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My friend Sarah and I spent this past Thanksgiving in Paris visiting our friend Philippine.
The first question I get when people hear this piece of information is “Oh, do you have family over there?” I see how people relate Thanksgiving to family, but for us overcharged, overworked, and underpaid recent grads, spending days with family answering dry questions about our new jobs and lack of social life didn’t appeal to us for the only vacation time we could wrestle away. So we packed our (carry-on) suitcases and jumped ship for five days.
After a two-hour delay out of Orlando and landing in Atlanta with only 25 minutes to cross five concourses to catch the last flight to Paris for the night, we squeezed onto the plane as airport security closed the boarding doors barking “these are the last two!” (After that fiasco, spending eight hours cramped on plane was more than enough vacation.)
When Philippine’s friends found out two American girls were going to be coming over for the holiday, we got roped into cooking a traditional Thanksgiving dinner. Not exactly an easy task, but considering she was nice enough to let us crash rent free, we obliged. We mapped out our recipes on the plane ride over and after a fierce debate over mashed potatoes vs. sweet potatoes, we settled on our menu: turkey breasts, — I have better things to do than spend eight hours cooking a full bird in Paris — stuffing, mashed potatoes, homemade cranberry sauce, — they don’t exactly sell the canned stuff in France — asparagus, gravy, and a fresh apple tart from a local bakery.
Easy enough, right? Nothing two well-bodied women couldn’t whip up. 
We knew we had another thing coming to us when we first laid eyes on the kitchen, pictured above right. To put it into perspective, Carrie Bradshaw’s closet in her penthouse apartment (before Big revamped it) was bigger. There were two stove tops, a small sink, one skillet and a couple of small pots, and enough counter space to comfortable fit two baguettes. And that microwave-looking apparatus: that was our oven. (And that blob was our version of an apple tart, something you apparently can’t get after 7 p.m. in Paris.)
But we swallowed our apprehensions and scooted off to the supermarché to stock up on supplies — and wine, lots of wine. (It was Thanksgiving, and I am thankful for good, Parisian wine.) The vegetables and potatoes were easy enough 
to come by, although we raised our eyebrows and reluctantly handed over 10 euro (about $14) for one bushel of asparagus.
We headed a few blocks over to the boucher to find some turkey breasts before heading home to start cooking. In broken french, we asked him for poitrine de dinde pour huit personnes. We looked down and pulled some crumpled euros out of our pocket, and when we met the butcher’s gaze, we were face to face with a turkey head, firmly still attached to an uncooked body with features protruding from its appendages.
This Thanksgiving, we settled on chicken.
I started watching Finding Nemo the other day. Nothing else was worth watching, and I was pretty tired hearing about health care reform and Sarah Palin “not quitting,” so I opted for a Disney movie. What could it hurt? I didn’t make it 5 minutes into the movie until something struck me a
s odd.
Marlin had just come-to after a barracuda attack to find his wife, Coral, and all his children had just been eaten. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted one, small egg that had somehow been passed up. Cradling it in his fin, Marlin said, ” Don’t worry Nemo; I promise I won’t let anything happen to you.”
That’s what irked me. “Hmm,” I thought. “This was Disney–the foundation of family values–and there was a single parent raising a child.”
But then I really started thinking about it: How many other animated Disney movies lacked a parental figure?
Cinderella — Sure, there was no mention of either one of her parents, but she did only have an evil stepmother. Where was the stepfather?
The Little Mermaid — I don’t remember seeing a Queen Triton.
Beauty and the Beast — Belle only had Maurice, the eccentric, off-the-beaten-path inventor, as a father. Again, no mom.
The Lion King — Simba had Sarabi, but Mufasa died within 20 minutes of the opening credits.
Aladdin — Aladdin was a swashbuckling orphan, but Princess Jasmine was raised by the single Sultan. No Sultress? In the second sequel, Aladdin and the King of Thieves, we later found out that Aladdin’s father, Cassim, was still alive and the leader of the Forty Thieves. But, where was Cassim’s wife?
Bambi — While young, Bambi’s mom talkes him to meet his father, Faline the Great Prince of the Forest, but only a scene’s later, Bambi’s mom is shot by a hunter. Bambi is left to fend for himself for much of the movie, only to be later reunited with his dad.
Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs — Princess Snow White only had a wicked stepmother, the Queen.
Dumbo — We never see a Mr. Jumbo.
Toy Story — Andy only has a mom that takes him everywhere.
I was curious about this new piece of information, so naturally: I Googled.
I couldn’t find any substainial sources that cite a reason why so many old, animated Disney movies only featured one parent. My search engine results were just littered with radicals claiming that Disney is tearing families apart and that the movies are just trying alert children of the divorce/death. But what exactly were Disney’s motives having only one parent featured in these movies? There are too many instances to claim it mere circumstance, and I don’t think that this question has ever been formally asked (if so, please humor me with responses; I’m curiously intrigued.)
As for Disney movie to come, The Princess and the Frog castlist has both a mother and father for Princess Tiana, but we’ll have to wait and see what Disney creatives have churned up for this one.
OK. I slacked. I admit it.But finishing up senior year at UF took up more time than expected, focusing all my efforts on Business Finance and Orange and Blue magazine, which still isn’t yet fully finished. Yes, I’ve already graduated. Yes, I’ve already got my grades–rocked a 4.0 by the way: (Maybe now that I’ve figured out how to do this whole college thing I should just start over?) Yes, I’m still working on finishing a school project. Why? Because the world needs to see this magazine. Watch out, Skin. Black is back.
So, needless to say, after my 12 hour days and frequent all-nighters in Weimer Hall, the last thing that I wanted to do was come home and spend even more time on a computer. Plus, at some point, I needed to sleep. But, now that I’ve landed a full-time salary job with benefits–yes, it’s totally possible my fellow grads of 2009–my schedule is loosened. No more club meetings, no more school projects, no more part-time waitressing. When I get done at 5 p.m., I’m actually done with work for the day. My weekends will no longer be spent serving people Italian food. This is a whole new way of living!
So, in an effort to create some deadlines and keep good on my posts with Rock Ridge Music, I’m staring a new weekly series: New Music Mondays. My nightstand is overflowing with CDs from Rock Ridge Music, aching to be reviewed, and it’s a shame that it’s taken me this long to start sifting through the masses. But, here goes nothing. Plus, my job has absolutely nothing to do with music, and while my sights are still set on Jann Wenner’s job one day, keeping some sort of weekly music writing isn’t going to hurt my chances of scoring a position–any position–at Rolling Stone.
New Music Mondays starts tomorrow. Future posts on the job–assistant editor at Atlantic Publishing Company if you were interested–and the newest addition to the Everhart family, my amazing Austrilian Terrier Jax are soon to come.
I never fully appreciated everything my iTouch can do until now.
When I first got it back in July, it was an upgrade from my outdated and paint-covered 2-gig iPod Nano. The extra 14-gigs were essential to fulfilling my music needs, the touch aspect was a nice feature, the scroll through albums kept everything easily organized and the details rocked. So for the past six months, it has satisfied all my music-playing needs.
Then technology changed, and I discovered Apps. Now not only can I listen to music, I can play games, find a place to eat, access Facebook and Gmail and check the weather all at the touch of finger. Plus, now that my Dell is dying a slow and painful death and it takes me the better part of 10-minutes just to get to the welcome screen, I can just power-up my iTouch, wait a couple seconds while finds WiFi and do all my internet searching needs. Plus, having one of these things definitely diminishes my need for a blackberry considering most every place I go has free WiFi anyway.
I always thought I was one of those people who could totally live in the 70s and be perfectly content without cellphones and computers. But that was before my iTouch reached full potential.
People always seem shocked when I drive home to Atlanta by myself for Christmas from Gainesville, FL. Sure, it’s a boring drive with not a sole to talk to, but it never really bothers me. I find it refreshing: just me, the open road and my constant scroll of music.
The upgraded from an iPod Nano to an iTouch makes the 5-hour drive through middle-of-nowhere Georgia much more bearable. The opportunities are endless when you have 16gigs of music and a limitless amount of battery–OK…14 hours, but anywhere I’m going I’ll get there by then. That’s right, the perfect ingredients for an all-out dance party. Unfortunately I’m bound to a couple cubic feet of wiggle room once I lock my 2006 Ford Escape on cruise control, but the energy is just the same.
I have the bad habit of rocking out on these drives. And along with the cheapest places to stop for gas all through Georgia, I’ve come across my absolute favorite songs to sing loudly too with the windows rolled up so no one can hear my screeching.
1. Martina McBride – A Broken Wing
2. Stroke 9 – Washin’ and Wonderin’
3. Carrie Underwood – Last Name
4. John Legend – Green Light
5. Kellie Pickler – Red High Heels
6. Jason Mraz – I’m Yours
7. Corey Smith – If I Could Do It Again
8. The Who – Baba O’Riley
9. Weather Girls – It’s Raining Men
10. Dave Matthews Band – Ants Marching
11. Reba McEntire – Fancy
12. Benjy Davis Project – Louisiana Saturday Night
13. Carrie Underwood – Before He Cheats
I’m really not the biggest fan of country music. It’s not my fault that pissed off Southern chicks come up with the best lyrics to sing loudly.
I’m freaking pumped: we’re less than a week away to finally knowing which team will reign supreme.
The date has been set for years. Both sides are as ready as they’re going to be and have spent months conditioning for the judgement day to end all judgement days. Both are prepared, poised and positioned to take control. They both have equally deserving rights to be at the top, even if I am a bit biased over one side and know quite certain the outcome when Saturday night rolls around.
Saturday?
Yes, Saturday. The score will finally be settled, the decision will be decided, the trash talking will cease—OK, that’s not going to happen—and we can all get on with our lives! It’s the showdown, the finale, the largest “World Largest Cocktail Party” ever!
Oh, you thought I mean’t the election…
Yes, yes Tuesday is important as well. But if you live in Florida or Georgia—hell, if you live anywhere in the South—this game is the only thing on our minds. In the South, football is our religion, and Saturday is our holy day, and this Saturday…this Saturday we stand before those pearly gates and hope to God we’re worthy.
I’ve been to Jacksonville the past three years, and the game has always hit close to home for me–originially being from Atlanta and growing up in a dogpile of Dawg fans. But for some reason this particular game resonates stronger and harder with me. Maybe because for the first time in a long time, this game actually means something in the world of college football. Maybe because this is my last Florida/Georgia game as a University of Florida student. Maybecause there’s a good chance if we don’t win this game, I’m going to be ridiculed and exiled out of my family from all the trash talking we’ve done in the weeks prior.
Whatever the reason, I haven’t worn red all week.
I haven’t died. Just slightly been MIA due to the other trillion things I have going on in my life. It never fails that the one thing I cut out when life happens is the one thing that’s not a mandatory responsibility. My October resolution is to post more. I don’t trust myself to give a specific number, because in all likelihood something will come up, and I’m not going to be able to meet that quota. Hey, I am A-OK with being vague.
Heading back home this weekend for a wedding. The best thing about making that 5-hour trek through Georgia is the constant scroll of music on my iPod. There’s something ridiculously calming about a random shuffle through 10 gigs of music, popping up old favorites you may have missed and new loves you can’t get enough of.
So much for being traditional. Apparently, canvas bags and personalized jewelry are considered outdated as acceptable gifts for the bridal party. It seems that some brides are treating attendants to microdermabasion, Botox, chemical peels, and even going as far as breast augmentation to make sure everyone is as…fresh…as possible for her “special, special day.”
Breast augmentation. Seriously? Seriously!
It’s Botox for You, Dear Bridesmaids
- New York Times, by Abby Ellin
Even if you don’t read the whole article (which I’m not recommending since it’s extremely captivating), you’ve got to hear this one quote that Ellin got from Robyn Bomar, an event planner in Destin, Fla.
“They will never choose Botox over a great dress, but they will say ‘Maybe I’ll have a buffet over a sit-down at the rehearsal dinner,’ ” she said. ‘Or: “I’ll spend the money on Botox rather than lunch.’ ”
Priceless.
I don’t know if this strikes anyone else as off-the-wall or if it’s just so outlandish to me because I’m knee-deep in wedding plans and maid-of-honor duties for my sister (Thank God the wedding is in a week, and it’ll be over). Thankfully we’ve implemented the “No Changing Your Mind Rule” so we’re going to keep that sit-down dinner and bridesmaids’ lunch, thank you very much.
I don’t think I’ve ever won an award. An award that holds some weight at least. C’mon, that perfect attendance award in first grade doesn’t exactly do wonders for my resume.
But holy hell, my waiting has finally paid off, my lack of award-winning is deceased, and I’m set with awards until my future Pulitzer 10+ years down the road.
That Girl! is the first place winner in the 2008 AEJMC Student Magazine Contest for team Start-Up Magazine Project.
In 6 months, a 15-person team of undergraduates developed a prototype that competed with 21 other entries in a nationwide competition against undergrad and graduate universities. And we won. And we beat graduate students from Northwestern University’s Medill journalism school, what I consider one of the top graduate schools for journalism.
I am utterly in shock.
This is what Judge Nick Fauchald, senior associate food editor at Food & Wine, had to say about what set That Girl! apart from the other competition.
From the business plan to the design and editorial content, this magazine successfully identifies and caters to a very specific, very difficult audience: 7- to 12-year-old girls. The students displayed an astonishing handle on their projected readership, and it showed through especially on the playful, actionable design; I especially liked the “Just for You” page of cut-and-save content. The articles are perfectly geared to That Girl!’s young readers, and the advertisements are appropriate and easily distinguishable from editorial. Promotion strategies were innovate, especially the viral marketing and online opportunities.
FYI, he called us astonishing.
Even though it’s not exactly “my” award, I’m claiming 1/4 for myself: splitting 1/4 with the best designer for 7-12-year-old girls Holly Gibbs, another 1/4 with our young girls expert and editor-in-chief Nicole Orr, and the final 1/4 to the rest of our class and our team, the best copy editors we’ve got and the ones who sacrificed an all-day Saturday to make sure the photo shoot ran smoothly.
But all that aside, we wouldn’t have won without our detail-obsessed adviser. At the time we may have hated those do-overs, but it really makes it worth it now. Betty Cortina pushed us to do our best, better than our best. Betty Cortina made us into the magazine staff we are.
You might not be able to look at the actual magazine(some sample pages available at Holly Gibbs web site, but you can get an interactive experience of That Girl. (I still totally get chills when I see our video.)
Next stop, New York City and cover of Forbes 500.
Holy shit we won!!!!
