BB Number Three

Who would you invite to your dinner party, and why?

This prompt comes from Debbie, in true English-professor fashion. Modeled off of an article by Marina Warner, who hosted a faux-party with six guests, a chef, and sous-chef. The point, however, was to not only invite your favorite people or those who are most influential to you. Warner made a point to create her guest list based upon pairings: which two people would sit with whom, making for the most dynamic set of three couples around the dinner table?

I thought and thought and thought about all the literary figures who've been stuffed into my head throughout my life, but then I decided, "You know what? SCRAP THAT. It's summertime. And there are more awesome people in the world than just Englishy folk." (Although, many very cool people are Englishy folk. If I didn't believe that, I wouldn't be studying what I am. [What I am studying, that is. Not what I am. Except, I suppose I do study what I am here, as well. It's unavoidable.])

And so, in true nonconformist fashion, I am inviting three of my favorite people in the world, who all incidentally get along famously with one another, and I am pairing them with people who I feel are interesting enough to make for an awesome party and who my friends would adore. (Aaaaand, breathe.)

Pair One: The ravishing and intensely complicated Andrea S. I am pairing her with Salvador Dalí. He has always been one of the most enigmatic artists to me, so I'd like him to come to the party. I'm pairing them because, for one, Drea is an artist.

And although this may be hotly contested, I am going to argue that a tortured soul's lamentations are often soothed best by another tortured soul. Dalí and Drea can sit side by side, their heads bent toward each other with magnetic whispers, sipping vodka on the rocks. (Or with soda.) Then, when they're good and drunk, they can crazily throw cats around the room.

stipulations: Dalí must come later in his life, when he painted like this:

He must bring a blank canvas and paints, as well, because I want him to take a break from Gala and paint Drea instead. Since I'm the host for this incredible dinner party, he'll have to leave the canvas with me, though. Sorry, Salvador. And I'd really like Drea to come with her hair down, dramatic eyes, and wearing layers upon layers of wispy, gossamer chiffon.

Pair Two: My outrageously gregarious and beautiful friend Miranda S. She gets to sit with Betsey Johnson. I am fairly certain that Miranda and Betsey, kicked back with cosmopolitans or tequila shots, each wiggling a four-inch-heeled ankle off of crossed thighs, would be an unstoppable pair. They'd exude boisterous, sexy drama punctuated with sparkly pink laughter that would fill the room to the brim. They, too, would soon be drunk, and then they'd talk of nothing but how great it is to be blonde and fabulous. And no one would argue with them.

stipulations: Miranda has to wear her "OMG that's low"-cut black and white patterned halter dress, and Betsey has to bring party favors for the girls (me, Mir, and Drea). Yes, that is how it works at my party. The favors will be a bag stuffed with a pair of shoes, a piece of jewelry, and either a bottle of perfume or a pair of sunglasses. All by Betsey. And my friends can pick with pieces they want.

In case you're wondering, I would choose:

Pair Three: The intelligent, intimidating, breathtaking, hysterical Anthony D. (Are you sick of hearing about him yet?) It was really, really hard for me to pair Tony with someone, perhaps because I wanted to just pair him with myself and get it ovah with. But that's not the point. So, instead, I'm pairing him with Joey Burns. I think, of all the singers in all the bands in all the world, Tony would get along best with Joey. I can picture them seated at the table, chairs migrating to face one another more and more after each draft pint (suddenly I've got beer taps! Hooray!) talking of eating enchiladas in a dark, dingy, Guadalajaran restaurant while a Spanish woman named Rocío flamenco dances with castanets. Joey will tell Tony that next time, he has to come along.

"When?" Tony will ask.

"Next Thursday? There's this Mexican festival I've always wanted to go to -- supposedly they sell the best churros and chocolate, and there are mariachi bands lining the streets..."

And the next thing we know, they're debating whether to drive or fly.

stipulations: Both Joey and Tony have to bring their guitars. Tony can use mine if he can't get ahold of his (depending on how long he's been back from Korea), but the instruments will be mandatory. And I won't want to listen to any arguing about how Tony "isn't good enough" because, even though it is a bit difficult to be as good as Joey Burns on guitar, Tony can hold his own. We'll also work on getting Joey super drunk so he plays worse.

Food

As far as food goes, I would like Julia Child in the kitchen and my mom as sous-chef. When I was very young, I remember my mom watching Julia Child's cooking show. I always thought the way she talked was so funny, but she started to grow on me after spending so much time on my TV at home. I would love to hear her bumbling around in my kitchen, exclaiming whenever a sauce turned out just right. My mom would slink right under her wing as sous-chef. Luckily, she is a pretty amazing cook herself. I'd want a very french meal, too, because good french food seems damn near impossible to come by in America. Ratatouille, spinach quiches, provencal cornish game hen, chocolate crepes. I don't know. Whatever Julia comes up with. I just want french food.

Music

Lastly, I am going add a little bit to my party. Sure, Joey and Tony will rock out with their guitars while we're drinking, but when the food is served, we'll need background music. But I don't want to listen to the radio, or CDs, or even vinyl. I want a band. And, because there is no way I could ever pick a single band to come play at my dinner party, I am going to hand-pick my musicians instead. And so, without further ado, I'd like to present the Lauren Dinner Party Group.

vocals: Leslie Feist and Amy Millan (but only if she sings like she sings in Stars, not how she sings on her solo album.)

guitar: Jenny Lewis and Britt Daniel (they would also obviously sing, as well.)

bass: Nate Query (from The Decemberists)

drums: Arlen Thompson (from Wolf Parade)

piano: Regina Spektor (nom nom nom)

violin: Marc Bianchi (he is basically the entirety of Her Space Holiday, right??)

I also want probably five or six other people to play, but this is just a short and concise list because, let's be honest, I've been writing this post for like seventeen hours now. And I'm sure you're just as sick of reading it by now. Not to mention very upset that you can't come to my kick-ass party (because it doesn't exist. *sadface* Maybe some day...).

BB Number Two

Describe the best meal you've ever eaten.

I'm a tad late on this prompt, I realize, but I've been busy. So there.

As most people know, food is very important to me. I love eating. I love all of the different, unique flavors that can be created from, say, the way you cook meat to the variety of spices that can meld a dish together. I love eating so much that I obviously love cooking. Baking is my favorite, probably because I have like ten sweet teeth. ("Oh, so you're ordering it for your tooth?" - Jim G.) But I also love standing in front of the stove, throwing shit into a pan, and seeing what comes out. This is a product of sitting on a bar stool at home and watching my mom or dad in the kitchen. Because I don't have as much experience has either of my parents, who are both wonderful cooks, I usually get something that is edible, sure, but kind of gross. I never try new things on other people unless I have a recipe to follow. I can make damn near anything turn out from a recipe, but when I'm winging it, well, that's a different story.

Accordingly, I could write about so many food experiences here. I could write about how for one summer of my life I ate sushi every day. I could write about the time I went (back) to Spain in high school, and, after our united and incessant whining about ham and cheese sandwiches, my classmates and I sat down at a long banquet table to giant pans of paella, one of my favorite dishes. I could write about how much I love munching on popomat and sipping glasses of Huck with Toria while watching The Office. But I'm not going to write about any of those things. Because food isn't just about eating to me. It's about connecting, sharing, and loving. After all, what good is it to cook a four course meal if you're the only one who's going to enjoy it (and then have to clean up afterward)?

Therefore, I am going to write about a mediocre meal I had a week and a half ago. It was a tuna salad sandwich and french fries. To be honest, I was so hungry by the time I got to the restaurant that my tummy had shrunk to fit just half the sandwich and about ten fries. I took the rest home and left it in the fridge to get thrown away. (Honestly, not my original intention. But that is what ended up happening, much to my dismay.) What made this particular meal so wonderful wasn't the food. Because it's never really about the food for me. It's about the experience. And this experience was lovely.

I was at the Village Pub in Magnolia with Tony and the majority of his family: mom, dad, stepmom, and sister. It was the night before he left for Korea. It was one of the last times I would get to sit next to him, touch his arm, and smack a kiss on his cheek for many months to come. And not only did I get to enjoy this meal with him, but also with his family who, over the course of the past two years, now occupy a specialized spot inside my heart.

I've never been so accepted into a family as I have with Tony's. Maybe I've never wanted to be. But they are so kind to me I sometimes wonder, "What have I done to deserve this?" Every single one of them -- Paulette, Sue, Zach, Jenny -- said to me that I have to visit even while Tony is in Korea. Well, Jenny said she'd have to come visit me in Pullman because she'd miss me. And she'd better, because I'll miss her too. I will miss them all.

At dinner, the conversation never halted, even when we finally got our food. Jenny and I quoted Sex and the City unabatedly, she pausing only occasionally to toss a relevant Flight of the Conchords quote into the conversation. It's nice to find someone else who is as on top of SATC as Miranda. The evening's laughter and teasing and kind words frolicked around the table between bites, all six of us playing with everyone else. I didn't feel like an outsider, someone sitting at a table with a family. I felt like I belonged there, like I was wanted, and that is one of the most precious feelings a girl can hope to experience when in the presence of her boyfriend's family. Even though the food was there less to be outstanding and more to satiate empty tummies, this meal was proof that people can be brought together with food. We were celebrating Tony's departure and enjoying the time we had with him before he was gone, and I was invited to share in the experience.

And so, although this is nowhere near the story of the best meal I've ever eaten -- because I've eaten so many amazing meals in so many different states and countries -- it's the story of the best meal, as of right now, that I have had the pleasure of sitting in on. Because, like I said, what's a good meal without good company?

BB Number One

Upload a travel picture and describe what made the moment you photographed memorable.



In late July of 2007, Tony and I took what was dubbed The West Side Trip. We've travelled from Pullman to Seattle and Vancouver numerous times, but our West Side Trip was far and away the most fun we have had together on the better side of Washington.

After spending some nights in Portland -- with Mir and Eric, Adam, Rach and Scott, and Drea, and lots of booze, we wandering up the state to Seattle. We had planned to stay at Tony's mom's house, like we do every time we're in Seattle, but instead we ended up at Zach and Jen's. Our plans quickly turned into their plans: we barbequed, drank a lot of beer, and made plans to go to Seafair. The Blue Angels were in town and, because Zach and Jen live a stone's throw away from Lake Washington, we had an amazing backyard view of the synchonized flyers. We stood out on their newly finished deck with Tyler, who was in town as well and took some time to hang out, drank beer, and followed as the planes stormed over our heads in a flash. It looked like an overly intense, skyward tennis match.

On the first day Tyler came over, we wandered down to the beach, cameras and Death Juice in tow. (I don't want to spend too much time describing Death Juice, but suffice to say it involved lemon flavored vodka and juice and 7-Up maybe, and probably some other shit, but it's like 80% vodka. And it goes down much too smooth. It was enough that a third of the contents of a metal water bottle got me so drunk I had to take a nap in the middle of the day. Not before cutting my knee open on a rock and throwing up enchiladas. [I sure hope my dad is reading this right now.]) We sauntered over to the water, just a few blocks away, and watched this little red bi-plane doing supremely impressive stunts. He would climb straight up, flip around, and just fall toward the ground, twisting and appearing out of control, until he was thisclose to the water and would pull back hard to fly along the lake's surface.

The pilot would also create perfect corkscrews, horizontal through the sky, leaving behind his plane a swirly contrail that would slowly dissipate into the beautiful July sky. It was quite the spectacle, undoubtedly, but the event's fun was compounded by the fact that I love summer more than any season and we were right in the thick of it, that I was with Tony (who I love dearly) and Tyler (who is one of my BFFs) and Death Juice (before he turned against me, the wiling bastard), and that we were in Seattle, one of the most spectacular cities in the USA.