Beans on Toast

Now, I don't mean to keep harping on about London this, London that. I really don't. But last night something happened. This thing, it wasn't so abnormal. It has happened in many places other than London, and to many people other than me. It was the simple, exasperating problem we all face periodically, when we've been negligent with the Whole Foods runs, the FreshDirect orders, the bodega foraging, or what have you. I got home after a long day at work, my tummy rumbling, and opened the fridge. What was inside? Nothing! Well, sure, there was some limp lettuce in a flimsy bag, half an onion, half a tomato, some hot sauce, a half-empty bottle of Tanqueray and a single lime, but nothing which could fool even the fooliest fool into thinking it could suffice as a meal. I shuffled through my whopping stack of two delivery menus, but nothing looked appetizing. I felt dejected. Only a few days earlier, my friend Keni came over and made fun of the bread I had sitting on the counter; I had been excited to find said loaf at my neighborhood Wild Oats, as it was a cute half-sized loaf, dubbed "The Bachelor Loaf" in a bright, pointy yellow starburst on the label.

"Haha!" Keni taunted me. "Molly's a bachelor. She doesn't own a whole loaf of bread!"

"But...but...I can't finish a whole loaf of bread by myself before it goes moldy," I retorted, secretly hurt.

"Hahaha! Bachelor!" Keni taunted me some more. I pouted at the time, but last night, in the state I was in, it seemed he was right. Who has only condiments and booze stored in the fridge? Bachelors, that's who. I was nothing but a bachelor. I sat down on my bachelor chair in my bachelor pad and moped. I might as well be growing stubble and wearing a wifebeater. Wait, I was wearing a wifebeater. What had my life come to?

But, as mopey as I was, I still felt hungry, and something had to be done. I opened the cupboard doors, and, lo and behold, a solution was right there, staring me in the face. Beans! Glorious, glorious beans.

Now, let me explain. People here in the USA don't seem to appreciate the versatility of the common baked bean. But in London, oh man. Baked beans are da proverbial bomb. They put them on chips [french fries]. They put them on jacket [baked] potatoes. They put them on toast. Wait! What was that? Toast you say? Well, I just so happen to have this handy half-sized Bachelor loaf right here. Looks like my dinner problems are solved! Take THAT, Keni!

So, to make a short story shorter, I transferred those bad boys from their can to a pot, put the toast in my cute little red retro-style (and definitely NON-bacheloresque) toaster oven, and five minutes later I had myself a marvelous meal. Sure, my American friends will probably stare at me, mouths agape, and shout "that's not a meal! You fool!" But I know that my comrades across the pond will nod knowingly in their tweed coats and bowler hats (dampened slightly by the light rain, of course), give me a wink, and say "nicely done, mate! What what!" Then they'll flip me a shilling, lean on the handle of their umbrella, and jump up and click their heels. Because that's what British people do.

So now, for all you dumb Yanks, here's a visual explanation of my last night's dinner:



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I just threw that Jesus toast in there so you'd get a better idea of the true glory of the finished product. I mean, what could be better? The whole meal costs approximately $1, takes five minutes to make, and is delicious (although probably not too nutritious). Three cheers for beans on toast!

The West Coast: The Best Coast?

Greetings, dwindling blog realm o' mine!!! It has been approximately 3,000 years since I last posted on TheLatentMap, and I apologize to all of you, as I know you were all rabidly checking and rechecking for updates every two minutes, every day. I know how cramped and sore your clicker-finger must be by now, having pressed the refresh button so very many times for so very many decades. And for that I am sorry.

But here I am! I'm back! And it's time to talk about my latest new home: Los Angeles.



Ahhhh...Los Angeles. Land of hopes and dreams, palm trees and traffic, plastic surgery and the silver screen, sauerkraut and mittens. Or...something.

My life here so far has been very enjoyable. I've been subletting a "townhouse" (the classification is misleading since said house is not made of charming brick, nor does it have a concrete staircase with a wrought iron banister leading up to the front door, nor is it located anywhere near Brooklyn) in a gated community in Hollywood. I know, I know, it sounds weird. Gated community? Hollywood? But it isn't! Well, the house itself (which is only temporary, mind you) is a little weird, as it's filled with sundry items from a someone else's life:

-Movie paraphanalia centering around the films for which the house's owner was Editor, including but not limited to hundreds of VHS and DVD copies of said films, promotional posters and magnets, and framed rejection letters from various film festivals.
-Random posters, including one of a cat crawling cutely on a log, confusingly located on the inner side of a closet door.
-Lots of creepy live spiders.
-Two life-sized chicken figurines located on the floor next to the water cooler.
-Novice paintings, including a creepy rendition of the Girl With a Pearl Earring (in which the Girl looks more like a frightening heroin-addict-ghost-person), and a large multimedia work that Sarah approves of, which depicts abstract people-forms making out.

So, yes, that's all weird. But my life itself is good. I've been hanging out a lot, and I mean a LOT, with Sarah, and I've been doing my best to steal all her friends/sisters and make them my own. Because who else will I have once she goes back to that annoyingly far-away place known as Georgetown? Well, I will have my good friends Keni and Jara, but that's the extent of my social circle. So I will fight by tooth and nail to steal other people's friends, dagnabit!

And, here's the real kicker, folks, the cherry on top of the proverbial soy sundae: I got a job. Not just a job, but a REAL job. Like, one with a preeeety decent salary, and medical benefits, and three weeks of paid vacation. And it's at the NRDC, a non-profit organization for which I have always had a great respect. They are awesome, and they work out of a beautiful and entirely GREEN office. Green as in the architectural/energy source techniques, not the color. That would be less impressive. Although, come to think of it, the color is green as well. But that's not interesting. So, ANYWAY, this building in Santa Monica, right by the beach, where it's like ten degrees cooler than hot hot hot LA, and really pretty. Huzzah!

So, whilst I sit by the window in my Hollywood "townhouse", next to the tarnished menorah and the "Sam's Saloon" novelty coaster holder, thinking fondly of my lovely memories of New York and London, I will temper my nostalgia with the knowledge that I have accomplished something that I wanted and worked for. I will not be saddened by the fact that I have no friends, but will rather gather up the stolen acquaintances I have collected over the past weeks, and pull them close like a security blanket. And, in the coming months, I will think of the crappy weather all of you will be enduring as I wander the palm tree-lined avenues in short-shorts and a bermuda shirt, and I will be happy.

P.S. I miss you all very much.

Drawing

After a period of time only slightly longer than that promised in my previous post, here is my feature all about the lovely drawings of my friend and flatmate, Adam Shone. Please be aware that you must click on the images to enlarge them to proper viewing size. They simply don't do Mr. Shone justice in their scaled-down form.

Let us start at the beginning. Adam began spending his obviously abundant free time on drawing long before I ever met him. In the beginning, his style was simple, yet effective. Note this example, aimed at our good friend Finn:

Figure 1.

I particularly enjoy the use of a fancy font. Nicely executed.

Lest you doubt Adam's fondness for Finn, however, as you may be influenced by the derisive nature of Figure 1, please observe that Adam's artwork can, at other times, include Finn in a lighthearted world of film and toilet jokes:

Figure 2.

There are other examples of Adam's drawing that predate my friendship with him. Take the example below, which I find particularly funny and pleasing to mine eye, despite the fact that I don't really understand where it came from or why Dr. Dre features as the central element:

Figure 3.

Brilliant. Especially the ornamental frame.

My interest in Adam's drawing skills was particularly piqued when all the members of our flat became obsessed with the hit television show 24. I purchased a miniature bucket of miniature felt-tipped pens on a whim, and for some reason we all decided that we needed to create cartoon versions of the characters in order to really showcase our knowledge of and love for the show. Here are some examples of the results:

Figure 4. Victor Drazen, evil terrorist featured in Season One.



Figure 5. A mysteriously BeeGees-esque Jack Bauer, with a curious effeminate neckline and some bling.



Figure 6. Our flat's mutual favorite character, Tony Almeida, in a blazing aura of glory which he so obviously deserves.



After we'd all grown tired of depicting our favorite characters, however, it somehow came to be known that Adam had already tried his hand at an homage to 24 before the miniature felt tips were even purchased. Here is his original interpretation:



Figure 7. Note the use of the digital clock style font for the "24" in the corner. It's even done in yellow, a technique which recalls the intro sequence of the show. It's all in the details. Bravo.


And, in what represents my favorite example yet, please take a look at the image below. Adam created it during the two-week period during which Sam was frantically writing his 10,000 word dissertation about The Marshall Plan. In a gesture of friendship and goodwill, Adam decided he would write the dissertation for Sam, so that he could stop being incredibly lame and boring and so we could all go out for a pint already. Here is the result, marked and corrected by the appalled and history-obsessed Sam:



Figure 8. I think this one speaks for itself.

And with that, I come to the end of my Adam Shone special. I think we can all appreciate his skills and talent. All of his artistic masterpieces, however, are tempered somewhat by his nonsensical obsession with sports, a quality which I mock in this, my very own artistic interpretation of rugby:


Figure 9.


Hopefully, after taking in my salute to Adam Shone, he will come to recognize his own abilities and dive headfirst into a world of artistic wonderment, rather than wasting all his time by monopolizing the couch and playing hours of Pro Evolution Soccer with my boyfriend. LOSER.

Time's a Wastin'

I've decided that for my next post, I want to feature the inspirational cartoon artwork of my flatmate, Adam. He works in IT, but I think that secretly, underneath, he's an unplumbed depth of greatness.

But I don't have TIME for that now! It would involve scanning, digi-skills, and clever witticisms on my part, and I have to leave for "work" (i.e. slaving away for free for the betterment of my soul) in ten minutes. But I just thought I'd tell you about it to whet your appetite, and get you all curious.

As for now, for those of you who are spending the day at "work" (i.e. that place where you type away all day whilst trying to look very serious and busy, but where you actually spend 90% of your time mastering your e-sudoku techniques) I wanted to ask your opinion on this website. It's full of games, so it will help you procrastinate. Sam thinks they're shit, but I find them all strangely compelling, and just the cutest little things ever. What do you think?

Be on the lookout for my next amazing post, coming later today (probably)!!!

Home Sweet Home

After a rather lengthy lull in blogging, which coincided with my return to the United States and all the driving/flying around and visiting with friends and family, I could think of no better way to relaunch TheLatentMap than providing a brief summing-up of the good times I had back home.

1.) New York. It was fun even though it felt a little weird due to all the things that have changed since I left NYU. A few people integral to my mental concept of New Yorkness were missing, my cell phone wasn't functioning properly and no calls were coming through, and all the subway cars felt wide, metallic, and cavernous. But after a full spectrum of the various seasons' weather fanfared by in the space of a week, and after one or two nights staying out at the bar until dawn, it started to feel more like my old stomping grounds again. It was as though New York were a pair of jeans that I'd washed, dried, and put away at the bottom of the drawer--the ones that don't fit quite right until you wear them around, stretch them out a little, and accidentally spill your beer or dinner on them. After you break them in, they feel just as good as they used to.

2.) Washington, D.C. My oh my did I have fun with Sarah C. and her new city. Here I was, thinking that D.C. would probably be a little on the boring side, while Sar had actually planned out an excellent few days, packed with sightseeing, vegetarian cuisine, fun friends, and lots of drunken cab rides. The nightlife was pretty happenin', although drinks strangely cost more than in New York, and not every venue would play our obviously tasteful request list. I think this visit must have been when the seeds of the idea of living together again were planted. Here's to summer in LA!

3.) California. This is a picture of it there, if you can believe it. I called my friend Mike in Minneapolis at one point, and we had even more snow than they did. Amazing. A big storm would come through, but two or three days later everything would be melted, sunny, and beautiful. I spent a lot of time in LA and San Diego, and a lot of my family members bought me new clothes and shoes and perfume and symphony tickets and lunches, in part to tell me that they were happy to see me, and in part, I think, to subliminally coerce me to move back permanently.

4.) Alabama. It's a great place, I don't care what you say. The food is so-so and the people are Republican, but the scenery is truly beautiful, everyone is exceedingly friendly, and I got to stay in the quasi-finished house my parents are building. Our very nice neighbors, Galoria and Wayman, loaned us a canoe so that we could paddle down the river that runs across our property. I decided I needed to go swimming even though the water was icy cold, so that's where the picture is from. I learned handy skills like cement mixing, trail clearing, porch swing hanging, water fetching, and bonfire building. I felt like a real pioneer. And look at the cute little house!



So, now I'm back in London, because I play it like that. Being at home was lovely, though it does make things just that much harder when it comes to deciding where I want to "settle down." Good thing I don't have to figure that part out yet.

Tag!

Oooooh! It seems I have been tagged for a fun game of getting-to-know-you-blogwise, otherwise known as 4 Meme, by the illustrious Dolyn. It's like a cyber handshake of sorts, I suppose. So here goes...

4 Jobs: Publicity Intern at Houghton Mifflin Publishers {a job mainly as dull as the proverbial dishwater, but made wonderful by a) cool co-interns b) lame co-interns to make fun of and c) exciting run-ins with literary superstars, like Toni Morrison, Jonathan Safran Foer, and Jhumpa Lahiri}; kitchen drone at my once-favorite restaurant Angelica Kitchen, at which the free vegan food was a perk but whose coldhearted management turned me off Dragon Bowls forever; Receptionist in the Physiology and Biophysics department at Cornell Medical College--i.e. get paid more than any job you've ever had to read and work on writing your novel all day; and, lastly, the Client Services Assistantship at DBM that we've all grown to know and hate (refer to the "A Day in the Life..." posts below).

4 Movies I Could Watch Over and Over: Oh man, hard to choose. I watch lots of movies over and over. But I'll say Almost Famous, Back to the Future(s), Edward Scissorhands, and The Big Lebowski.

4 Places I've Lived: Idyllwild CA, Manhattan NY, Brooklyn NY, and London UK (twice).

4 TV Shows I Love to Watch: Six Feet Under, The Office, Peep Show, Lost.

4 Websites I visit daily: Overheard In New York, because it's awesome, Facebook, because I need to obsessively check on updates of my friends' lives, The stupid AM NY crossword puzzle page, because I can always finish it and that makes me feel I have accomplished something worth crossing my arms and nodding contentedly about, and Best Of Craigslist, cuz it's funny, innit.

4 of My Favorite Foods: Brothy noodle soup, extra crispy potato wedges (or chips from the chippy at 2 am), hummus, tofu curry.

4 Places I'd Rather Be: At home in Camden, asleep under the fluffy blanket with the skylights open and with Max the kitty magically transported over from California; sunbathing on the beach in Zihuatanejo with a margarita; driving to Los Angeles from Idyllwild by myself with a good playlist; at the Fort Greene Sunday farmer's market in the summertime.

4 Albums I Can't Live Without: Well. I'd ideally need to list about 20 here. But I'll just pick a few randomly: Revolver, Rubber Soul, Hail to the Thief, and The Soft Bulletin.

4 People to Tag: Um...I don't have any more bloggy friends. So, YOU, random person who may be reading this, consider yourself tagged.

Sleeplaughing

Most people in the world have probably heard of sleepwalking, or even of sleeptalking. But, as far as I know, I am the first person to experience the phenomenon I call "sleeplaughing". Now, before you shake your head and rub your eyes cartoon-style in disbelief, let me assure you that it is true. Also, let me tell you that when it wakes you up in the dead of night, it is terrifying.

On several occasions, I have awoken to an evil-sounding cackle that gradually metamorphosed into a hearty bellylaugh. At first, this aural maelstrom would permeate whatever dream I happened to be having at the moment, inevitably throwing my unconscious mental ramblings into a state of nonsensicality and puzzlement. It would then wake me up entirely, as the sound, originating from the sleeping Sam's grin, endured for several freaky minutes. The first time this happened was possibly the most frightening; Sam was lying on his side and facing me, so I initially thought he was just lying there, staring at me, and laughing his head off, which, I think you will agree, would be a properly startling way to wake up. I came to realize, however, that Sam is not actually insane, but rather has some sort of weird sleep malady that causes these chortling outbreaks. Upon shaking him frantically in an attempt to wake him up, I would often receive some sort of unhinged response when I asked what he was laughing at. See examples below:

Me: Sam! Sam! Stop it! What are you laughing at?!
Sam: (with annoyance, and with eyes still closed) Don't wake me up!

or

Me: Sam! You're doing it again!! What are you laughing at?
Sam: What? Oh, Alan Partridge.

or, my favorite one so far...

Me: Sam! For fuck's sake! What are you laughing at?!?!
Sam: Hahahaha. Hahahahahahaha. Slapstick comedy.

Fortunately for me, Sam and I have enjoyed laugh-free sleep for the past few weeks. Here's hoping that trend will hold out.