Open your Eyes

As previously mentioned, I quite enjoy riding the Subway into the city.  Besides the occasional fear that I'm riding in a potential terrorist and/or germ death trap, I love it.  There is a series of really awesome murals you get to view on your commute in and I get to feel all warm and fuzzy inside for being green and using public transportation.  Occasionally I meet new people.  One day I chatted it up with a giant black man who was reading Eragon about our favorite young adult novels.  Yesterday, I met Chantelle.

She came on the train with her Mom and sat directly across from me.  For some reason when I see kids, I can't help making funny faces at them.  They always respond more positively than adults.  And more often than not, they respond with another funny face or a big smile.  Even the babies.  I encourage you to repeat this experiment for your own verification and delight.  Chantelle responded with puffed out lips and a furrowed brow.  The next thing I usually do is copy their face.  Most children just smile after that, not Chantelle--she pulled her eyebrows up REALLY high and made her eyes really big.  I copied her.  Then it was eyebrows back down.  I followed.  Back and forth across the aisle we performed our face dance.  Then she laughed loud and clear, the unabashed laughter of youth.  Her laughter was like light, pealing through the train car and either annoying or bringing joy to the fellow commuters on their way home.  Hopefully joy--the older lady she sat next to smiled genuinely at our interchange.  Then she started asking me questions.

"Where do you live?" she inquired.   "Chantelle!" her mother tried to get her to leave me alone.

"Lansdowne" I responded.

"Where do you work?" she ignored her mother.  "Chantelle!  Don't be asking the nice lady questions."

"I work in the city" I smiled back.  I probably shouldn't have encouraged her.

"You're funny" she told me.

"You're cute" I told her.  "Thank you" said the Mother kindly.  And with that we came to a stop (but not before I got some pictures of the little cutie), the masses filing out and taking their weary bodies home, mine a little less weary from the encounter.  Have a good life Chantelle, I hope to see you and your funny faces again someday.

Hurrah for Outings

Last weekend Ben and I visited Terrain--oh boy what a treat.  Owned by the same group that gave the world Anthropologie, Terrain is like Anthro's hip aunt that moved to the country to get out of that dreadful city, but brought along her vintage inspired lifestyle.  And she gardens.  I found out about it actually from a New York blogger--I looked it up because she mentioned it was in Pennsylvania and boy-howdy it was 25 minutes up the road from me!  So, outting it was.

After a few weeks of drooling over the website and its obscenely priced vintageness, I decided I REALLY wanted this.  I've been working up various decorating scenarios for our dining room, which right now has our barn stars in it.  I really DON'T want to go Americana and I had this GREAT idea that included moss, but Ben hates fake moss.  I don't know where this loathing for lichen stems from, whether a traumatic childhood encounter with a pond or its current fad in the decorating world (probably the former), but it was back to the drawing board.  So then I found this sign, which includes my love for typography and it goes with the stars, and I imagined a vintage barn theme going on, sans moss.  He also exnayed dried lavender bunches.  "The smell will interfere with the taste of our food!" he says.  Talk about creative parameters.

So we made the drive out to Terrain, beautiful fall weather decorating the trees and a slight chill in the air.  Just behind an upscale strip mall there she was.  It was just before closing, the sun was setting, and I felt like I was entering an autumn Narnia--transported to a magical, overpriced place (not to be confused with Disneyland).  I took photos by the Mums, my new favorite flower (those hearty Mums!) and we dreamed about our beautiful farm house we will live in someday with distressed concrete counters and wide hallways for grandchildren to run through.  It was a fun time indeed.

Except for the sign.  After a lot of hunting and a little helping by a store clerk we located the reclaimed tractor letters.  And they were about a 4th the size I thought them to be from the image online.  No wonder they were closer to being reasonably priced!  So we left, empty handed but not empty hearted.  We will see you again Terrain, perhaps in the spring.

And yes, I got an iPhone.  And a hipstercam app--so now my life looks 10% more awesome.  

The End of an Era

Yesterday I finished watching my latest recent Netflix obsession: Wings.  Set in an early 90s Nantucket airport, this motley crew stole my heart.

I loved watching this show.  It was a simpler time: a time before internet, a time before cell phones smaller than a brick, a time before TSA strip searches.  Apparently not a time before Moammar Gadhafi--see Season 3 Episode 17.  I almost peed my pants over that one.  

Anyway, the cast was great, the writing was hilarious, and for the most part it was pretty clean (I definitely got a lot more sexual references then I did watching it as a 9 year old with my Dad in the family room--but then again, my Dad is a chronic channel flipper and I don't think I ever watched more than 7.5 seconds of anything.  ADHD anyone?)  The saddest episode though was the one where Lowell had to go into witness protection and was actually leaving the show (Lowell was my favorite--if I ever see Thomas Hayden Church in real life I will scream, run up to him, and say "Lowell!  You're Lowell!"  and not "Hey you were the Sandman!" ...but that's another story).  Even sadder still was that after a little internet hunting, Church was actually leaving the show to star in his own sitcom called "Ned and Stacey" opposite Debra Messing (of Will and Grace).  I watched a few clips on YouTube.  I'm surprised it lasted two seasons.  I'm surprised Church didn't slip into an alcoholic downward spiral, finding himself frequently at the local pub blubbering something about how he should've listened to Tim Daly.  Tim Daly and his amazing chin line.  I mean, look at that chin:

You know who else has a great chin?  And better glasses?

Don't be hatin' ladies.  It's funny though, I was never into chins--just glasses.  I was always a glasses girl.

Another sad part about finishing up Wings was that due to poor observation on my part and poor coding on Netflix's part, I THOUGHT there was one more episode.  I went to click next episode and there WASN'T one.  There just wasn't.  And of course the show ended with a big finale with Joe and Helen leaving to Vienna for a year and Brian taking over Sandpiper Air...what was a girl to do???  To get my Wings fix I resorted to hunting down the episode of Monk (which I never got into because, let's face it, Psych is funnier) where Tim Daly makes a guest appearance.  This is funny, because Tony Shalhoub played the defeatist taxi driver Antonio Scarpacci on Wings.  In the episode (Season 1 Episode 13) Monk has to get on an airplane or otherwise be left alone without his nurse.  We follow Monk through the airport, watching him have near panic attacks as he is cleared at each security stage...which honestly these days, could give anybody a panic attack.  I was just glad he didn't have to have a hands on search.  That show is more stressful than funny for me.  Then Monk gets to the gate, the last stop before boarding the dreaded plane, where he has an interchange with the ticket agent.  

Stop.  Freeze.  I know this face.  And that's when it hits me...about the same time that I realize I need to watch less Netflix--the Christmas episode in Season 8 of Wings: the Nun!  Antonio (Tony Shalhoub) spends the whole episode driving around a nun who came to the island after she had a dream that she needed to save someone--those someone(s) ended up being Helen, Casey, and Fae who got stuck in the basement of the department store but I won't ruin the episode for you.  Anyway, here she is:

In this scene Antonio was quizzing her on the Apostles because he didn't believe she was really a Nun.  This shot is after he asked her which one was the cutest apostle (Paul).  So who is this lady really?  A little hunting on IMDB (surprisingly I found her through the Wings episode, NOT the Monk episode) turns up a Brooke Adams...an actress and WIFE of Tony Shalhoub.  Is that jealousy I now sense in the face of Antonio pictured above?  She has made appearances in 5 episodes of Monk and was in Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1978).  She also turned down an offer to be one of the original Charlies Angels.  You learn things on IMDB.  

Here is a picture of the happy couple:

And with that, I should probably go get a life.  Although I will close with this: I have a family friend who recently got into The Waltons.  I'm assuming this happened through Netflix, but in the few weeks I was visiting home she mentioned the show a few (hundred) times.  Last I saw on facebook she had gone to a conference or event where she met some of the cast.  Laugh if you must but I can now understand.  And you know what?  I bet she made there day: a girl in her early 20s, who wasn't even BORN when the show was running and now she is a huge fan.  Thank you Netflix for reviving the paychecks of yesterday's silver screen.  And if there is ever a cast reunion of Wings anywhere on the eastern seaboard, I will be there.  I will be there.  

P.S.  A shoutout to Meg Morely Walter of I Should Be Deserving to be to Mars as my first follower.  An honor, really.  Her blog is hilarious.  And another shoutout to Missy for making the first comment!  Here is a link to HER blog, also awesome (I found some cloth flower tutorials that changed my life).  Sorry these weren't big enough deals to mention in separate posts.  Deal with it.

Reaching a New Level

Yesterday I got an iPhone.  The clerk unwrapped the cellophane from its shiny body, handed it to me, and shook my hand, a silent congratulation on my new upgrade.  The whole thing felt a little something like this:

Yew Nork, Yew Nork

So last weekend the Ben and I went to the Big Apple.  It was pretty rad being able to drive an hour and then just BE THERE.  I've been a couple of times before but it was a much more lengthy involvement of time and money.  And then the most AMAZING and wondrous thing happened...

We found FREE parking in Manhattan.  Right by Central Park.

I had done the research and finding free parking was the best deal (obviously) but it was highly unlikely and none of the sites told us EXACTLY where to find this free parking.  Our first goal was to find a cheap lot in Jersey and then ride the subway in, but the subway doesn't ride to Jersey, only the train, and that's timely and expensive.  So then we were armed with Apps that would tell us the cheapest parking garages in town.  And then Ben called his co-worker that lives there and HE told us the secret.  Will I tell you??  Nope.  Why?  Because we plan on going back.

Anyway, I was so excited I double checked with the people getting into their car near us that this was, in fact, a free parking spot and that my calculations and derivations were correct.  That we were fifteen feet away from a hydrant and there was no secret sign hiding in the tree that said there is only parking allowed here between 6:13 and 6:15am and only with a permit and then in really fine print it says and only if you are a REAL New Yorker and that the stars had aligned and a portal opened up on 109th street (whoops) and we had free parking.  It really happened.  Which is good, because it already costs like 12 bucks just to get through the Lincoln Tunnel.  Sheesh.

Then we got some REALLY good hot pastrami at this hungarian bakery a few blocks away.  The sun was shining and the grass was green and there was a really good quote from Van Gogh across the street that made me feel all deep inside.  And the weather was PERFECT.  The first time I went to New York it was really really really hot and muggy.  The second time it was super cold and there was a freak snow storm.  Saturday made me understand why all those New York blogs talk so romantically about the place.  Good weather does that for me.

Oh yeah, but BEFORE the hot pastrami I of course went to the bathroom.  Going to the bathroom is always the first order of business for me.  Always.  Ben is very, very patient with this.  His first nickname for me was "Walnut bladder."  After the elation of finding our free parking and resisting the romantic lure of Central Park, we went off in search of urinary relief.  Ben headed for the subway station.  "Where are you going?" I asked, wondering if he actually FORGOT we were in need of toilet (I say we, but it's pretty much always me).  He replied, "I figured there would be a bathroom in there."  Now, despite the fact that I'm a germaphobe, anytime there is a battle between going weewee and going in a non hygenic bathroom (which is anywhere that's not Home, Nordstroms, or BYU Campus) the fight to relieve myself always wins--EXCEPT for Subways.  I have traveled on Subways in almost every major city in the US and Europe and I have peed at almost every location I have ever traveled, but I have NEVER gone in a Subway stop bathroom.  Never.  Even if I feel like this:

I didn't blame Ben for not knowing, this was his first time with me on a Subway traveling day.  This was his first time on a Subway period.  Despite my issues with subway bathrooms, I LOVE subways.  I think they are the BEST mode of travel.

Anyway, we moseyed over to our nearest hot dog vendor and asked him where we might find a commode.  He pointed in a direction and said something we were too polite to ask to be repeated.  We just started heading in the direction of his finger and deduced that the gas station was probably what he was pointing at.  I went inside.  After being shepherded into a line by a nice man who was letting every person that walked in go in front of him (and I don't think he worked there), I waited my turn.  The window to my right opened up.  I asked the man "Do I need to buy anything to use the bathroom?"  Because I have peed in a lot of places, I know this is a common practice.  "Yes, $100 dollars to use the bathroom."  Although my FIRST instinct was to believe him, because I am as gullible as they come and hey, this is New York and they probably COULD get away with it, I cracked a smile instead.  Now the ball was in his court.  "Nooooo" he said sheepishly, "you don't have to buy anything to use the bathroom.  Here is the key, bathroom is in back."  I hate the key.  It's usually tied to something HUGE and I just think about how it has probably NEVER been sanitized, but again, the urge to relieve always wins.

I headed toward the back, or side rather, of the gas station and found the bathroom.  There were taxi drivers standing around.  I asked if the bathroom was in use.  The shorter one said in broken english "Ya, I go next, then he go (pointing to his comrade), then YOU go."  "Come on man" said the other, "Leet her go."  "No man," he replied, "I gotta go."  I was in the midst of figuring out how they were even in LINE for the bathroom when they didn't have the key, because I had the key and calculating how long I would possibly have to hold it when another man came out from the store, I assume, because he pointed at me and curled his finger in a very commanding way.  I followed him (probably not a good practice, but it was daylight and Ben was right there) and he lead us to the garage where he unlocked ANOTHER bathroom for us to use.  He took the key from me and then went back into the store.  Again I assume this, I never actually saw from whence he came or to where he went, but he was my own little bathroom guardian angel! Free parking and my own bathroom guardian angel???  This was going to be a good day.

The main reason we were there in New York was actually to go to the Temple.  My favorite part about going to the Temple is how when I'm inside, my body exhales just a little more.  I think I'm relaxed and then I go to the Temple and realize I was carrying around a little more stress with me than I realized.  Everybody probably needs a little more worship and meditation in their lives than they realize.  I find it at the Temple.

After we left the temple we visited Times Square, Rockefeller Center (where I secretly hoped to run into Tina Fey), SoHo (where I secretly hoped to run into Nat the Fat Rat), and #Wall Street.  Good times.

And then I came home and found out my friend has cancer.  Not good times.  His blog is here.  Prayers are welcome.

Things I've learned from the City

I've been here in Philly for about a month now and boy am I learning a LOT.  I try to observe my fellow students of life so that I can know the ways of the city.  So far, here are some things I've learned:

1. If you are a pedestrian crossing the street, and a car pulls into the pedestrian lane in an attempt to make a right turn thus blocking your way, it is OKAY to stand in the road and lecture them at a loud volume for 45 seconds and make them back up and out of your way.
2. If you are driving on Chestnut, you should NOT drive in the lanes closest to the sidewalks because in the city it is OKAY to put your hazards lights on and turn the driving lane into a parking lane by stopping and getting out of your car.
3. On the bus, it is NOT okay to stare at other people, even if they have grass shavings stuck to their head.
4. If you are walking in the city you should NOT look down at the sidewalk, because a biker may be heading your direction and may not see you.
5. In the city, it is OKAY to ride your bike on the sidewalk, even though this is illegal.
6. In the city, if you feel a drop of something wet you HOPE that it is in fact, water.
7. If you do NOT have cash and you do NOT have tokens, you canNOT ride the subway.  Even if you say "please."
8. It is NOT okay to wave or say 'hi' to strangers.  They think this is weird.
9. "Water Ice" is said as one word and apparently is NOT redundant, but something different and distinct from water AND ice.
10. There is no sales tax on clothes!  Superfjdaklawesomejfkdlalfmagnificentalicious!

I feel like I'm growing so much as a person!  This may be a continuing series.

In other news, Justin Bieber is a lawyer???  He IS a talented young man.

City Love

I really love going into the city.  Philadelphia has a certain charm about it.  I've been to New York and Boston and DC, all of which I adore, but I am really excited to be here in the city of brotherly love.  I have a long but very scenic commute to my internship, part of which includes an 8 block stretch of walking through the city that I really enjoy twice a day.  We'll see how I feel about it come winter, but right now, it's fantastic.  I love watching the people: businessmen and bums, moms and madmen, jesus freaks and jews.  There are also lots of students.


It's such a cacophony of people, and there I am in the middle of it, taking in the sights and sounds.  I hope I never stop feeling like a tourist in this city, hungry for the next adventure: being serenaded by a bagpiper, finding a great consignment shop, or marveling at Independence Hall and how what happened there has impacted my life.  


Of course there are also the germs.  After I was a missionary, I contracted a bit of germophobia.  And cities are dirty.  I also hate getting sick.  If anyone reading this can relate, you might enjoy the following story.


Yesterday after getting dropped off at the Subway station, fumbling with my cash (cities require a lot of cash...like, the actual green stuff) and getting my subway tokens, I ventured onto the train.  I sat down, priding myself on finding one of the solo seats, allowing a commute free of the awkwardness that accompanies sittingveryclose to the stranger next to you and not talking.  


The train rumbled forward as I settled down...and then I heard it.  A light sniffle.  I glanced at the woman across from me, hunched forward and wearing a mismatched array of woven textiles.  Something a cross between a homeless woman and a professor of women's liberal studies.  Clutched in her clammy hand was a damp tissue.  Then a cough.  Oh no, I thought to myself, she's siiiick.  This is bad...this is very, very bad.  Now now Megan, don't judge, she could just have allergies...really. bad. allergies.  The woman pulls out a travel tin of Vick's vapor rub and swipes at her nose.  Then she blows it.  A tentative rub at her forehead, I push myself against the seat trying to get as far away from the woman as possible without looking rude.  We stop at the next subway station and a new crowd of people angle on.  A woman passes by her and stands in the aisle.  The ill woman looks up and, pushing her glasses back on, says "You cad sid here, bud I havd a cold."  I am incensed.  She IS sick, I think to myself, what is she doing on the train??  There are signs CLEARLY STATING that if you are ill that you should stay home.  This is uncalled for.  All I can do at this point is pray that her and her germs get off soon.  Five stops later she exits and I exhale.  I stare at her empty seat and watch as some hopeless traveler fills it.  The girl who is clearly too old for a koala backpack has no idea the harms that could befall her if her immune system hasn't been properly exercised until now.  May she be a seasoned city dweller.  Live on fellow comrade, live on. 

Fey the Love

So, I adore Tina Fey.  I love pretty much anything she writes.  And almost anything she stars in (see Date Night...or don't, rather).  I think she's hilarious, and for a very long time, I very much identified with her character on 30 Rock.

Cut to my recent move to Philly.  Or more accurately, a borough just outside Philadelphia.  I was at my internship, chatting with the other interns while organizing fabric samples, when I learn that one of the other interns grew up in the borough next to me--and both being fairly small, they are practically the same town.  Upon this discovery, she mentions that she went to Upper Darby high school.  "Oh that's cool" I say, "I live right down the road from Upper Darby High."  "Did you know that Tina Fey went to Upper Darby high school?" she says, like it's NO BIG DEAL.  "Whaaaat???"  I says.  "It's true" she says.  And it is:


Fey attended Cardington Elementary School and Beverly Hills Middle School in Upper Darby. By middle school, she knew she was interested in comedy, even doing an independent-study project on the subject in eighth grade. Fey attended Upper Darby High School, where she was an honor student, a member of the choir, drama club, and tennis team, and co-editor of the school's newspaper.  (Information provided by NNHit).

Where before I was a mere fan, now I am borderline obsessed.  Here, in my small neck of the woods, is the birthplace of comedic greatdom.  I remember the first time I passed Beverly Hills Middle School and I thought: This is NOT Beverly Hills.  Little did I know...little did I know (even though Fey actually lives and writes in New York, she is in show business--herego, she is inevitably tied to Beverly Hills).  After some very unproductive internet stalking, I unsuccessfully find her childhood home.  I find a Donald Fey listed on whitepages.com but am not willing to pay $39.95 to get his address and information.  My husband has silently endured my aw everytime we pass UD High.  "Yup" he says after I mention for the umpteenth time that "Look!  That's where Tina Fey went to High School."  This folks, is love.  I know I have a problem, and I'm working to overcome it.  But what I wouldn't give to see the front yard where that horrible attack on her face happened.  To meet her teachers and hear of her nerdom that made her what she is today.  What I wouldn't give.  


Apparently some of her classmates are now teachers at Upper Darby High School.  I was told, by my intern friend, that her gym teacher was classmates with her and that Fey wrote the character of Gretchen Weiners after her.  "And she's a gym teacher now?"  I asked.  This did not seem like the inspiration for the fictional daughter of the inventor of Toaster Strudel.  "Well yeah, kinda, she's jewish and was really popular but then she got in an accident and it disfigured her face..." she trails off.  And now she's a gym teacher.  And that made me wonder...


One day I was walking with Hubster (I was showing him the WOODS I found near our house...) and we were passed by a very loud bus.  On the back of the bus was a very large picture of Tina Fey as part of an advertising campaign for 30 Rock being rerun on our local cable channel Phl17.  This bus runs RIGHT by Upper Darby high school.  I wondered, as her glasses clad face rolled away, of what her classmates think of her now.  Do they resent her?  Are they happy for her?  Do they even care?


There is an episode of 30 Rock where Liz goes back to her High School reunion with Jack (who ends up being mistaken for one of her classmates and decides to go along with it, giving the hilarious line: "Rich 50 is middle class 38" in response to Tina's exasperation in the disparity of their ages).  Anyway, Liz is resentfully attending because she believed herself to be the typical she'sallthat/neverbeenkissed/highschoolnerdcinderella story where everybody mistreated her because she was a dork and then later became successful.  Then it turns out that everybody hated her because she said super mean and sarcastic things because she THOUGHT they were being mean to her.  It's a pretty hilarious typical 30 Rock turn on situational irony and nostalgia for those of us who were also huge nerds in high school.  Ahem. 


Anyway, if this part of 30 Rock was in fact, autobiographical, like SOME of her writing is.  Then I would feel really bad for her classmates who have to see her semi-scarred face every time they make their morning commute, or head into the city, or ride the subway.  It's a really big ad campaign.  

After the Before, Before the After

As I've stated before, I LOVE our apartment.  We really got a steal.  I also love decorating our apartment and relishing in my current passion of interior design.  I really have my husband to thank for this.  When we got our first apartment, Ben had BIG dreams about PAINTING and INSTALLING things...and for one who had just spent the better part of the last five years in apartments where you can't even put so much as a TACK in the wall (not that this stopped me...) this was a bit overwhelming.  And then there's the money part--there's always the money part--but it was my HUSBAND who helped me see the value in making a house not just into a home, but into a really beautiful home that you are excited to live in and come home to everyday and cook in and clean in and cuddle in.  So we painted and installed and Ben let me decorate (with plenty of great ideas of his own) and I just LOVED our first little apartment.  It's amazing how much a beautifully or fun decorated apartment improves the quality of your life.  If you would like to see pictures, you can click here.  One regret from the first apartment experience was that I did NOT take before pictures.  And boy was it a dramatic change with the paint job and all.  So to rectify that, even though we are not painting, I promised myself I would take before pictures.  Of course I didn't want to just take pictures of an empty apartment...so I waited, but then I started putting pictures up and we bought a kitchen island and I realized the apartment was no longer in the before stage...hence the title.  Enjoy.

Yes, that is my husband washing dishes.  This photo is not posed.  I am one lucky chica.