Stepford Made Simple

"I think you'll love hating this." -- Rutila

Yesterday morning, Rutila sent me this Brokelyn article with the above subject line. The piece outlines an unemployed woman's tips for being a successful stay-at-home girlfriend (with success defined solely in terms of keeping her boyfriend happy) and covers illuminating advice such as "keep the place clean," "keep yourself up," and "pamper him." And no, it's not satire.

As a modern woman who (I believe) excels at being both a badass man's world fighter and an old-school domestic goddess, I was offended by the article. The author's stated mission to keep her boyfriend happy at all costs was disturbing and her "tips" offered no practical advice for living on the cheap in NYC (which, funnily enough, is Brokelyn's mission). What bothered me most, though, was her assertion that her boyfriend should be allowed to leave his dirty laundry on the floor because he's a working man and doesn't have time to pick up after himself. I joked to Rutila that I should write my own list of tips in retaliation, but I let it drop when half of the internet beat me to the punch in criticizing the article and its author.

However, as the hours passed and my thoughts marinated, the idea seemed more and more attractive. The author of the original article may have missed the point with her list of "tips," but that doesn't prohibit me from sharing what I've learned about how to be both a workaholic and a Stepford Wife. These aren't orders or demands; they're just the time-saving things I've done to keep my home neat, and hopefully they'll be useful to someone out there. Thus, I present my personal pointers for...

How to Work 10 Hours A Day and Still Have Enough Time to Cook Dinner, Groom Yourself, and Not Leave Crap on the Floor of Your Apartment


1. Keep the place clean.


There's no need to ever throw laundry on the floor. Keep a hamper with three compartments -- one for whites, one for colors, and one for delicates -- near your usual changing area. Feel free to keep the lid open if you want to lob your clothing across the room instead of walking it to the hamper. Install a hook or keep a shelf for items that can be worn again before being laundered.

Keep side towels in the kitchen and in the bathroom. Get water, crumbs, or makeup on a surface? Wipe it up with a side towel as soon as it happens and toss it in the laundry once it gets skanky.

Stash a Swiffer sweeper in a corner and run it over your floors once every few days. I'm a long-haired woman who sheds, so this is quite necessary.

Taking off your shoes as soon as you enter your apartment keeps your floors cleaner AND ensures that all your shoes stay in one spot.

Keep a tray or dish on your desk, your coffee table, or any surface where small items usually accumulate. Let your small items accumulate in the tray instead of all over the surface.

If you don't have time to make your bed with meticulous precision each morning, invest in a thick comforter. It takes fifteen seconds to toss it over your bed and straighten it out immediately after you wake up each morning, and if your sheets are a little rumpled underneath, no one will be able to tell.


2. Cook dinner.


I can fill a hundred blog posts with cooking tips alone, so I'll stick to basics here. You'll save a ton of money and eat a lot healthier if you commit to cooking at least half of your meals. Learn how to steam, sautee, simmer, braise, toast, and roast. Learn how to make homemade stock. Learn how to handle a knife. Keep it simple and use fresh ingredients. Don't overseason.

Use fresh vegetables whenever possible, and buy them (and other perishables) as you need them to minimize waste. Since I'm in NYC and there's no shortage of supermarkets wherever I go, I usually make a couple of small trips each week instead of one big one. Get familiar with how long your perishables stay fresh, and if you buy a whole head of broccoli or a dozen eggs, make an effort to plan a few corresponding meals within their usable time frames to avoid having to throw anything away.

Make a habit of preparing a little more of each meal than you need so you have leftovers for a second meal (or lunch the next day). Keep a cabinet of food storage containers and portion out your leftovers for refrigerating or freezing.

Every time you buy bagels, bread, or rolls, put a few slices in the fridge for immediate use and freeze the rest. It'll last forever. Thaw in the fridge or toast directly from the freezer before eating.

Buy meat and fish in bulk. Before you freeze it, portion out the pieces into single servings and individually wrap them in plastic. On that note, almost any perishable item can be frozen for later use if you know you won't be able to use it fresh before it goes bad; just Google the best way of doing it.

Learn how to cook an entire meal using as few pots and pans as possible, and learn how to prep an entire meal with an 8'' chef's knife (tip for the small stuff, base for the large stuff). And make a habit of washing up while you're cooking... especially in terms of dirty dishes. When you're finished with an item, don't put it in the sink -- wash it out and reuse it, put it away, or place it in the dishwasher. There's no greater pleasure than to not have to deal with a sink full of dishes after dinner.

Wipe down your cooktop and counters after every single use. A little wipe goes a long way.

3. Keep yourself up.

Set aside some time on the weekend to iron all your clothes for the next week. This is what I do while I'm catching up on my week's worth of recorded TV shows.

Perfect a five-minute makeup routine. I cannot stress this enough.


4. Tackle bigger jobs on the weekend.


Set aside a few hours hours on Saturday or Sunday for things that can't be done during your daily routine. The trick is to multi-task by layering activities that require short bursts of energy over activities with lots of down-time. Throw your laundry in the washing machine (which shouldn't take long because, owing to your hamper, it's already presorted), then head back to your apartment and take half an hour to wash or vacuum your floors. Clean your bathroom while your clothes are in the dryer. Dust and make the bed while stuff is in the oven. Iron while your floors are drying and your freezer is defrosting.

5. Pamper your guests and cohabitants... but stay true to yourself.

Since keeping things clean and whipping up quick meals for yourself is a no-brainer at this point, feel free to extend the same courtesy to your houseguests. Only if you want to, though. Don't be a doormat; your houseguests shouldn't expect you to clean up after them and any blogger or article that says differently shouldn't be believed. It's not your job to cook or clean for anyone other than yourself (as long as kids aren't in the equation) unless you're happy and willing to do so. Keep a clear head, don't let anyone guilt you into pulling their weight for them, and compromise is key.

Open Up My Eager Eyes

"But it's just the price I pay. Destiny is calling me." -- The Killers

I visited my parents last weekend and, in passing, I mentioned "Mr. Brightside," the prolific rock anthem by The Killers. My mother wasn't familiar with the song, so I pulled out my iPod to play her a verse or two. She never got to hear it, though; she got bored and wandered away as I tried to find it.

I have "Mr. Brightside" on my iPod. Of course I do. And all of my music tracks are meticulously labeled and catalogued, making these types of searches simple. What was the problem, then? I live for well-done covers, and I have so many cover versions of "Mr. Brightside" on my iPod that the original gets lost when I try to search for it by title.

I've often joked that I could fill an entire CD with "Mr. Brightside" covers and not make it sound monotonous, so today, I've decided to share some of the best with you. It's one song made to sound like five, played in completely different styles yet seeming like it was written for each, which is the truest testament to its brilliance that I can imagine.

First, here is the original Killers track and its moving music video (starring Eric Roberts as Brandon Flowers' nemesis):

Here's an incredible piano and violin cover by musician Eric Wuest:

Here's music legend Paul Anka's big band/swing version: link to Stereogum.

Boyce Avenue kills it on acoustic guitar here:



British boy band McFly recorded this pop version for charity in 2005.



And here's my favorite version, the Los Angeles Orchestral Academy's symphonic cover. It just begs to be blasted as high as your stereo can go.

I Still Have A Doppelganger

"Oh Juliet, the dice was loaded from the start. And I bet, then you exploded in my heart. And I forget... I forget the movie song. When are you gonna realize it was just that the timing was wrong?" -- The Killers


I've written at length about my doppelganger -- the woman my colleagues mistake for me at the gym who was also spotted on the UWS by my nurse last fall. (We're ignoring the Cafe Mozart portrait model and the Notre Dame High School graduate from 1948 here, since it's unlikely that my doppelganger is anywhere near as old as either of those women.)

I bet you wondered whatever happened to the nameless chick who dares to walk around the island of Manhattan wearing my face. Well, an entire year passed with no sign of her. But apparently... she's back.

About two months ago, a security guard in my office wished me a good morning and struck up a conversation...

Guard: You're so lucky to live so close to work.
Me: I know! It's exactly one mile.
Guard: One mile? You live in the corner building above the Chinese restaurant!
Me: No, I don't...
Guard: Does your boyfriend live in the corner building, then?
Me: No, he doesn't. Why do you ask?
Guard: I've seen you come out of that building a couple of times.
Me: It wasn't me you saw.
Guard: I see you every day! I know what you look like!
Me: I'm telling you, it wasn't me!
Guard: Weird. Oh well.

About one month ago, I stopped at Gotham for coffee and the woman on line behind me smiled in my direction. She kept smiling and I kept my gaze fixed firmly in the opposite direction as I collected my coffee. She then approached me as I was adding milk.

Woman: You seem busy so I won't stay to talk long, but I just thought you should know that Winnie is still in physical therapy.
Me: I'm sorry, I don't know who Winnie is.
Woman: But...
Me: Apparently, there's a woman in this neighborhood who looks just like me. I've been mistaken for her before; perhaps she knows Winnie. I'm sorry.
Woman: Okay...

About one week ago, an elderly couple strolled into my office lobby as I was waiting for the elevator. They yelled "Michelle!" a couple of times. After the third yell, I realized that I was the only person in the lobby and turned around.

Me: I'm Ashley.
Man: Ashley? But you look just like Michelle! Doesn't she look like Michelle?
Woman: Yes! You and Michelle could be twins, dear!
Man: They absolutely could! Same height and everything!
Me: Um, thank you? I'm assuming that's a good thing, at any rate.
Woman: Of course it is. Wow, what a funny coincidence! I need to tell Michelle!

The elevator appeared and I hightailed it the hell out of there.

Finally, two days ago, my boss came to work with a stiff neck and shoulder. Why? He saw me on the street -- miles away from anywhere I actually walked that morning, of course -- and jerked around to wave at me, giving himself a muscle strain in the process. He eventually realized it couldn't be me because of the woman's location, but isn't it funny that the similarity caused him to react like that?

Yep. At what point should I start getting freaked out about all of this?

No Frapp For You!

"She was lucky the Gotham staff is so nice. My local coffee shop is so anti-Starbucks that they would have told her to take a hike the second she said the word 'tall.' -- a coworker


I've written about my favorite coffee shop -- a warm, privately-owned, completely unpretentious place with superbly friendly baristas -- before. It's as different from Starbucks as you can get... but apparently some people still get confused. I overheard the following conversation while I was adding milk to my coffee this morning:


Patron: I'd like a tall soy misto, please.
Baristo: Pardon?
Patron: A tall soy misto.
Baristo: I'm sorry, I don't know what that is.
Patron: Sorry -- a SMALL soy misto.
Baristo: Yep, got that part.
Patron: Okay.
[Pause.]
Baristo: So... is that just coffee with soy?
Patron: Steamed soy.
Baristo: Ah, so a soy cafe au lait!
Patron: Yeah. Whatever.

Safety first!

"Always wear expensive shoes. People notice." -- Brian Koslow


Last night, Dan told me that a combination of snow and rain covered the sidwalks of DC with an eighth of an inch of slush, i.e. "just enough to make you slip and die." I replied that NYC was due for the same disgusting weather today. We discussed the treacherous conditions, strategized how to navigate them without running the risk of cranial fractures, and ended the conversation by telling each other to stay safe.


This morning, one of my colleagues told me a story from her walk to work. As she trudged through the sleet from the bus stop to clinic, she couldn't help but stare at the woman about to cross her path. Or, rather, at the woman's feet. Alone in a sea of miserable boot-clad commuters, this daring lady was wearing sky-high purple suede heels and was blithely hopping over puddles and ice floes en route to her destination.


My colleague stared at the woman for a moment, then realized that she recognized her. She punctuated this part of the story by shooting a glance at my feet and quirking an eyebrow.

Ahem.


In my defense, I was just popping fifty feet across the street for a meeting! And the sky-high purple suede heels are made by Melissa... meaning they're injection-molded from flexible polyvinyl chloride and are thus nonslip and waterproof! And I did wear sneakers for my real commute! And... yeah, I'm out of excuses.

Pwned.

"ALL YOUR BASE ARE BELONG TO US." -- Zero Wing and its associated meme

I'm a geek, I work on a small research team filled with geeks, and we spend an inordinate amount of time trying to outdo each other with nerdspeak, SAT words, and pop culture references. Last week, I neatly hid the phrase "all their space are belong to us" under the fourth bullet point of our team meeting agenda.

I expected at least three of my colleagues to recognize the phrase and get a kick out of it.

I didn't expect to arrive at the meeting and find several surgeons, a couple of nurses from a different department, and some new research staff -- all of whom are woefully unfamiliar with my sense of humor and the shenanigans my teammates and I enjoy in our spare time -- sitting at the conference table.

My target audience of three individuals chuckled when we reached the fourth bullet point. Judging from the facial expressions of the newcomers, I surmised that none of them got the joke.

And judging from the fact that one of them muttered the words "subject-verb agreement" after the meeting adjourned, I knew I was right.

Pwned.

An Open Letter to the Upper East Side After A Snowstorm

"Hardly dashing through the snow because I bundled up too tight." -- The Waitresses

Uggs are not snow boots. They are not waterproof and they have no traction. If you move unnaturally slowly and keep falling over yourself because you insist on wearing them, don't look insulted when I scoot past you on the sidewalk.

Rubber rain wellies are not snow boots, either. I thought this would be obvious, especially considering how loudly you were screeching "OMG my toes are COLD!" in the middle of the street. I know some companies make cold-weather inserts for them; perhaps you should invest.

I've ranted about this in the past, but I'll say it again: you do not need an umbrella in the snow. Snow is the solid form of water, so if it lands on you, brush it off. All an umbrella does is impede the visibility of the person standing behind you, i.e. me, and make already treacherous conditions more dangerous for everyone around you.

I understand you're young and in love. But walking side by side and hand in hand during rush hour after a blizzard isn't a good idea, especially when the shoveled path through the snowdrifts on most sidewalks is only a foot and a half wide.

Dogs do not need sweaters. They manufacture their own sweaters. However, if you insist on putting a sweater on your dog and said dog sits in the middle of the sidewalk trying to chew the sweater off instead of doing its business, "I wonder why he's doing that...?" isn't a bright observation.

Yes, I'm aware that you own a darling mom-and-pop establishment that, by some miracle, has stayed open for sixty years in a tough retail neighborhood. Good for you, and kudos on beating the odds! However, you have no excuse not to shovel your damn sidewalk. If the tiniest old woman I've ever seen has enough strength to sling snow around outside that deli on 74th St., you can certainly do the same.

If your awning collapses onto the sidewalk under the weight of all that snow, drag it to the curb so people can pass. Scaling the thing and vaulting myself over the top, mountaineer-style, isn't on my list of things I like doing at 7:30 in the morning. And circumnavigating your garbage involves walking in the street -- and puts me directly in the path of the oncoming M15.

And speaking of the M15, don't feel bad about taking photos of the three buses stuck in the snow in the middle of the 68th St. intersection. It's hilarious. One of the bus drivers chilled in his seat eating pizza and doughnuts for ten whole hours; I was watching from the window.

Lastly, stop blaming the Dept. of Sanitation for this mess. It's not their fault that a good chunk of their workforce was laid off and remaining staff members have to contend with restricted overtime.

Drawing a Crowd

"I'm just a someone in an old museum, far away from home as someone can go, and the beauty is I still meet people I know. Hello! This is wanting something, this is praying for it. This is holding breath and keeping fingers crossed. This is counting blessings, this is wondering when I'll see that boy again..." -- Adam Guettel

I spent my Saturday at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. (I think it's safe to call it the first of many Saturdays spent there, since it's a ten-minute walk from my new apartment.) I patronized the new stuff first: I loved John Baldessari's work for its clearly sarcastic overtones, wondered if Charles Rohlfs' wife and kids secretly hated him for filling their home with gorgeously designed yet horrifically uncomfortable-looking furniture, and spent hours -- literally hours -- wandering around the New American Wing and its dozens of new Period Rooms.

I then visited my old favorites -- the sculpture courts, the roof garden where I became a real New Yorker (which is getting a blog post of its own next week), and the upstairs gallery full of portraits of creepy-looking children. I also got in some quality time with my sketchbook:

For the first time ever, my work wasn't photographed by any tourists. (Not to my knowledge, anyway.) Instead, random visitors kept asking me questions about the artwork I was sketching. By closing time, I had explained why Roman sculptures don't have carved pupils and irises to a young couple, retold the Perseus myth to a little girl, gave some high schoolers a lecture on the classical ideal of female beauty, and explained to a young man why the boobs looked weird on the statue of the muse. I have no idea why people thought I knew the answers to their questions; I just had one of those faces today, I guess.

Scraps

"I was too big for this town. Can't believe that I was only seventeen, a Catholic punk who couldn't wait to scream... but come tomorrow, I'll be leaving this worn-out, worn-down place." -- Peter Cincotti

I'm moving, thus I'm packing, thus I'm paring my possessions down to the bare minimum. Tonight, I sorted through a Rubbermaid bin full of my college papers and notes. I recycled a lot, but of course, I found some interesting stuff -- some great memories, some painful memories, some hilarious exchanges, way too many notes passed during boring classes, and some things that were just plain strange. I ended my evening with a stack of clippings, and I decided to share the best of the best with all of you.

This was a poster from our Senior Fund advertising campaign, designed to appeal to everyone's inner dork. Its other stars included Brian Griffin, an xkcd stick figure, Dumbledore, Master Splinter, Doctor Who, Dark Helmet, Doc Brown, and Lambda Lambda Lambda, among many others.

This was a PowerPoint slide from a presentation I gave about scabies mites. It's the cleverest PowerPoint slide I've ever made and no PowerPoint slide I ever make in the future will ever live up to its awesomeness.

My 2007 Christmas card.

A fun afternoon in Engineering of Body Fluids lecture. I have no idea whose handwriting this is, but it was a pretty typical exchange for that class.

And two whole semesters of that class qualified its students to discuss exactly one scientific topic:

Some doodles that, after lots of hard work, many sleepless nights, and requisite refinements, won five of us an engineering design prize.

Some of our engineering design ideas were obviously better than others.

Another nonsensical design idea, though if Dan and I were actually able to get it off the ground, we could have retired to Hawaii within six months of graduation.

Kim and I thought this made perfect sense at the time, apparently.

My Lab III evaluation. Seems like senioritis had set in by that point, ya think?

My earliest foray into Lichtenstein pop art, doodled on the edge of my junior year schedule printout.

And last but not least, something that still holds true in my world.

Pop!

"When I was a child, I was a dreamer. I read comic books... and I was the hero of comic books." -- Elvis Presley

Experimentation in the style of Roy Lichtenstein. Partially inspired by my third re-read of The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay.

Ben-day dots are really difficult to draw freehand.