American Cheese

Some friends and I were at the Mayflower yesterday, eating a cheese plate and drinking it up, when we got onto the topic of yummy, artisinal cheeses and the very trendy shop that recently opened in Chinatown. I saw a documentary not long ago about how European-style cheeses weren't produced in U.S. before three or four decades ago. I then explained, "Cheddar is the only cheese we can call American," and a friend said, "No, cheddar is English!"

So am I to understand that we Americans can take credit of the processed, gooey slices of Kraft singles and nothing else?

What a catastrophe! I exclaimed... yet each and every one of my friends noted the unique melting quality of sliced singles and shared their favorite ways to eat it: In a sandwich, in grilled cheese, on top of a cracker, etc.

I found this refreshing somehow, I'm not sure why.

In other news, take a look at what I was surrounded by over the weekend:

My ridiculously cute niece and the ridiculously cute things she would do.

Family is fantastic. And maybe... like American cheese... it's nice to have an option in life that is unpretentious, dependable and sobering.

Photo Of the Day

Photo of the Day: Margaritaville

The last couple of weeks, I've had dreams of Miami--the February destination that was one of my business trips over the last three years. (Note: For the job I left.) I never realized how much the guilt-free ways of that sunny, manicured town balanced the conservative and calculated ways of DC. Seriously, the day I came back from the South Beach for the first time, I sat at the outdoor seating at Sparky's, surrounded by my usual concrete solace, and realized how much I had gone to the drab and dreary, black-and-white dark side. The lounge couches and billowing tapestries at the Delano and private parties at the Versace mansion were my secret (though very slight) sin, and my salvation. But ever grateful: the margarita at Lauriol today is doing the trick. I recommend it to anyone who can take a long lunch, or a day off, for your health's sake.

Photo of the Day

Photo of the Day

Freezing rain is no match for SUPER BOOTS.

1:05 pm. Phew! I really needed to burn off the morning's caffine. Thanks again, gym! Flat tire scare averted after 5 minutes pumping what seemed to be a faulty travel pump. My imagination ran away with me as I swore the homeless guy against the wall stared at me the entire time....

7:35 AM. Heading to Mount P. A very wet morning.

The S2 at 11:30 am

DolceZZa at Dupont Market

The Dolcezzito's are now at Dupont Market, you must go and try the yummy flavors of artisanal gelato and sorbetto, we had a half pint of RICOTTA HONEY at 11am and it was the best idea any one of us have ever had. We discussed how the flavors are so fresh and intense, not overpowering, but somehow infused into every frozen molecule. Rob is a gelato genius!

A belated day of the dead party made for a crazy Saturday night and a Sunday devoted to curing the Mexican-beer-and-tequila hangover.

Leftover Halloween Treat

I Heart High Heel Drag 2

I Heart High Heel Drag

Dupont Rain

Money Day

Today is my self declared Money Day. Money Day is the day Jobless looks into any money she may have hanging out there, unclaimed, as well as any money that could be had by her rightfully. A sell on Ebay? Get rid of some extra blood? The options will likely be creative and unexpected, but no doubt limited.

Also to come: Q&A Session #2 - Josh Brolin: The Dish on the Coens....

Capital Hill Sunset

Sad to see this day go.

Oh Dalai

This is why I had no camera yesterday... It was reserved for the Dalai Lama. One among us met his holiness. Can you guess who it is?

A funny article from the post yesterday: http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2007/10/17/AR2007101702232.html

Kickin It

I can't say this is today, but it's an often reoccurring moment, so let's just say it was.

I didn't have a camera today because of the Dalai Lama. You'll see what I mean tomorrow...

I need a new look

I forgot how my style got totally boring when I moved to DC and started working in a grown-up job. I kicked the blond and red streaks and started getting real haircuts to impress my grown-up friends. I don't plan to revert to the street kid look or anything, but I need to feel more me. It'll take some time to "find myself" and probably involve a lot of erratic impulses like the one above.

Everyone needs a break.

Break time at the good 'ol muddhouse, a favorite little place for green tea. When I had a job, you could usually see me here, with one of several acquaintances or associates. It is the perfect place to vent about all the crap your lousy boss dishes. Over the years, sitting at one of the outdoor aluminum tables, almost always inhaling cigarette smoke in some form without a sliver of sunlight on this shady side of the street, the scenario has bordered on depressing. But somehow it never could be--this break to me and many out there is an important ray of hope in a shitty day. Even if I don't work anymore and I can sit in the sun anywhere I want, I love to visit the old girl and remember.