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July 12, 2007

When internerds go abroad

Not staged, not a joke. From Israel travelmate Kent's Flickr.

A captured moment from the motherland: We were stuck in a university parking lot, waiting for the rest of our group, and we could almost catch a wifi signal in the bus. Special memories abound.

posted by jessica at 12:10 PM | Comments (0)

July 11, 2007

Carrie Bradshaw went broke and wrote this

In a fit of consumer schizophrenia, I just went to Aerosoles. Yeah, not a typo. They had a sandal I thought I might like--and I swear I was only even aware of this sandal's existence because I saw it while browsing on Zappos. Normally I'd ignore it, but the tan thong was reasonably cute and a lot less expensive than those gold Lilly Pulitzer ones I like and, golly, the store is right around the corner from the office and I could use a little break and who's gonna know if I just sneak in there and...before you knew it, I was standing in the Aerosoles in Times Square. Hello, harsh new reality.

I found the sandal in question and gave the impossibly perky saleswoman my size; I'm guessing she was so cheery in order to distract shoppers from the fact that they were shopping for ortho-chic mall shoes on Broadway and 42nd during the lunch rush. But wait! While I was standing there, I found another shoe that was actually kind of cute. Shit. Now I had to try on not one, but two pairs of these freaking shoes. Like I would even be allowed back into 4TS carrying a bag from that place? The snipers would get me before I got within 50 feet of the building.

I tried to put my unjustified snobbery in check: Was I actually awesome for shopping like this? Had I boldly co-opted the brand for my own purposes? Could wearing Aerosoles actually be an ironic, hip decision? Was this like the Hush Puppies thing from The Tipping Point, or was I weakly admitting to the world that my high arches and low bank account had finally won?

Just as my existential crisis was reaching a fever pitch, the saleswoman brought out the shoes. The tan sandal was uncomfortable, and the second pair I had picked wasn't even available in my size. I'm usually an atheist, but I have to believe that in this situation, God intervened. And now I can go buy the stupidly overpriced sandals I like, with His divine blessing rationalizing every dollar spent.

posted by jessica at 02:50 PM | Comments (0)

July 02, 2007

I feel so used.

I'm in Tel Aviv right now; appropriately, the heat here is biblical. As such, my lady-sweat has resulted in some unfortunate blemishes on my decolletage. No stranger to summertime chacne, I know that the situation--which, thanks to my wardrobe selection, is all too visible, all the time--would be best combated with some exfoliation and a few days' worth of excessive spot-treatment. But because I am a stupid girl, I left my emergency Differin at home. Unable to look at myself in the mirror any longer, I hit up a pharmacy.

As it turns out, the drugstores here aren't a whole lot like your local Duane Reade, and not just because a security guard molests your handbag at the front door. For starters, the places are actually clean. And you can't just browse or wander, because the staff wants to help you get in and out quickly. Thus if you linger for more than 30 seconds, your stereotypical Jewish grandmother-type gets all up in your face, wanting to help you. In fact, she's not going to go away until she knows you're either going to make a purchase or get the hell out (before you bomb something).

So after spending a few seconds too long in the Neutrogena section, a woman who looks exactly like every Nana to ever walk the earth has suddenly thrown herself into my personal space, asking in Hebrew if she can help. We make the awkward switch to English, but she doesn't understand what I mean by "pimple" or "acne" or "zit." Finally she says, "Show me. Show me." I gesture to my chest, which is covered by the one and only piece of clothing I brought that will hide the problem. "No, no, it is okay!" she insists. "Let me see!" And then, before I can stop her, she proceeds to pull the neckline away from me and LOOK DOWN MY DRESS. As it is so hot out, I have not deigned to wear a bra or underpants on this excursion.

I try not to act horrified (when in Rome?) as she peers downward, conducting a not-so-brief, full frontal inspection in front of several customers. She then brusquely pulls away, clearly disinterested, and says, "Oh, no. We have nothing for that." And I'm shown the door.

posted by jessica at 04:09 PM | Comments (0)