Why Artisanal Toast is My Jam

“Shhhh. Be quiet! You’re going to wake her up.” “I’m trying! How many slices should we make?” “Let’s make two.” It was Mother’s Day morning, and I was ten. My then-seven-year-old brother and I were surprising our mom with breakfast. My dad was chaperoning under the guise of the reading the morning paper. We had ordered him to stay away. This was our thing. On the menu? Jam and butter toast with orange juice. Ding went the toaster. “Eee! It’s so loud! She’s going to wake up,” my brother squealed. He was louder than…

How Cable Television Secured All My Adolescent Insecurities

My family didn’t get cable television until I was in the sixth grade. Until then, I resented my parents for depriving me of this simple luxury. It was unfair to me that all my friends could enjoy a buffet of television options whenever they wanted while I had limited choices which included weekly airings of Wishbone and Full House.  I didn’t realize it then, but the lack of options made it so that television was never part of my routine and rarely my first choice for entertainment. Instead, I’d opt for writing stories or doing art projects…

“For you to sleep well at night, the aesthetic, the quality, has to be carried all the way through.” – Steve Jobs

In case you’ve been wondering since my last post, I don’t miss having an iPhone 5. When I went to restore my apps, pictures, and data onto my iPhone 4S device, the transfer went smoothly. In fact, all my apps were automatically downloaded into the right folders. If the screen of my 4S weren’t a different size (and if the audio jack wasn’t at the top of the phone), I wouldn’t even notice that I was using a different phone.  Around the time that I downgraded my phone, I purchased…

Put me in the compost pile to decompose me for a while.

As I perused my news reader over breakfast a few weeks ago, I was distracted by a petulant buzzing sound. Thinking at first that my shower had left water in my ear, I tipped my head over and pounded on the side of it. This was for nought as the buzzing continued. I stood up like a madwoman and scurried around the kitchen until I identified the location and source of the sound: Petulant buzz, thy name is fly in the compost bin. Caught somewhere in between disgust and hipster (let’s face it, compost…

The beet is the murderer returned to the scene of the crime.

When I moved down to San Diego, I quickly learned that it’s hard out there for a vegetarian. The realization happened during my first or second week in paradise when my request for “the vegetarian option” was answered with “chicken pasta.” So you can imagine my level of elation when I moved to San Francisco — a city where I can eat as a happy and picky vegetarian. It should come as no surprise then, that within several weeks of living here, I discovered my infatuation with beet root. For…