I think I am an adult now.

I was just talking with my friend, Karen, about how we should plan a trip to Europe. The last time I was there was in 2005 when I studied abroad in Brussels. Two thoughts come to mind about those 6 months. The first is that I'm both proud and also surprised by how dumb I was. I went on a two week trip through Spain and Portugal by myself. (Youth and naïveté are quite amazing.) My understanding of Spanish: passable; my understanding of Catalán: nil. Thus being mostly in Sevilla, lots of pointing, nodding and smiling.

Portugal was even better. After a 6 hour busride, we arrived at 11PM in Lagos, Portugal. I headed towards the nearest lights I could see, which happened to be a gas station. (I'm pretty sure this is how murder scenes begin.)

Me: Bonsoir, je cherche pour Casa Amarela dans la Rua Infante de Sagres.
Attendant: blank stare
Me: Oh right, I'm in Portugal. Lo siento, buscando para Casa Amarela? La Rua Infante de Sagres.
Attendant: furrowed brows
Me: F*ck. Er. I'm looking for Casa Amarela. It's right here on the map..
Attendant: Yeah, go down this street. It's a five minute walk.

I clearly did not speak a lick of Portuguese, I did not have any cash (ATM card was stolen a few days before my trip), and I was sent walking down a dark street by a gas station clerk, who very well could have sent me down an alley to be robbed. Smart, Nora.

The other thing that comes to mind is that within a month of Belgian fries, cheese, chocolates, and waffles, I tore my jeans. The insides of my thighs resented the constraint of denim, and self-destructed. Do you know how horrible jeans shopping in Europe is? 97% of the jeans didn't come up past my hips, and the 3% that did dragged on the ground. I probably had 6 inches of material dragging behind me. I tried to pass it off as the "rolled cuff" look.

Anyway, I think I am an adult now. However, I just ate a large bag of "chips" for lunch. I say "chips" because the bag says "we don't fry it... we don't bake it... we start with some wholesome potatoes, add a little heat and pressure, and pop! it's a chip." Specious.

I hate being a girl sometimes.

Forget about not being able to pee while standing, or the fact that we may potentially have to squeeze a watermelon-sized child out of our lady parts.

Unfortunately, I left my headphones at home. When you are at a cafe, this means that you are at the mercy of your neighbor's conversations. Today's topic focused on a girl with a "botched tooth job" and her second racecar driver boyfriend ("this must be her thing..") One of the bottle blondes refused to admit that the new boyfriend is hot ("is this a recent picture?"), while the other tried to be a little less jealous ("well, he was nice and he's pretty funny.."). I don't know how you botch a tooth job, but if that's all they can point out as her flaw, she's probably pretty awesome, and just doesn't know how to pick out friends. Then they moved onto The Bachelorette and I really wanted to stab my fork into my ears.

My other thought as I tried really hard not to listen: I miss cackling with my friends and having strangers judge our conversations as childish and dumb. I can't wait for Meena's return to the US in a few days!! I have a lot to catch her up on. Our neighboring tables are going to hate us.

Wanderlust

Since graduating from college I've moved at least once a year. DC (Chinatown, Woodley Park), Boston, Manila, Seoul, SF (Lower Haight, Lower Pacific Heights). This is the first time that I've been in one apartment for longer than a year. I'm getting antsy.

At first I thought it would be nice to put down roots and commit to a place (and to be truthful, San Francisco continues to amaze me every day), but I very clearly am a commitment-phobe (in many aspects of my life, unfortunately). I'm working on it.

Thank you, New York Times, for publishing an article on Chicago that only adds to my flightiness. I hinted at an opportunity to move in a previous post; the move would have been to go back home. I was just there for work a few weeks ago, and was reminded of how beautiful and lovely the city is. The architecture, the neighborhoods, the hospitality - it was all so good. I have mixed feelings at how things turned out, but I'll chalk it up to growing pains.

I also blame Ruth Reichl for my itchiness. She filmed a series back in 2009 called Adventures with Ruth, where she learns fly-fishing in the Smokies, bread-baking in Bath, the cuisines and cultures of China, Brazil, Morocco - they're fantastic. If money was of no concern and I could choose my dream life, this is it.

Another article from the Sunday Times described so-called "Offbeat Tour" websites that feature personally-guided tours around the world: Canaryhop, Gidsy, Sidetour, Vayable. If I can't have Ruth's life, I guess I can always cough up some money and pretend to be her.

I'll add one last website to this mix. Tripierge - this guy is a delight.

Hi Kettle, It's Pot.

I judge it, and yet I continue to partake in the activity. Last night I took a picture of a pot of macaroni and cheese.

Homeroom Mac + Cheese @ Underground Market

Caught in the act

How I feel when I see food pictures:
McSweeney's: An open letter to people who take pictures of food with Instagram

And yet, I am genuinely afraid of seeing my own face on here:
Tumblr: picsofaznstakingpicsoffood

And simply because McSweeney's is so irresistibly entertaining, and in keeping with the theme of this blog:

McSweeney's: Things therapists say when they realize you're a lost cause

McSweeney's: My therapist thinks I did my vision board wrong but I'm pretty sure I nailed it

Happy reading, and Happy Friday!

Torturetunities

I'm a lucky girl. I have great friends who graciously share their wisdom with me, time and again. One of the members of this treasured group is my friend and blogger extraordinaire, Abby. She gave me some food for thought the other day: torturetunities. Before I even thought to ask her for the genesis of the word and her definition, I immediately applied the idea to two recent developments in my life.

"You’ve officially been selected to run in the 2012 Nike Women’s Marathon in San Francisco. Congratulations!"

Merde. I did not want to win this lottery. Who wants to hand over a bunch of money to run 26.2 miles? Moreover, this race is in San Francisco so there are hills involved. I don’t know who this Nora is right now, but the Nora from a few years ago is very perplexed. Torturetunity. 

However, the minute I cross that finish line and pick up my Tiffany’s necklace from a handsome SF fireman dressed in a tuxedo, not only will I cross off a bucket list item, but I get to retire from my illustrious running career!

I’m serious.

The second torturetunity requires more explanation. I apologize in advance for the overabundance of links.

This past week has been amazing. I could not ask for a better cross-section to describe what my life in San Francisco consists of:

• Thurs: Bon Iver show. He is so talented, and Midwestern (and therefore automatically my friend), and I could sit and listen to him with my eyes closed for hours.
  
• Sat: Sat and read for hours in Alamo Square and definitely sun burnt nooks and crannies that have not been aired out in a long time. Afterwards, Julia’s birthday at Local Edition, where we created the Bloody Nipple. Being the occasional drinker that I am, when my friends told me to order a shot, the first thing that came out of my mouth was “bloody nipples?” Apparently the word I was looking for was “buttery.” The bartender came back with 5 shots of tequila and Bloody Mary mix. You throw back the tequila, and chase it with the mix. Ask for one the next time you go out.
• Sun: Took the ferry out to Angel Island, more sun burn.
• Tues: Surprise breakfast from Sightglass, went to Sketch Tuesday at 111 Minna and helped my friend promote his upcoming adventure, Notes to New York. Please participate!
• Wed: Went to Pop Up Magazine
• Thurs: Surprise breakfast from Tartine

That was information overload, I know. The reason why I detail it is because I love my life here. I don’t know if I am ready yet to leave. However, the opportunity has come up, and I’ve been mulling over my decision. I will go into more detail on this later if/when something comes of it. But until then, I will simply say that I have great reasons to stay here in San Francisco. I also have great reasons to move.

I thought that I had all but decided on what to do, until Abby offered up her definition at the end of our conversation. “Torturetunities: opportunities that come along at moments when we can't really take advantage of them, but they torture us because we agonize over whether to try to make it work or not, but really shouldn't do it.”

Every opportunity does not need to be seized at the moment it presents itself. Life is about choices, not opportunities. Moreover, it does not mean that the same (or better!) opportunity will not present itself again in the future.

If Abby is the dictionary, I volunteer myself as thesaurus. Torturetunities = growing pains.

Time for a Facebook Detox

"The problem, then, is that we invite loneliness, even though it makes us miserable. The history of our use of technology is a history of isolation desired and achieved. When the Great Atlantic and Pacific Tea Company opened its A&P stores, giving Americans self-service access to groceries, customers stopped having relationships with their grocers. When the telephone arrived, people stopped knocking on their neighbors’ doors. Social media bring this process to a much wider set of relationships... Loneliness is certainly not something that Facebook or Twitter or any of the lesser forms of social media is doing to us. We are doing it to ourselves. Casting technology as some vague, impersonal spirit of history forcing our actions is a weak excuse. We make decisions about how we use our machines, not the other way around... "

Stephen Marche, Is Facebook Making Us Lonely?
Atlantic Magazine, May 2012

It's not often that 1) I see an Internet article longer than a page scroll, and 2) that I have the patience to read it. But this article hit a few nerves, and I think the author poses some thought-provoking questions.

I defriended 643 people on Facebook; some of whom I didn't even recognize because of a new married surname. If I had no idea someone got married, I had no business being "friends" with them. Relationships require a lot of work. I don't want Facebook to stand in place of that.

The Barkley

The entry procedure is a well guarded mystery. Ask a veteran how to enter and you are likely to be sent down a rabbit hole.

The cost to enter is $1.60 and a license plate from your home state or country.
The course is five loops around the park, totally unmarked, mostly off trail, with a time limit of sixty hours.
There are no manned aid stations. You must carry everything you need to survive “out there” including a map and compass (no GPS allowed) to navigate the course.
There are no rescues. You must self-extract, however long it takes, and get back to camp. There is no official race start time.
The race begins when the Race Director decides to light his cigarette.

Before and After | Race Images