Travel Bugs

This week I would like to talk to you about my travel luck…or lack there of.  As you all know, I am away for a few weeks at a summer program.  I showed up and I was very excited and ready and I had everything I needed, and then it set in: my travel luck.  I honestly cannot explain it, but as soon as I leave the comfort of my home, I become a disaster magnet.  So this week when strange, ironic and unfortunate occurrences began to happen to me, I thought to myself, “what is going on?” But I suppose I should have seen it all coming.  Let me take you back to last summer so you can get a better sense of what I am talking about.

Last summer, I went to Israel for three weeks.  I flew to JFK with two of my best friends to meet everyone else who would be on our trip (it was one of those teen youth trip things that everyone says changes your life).  Prior to leaving I had tied this super obnoxious plaid ribbon onto my bag so that I couldn’t miss it when I had to pick it up at baggage in Israel, because let’s be honest, that would happen to me.  There was a security guard who was supposed to be watching our bags, but I guess she let her eyes wander for a few minutes because mid making friends, my friend Becky turned to me and said,

“Emma, isn’t that your bag?”

Sure enough there was a creepy man walking briskly away with MY SUITCASE.  No, not my purse or my carry-on, my actual suitcase. Unwilling to believe that this was happening, I tried to convince myself that it was not mine.  But then I thought, “No, stupid, who else has that obnoxious ribbon?”  So I chased him down and demanded my bag back, which I sat on for the rest of the night.

Then, once we got to Israel, we went on a hiking trip.  I forgot, for a moment, that Israel is a desert.  And after a long day of hiking, my feet were pretty darn nasty (sorry, that was gross).  I took off my shoes for just a second and stood up to get some more pita, and…OUCH.  Stung. By a scorpion. On a three day hiking trip.  On the first night. Of course.

Fast forward two weeks and I had an allergic reaction to my contacts.  Contacts! That I had been wearing for, count ‘em, THREE YEARS.  Why had nobody noticed that little problem before? I had to go to three separate emergency rooms, was yelled at in rapid Hebrew, and was forced to watch the Israeli version of American Idol…interesting. 

So I got to my summer program, and sure enough, ten minutes after my parents left, I dropped my phone for maybe the ten billionth time.  But this time the screen broke.  Great, left without a phone.  Lucky for me there was a Verizon store close by.  Then, my fan broke.  And it is hotter than Brad Pitt in my dorm room.  And then my blinds broke.  But who needs privacy when you live on the first floor anyway…

However, despite my bad luck, one thing has remained intact.  My bag.  I may be clumsy and I may attract dangerous situations, creepy people, and scorpions, but this bag has made it through it all.  Truly the perfect bag for all of your adventures. 

-Emma

Travelocity

This weekend is another weekend of travel.  I am off to a pre-college program for three weeks, and my parents are dropping me off.  So I am pretty excited, but we all know what comes before a trip: packing.

I hate packing.  End of story.  Hate it.  It stresses me out, I think endlessly about what to pack and what not to pack, and I always forget something.  Lately that something has been a hairbrush, so I must pay the price for my forgetfulness by having to use my Dad’s tiny travel bush that takes about twenty minutes to work through my long thick hair.  A few years ago we went to California and I forgot to bring shoes.  I know what you’re thinking, “Shoes? Really, Emma?  You forgot shoes?”  But believe it or not, it happened.  The next fiasco was the AP review books.  My family went to Arizona for Spring Break, and I had to study for my AP American test.  But here is the catch: I forgot to bring my AP review books to study from. Honestly, how does that happen? I had them all laid out and everything, I just forgot them.

           

So packing always freaks me out.  In addition to forgetting some things, I bring far too many others.  Every time I am going away, I try to bring enough options to suit any mood that I might be in.  And I always want choices.  This is a habit that I inherited from my mother.  The two of us are classic over-packers.  I once went to camp for seven weeks, where I would be able to do my laundry once a week, and I brought thirty shirts.  Some of you may read this and think that I am absolutely insane, and maybe I am, but I just get carried away.  I start going through my drawers and think to myself, “well, maybe I will want to wear that,” or, “how can I not bring this shirt?” or, “there is no way that I can go out of town without these jeans.”  It gets a bit out of hand, and before I know it my bag is overweight, which, these days, ends up costing you your college savings. 

My mom is the exact same way.  She comes downstairs with a suitcase that takes a small army to close, and when we ask her why she needs so much stuff she says, “What? It’s all work out stuff!”  Yeah…ok.  My dad is a pretty light packer, but his travel nerves kick in at the airport.  He has a constant fear of missing a plane, so when we step out of the cab he hits the ground running. We call it airport speed. I swear, his legs move at the speed of light.  We usually have to jog to keep up with him, and many times he gets so far ahead that we lose him and take turns picking up our phones and giving him angry calls, telling him to SLOW DOWN. I think Jake is the only one unaffected by travel.  He just plugs into his iPod and comes out of his techni-coma when we arrive.

Anyways, I am going away for three weeks and I left this morning.  And as I sat on my bag, beads of sweat dripping down my forehead, trying desperately to close my suitcase, I realized I had to take something out.  The clothes hangers.  As I started to panic, I realized that I didn’t have to leave them behind I threw them in a tote bag and we were off to the airport.

-Emma

Born to Ride

So I know that I have been saying this for weeks, but now summer is FINALLY here… for me. Some of you lucky ones have already been loafing around in the warm breezes and lying out at the beach, but until last Wednesday I was still stuck in school.  However, I finished my finals so congratulations to me. 

This weekend was something else.  My cousin Tessa, who lives in Washington D.C., had her Bat Mitzvah on Saturday. Jake joined us there and it was wonderful to have the whole family together again. Tessa did a wonderful job and it was a beautiful ceremony.  But I am not here to talk about services.  I am going to tell you about the fun stuff: the party.

My Aunt Stephanie, Tessa’s mom, knows how to throw a party.  She is a lobbyist in D.C., but I think that she doubles as a party planner.  The party was at an old amusement park, and at first I was just terrified that there would be clowns.  But then we arrived at the tent and it was unbelievable.  There was a fortune-teller, photo booth, temporary tattoo artist, and best of all, an Ace of Cakes cake. 

Now, Ace of Cakes is a bit of a guilty pleasure for me.  Not that many people know this, so I suppose I am exposing myself by sharing my embarrassing little obsession with the world, but I watch the show religiously.  I even tape it and watch it on the treadmill.  So it goes without saying that I was ecstatic to find a cake that looked like a merry-go-round sitting on a table in the tent.  It even rotated! 

Aside from that, though, most of the women in my Dad’s family decided to get tattoos.  Temporary, don’t worry, but that might have been the highlight of the evening. Three generations of women had “Born to Ride” airbrushed in pink and black on our upper arms.  So if that doesn’t give you a sense of my family, I don’t know what does.

We also had our fortunes told.  Aren’t they supposed to tell you good things about yourself?  I was told that I am going to have a bad marriage and that I should have kids early to get it over with.  So I think that my concerns are justified.  I mean, she can see the future…right?

But back to the bags.  As I am sure you are all aware, Father’s Day is coming very quickly.  So be sure to get your dad a murse (man purse)! Kidding…sort of.  But seriously, for all of you who will be traveling this summer, treat yourself to the perfect carry-on bag.  I brought one along to D.C. this weekend, and it fit everything I needed, including laptop, sunglasses, iPod, books, and more.  So when you are packing up for your summer travels, make sure you are doing it in style.

-Emma

Two Many Chefs in the Kitchen

Let’s talk a little bit about cooking.  I am, and have always been, a terrible cook.  Seriously, I am not exaggerating.  It has always seemed a bit ironic to me, because I love food.  I read Martha Stewart and Bon Appetit like it is nobody’s business.  I even go so far as to dog-ear the pages with the recipes that I like, hoping that my mom will find them and make them.   Because let’s be honest here, I am not going to successfully whip up wild mushroom ravioli with a side of grilled asparagus. No siree, not this girl. 

So what?  What does this have to do with anything?  Well, a few weeks ago, I got to thinking about my future: a dangerous endeavor, let me tell you.  I saw myself as a fabulous twenty-something-year-old living in New York City.  I pictured myself coming home from work and whipping up some dinner in my swanky apartment. But…wait…oh no! I can’t cook!  And I only have a year left at home! OH MY GOD WHY AM I WASTING MY TIME SITTING AROUND DAYDREAMING?  I NEED TO LEARN HOW TO COOK. And who better to ask than my mother? I found my mom and frantically told her that I need to learn, stat.  She agreed to teach me, and my dad just kind of laughed to himself. 

So starting tonight, I will be spending my Sunday nights in the Susan Silverman Culinary Institute, aka the kitchen.  My mom is going to give me weekly cooking lessons, so you can all sleep soundly knowing that I WILL know how to cook by the time I am a twenty-something New Yorker.  Tonight we are making penne pasta with a tomato and goat cheese sauce (sorry, not our own artisinal goat cheese), served alongside roasted broccoli and a greens salad.  But if anybody reading this has some sublime recipe that you wish to share, post it in a comment! We have plenty of Sunday nights, and we are open to experimentation (just nothing to crazy).  So please tell us your favorite recipes, and we just might serve them up in the Silverman household this summer. But really, don’t take this sadistically and tell me to make ostrich foot or something like that.  That’s just mean.

So when you are all out shopping this summer for your groceries (or anything else, for that matter) be eco-friendly and don’t use the plastic bags that stores shell out by the billion.  Instead, bring your new tote bag and throw the goods in there.  It is big enough to carry anything you might want, and you are helping the earth along the way.  And to top it off, you are doing all of this in style. 

-Emma