Sunday, June 27, 2010

Summerlove

I am sitting on my balcony right now eating a sugar cone of Breyer's cookies and cream ice cream. I have been thinking about this cone ever since the weather got really, really hot and by god, it is really, really hot.

All around the city new hot-weather treats keep popping up for our attention, gelato chains have sprung up like chicken pox on a 6 year old, I can't even count how many frozen yogurt places have appeared, each with their own "recipe", and water-ice, that hometown Philly favorite of mine, seems to want to try to stand in my way of a decent walk home from work, no matter what route I try. But none of these can really compete to that once ubiquitous ice cream. These days, if a parlour does not include singing attendants or 40 different items mixed in, it wont open. This is a shame. I fear my kids will grow up dreaming about tiny spoonfuls of gelato when the weather gets warm. If this happens, what else could go wrong? At the Rita's around the corner from me, they have gone against the water-ice unwritten code that says you MUST have cherry, chocolate and lemon. Usually, I am promised, at best, strawberry and mango. What gives? With all of the slow food, 100 miles foodies around, how come we can't get a basic, and amazing, ice cream places where I can get my sugar cone fix.

As a kid, we were promised that if the weather was hot, and the family was feeling relaxed, a trip to the local 31 flavors was in order. My dad can eat a chocolate sugar cone like a champ. My folks would take my sister I to the local dairy and where she would always get a cone of bubblegum ice cream. There is something about competing against the heat, trying to beat the melt, and stop that sweet, creamy sticky ice cream from getting on your hands. There is something amazing about the almost ingrained tongue dexterity most humans seem to have to work a non-uniform mound of ice cream into a perfectly formed cone with just their tongue and their determination that speaks to us a people.

On this day of 104 degree heat, I applaud you ice cream cone makers and consumers of America.

Thursday, May 27, 2010

carrot

I will try my best to reiterate this anecdote, as told to me by my then super pregnant sister who has since given birth to the awesomist niece in the world who will one day care for my tired, sick, aching, smelly, pain in the ass, aging body. This one is dedicated to you Sadie Pearl. I can't wait to assign you chores!

My sister's water broke Tuesday morning and she and her husband made their way to the hospital. The call went out across the Kohn family grapevine with my mother and father sharing the news like Edward R. Morrow to the greater Philadelphia Jewish community. They stopped over at the local deli to pick up my sister a corned beef sandwich, her one request as she had been abstaining during her pregnancy, and drove as fast as two confused grandparents to be can be expected to drive from Philly to New York. Shockingly, they did not get lost going into the city and made their way up to the hospital room. I don't know what the trip from the parking garage to my sisters room was like, but I have a feeling it involved my mother proudly boasting about her granddaughter to my sickly people. She is a ray of sunshine in an otherwise painful world right?

She burst into the hospital room and, in her frantic way, attempted to keep herself busy. Since she couldn't physically give birth or act as mid-wife, she did the next best thing, she tried to feed people. I am guessing that she was in such a rush to get out of Philadelphia that she didn't have time to actually pack real food, so she sat down, pulled out a bag of whole carrots (not baby carrots) grabbed the vegetable peeler that she also seemed have packed and began to peel carrots in the hospital room. I forgot that New York 2010 reverted by to shtetl life. I will have to remember to supply her with a bag of potatoes and beets for the next birth.

Friday, May 21, 2010

gymfail

I am failing terribly at trying to uphold a tough-guy image at the gym. A few months ago I almost fell on my ass trying to put on a pair of long johns. This AM, while I was trying to get my towel from my locker (which was surrounded by a pride of juice-heads), I accidently pulled not just my towel out of my locker, but a pair of Cathy's lacy black panties which had attached themselves to the towel in the dryer. The upward thrust of the towel caused the hidden underwear to detach themselves mid-air and fly into the center of this group. I tried to give a look like "Sup dudes, yeah, these are my chicks. Yeah, I have seen her naked" but I think it read more like"hey pals, I swear I don't wear these (I totally wear these)."

Tuesday, May 18, 2010

Sherry Kohn For President

My mother is running (unopposed) for Democratic Committee person in our home county. I honestly had no idea that this was an elected position. I hope she remembers that with great power, comes great responsibility for graft and petty larceny. If you think that George Bush mumbled words, wait until the Bucks County Currier Times has to spell my mothers made-up Yiddish words.

If our history books tell us anything, now is the time that my mother will have that affair she has always been threatening my father with. Most likely with one of her junior staffers. Sorry dad. That is what happens with you marry a politician.

What do you think the best campaign slogan for her is:

Sherry Kohn "A Brisket in Every Pot"
Sherry Kohn "I Am So Proud of my Children"
Sherry Kohn "That's the Story"
Sherry Kohn "My Future Daughter-in-Law is Chinese"
Sherry Kohn "No Running in Hallway"

Tuesday, March 16, 2010

The first Mr. Chung-Kohn


This past Friday, Cathy agreed to let me become her first husband. There was an opening and my credentials were stellar. With Rahm Emmanuel already married, both of the most qualified Jews on the DC market are taken. Sorry ladies.

Cathy's father, in an act of filial understanding, told her that he would be ok if we were married by a "Jewish Priest."

Luckily, my folks rescheduled their trip down to DC to this weekend, where, if all goes according to plan, the entire Kohn clan (Sherry, Lee Kohn, Rebekah, Alex) will go out to lunch with the entire Chung clan (Mr. & Mrs., Dan, Andrea, Audreybaby). No doubt, there will be awkward silences followed by loud Jewish aural blasts from the Kohn side of the table. That is how our people ROLL. We are heading to a Korean restaurant. I have told my dad I will have a print out of directions to the nearest burger place where will go IMMEDIATELY following our lunch.

People keep pestering me about how I popped the question. In order to save myself breath, here is how it all went down:

Friday night was a cloudy, wet, overcast evening. I had spent the afternoon talking with Cathy's folks and convincing them that:

A: I would be good husband material (Qualifications: I can cook a mean kim chi kugel, I learned the four questions at an early age, and, at my bris, I hardly shed a tear and lifted my foreskin triumphantly, clenched fist raised towards the sky.)

and

B: It would be unwise for me to take 10 pounds of marinating Korean short-ribs home with me.

I had a ring burning a hole in my pocket and nagging voice in my head saying, "Stop being a bitch. Ask her now."

I knew Cathy did not like public spectacle, so, I would have to go low-key. My being a romantic, and a lover of the movie Meathballs, I was pushing for something that involved long distance running and camp. However, the weather wasn't working in my favor. My sister tried to get me to hide the ring in a sausage, but we all know that Cathy loves sausage more than she loves me, and we would have never seen the ring again. I was thinking of hiding the ring in a pile of vintage clothes, but Cathy would have seen it and sold it at the store for $40 (plus tax).

So what did I end up doing? You know what, I don't think I am going to tell y'all. Next time you see me, just ask. The breath is worth it and the story is cute. In the end, Cathy shed a few tears and said yes. Or I think she said yes. All I know for sure is that there will be sausage at the wedding (beef) and that all guests will get a 10% discount at the shop.

Tuesday, March 9, 2010

The visitors

My folks are coming down on Saturday. If anybody is curious as to what they look like in person, keep your eyes peeled to the area around 14th and T. If you are focused, you will probably catch my mother and I speed walking to some destination unknown and Cathy and my father slowly trailing a block or two behind, eating french fries.

Tuesday, March 2, 2010

Blueberries Hill




How I miss summer. I can't wait to get back on the road in the warm weather.

I secretly recorded this short clip of Cathy last year when we were staying in a little cabin on a low-bush blueberry farm in Maine. This is my own version of Watergate, except the only thing I am exposing is my lovely girlfriends digestive habits. No doubt, this is the end of a long and lovely relationship.

We would wake up every morning, pick enough blueberries to make you sick, and eat them with milk and granola. It was heavenly. Cathy did not want me to post this and says "if I (cathy) don't become queen of dc because of it then you are at fault." Sorry dear. I will make you a crown out of paper clips and gum drops.

The recording is low, so turn it up. For those hard-of-hearing, the text is as follows:

(footsteps)
Cathy: Let's go down, er, want to go up the to the hill first? Er, no, Let's get berries.
Cathy (whispering): (mumbles something that can't be made out, I wish I knew what she said. Any ideas? )
Me (laughing): ok
Cathy (whispering): And then we'll get more on the way back.
Cathy (whispering): And then I'll poop in my pants.
Me: Classy
Cathy: mmm-hmmm

Tuesday, February 9, 2010

snowedintime


18th St.
Originally uploaded by hairywine

i think my mom now measures snow in batches of cookies.

Friday, February 5, 2010

Bek

My sister has been on my case about not posting about her enough. She thinks I talk about my body hair too much. She wonders why I can't write more stories about her. I find all of this very odd, since most of her childhood was spent trying to avoid any sort of attention brought on by family. Actually, I think she spent a good portion of her childhood crying with embarrassment over something myself or my mother did.

This upcoming snowstorm reminded me of one such incident where I purposefully caused her shame.

When I was in first grade I had a babysitter who told me about a local, nearby hill that had the best sledding around. On a good snow day, it became a slick, thick sheet of ice. I had to go.

The next big storm of the season, I begged my mother to take me there. She bowed to the pressure and so she loaded my friend Jarred, my sister, and yours truly into the maroon station wagon.

When we arrived, I remember the parking lot full of kids running, red-cheeked, and full of excitement. I remember the feeling of energy in the air and the cool breeze. Before the car was even fully parked, I grabbed my blue plastic sled and ran for the first part of the hill. At age six, i was invincible.

In first grade I was still a really tiny kid. It wasn't until the summer of fourth grade that I discovered Beefaroni and Bobs Big Boy and chubbed up (forcing me to purchase my Bar Mitzvah suit from the "husky" section of Fleet's). At the top of the hill, I pounced on my sled and went flying. Quickly, the sheet of ice that the snow-hill had become took control over the sled, my tiny frame adding only enough weight for propulsion, and not enough for control. I started to spin, turning sideways, the entire sled veering to the left. Although I have no recollection of this, the hill was next to the high school football stadium, which was surrounded by an until then unnoticed chain link fence. The sled veered toward the fence. It flipped me around, and I hit the chain link, face first, somehow catching the bottom of the fence in my mouth. I was knocked completely unconscious. The next thing I knew, I was being carried into the ER, my mother screaming for help......

For my mother, the scene at the top of the hill played out something like this:

My mother, sister and friend Jared all ran to the hill after me, thinking they were in for a fun afternoon of sledding followed closely by hot chocolate. My mother watched as I hit the ice and started to loose control. She watched as I nailed the fence. She screamed my name. She screamed it a few times. Then she stole a sled from some kid (awesome) and came down after me. Helped by a couple of father's who were hanging around, they removed the fence from my mouth and carried me up to the car. My mother, directing my sister to stay behind with a known-adult, sped to the nearby hospital, where I was patched up.

For my sister, the scene played a little more like this:

After her annoying little brother jumped out of the car, Bek grabbed her own sled and walked slowly behind my mother, making sure that nobody would think she was related to or knew any of us. In fact, her hope was that, despite her bright pink snow suit and boots stuffed with plastic bag liners, the older kids would think that she was passing through, just another 8 1/2 year old on a smoke-break or back from a date with Chad Allen. Soon, she heard her mother (as usual) causing a scene. "God" she thought, "can't I go anywhere without her drawing attention TO ME?" In her mind, she re-lived a scene a few days before where, fearing that her son was stolen at the local kiddy-city, her mother walked the aisles screaming "Joshie!!" as loud as she could. At that moment, she could have killed to be whisked-away to the life she so desired, away from her annoying family, and living in a mansion with an indoor, rideable train set. Maybe she would even have a black butler.

Eventually, she made her way to the top of the hill, only to see her mother steal a sled from some cute older boy, and go down the hill herself. What was her mother thinking??? The older kids would make fun of her forever for this one. An old lady sledding? Just another stunt her mother was pulling to mortify her. Soon she realized that something was wrong with her brother. Was he hurt??? The action of the hill-side came to a halt as everyone attention focused on her mother and brother. Whatever happened, she felt, Josh MUST have done it on purpose. Soon her mother came storming up the hill, her brother draped over her shoulders, shoving kids, sleds, and parents out of the way. Tears of embarrassment filled Bek's eyes watching the scene. She started to tremble. She just knew, deep down, that whatever happened, she was going to have to move or run-away after this. There was no-way she was going to live this one down. The next thing she knew her mother was yelling at her (as if she did anything wrong?), telling her to stay behind with a neighbor, and she placed Josh in the car and drove off. There was no doubt about it, this was the WORST day of Bek's life.

Friday, January 22, 2010

T is for

Dear world, although I don't consume swine, I am formally nominating myself as your sausage man.

Cathy and I got back earlier this week from a fantastic jaunt to Austin to where we ate a ton of food and hung out with awesome friends (in that particular order). Upon our return, Cathy declared the food in DC better than the food in Austin. I believe her reasoning is based primarily on the lack of Asian diversity. Speaking of which, we went to a bar our last night there to pick up some food. While Cathy and I were standing at the bar, shoulder to shoulder (sexy, right?), an older gentleman pointed to her but asked me "Vietnamese or Japanese?" I found that it was very understanding of him to both pick countries that were not China, and to ask the question of me, since you just never know who might be deaf & mute & from Asia. Cathy was not amused.

Our first day there was spent in the Czech-settled region outside of Austin. But first we ate some BBQ!



Then we headed out to the hinter-lands where we stopped in on a few of the amazing painted Catholic churches built by these Czech communities 100 years ago.



The next morning was spent in Molton where we went to a family sausage making. The men stayed outside butchering and grinding freshly slaughtered hogs, drinking beer and listening to Texas-Czech polka music. The woman were inside making amazing strudel. What does it say about me that I felt more at home with the ladies in the kitchen? Although I did not consume any of the swine, Cathy ate for the both of us. (although she ate and drank a ton while in Texas, the following picture is not Cathy)













The rest of the weekend was awesome but less picture friendly. We stayed with our wonderful friends Stuart and Larny who are the most amazing, hospitable people on earth. For some reason we ended up with a ton of pictures of Stuart and only one of Larny. What gives?

This is the closest thing I have to a shot of both Stuart and Larny.

Thursday, January 7, 2010

J is for?

Oh no.

Josh S just wrote to me to let me know that technically Joshua IS Jesus in English since both Joshua and Jesus shared the hebrew name Yohoshua.

See Etymology below.

But here is the real issue. Cathy's REAL name in Korean means Jesus (since she as born on Christmas) and my name means Jesus (since I guess secretly my parents wanted a Christmas tree or a kid who could turn water in to Manishewitz for cost savings) I guess am living with myself. Oy.


Etymology
See also: Yeshua

"Jesus" (pronounced /ˈdʒiːzəs/) is a transliteration, occurring in a number of languages and based on the Latin Iesus, of the Greek Ἰησοῦς (Iēsoûs), itself a Hellenisation of the Hebrew יֵשׁוּעַ (Yēšûă‘) or Hebrew-Aramaic יְהוֹשֻׁעַ (Yĕhōšuă‘, Joshua), meaning "Yahweh delivers (or rescues)".[31] "Christ" (pronounced /ˈkraɪst/) is a title derived from the Greek Χριστός (Christós), meaning the "Anointed One", a translation of the Hebrew מָשִׁיחַ (Messiah).[32][33]:274-275 A "Messiah" is a king anointed at God's direction or with God's approval, and Christians identify Jesus as the one foretold by Hebrew prophets."


I got rid of the beard since I am off to a conference in NCY today. Sorry dudes. Here is a picture of it and my hairy shoulders.

Tuesday, January 5, 2010

Long John Sliver

Yesterday, after a serious spinning class at the LA fitness (where the instructor referred to me as Mr. Scruffy, in reference to my increasingly face-overpowering-beard) and following the realization that the holidays and my travels packed an extra 9 pounds on my ass, I took a shower.

It was a fine shower with shitty LA Fitness dial soap. My post shower routine usually has me drying off, and then putting on my underthings before I head back into the locker room area, so as not to flaunt my covenant with the lord. Yesterday, however, I wore long johns under my jeans, since it is was cold as Cathy's heart outside. Not wanting to drag my long johns into the shower, for obvious reasons, I opted to walk from the shower into the locker area with my mini-towel held over my person-parts. Then, I decided that it might be embarrassing to change right into the long johns in the middle of the locker room, what with them being baggy, and my desire not to look completely like a mountain man lost in the mean city. So, what I attempted to do was slide both the john and the jeans on AT THE SAME TIME. This was a failure. With three Congolese guys laughing at me (I could tell, even if I didn't understand what they were staying) I tried to insert myself, one leg at a time, into my outfit. My first leg got caught in the johns, and I started to hop around, bare assed, nearly knocking one of the laughing men over with my hirsute backside. Then, when the leg started to go in, my big toe got caught on the underwear and ripped a hole right though, causing me to fall forward, cathing myself at the laft moment on a bench. Finally, after a good five minutes of public struggle I was able to assemble myself like an adult. I hate the winter.

The following is shot of people getting down in Colombia, where it was considerably warmer than 20 degrees F.

Saturday, January 2, 2010

Up

Cathy and I just finished watching "Away We Go." Until she hit play, I was under the assumption that this was the movie about the fat kid and the flying house. It turns out that is another movie altogether.

The movie was very sweet and romantic, but Cathy spent the entirety of the film loudly complaining about the soundtrack, which was chock-full of low-level Nick Drake-like drivel. I was able to get past the maudlin music and focus the gooey-stuff, but Cathy held onto that rage like bun to a hot dog.