Copywriting Portfolio Inspiration + Caffeine

My morning coffee cup is decorated with a pastel advertisement for The Pond at Bryant Park, and a blurb from Citibank that reads: “If Your Assets Are Frozen, Get Them Some Hot Chocolate.”  Love it.

Things I Did On Emma’s Birthday That Were Not Related To Her Turning Nineteen

1. Craved bubble tea, but learned after a foot-blistering search of Midtown that the closest spot to get my fix (north of Chinatown) no longer existed.
2. Got out of work early (!), coaxed Jamie to split with me, and went shopping at H&M.
3. Saw the Christmas (“holiday”?) tree at Rockefeller Center.  It was a large tree with rainbow lights and a noisy carpet of tourists on the street all around it. 
4. Got peeved at Starbucks after confirming that no, they do not sell the gingerbread biscotti seperately any longer, but only as part of an overpriced gift package.  Drank a large mocha and bought the biscotti-in-a-stocking anyway, because they taste so, so good and Jamie had never tried them.
5. Accidentally sat pretty close to a homeless guy on the E ride home, but laughed (along with the rest of the train) at the random woman whose lap he fell asleep in.  Instead of getting up, she just sat there, petrified.

Christmas-Flavored Cookies

I finished up a batch of my “traditional” chocolate butter cookies at midnight last night.  So now I can say that I made Christmas cookies.  Even if I didn’t celebrate Christmas in any way, I made the cookies.

However, the butter I used to make these cookies had spent the better part of a month in the freezer, right next to a container of homemade vegetable soup.  One would not think that a sealed plastic container would leech sulfuric broccoli perfume and pungent pea flavor into the surrounding food items, but I guess if the butter is in extremely close proximity, and you use enough of it at once (let’s just say “approximately” half a pound), certain flavors DO carry.

At least this way it’s much easier to pretend that I’m eating something nutritious every time I ravage the cookie box.

I’m Dreaming Of A Wet Christmas

It’s raining. And my day has been completely unproductive.

I tried to make art, but my hands are too shaky, and I would like to redesign my website, but I’m having trouble finding a copy of Adobe Flash for my Mac (Intel Mac no less). I spent Saturday downloading and listening to every song by The Cure, and I spent yesterday afternoon and evening with Jamie, so now I have pretty much nothing to do.

For the record, most of Northern Boulevard is open, including, of course, the Chinese restaurant.

We Love To See You Smile With Your People, So Just Read This Entry.

I hit up the holiday party at my taekwondo school this evening. Obviously, it was intended primarily for the benefit of the young’uns, but I heard there was going to be homemade Korean barbeque and other foods, and I don’t pass up much that is edible and free. Also, some of my classmates had mentioned they wre thinking of stopping by as well (although they either never materialized or chickened out once they saw what percentage of the room was under age eleven).

The dojang was absolutely jammed with kids, but I managed to snag a plate of Korean beef, rice, and some sushi from a large platter that I assumed (hoped?) had come from a real Japanese restaurant but more than likely came from somewhere else. It tasted very much like dishwasher detergent, and I ate very little of it, and with much disappointment. Right now, I’m hoping rather fervently that I do not get sick because of that one soapy bite of salmon.

While I was eating, one of the teen girls I see regularly in class mentioned that she had never tried sushi before. I certainly can’t admit to having sampled much Japanese food when I was younger (I make up for this in spades every day now), but I also lived in the very much non-coastal city of Buffalo, not in Jackson Heights, which is minutes from literally hundreds of sushi restaurants. I think my favorite diner was a young boy who piled about twenty Oreos and one potato chip on his styrofoam plate, grabbed a cup of Coca-Cola, and then charged over to a corner (away from his parents) so he could mow them down. I don’t think I’ve ever eaten that many Oreos in a sitting, and it made me feel a little inferior.

Before I left, I snagged something called a “Chocolate Coating Cake” to take with me. Most of the packaging is in Korean, except for a brief but firmly imperative English description on the side: “You know that sweet things make smile. We love to see you smile with your people. So just taste this cake.” Why can I not find excellent, excellent products like this when I go shopping at Kam-Lun or Pacific?!

Not-So-Hot Wheels

I hate backpacks with wheels.  I hate grown men and women who own and use backpacks with wheels, especially in subway stations and on the street.  Do you realize how stupid, tacky, and childish you look?  Do you realize that you are in everybody’s way, because you couldn’t just carry a handbag or wear your fucking backpack ON YOUR BACK?  Do you understand how much of a pain and a hazard you are on the stairwells?  If you have back problems or shoulder pain, and you want to bitch and moan that the wheels are really helping you and your condition, TRY CARRYING AROUND LESS STUFF.

Suitcases are not as much of a bother, because they are necessary for trips, and most people dragging along a few pieces of luggage are courteous and try to make themselves and their stuff as compact as possible.  But the backpacks-with-wheels crew?  No, they act like children who have a right to occupy several extra cubic feet of space.

Still, I Don’t Think My Dreams Feature Quite This Much Vibrato

I got to go to a very advance (and very free) private screening of Dreamgirls last night (it officially opens on the 25th) with some coworkers.  Yes, even with that godawful and painfully long performance of Spring Awakening still fresh in my memory, I went and saw another musical.  (Again, let us mention that the tickets were FREE and I had no other plans.)