embarrassment = somewhat avoided.

My face when the packages arrived = priceless.

Oh wow. For me? No really... You didn't have to. No, but for real.

I actually regret I couldn't keep these—they seem amazing! Alas, that tall one is the size of my living room. One day Mountain Boy, one day.

Thursday’s Things New Yorkers Say: An Indian Curse

We were back at Rudy’s.

The crowd here is always interesting, and rarely do you leave Rudy’s unscathed by an ancient local or a hot French guy or Louie Prima Jr., or… or a Native American?

I think he was passing through the city.

Clare, Ivy, and I were lucky enough to have found seats at the bar, and sat comfortably with hotdogs in hand. While we discussed events both pleasant and unfortunate, there was a happiness hanging about us. Part of the Pub Club was back in action, and our better halves would join us next week.

"Free hot dogs always!"

Poke. Poke. A tall, dark-skinned man with traditional Indian garb (feathered hat included) tapped Ivy. He motioned for her to take a note card that had a scribbled picture on the unlined side.

“Oh cool…” I heard Ivy say. He spoke not a word, but motioned for her to take the card. She grabbed the paper and then handed it back. These signals repeated themselves for several minutes before Ivy yanked on my pant leg.

Ah. The official girl sign for “I need help. Rescue me now.” Touching a friend’s arm, shirt, or pants, while still pretending to talk to the “sir” in question is a definite plea for assistance.

“Mom’s calling!” I threw my phone is Ivy’s face like an annoying sister… or at least an obnoxious drunk. “Talk to her now!” I said loudly. Ivy turned away from the inclosing man, and motioned a “this guy is freaky” gesture. Clare and I nodded and then took turns talking to our pretend mother.

Poke. Poke.

“Ah!!” Ivy screamed and I almost peed my pants out of sheer hilarity. This gentleman wasn’t given up! But Ivy was, and didn’t even turn around before pointing to a rare open table. We took the opportunity to vacate.

Fifteen minutes or so later, the tall man walked over.

“May I say something?” he asked.

“Depends on what you’re going to say,” Ivy responds.
“May I say something?” he repeats.

“Okay. Sure.”
“What does that mean? May I say something?”
I could tell this guy and I weren’t going to be chums.
“Yes!” Ivy finally shouted.

Honestly I don’t even know what we said after that conversation. But here are the highlights of his 20-minute stay with us:'

“You are a wolf,” he said pointing to Clare. “You are a pussy cat,” he said to me. “You are a tiger,” he said to Ivy.
“Oh come on. I hate cats. Can I be something else?” I respond.

“You don’t believe me?!” he says.
“It’s not really that I don’t believe you,” I say to the
offended Indian with a little laugh.
“It’ s just I really hate cats.”

He was slightly thrown off by this response, and said quickly “You doggy and you cat!” to Clare and myself.

I think my big mouth is also why he gave me the Indian curse.

“I came here to warn you of something,” he says to me without a smile. “Oh great,” I respond dryly. "I have to warn you of something, he repeats. “Okay… what is it,” I say.

“You. Be careful,” he says pointing at me.“Your boyfriend? He will

hurt your heart very badly.”
“Greeeeat.”

“He will hurt you!!”
“Okay!” I say slightly unnerved by my nonexistent
beau and the Indian’s persistence.

This is where Clare wisely throws in, “I think your boyfriend’s great.”
“Me too!” Ivy says.
“Thanks guys,” I say, throwing the tall man an irritated look.
“And what are you?”
“What am I?”
“Yeah, what’s your animal?” I ask.

“Ah… I am an eagle. An eagle is the best. You want to know why?”
“Why?” we all ask.
“An eagle is the best because of how we make love!!”

Silence...

And then intense laughter, with an embarrassed look on the side. I should have seen that coming. I should have known he would say something ridiculous, but my curiosity had gotten the best of me. And you know what they say about curiosity? Curiosity killed the cat.

And I am a “pussy cat.”

PS: Should I be worried about my next boyfriend? Indian curses probably shouldn’t be trifled with :/

The cards given to us...

The 100th Post

March 16^th, 2000 and 9,

I was really feeling quite fine.

That is when this blog began

Even if I was “The Why’s” only fan.

*

I first introduced you to the Newark streets,

With a harsh life for some that just repeats.

You saw school fights and broken lights

And at times, a complete loss of rights.

*

My next big adventure was out of The States,

To Dublin I went and met some new “mates.”

Ireland was lushly beautiful, no doubt,

And now I wonder how I’ll visit again and go about.

*

You were with me, dear blog when I was scared of planes,

Or when I was stuck in the “village of the dead,” called Slane.

I told you readers about being called homeless,

And when I got lost because my internship had no address.

*

Senior year was briefly documented despite class,

So you got to read about eating dinner under an overpass.

There were also some confusing moments in time,

Like how was I supposed to graduate and make life sublime?

*

Finally, you followed me to New York City,

Where life is enjoyable, humorous, and sometimes gritty.

I laugh and I mess up; I feel infinite and occasionally confused.

But I hope “The Why” and I always keep you amused.

*

So cheers dear blog, and cheers reader to you!

Happy Birthday to the “The Why” - what a dream come true.

The 100^th post is now finally complete.

But may there be countless more adventures to beat.

May there be 100 more.

Back to School and Dogs Rule

We’re back.

School is once again in session, and these semester’s assignments are already underway. Between the internship 20 hours a week, Bloomingdales 22 hours a week, and two graduate school classes, this is going to be an interesting couple of months. Then again, who doesn’t love to be busy?

On a more entertaining note, I saw Martha Stewart’s dog yesterday! It was walking around outside the building, doing his business, with a little raincoat fastened over his white fur.

I really wanted to run up and kiss the little thing, with his only-cute-for-a-dog smushed face. But because of recent events… well, I just smiled at him from a distance.

And finally - the latest update from NYC - I woke up to this monstrosity...

2 to 4 inches today, and 3 to 5 inches tonight... humph!