In my twenty-six years on this planet I have gone through a few phases.
There was, of course, my twirly-skirt phase, beginning when I was about three, when I refused to get dressed in the morning unless it was in a twirly-skirt--or a skirt that, when I spun around in circles (a super-fun activity) flared out like a tutu. There was my very brief paleontologist phase when I would reconstruct chicken skeletons after our family had finished dinner. This was perhaps overshadowed by my brother's dinosaur phase during which he insisted on being called "Little Foot" (from The Land Before Time) for the entire duration of his preschool education. I had an awesome My So-Called Life phase in seventh grade, and dyed my blonde hair red, like Claire Danes did. This phase ended abruptly when a boy on whom I had an enormous crush told me my hair looked stupid. Nothing takes the fun out of edgy new haircolor like unrequited love. This was promptly followed by an "angry female singer-songwriter" musical phase--a lot of Ani Difranco and early Alanis Morisette.
I've had a few vegan phases over the past five years, but they always end when I realize that I'm depriving myself for the sake of deprivation--which is silly. I've had phases where I've sworn off caffeine and declared it evil and become totally self-righteous toward anyone who consumed the stuff--until I would break down and drink six cups of coffee in one sitting and find myself hooked again.
But lately, I've found that it's been awhile since I've had an actual phase.
I've been dressing pretty much the same way for the past couple of years, my hair has been mostly the same, save for some bangs or a few highlights. I've been listening to the same music, hanging out with the same friends--while making new ones steadily. I've been eating the same basic blend of whole grains, fish, soy, dairy, fruits and vegetables, and accepted that I like coffee and, as long as I don't overdo it, I can have it regularly. But yet, even though so much has remained the same of late, I don't feel stuck in a rut. Could it be that I'm finally settling into my authentic, adult self? Have I finally uncovered the True Gabi Moskowitz? Am I finally where I've been heading all this time? I don't know. Maybe.
Or maybe it's just another phase.
Love,
Gabi
Monday, October 27, 2008
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Acquire This
"Do not text him back for at least two hours."
"What?? That's ridiculous. It's rude!" I slammed my coffee down, spilling a bit, burning my knuckle. We were at the Mission Beach Cafe, which has become something of a weekend ritual at this point: http://www.missionbeachcafesf.com/
David looked at me, sternly, and then back at his brunch menu. I tried to slyly reach back into my pocket to take at my phone, just to look at the text I'd just received...but David is about a foot-and-a-half taller than I am and seeing what was going on in my lap over his menu was no challenge for him. He looked at me like I was a three-year-old with peanut butter in my hair.
"Gabster, do you want him to like you or not?"
"I do."
"Then you have to make him sweat. Make him wonder if you're even going to bother to text him back at all. It's all about perceived value."
Well that's kind of depressing.
The thing is though, David's right--as humans we tend to like things (and people) more if we think they'll be difficult to acquire. Now, I am by no means easy to acquire, but I do tend to wear my feelings on my sleeve--or in my text messages--and lately, that hasn't been working out all that well for me.
OK, that I can live with.
Love,
Gabi
"What?? That's ridiculous. It's rude!" I slammed my coffee down, spilling a bit, burning my knuckle. We were at the Mission Beach Cafe, which has become something of a weekend ritual at this point: http://www.missionbeachcafesf.com/
David looked at me, sternly, and then back at his brunch menu. I tried to slyly reach back into my pocket to take at my phone, just to look at the text I'd just received...but David is about a foot-and-a-half taller than I am and seeing what was going on in my lap over his menu was no challenge for him. He looked at me like I was a three-year-old with peanut butter in my hair.
"Gabster, do you want him to like you or not?"
"I do."
"Then you have to make him sweat. Make him wonder if you're even going to bother to text him back at all. It's all about perceived value."
Well that's kind of depressing.
The thing is though, David's right--as humans we tend to like things (and people) more if we think they'll be difficult to acquire. Now, I am by no means easy to acquire, but I do tend to wear my feelings on my sleeve--or in my text messages--and lately, that hasn't been working out all that well for me.
There was a controversial little book first published in 1995 for women about precisely this topic, called The Rules, written by Ellen Fein and Sherrie Schneider. And now, thanks to my friend Tom (who also happens to be David's best friend), it sits on my bookshelf. (Actually, that's a lie. It sits in a drawer next to my bed along with How to Avoid Marrying a Jerk and He's Just Not That Into You.) The Rules' thesis is simple: play hard to get and you will eventually snag a man who was willing to work hard to get you. It makes sense, truly, but as a modern feminist, I find parts of it somewhat offensive (Rule #3: Don't Stare at Men or Talk Too Much), rude (Rule #5: Don't Call Him and Rarely Return His Calls), and downright crazy (Rule #31: Don't Discuss The Rules With Your Therapist).
But David (along with Tom) has known me for over twenty years and I fully trust that he had nothing other than my best interests in mind. So I waited. I waited while our breakfasts arrived (I had latkes with poached eggs and gravlax. David had huevos rancheros with garlicky guacamole. Both were phenomenal.) I waited while we paid. I waited a whole hour. And then I texted back a 2-word, non-commital text message.
Oh yeah, am I aloof or what?
The thing is though, I don't think I'll ever be a Rules girl. I will never insist that a man pay for everything on every date, I will never not return phone calls as a strategy to get someone to like me more. I will talk to my therapist about whatever I please because that is why I am paying her. But still, I don't think the concept of the book is without value. When I complained to Tom that The Rules suggested I do stupid, ridiculous things that were completely out of my nature, he told me, "Just remember Rule #1 then. That's the most important one anyway. Be a "Creature Unlike Any Other." Just remember that you are really special and whoever you are with should have to work hard to get you.
But David (along with Tom) has known me for over twenty years and I fully trust that he had nothing other than my best interests in mind. So I waited. I waited while our breakfasts arrived (I had latkes with poached eggs and gravlax. David had huevos rancheros with garlicky guacamole. Both were phenomenal.) I waited while we paid. I waited a whole hour. And then I texted back a 2-word, non-commital text message.
Oh yeah, am I aloof or what?
The thing is though, I don't think I'll ever be a Rules girl. I will never insist that a man pay for everything on every date, I will never not return phone calls as a strategy to get someone to like me more. I will talk to my therapist about whatever I please because that is why I am paying her. But still, I don't think the concept of the book is without value. When I complained to Tom that The Rules suggested I do stupid, ridiculous things that were completely out of my nature, he told me, "Just remember Rule #1 then. That's the most important one anyway. Be a "Creature Unlike Any Other." Just remember that you are really special and whoever you are with should have to work hard to get you.
OK, that I can live with.
Love,
Gabi
Monday, October 13, 2008
Katie
I never really got into much trouble as a teenager, but what little I did, it was always with my friend Katie. I'm not going to elaborate, as we're both somewhat established in our respective communities with bosses and parents and friends who don't need to be reading about what naughty things we did when we were in high school, but let's just say that at various points skinny dipping, bonfires, and pepper spray were involved. Katie now lives in Nashville, but this weekend, we were lucky enough to get in some serious, though brief, time together.
It's been about a year since we were last in the same place at the same time, but it never ceases to amaze me how easily we fall back into our comfortable rhythm together. When I picked her up, we hugged, admired one another's new hairstyles, and suddenly it was as if we had seen each other last week. Like many best friends, we have a million private jokes, silly voices and funny stories that we like to relive, but we're equally happy just being together in silence. We spent the evening gossiping, eating dinner and watching trashy television.
At 7:30 this morning, on our way to the Oakland airport, from which Katie would be flying back to Tennessee, we stopped for breakfast, at her request, at Good Luck Dim Sum at 9th Avenue and Clement Street in San Francisco. Katie, a dim sum aficionado, proceeded to order enough dumplings, sesame balls, and pork buns for at least 4 people. When I laughed at her, she explained that she would eat whatever she didn't finish on the plane. So, if you are the poor schmuck who got stuck sitting next to the tiny blond bearing several cartons of dim sum, believe me, you are lucky--and not just because of the name of the restaurant where she got the food. You are fortunate enough to be sitting next to one of the funniest, smartest, most beautiful people in the entire world. But don't piss her off because she will totally take you down--and you will have deserved it.
Love,
Gabi
It's been about a year since we were last in the same place at the same time, but it never ceases to amaze me how easily we fall back into our comfortable rhythm together. When I picked her up, we hugged, admired one another's new hairstyles, and suddenly it was as if we had seen each other last week. Like many best friends, we have a million private jokes, silly voices and funny stories that we like to relive, but we're equally happy just being together in silence. We spent the evening gossiping, eating dinner and watching trashy television.
At 7:30 this morning, on our way to the Oakland airport, from which Katie would be flying back to Tennessee, we stopped for breakfast, at her request, at Good Luck Dim Sum at 9th Avenue and Clement Street in San Francisco. Katie, a dim sum aficionado, proceeded to order enough dumplings, sesame balls, and pork buns for at least 4 people. When I laughed at her, she explained that she would eat whatever she didn't finish on the plane. So, if you are the poor schmuck who got stuck sitting next to the tiny blond bearing several cartons of dim sum, believe me, you are lucky--and not just because of the name of the restaurant where she got the food. You are fortunate enough to be sitting next to one of the funniest, smartest, most beautiful people in the entire world. But don't piss her off because she will totally take you down--and you will have deserved it.
Love,
Gabi
Monday, October 6, 2008
That's the Rub
The past few weeks have been particularly stressful at work, and so the powers that be organized a truly wonderful treat: free massages for staff.
I relished the idea of being able to abandon the pile of work on my desk for a blissful fifteen minutes to have the the stress and anxiety kneaded out of my tense shoulders in the middle of a workday, except...it kind of hurt.
"Hmm...it feels like someone has been holding in some anger maybe? You know that feeling when you really want to yell at someone but hold it in inside? It all goes right here," the massage therapist explained, pressing my tender shoulder as I silently grimaced from the pain. "You should consider having regular massages."
I actually thought I manage angry feelings pretty well. I'm not the most confrontational person, but I like to think I can hold my own when discussing a conflict. And when I'm really angry--like truly, truly pissed to the extent that I wouldn't be able to speak about it without yelling, I either go for a run or I bake bread.
If you saw me on an angry run, you wouldn't necessarily know that I was angry. I would probably just look like a really dedicated athlete, but an angry run is one of the best releases (not to mention forms of cardio) that I know of. I pound the pavement without a break for as long and as fast as I possibly can until it literally feels as if the anger has loosened and left my body (please forgive the New-Agey description). Afterward, I usually feel much clearer about whatever the issue is--not to mention exhausted. Usually too exhausted to fight about anything until I've rested and had time to give whatever's bothering me some thought. So, win-win.
But sometimes, when running's not enough, I bake bread. The recipe is so simple and it always seems to turn out right, and that itself is calming. Maybe it's that I've made it so many times that I can kind of tune out as I bake and reflect on whatever is bothering me...but mostly I love that I can physically channel ugly, angry feelings by kneading a limp piece of shapeless dough until it become firm and springy, and can stand on its own, and then it becomes something beautiful that I can share if I feel so inclined. And somewhere between the satisfaction of beating the hell out of a lump of dough and the calming serotonin release triggered by carbohydrate consumption, I always feel at least a little bit better.
Not that I'm opposed to regular massages.
I highly recommend an angry run, but when that just won't do, here's how to make Anger Release Bread:
Ingredients
5-6 cups all-purpose flour (you can substitute whole wheat flour for 1 or 2
cups).
2 tablespoons of dry yeast
2 tablespoons brown sugar or honey
1 tablespoon salt
2 cups hot water (120-130 degrees F.)
olive oil for brushing
A cake pan of hot water
Mix 3 cups of the flour with the yeast, sugar and salt. Pour in the hot water
and beat 100 strokes.
Stir in the remaining flour until the dough loses its stickiness. Turn onto a
floured surface. Knead for 8 minutes. Really beat the hell out of it. Think about whatever (or whoever) is making you angry and pretend that it's sitting in front of you in the form of dough.
Place dough in a greased bowl and cover with a warm damp cloth. Let rise for 30 minutes in a warm spot.
Punch down and divide the dough into two pieces. Shape into round loaves and place on a greased baking sheet. Cut an "X" one-half inch deep in each of the loaves with a wet sharp knife and use a pastry brush to brush the tops of the loaves with a little olive oil.
Place baking sheet with loaves in the middle of a COLD oven. Place a pan of hot water on the lowest shelf. Heat the oven to 400 degrees and bake 40-50 minutes until golden brown.
Love,
Gabi
I relished the idea of being able to abandon the pile of work on my desk for a blissful fifteen minutes to have the the stress and anxiety kneaded out of my tense shoulders in the middle of a workday, except...it kind of hurt.
"Hmm...it feels like someone has been holding in some anger maybe? You know that feeling when you really want to yell at someone but hold it in inside? It all goes right here," the massage therapist explained, pressing my tender shoulder as I silently grimaced from the pain. "You should consider having regular massages."
I actually thought I manage angry feelings pretty well. I'm not the most confrontational person, but I like to think I can hold my own when discussing a conflict. And when I'm really angry--like truly, truly pissed to the extent that I wouldn't be able to speak about it without yelling, I either go for a run or I bake bread.
If you saw me on an angry run, you wouldn't necessarily know that I was angry. I would probably just look like a really dedicated athlete, but an angry run is one of the best releases (not to mention forms of cardio) that I know of. I pound the pavement without a break for as long and as fast as I possibly can until it literally feels as if the anger has loosened and left my body (please forgive the New-Agey description). Afterward, I usually feel much clearer about whatever the issue is--not to mention exhausted. Usually too exhausted to fight about anything until I've rested and had time to give whatever's bothering me some thought. So, win-win.
But sometimes, when running's not enough, I bake bread. The recipe is so simple and it always seems to turn out right, and that itself is calming. Maybe it's that I've made it so many times that I can kind of tune out as I bake and reflect on whatever is bothering me...but mostly I love that I can physically channel ugly, angry feelings by kneading a limp piece of shapeless dough until it become firm and springy, and can stand on its own, and then it becomes something beautiful that I can share if I feel so inclined. And somewhere between the satisfaction of beating the hell out of a lump of dough and the calming serotonin release triggered by carbohydrate consumption, I always feel at least a little bit better.
Not that I'm opposed to regular massages.
I highly recommend an angry run, but when that just won't do, here's how to make Anger Release Bread:
Ingredients
5-6 cups all-purpose flour (you can substitute whole wheat flour for 1 or 2
cups).
2 tablespoons of dry yeast
2 tablespoons brown sugar or honey
1 tablespoon salt
2 cups hot water (120-130 degrees F.)
olive oil for brushing
A cake pan of hot water
Mix 3 cups of the flour with the yeast, sugar and salt. Pour in the hot water
and beat 100 strokes.
Stir in the remaining flour until the dough loses its stickiness. Turn onto a
floured surface. Knead for 8 minutes. Really beat the hell out of it. Think about whatever (or whoever) is making you angry and pretend that it's sitting in front of you in the form of dough.
Place dough in a greased bowl and cover with a warm damp cloth. Let rise for 30 minutes in a warm spot.
Punch down and divide the dough into two pieces. Shape into round loaves and place on a greased baking sheet. Cut an "X" one-half inch deep in each of the loaves with a wet sharp knife and use a pastry brush to brush the tops of the loaves with a little olive oil.
Place baking sheet with loaves in the middle of a COLD oven. Place a pan of hot water on the lowest shelf. Heat the oven to 400 degrees and bake 40-50 minutes until golden brown.
Love,
Gabi
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