Archive for the ‘Carey & Robby’ Category

Tasted our first Mast Brothers Chocolate last night… incroyable. My notes:

Sweet battles savory. Dark and gamey, nutty and bitter. It chips like slate and lets off the most satisfying crack between your teeth—think the exact opposite of a Hersey’s bar. I hate Halloween, and I hate Halloween candy, but, if this was handed out, I would gladly wear a costume and work the neighborhood. This includes the hand-made dirty tampon costume that a girl wore to my high school, resulting in her suspension. (more…)


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This was the best weekend.

Beer and bluegrass on Friday; wine and turntables on Saturday. I brought a couple of bottles for our host—a gift that paled in comparison to a pile of vintage records, one of which was a commemorative recording of Charles and Diana’s royal wedding. Top that. When mixed with the right beats, the stuffy drone of Archbishop Robert Runcie can infuse energy into any evening.

This morning I was discussing with Carey whether the video I made could be perceived as offensive, but I decided it was too funny to care:


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[The sun sets over Maryland.]

I called my parents at 8:45 am from D.C. this past Saturday to check in. This is what good daughters do; they place regular phone calls home to verify safety and well-being. I was standing on a low brick wall across from an Irish pub in Arlington, VA, hundreds of runners in various shades of green milling around below me as I stuck a finger in one ear and pressed my phone up to the other.

“I’m at a race,” I shouted, “there’s a leprechaun on a scooter bike, I’m having a Guinness for breakfast. How are you guys?”

In the background, I heard my mom: “Washington? She’s not calling from jail again, is she?” (more…)

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I just returned from a whirlwind trip to Brooklyn for the weekend. I wore headphones on the car ride down because the salty Vermont roads created a piercingly squeaky wheel that was head-splittingly annoying at all speeds with the exception of less than 3 mph and a slight lull at about 27. This didn’t leave me with much to work with. I managed to turn a lot of heads as I buzzed through the rest areas. I brought the old girl through a carwash in NJ on the way home—peace was reinstated for the trek home.

In a manner consistant with all good visits to BK, I ate great food in excessive quantities, shared in fine spirits with friends, and toured the town by foot. I even bought a vinyl record for Carey, and let my hair look a bit tussled (but not dirty) like a good hipster.

[Dinner at Dressler. Lamb shanks and pork bellies. Pinot Noir, old world and new. We took advantage of the corkage fee and brought our own.]


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The power flickered, but held. The birches bent—like some stupid poem—and the windows glazed. The morning was beautiful and with a blue sky and a little salt on the roads, the storm was over. All was well, and lovely. But all was not well, and had I known that the same storm had killed my cousin’s best friend, I wouldn’t have taken a single picture.

I only met George once and briefly, so I can’t speak of him personally, but 19 is far too young, and he was loved very much by his friends and family.


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Let me just cut right to the chase: we were accosted by a lunatic. In the underwear section. Of Saks Fifth Avenue.

I was aware of what appeared to be some manageable absurdity while I was being rung up for a new bra. (“I don’t know, the underwire seems to have… evaporated,” “Mmhmm, yes, Miss Carey, I sure have had this happen to me before. Now take that old thing off; and don’t worry, I’m a fitter, not a looker.”) I could hear bits and pieces—“I just, I can’t seem to keep my emotions in check, but you are just such a dear, dear girl… someone sent you here to me. A higher power.”

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This is utterly fantastic:

And if you haven’t seen the documentary, Festival Express, check out this post and get it ASAP.

The need to see this tour is strong in this one.

This April, Mumford & SonsEdward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros, and Old Crow Medicine Show will embark on a tour unlike any in recent memory. Traveling exclusively in vintage rail cars, the three bands will journey across the American Southwest over the course of a week. The aptly titled Railroad Revival Tour will feature the three bands playing concerts at six unique outdoor locations along the route, beginning April 21st in Oakland, California.

Two other minor points of nerdery: as the daughter of a railroad guy, anything train-related has my attention. As the writer of a web company, I am totally digging this little site.


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