I love NY(er)

The Halfstreet has a love/hate relationship with the New Yorker. Like, the magazine, not Rudy Giuliani. My grandmother always read the New Yorker, and when later on in life she was considering cancelling her subscription for financial reasons I did what any good granddaughter would do. I signed her up for a million year subscription. Of course I totally overlooked the fact that this would mean she’d have to live to be one million and ninety two to get the full enjoyment of it. So when she died 1 and half years into her million, my mother transferred the subscription to me.
At the time I thought ‘Cool! I always wanted to be a person that read the New Yorker.’ Note my phrasing there….I didn’t actually want to READ the New Yorker, so much as be a person who did. This goes along with all my ideas of what adult life is like. Adults read magazines that have more words than pictures (damn, that rules out US). This is much like when I decided I wanted to be a person who read the Economist. To further this goal, I tested the waters by finding a friend who actually received the Economist and tried reading it. Damn. Have you read that stuff? The “interesting article” to “mind numbingly boring article” ratio is completely out of whack. My experiment led to great doubt that ANYone actually read the Economist. I think they just buy it and leave it on their coffee table so people will think they are the type of person who reads the Economist, knowing full well that no one will have actually tried to read it, thereby reducing the chances that their cover will be blown when someone wants to discuss the macroeconomic disarray that Pakistan currently finds itself in. (I’m pretty sure I’m going to get lit up by one of my smarty-pants Rice friends for this assumption. Someone who most likely not only reads the Economist, but highlights passages for further consideration. So be it. You're a better person than me.)
Anyways this brings us back to the New Yorker (not really, but I was done with Economist). So several years ago I started receiving it. The thing about a weekly magazine is that it comes, well, weekly. This isn’t an issue when the most thought provoking section of the magazine is how stars (insert totally mundane task of choice) JUST LIKE US! (seriously, if I were famous, I would pay someone to pump my gas, but that's neither here nor there) But with the New Yorker this has been a problem. I actually enjoy reading the articles but there are just so damn many of them, its impossible to keep up! I don’t want to throw them away because you never know when you’ll find a gem (most practical advice ever read in the New Yorker: when on a long car trip by yourself, roll your hair up in the window so that if you fall asleep the sensation of having your hair yanked out at the root will wake you immediately) This backlog of magazines has proven to be a constant source of anger between the HSH and I. We have stacks of New Yorkers laying around the house, that I’m still trying to get to. On the one side, I don’t want to throw them away because you never know when you’ll find a fascinating article on how baseball jock Lenny Dykstra has started a company that gives financial advice to professional athletes, or on the latest research on hangover cures ("if you have bed spins, sleep with one foot on the floor")* or Ian Frazier's experiences teaching a writers workshop in a New York soup kitchen or any multitude of other interesting topics. On the other side the HSH wants to throw them away, because he’s tired of having to remember to remove them from the stove before he preheats it to cook his pizza.** So far, these are the struggles of married life.

*Yes these words were really printed in the New Yorker.
**I don’t really store them in the stove Mom, that would be dangerous.

Adult Life

I got my first taste of ‘adult life’ when I was a teenager working on Capital Hill for parts of the summer. I would catch the metro into town, read on my commute (or more often just people watch with my sunglasses on, a not-so-sneaky trick I leaved from my mom), work at my tasks all day long, maybe have a lunch appointment etc. I pretty much thought I was the coolest thing around. I fantasized that one day, my life would be like this all the time. Only, I’d spend my weekends doing grown up things. Seeing plays and going to museums. Enjoying nice weather in public parks, perhaps playing Frisbee or catch with some happy hour friends, while we ate out of our picnic basket. Having those same friends over to my super cool downtown loft for dinner parties. You know. Adult things. I couldn’t wait to be done with boring old school, so that I could dole out my time as I saw fit, as opposed to how it was dictated to me by an ever evolving cast of characters: parents, teachers, professors. Oh, the naiveté of youth.

Turns out, “adult things” aren’t quite as fun as I thought they would be. Total adult let down number 1: I don’t work downtown There is something about belonging amongst those big buildings, walking with a purpose headed off to an important meeting, lunch, the bathroom, whatever. It makes you feel like a real grown up. Only I don’t get to do that. Instead I get to head off to a nondescript building in the ‘border burbs’ (not in the city, but not even in the real suburbs yet) that is flanked on one side by a Wal-Mart, and the other by a Babies r’ Us. Oh and those ‘tasks’ I once romanticized? Not as much fun when it’s a day-in, day-out reality as opposed to a 2 month hiatus from school.

It’s true my weekends are more fun now than they used to be. Of course, you don’t exactly get 100% of your time to yourself, now do you? No mom to do the laundry, replace your empty shampoo bottles, figure out what's for dinner. You know. Adult things. Turns out these things go hand in hand with those great picnic dinners in the park. At least I manage to fit in more than my fair share of happy hours, even if they are at bars as opposed to parks (turns out summer is too damn hot to do stupid things like stand in the sun and play an impromptu game of catch). This past weekend though I did do something that felt uniquely adult, or would have seemed so to my 15 year old self. On Saturday, Rice 2029 and I headed up to Porter Texas to go blueberry picking, pretty much on a whim. (Kid Me used to think the coolest part about being an adult would be making random plans and not having to get them ok’d by someone else.) We dressed smartly, researched what was in store for us, heck, we even had a wagon! I felt very adult as I asked the man in charge for pointers, and headed out into the blueberry orchard for our own little piece of blue gold. It was much harder work than I anticipated (me underestimate? Shocker.) but a good time was still had by all. I felt super duper adult when asked what I did this weekend, and replied nonchalantly ‘oh, went blueberry picking’ as if I always spend my time doing such industrious things. Some things never change though. When we got home, I took a nap.

Me with our bounty

Our official taste tester

Mamma Vaughan getting after those hard to reach ones.

National's Park: Check (Alt. Title: Everyone Loves The MDP*)

After attending a game at Fenway Park last year, the HSH and I agreed we would make it a life-long quest to see a game at every MLB park. Of course, what with the economics of baseball these days, this is an ever changing list. As long as owners hold cities hostage for new stadiums, the hubby and I will have vacations to take. With this in mind, we try to piggyback these ballparks onto as many other vacations as possible. We are nothing if not efficient here at the Halfstreet.
So while we were in the greater DC metropolitan area (much greater) over Memorial Day weekend, we drove up to catch a game at the newly minted Nationals Park. As an extra special bonus, WBC joined us. (See? Efficient.) Remarkably, this year's leg of the tour will take us to both a first season in a park (Nationals) and a last (Yankees).
Enjoy!

They do a Presidents race at each game. These big headed dead Presidents race around the park. It's things like this that make each game so cool, regardless of who is playing. Here you see the OG. (original George).

The Halfstreet at the ballpark.

Great seats procured by the HSH.

Old Friends.

New Friends.

*MDP=Mid Day Post

Just Plain Lazy

Sorry I've been MIA lately. It's not that I've been busy, just lazy. (hey, at least I'm honest!) But now NK is back from her honeymoon, and it made me realize just how I've terrible I've been. After all, a girl deserves to see pictures from her own darn wedding. Can I get an Amen?!

So without further delay, here are some of the many pictures from the beautiful Carter wedding in Lex-vegas. Accompanied by some commentary. If you desire to see the entire album, and your name is not both Kwon and Carter (wow, that's got to narrow it down) leave a message in the comments and I will email them out to you. The bride gets them automatically, natch. What can I say? Membership has it's privileges.

Picture this group in seer sucker, and you pretty much have Friday night, from what I understand.
HSH with our favorite cardiologist. Or cardiologist in training. Seriously, do you know how long they make these guys go to school?

The Bride and Groom. Not sure why THC has the flowers, but he owns that look.

Me and the bride.

Apparently on every other night of the year, this is a dining hall. If I hadn't known, I wouldn't have known. Beautimous.

Look at the perfect swooooosh on that dress!

NK singing with the band, while her happy hubby looks on. I'm guessing there will be a lot of this in his future.

The traditional tea ceremony portion of the evening. This was a highlight for me. Their families took turns throwing dates and figs at them, and the number they caught relates to how many children they have. If this is true, you guys better get started lickety-split.

On a serious note, the wedding was beautiful and the HSH and I had a really fabulous time celebrating with the couple and their family and friends. We were honored to be there guys!

Hot Stuff!

The amazing people (and by "people" I mean the brother sister duo of Tiffany and Nate) at Nathaniel Edmunds Photography have put together a fabulous collection of photos in what has to be record time. For the faint of heart, there is their blog which highlights some favorites (see here). For the truly motivated, you can see the whole shebang here. If you were there, and dancing to Pour Some Sugar on Me, or Apple Bottom Jeans I suggest you check out numbers 871-888.

5 Random Things: The Wedding Edition

I was “tagged” by the Barron of Blog to tell 5 random things about myself. So in the spirit of wedding recap, I figured I’d go with a wedding theme.

1. I will spend my entire life with a last name that ends in “z”. And yet, I can never remember what the proper plural form is.
2. It took the combined efforts, over the course of 4 days, of my mom, dad, Shannon’s mom, my sister in law, and me to make and package the 300 chocolate turtles that served as the wedding favor. It took roughly 3 hours for them all to disappear.
3. The HSH and I took two dancing lessons in preparation for our first dance. Then preceded to not practice at all, chuck out everything we’d learned, and “waddle” our way around the dance floor (as the HSH wanted to do from the beginning). Rumor is I led the whole time.
4. When I got to the end of the aisle, the HSH whispered to me that I was shaking, and that it was cute that I was so nervous. It wasn’t until after the ceremony I had the chance to tell him that it wasn’t nerves that caused me to quiver. Rather it was because my bouquet weighed roughly the equivalent of a Toyota Prius, and unlike NK I hadn’t prepared with the requisite arm exercises.
5. I did some nerve damage to my feet that night in those stupid “if you buy 3 inch heels we won’t have to hem the dress” shoes. I didn’t regain feeling in the 3 smallest toes on my right foot until yesterday.

In turn, I tag the Bride-to-Be over at This Party Sucks, Mama Vaughan at Rice Owl 2029, JRK of Houston Ruckus, and the Norfolk Martinez’(s?). You’re collectively “It”.

As an extra bonus: Here is little LCB doing her best impersonation of her Texas friends.

Postcards From Belize