Thursday, October 30, 2008

Cyn. Guess where I am not.

Well. The company giveth, and the company taketh away. And while I have thoroughly enjoyed having an office, it will be takethed away next week, as we consolidate floors and I go back to rocking a cubicle. I am glad now that I didn't brag about my office to everyone I know, or do something stupid like post pictures on my blog. Oh wait.

We are not going to talk about the salary freeze, because I will lapse into a suffocating despair. Oops, too late.

Monday, October 27, 2008

Dishes for every day of the year.

I went to my grandma's this weekend to help out my mom a bit with her ongoing packing efforts, now that Grandma has (relatively happily) moved to an assisted living home. (Which we love, by the way; it's very nice and doesn't smell bad and her apartment is bigger than mine.) It was a little overwhelming. Grandma has a lot of stuff. A lot. Most of it unnecessary. Example: The woman does not drink, yet I packed at least five different sets of cordial glasses. In fact, I mostly packed dishes all day. Sooooo many dishes.

I don't really have time right now to delve into the deeper things about the visit- how it was sad but still a relief, how the house was clearly getting away from her, how I think that the farm is the root of everything sane and practical in my life and I'm going to have a hard time when it's really gone.

But I took pictures.







































And when we went to see her in Mitchell we drove by the Corn Palace, and I know how much you'd all like pictures of that as well.





















Please note the Alamo mural.

Wednesday, October 22, 2008

You'll be pleased to learn...

... that I finally made it to the Alamo last Saturday.
















See?

It was exactly like this:

Friday, October 17, 2008

On the upside, it is 82 and sunny.

I'm in a hotel room in San Antonio watching Oprah. Luke Russert actually knows his stuff. Guess that shouldn't surprise me.

So yeah, I can see the Alamo outside my window as I write this, and I have a free hour right now with which I could go see it up close, and instead I'm watching Oprah in bed because my feet hurt that badly and I am that tired. Trade shows, you guys. Whose idea was this?

I went to a luncheon today at a very fancy hotel, was the youngest person in the room, and severely under dressed. Go me. I never even attempt wearing heels at these things, but today was not the best day for me to have chosen Mary Janes. I looked like I was 12.

We've been here since Wednesday, and I never thought I would say this, but I may actually be sick of chips and salsa. And maybe margaritas too?

Clearly, Texas has warped my brain.

Thursday, October 9, 2008

Career advice, from someone who barely has one.

Okay... I know it's hard to try to "network" when you're still in college. I know it is. Trust me, I have been there. But here's a tip, for my non-existent college audience: When corresponding with a professional contact, you must, must, must spell the name of her agency correctly.

You should try particularly hard to NOT spell it incorrectly three times.

Especially when you are writing your contact to say that although your campus club has enjoyed its past annual tours of her agency (led by her), this year it would like to tour the sister agency instead, and could she please send on the contact information?

This sort of note will be interpreted unfavorably.

Monday, October 6, 2008

Challah-back girl. (Had to do it.)

Last weekend the Times magazine printed a couple challah recipes, and I don't know what got into me, but I decided to try one on Saturday. Now, when the Times says the recipe makes a loaf "the size of a skateboard," you may think to yourself, "Oh, haha, hyperbole is so delightful in a recipe." But what you really should keep in mind is that the Times is a very serious paper, and they're not kidding.

You should also be aware that making challah is kind of a weird Saturday evening activity, and if your friends call and invite you to come meet them at the CC, you may have to reply that you can't come until much later, because you're waiting for your dough to rise. And then you'll have a few hours to kill watching The Notebook and feeling lame. But when it's all done you'll have a nice, albeit unevenly shaped, skateboard-sized challah.



No comments about my dirty stove.

French toast at my place for the next three weeks, then?

Wednesday, October 1, 2008