Whether you're eating a a turkey, turducken, ham or tofurkey, from my family to yours, I wish you a very happy Thanksgiving. Check out this Thanksgiving holiday comic from The Oatmeal. For those of you who think you can come into my kitchen, you're wrong. Get the hell out of here! And in case you don't know where you'll be at 3pm EST on Saturday, November 26th, you should be watching the Iron Bowl on CBS. War eagle!
It's been a while since I talked about my dad on here. My father passed away on April 6, 2007 in the embrace of his family. Today he would have been 65. Always my hero, I'm thankful for what he gave my family and the example he set. It's always a challenge to live up to the standards he set for himself, but I know he's smiling down on all of us today. Well, seeing as how the Cowboys beat the Redskins at home today, he's probably not smiling. Perhaps that's why the clouds rolled in. But I celebrated and remembered him today by going to church. As my Foursquare check-in reminded me today, it's been since six months since I last went to mass. Seeing as how today was the last Sunday in ordinary time, and also the last Sunday running on the "old" Roman Missal, I could almost hear him saying "have fun with that."
Dad, I love and miss you. Happy birthday.
On any given day if you were to ask me my favorite month I would probably tell you October. I'm a fall baby who always loved the color and crispness of an October afternoon. I love the way a gentle breeze tangos with my hair as the scent of a distant fireplace begs for a reprieve and a warm cider. Spring's renewal can't take hold without the ritual autumnal slumber. And in between comes January. This month of rebirth was given its status by papal decree in the 16th century, named for Janus, the Roman god of gates (or beginnings and endings). This January marks the end of the first decade of the third millennium of the common era; a time of great upheaval in my life. In the last ten years I've made a lot of money and I have lost a lot of money. I've moved from DC to NY to San Francisco to DC to NY and back to DC, with some short-term international moves thrown in there for good measure. I've started new companies and closed them down. I've known loss on a scale most could not imagine. But in this perdition I have known the generosity of friends to an extent so profound that they may never know how truly appreciative I am for their support.
Over the last several years, the size of my family shrunk greatly, but those of us who remain are forging tighter bonds. I just returned from a long trip to Seattle to visit my aunt, and cousins where I was able do do something I haven't done since before the start of the last decade: I played in the snow with the reckless abandon of a 10-year-old. Bumps and bruises be damned! Even on the short icy hills of Leavenworth, I let go of my formal persona to pursue unadulterated bliss. As an almost-30-year-old though, the bumps were harder and the bruises were bigger than 20 years ago.
On the third day of my trip, we went to a tubing hill near "downtown" Leavenworth. Few things in life compare to the exhilaration of a speedy decent down a snow-covered mountain in a rubber tube. Near the main hill, there were several people scooting down an unofficially-sanctioned icy shoot forged from the repeated slide of smooth bums and nervous feet. (The owners wouldn't let us use our own sleds on their property.) Ever-wary of my lack of health insurance, I was careful not to deliberately put myself in a position of peril. However, three times a pretty young girl (about 16 or 17) seemed to "accidentally" nearly crash into me at the bottom of the hill. Her timing became increasingly suspect by the third go 'round, but I thankfully avoided undue awkwardness each time. How fruitless her endeavors at spontaneous love were, not even because I am twice her age. But this affection provided a healthy and needed boost to my ego. Maybe it's this Zac Efron-esque thing I have going on with my hair now. Who knows?
My snow adventures were all the more spectacular because I was creating memories with my family that will last a lifetime. I have long preferred to ring in the new year quietly with family, and although this year wasn't as quiet as I had imagined--what with the fierce game of Phase 10 happening in the living room—I spent it with my family and a diverse group of crazy canines.
I carry with me the souvenir of friendship and love into this new year as I embark on my next great adventure. Ever the optimist, I know 2010 has great things in store for us all. Just don't forget to stop and play in the snow.
Let me start out by saying Taqueria el Farolito is more than a restaurant for me, it's a way of life. Simple fresh ingredients, a warm smile, and substance over style. The menu above the counter looks in places like a cross-eyed high-schooler placed the words on the board, adding to the decidedly anti-corporate/anti-interior designer atmosphere. Thankfully there isn't a bad item on the menu, although I'm religiously partial to the Super Burrito with carne asada.
The Backstory: In 2000 I lived and worked in the Mission, a byproduct of the tech boom that was transforming the neighborhood (Hindsight's 20/20: in some ways for the worse). When I left San Francisco, I returned to Washington DC and it's premiere burrito palace, California Tortilla, but stomach ached for it's separated love. (Although I've always held a place in my heart for CT, it has never been able to fill the void left in my stomach's heart.)
Fast forward 8 years and the prodigal son returned to 24th and Mission, luggage in tow. And this time I brought my brother, ever the burrito skeptic. As my friends can see in video and images on Facebook, we both bowed down to the burrito gods in the promised land.
I've seen paradise; perhaps this is my penance for continuing to patronize McPotle. Now I'm relegated to gloomy Washington DC and the saturated landscape of inauthentic "burrito" purveyors.
Taqueria el Farolito is so good that I would consider making a day-trip just to have a burrito. Crack is whack. Taqueria el Farolito is the bomb-diggity.
Now watch me eat this burrito: