Infantile Predictions

At Fathers' Day dinner last night, my family (mom+dad+sisters+grandpop) swapped stories from the youngest generation's childhood. What this translates to in the McAndrews household is as much embarrassment as possible. By dessert, we were all rolling. Around ice cream scooping, my parents mentioned that at ages 2 and 4, Dad commented that when we each went to college, I would ask, "Where do I buy my books?" and Ally would inquire, "Where do I get my beer?" I don't know if I should be ashamed or proud that age four my parents knew I would be a nerd.

"City of Xenophobic Bigotry"

I am now horribly ashamed of the one cheesesteak I've ever had at Geno's.

Usually I avoid the intense South Philly rivalry of Pat's and Geno's and just head to South Street for Jim's and shopping, or go to John's closer to home. When choosing between the two most famous steak-makers, though, my family has always gone Pat's. The only time I ever ventured out of my comfort zone of Pat's or South Street was after I got back from Chile. Blame it on a whole semester of "trying new things," but I decided to give Geno's a chance. It is now a source of great regret.

This regret is due to the recent recognition given a sign posted in the window of that South Philly establishment. The small placard reads: This is AMERICA ... WHEN ORDERING, 'SPEAK ENGLISH.' Classy, right? I don't think that any of the growing population of immigrants in South Philadelphia (who Vento, the owner of Geno's, is apparently targeting with his sign) realized how important English is for getting by in the United States. (Note my dripping sarcasm.) Immigrants know better than anyone else how hard it is to manage without speaking this country's most common language, let's try not to make it harder for them by making them feel unwelcome, shall we? And need I remind Mr. Vento that America still has absolutely no national language to speak of? South Philadelphia was once a community bustling with Italian immigrants... are we so quick to forget?

Of course, my love of First Amendment rights leads me to assert that Vento has every right to display his closed-minded beliefs. But I will then exercise my right to forever eat elsewhere. As one Philadelphian said, "Yo, Geno's: Philadelphia is supposed to be the City of Brotherly Love, not the City of Xenophobic Bigotry."

Hard Core

Hard as it is to believe, senior year is for real over. While I've been chastised and mocked for being "boring" this year, quite the opposite is true. It was, in fact, my most hard core year at Georgetown. Too hard core (gasp) to blog. But the grades are in, and I have passed Russian, so it's time to jump back onto my computer.

This year, particularly this past semester, I really loaded it on heavy. A lot of heavy classes with work, Chambers presidency, etc. It was a lot. Hard core work. But to be hard core, one must also embrace the yin of hard core work's yang: hard core partying. While my hard core party nights were not as frequent as, say, the last 99 days at Georgetown, they did occur once every other week or so, and resulted in stolen belongings, occasional groping, and some unique sleeping locations. There were some things I'm proud of, some things I'm really not proud of. Now that it's all over, I solemnly promise to be less "boring"... or at least to post more. The latter does not exactly guarantee the former.

For shame

At work, two days back from Europe, I turn to blogger to occupy my time while files copy onto a CD I'm burning from my boss (see, not totally idle procrastination). About to click the new post icon, I notice this last post, started weeks ago, and never finished. Never finished, mainly because Amy returned home and Nat and I had a very interesting convo re: pidgeon racism, don't pretend it doesn't exist. Anyway, I post the shreds of an entry here for no other reason than to prove that I did try to blog, I haven't been ignoring the blog completely, I just forget to finish my posts, really, I swear. Okay, fine, or I just deserve nothing but shame. Stay tuned, European postings coming soon.


In fear of a re-run of the virus that ate me (originally aired in September of last semester), I named this weekend "the weekend to stay in and catch up on homework so that I don't get sick and die." Which places me perched cross-legged on my bed ("Indian-style" is so not-p.c., for those of you who grew up in that age; those of us quasi teachers should know) working. Aka blogging about very little. And before those of you who told me I was crazy to take an intensive language at 9:15 every morning (knowing full well that the inhuman thing emerging from my bed eventually known as Caitlin with coffee) assert your "rightness", I should add that I am not staying in to study Russian, which is more or less the least of my academic worries. I'm here to catch up on interminable readings, and reading is something I can't really do yet in Russian. Ah, beginning languages. I have not known thee since 6th grade.

Rebarbative

repellent; irritating; unpleasant; objectionable.

New word of the week. Ready, set, go!

Word of the Week

Only a group of dorks like me would come up with this. To avoid redundancy, I will send you to Tim's blog for an explanation of the rules of the game, but it essentially involves Amy, Tim, and me choosing a new word each week to use in one of 3 very specific circumstances. This past week's word was ochlocracy. My use was in an assignment for New York Stories, entitled by the professor "Your quintessential New York story." Following the rules of the game, which are to post our uses here, I now include an excerpt:

We have a Bell; we have Independence Hall; we have theaters, and museums, and great soft pretzels. We love our sports teams. We will never forget that Philadelphia was the site of the signing of the Declaration of Independence and the Constitutional Convention, and that George Washington lived there during his presidency. We love cheese steaks, cheese fries, and our street cart food that we believe has risen to a level of culinary excellence never to be challenged by the sanitation (or lack thereof) of the vendor. In short, we feel we offer all there is to enjoy in life without the perceived chaos bordering on ochlocracy of New York.

Four Meme

I've been tagged!

Four jobs:
Willing office bitch (who once was mistaken for an actual attorney!), phone whore (I called and begged for money, isn't that what I was?), elite nature camp counselor (ask me about our fabulous counselor to student ratios!), slightly less willing office bitch (though if you ask me, there are bitchier ones than I in the office)... I'm sensing a pattern.

Four movies I could watch over and over:
When Harry Met Sally, The American President, Sabrina (with Audrey Hepburn), and Pride & Prejudice, regardless of the ampersand.

Four places I've lived:
Wayne, Pennsylvania; Washington, DC, Valparaíso, Chile; and Edgartown, Martha's Vineyard, though that last one's a stretch. I've probably spent the total of 2 years there throughout the course of my life, so we'll make it count.

Four TV shows I love to watch:
The West Wing, Cheers, Alias, the OC
... though I haven't watched any in months (at least), so perhaps I'm not the most admirable fan.

Four places I've been on vacation:
Though I feel this part of the meme is shameless flaunting of my luck in life, I'll play along. Martha's Vineyard (like I said, unsure if it's a home or a vacation spot for me), the Bahamas, Florida, Buenos Aires.

Four websites I visit daily: (or at least try to)
Slate, DC-ist, Wonkette, the Hunger Site

Four of my favorite foods:
I'm not even sure it's possible for a food lover as voracious as myself to answer this question, but here are a few... Pizza, sushi, chili, peanut sattes.

Four places I'd rather be:
Martha's Vineyard; checking out Western Europe; exploring Eastern Europe; gallavanting about South America.

Four albums I can't live without:
U2's The Joshua Tree, The Killers' Hot Fuss, Guster's Lost and Gone Forever, The OC mixes (don't hate on it just 'cause it's popular, that's my motto)

Four people to tag:
This is a little difficult since I don't know that many people that 1. update their blogs anymore, and 2. also check my blog. We'll see if these people notice their names up here... Monica, Mary, Bob, and Pololo

so at first i was seriously nervous about taking russian this semester. any class that meets 6 times a week should freak you out at least a little. what was it that finally calmed me down? the nice professor telling me it would be okay? the support of my friends? or was it viktor? it turns out my text comes with the required beginning language videos, and as i was studying from my book, i discovered a list of the characters we would be meeting, the last of whom was "viktor, a hustling young entrepreneur of the post-soviet era, who always seems to know how to provide hard-to-find goods and services." it's time to get my thug on, because how could a class whose video intro-to-language-drama includes a russian wannabe mafioso not be awesome??

The pen *is* mightier

All I have to say is Oh.My.God. Can I go to this? Is there any way I can maintain my dignity and go home for a weekend solely to see a pen show? Can I choose not to care about my dignity?

BIG CAT!

In my post-finals haze, I decided to look at cute pictures of animals. When you type in "cat" to google, the second thing that comes up is:


"This cat is bigger than most dogs!"

Or is he on trial because he's an author?

Every year Georgetown makes its incoming freshman read a book and then has the author come and chat with them about it. Usually it's a task of some drudgery for students who are unwilling to interrupt the fun of orientation week for such a thing as schoolwork. Our author was Orhan Pamuk, author of My Name Is Red. It turns out that after meeting and chatting with Georgetown students, three years have passed and he's on trial in Turkey! Amy commented, "What did he do? What did he do? Oh, or do they just not like that he's an author?" Turns out, that's pretty much it. Really Turkey? I can't decide what you want, to be totally stand-offish or to court the EU. Stop being so high-maintenance and mixed-signals and let your authors out of jail.

Christmas Movie Moment - Classic B Moment

So this movie may not be at the top of everyone's Christmas shelf, it may not even be on everyone's Christmas shelf. Let's face it, most people have never heard of this movie. But it is one of my favorite Christmas movies, so instead of chosing just one moment from it, I will tell you to go rent it for yourself. It is, "All I Want for Christmas." See it, and you will thank me, just like the young Ethan Embry/Randall throws his arms in the air and shouts, "Thank you, Santa!"

Favorite Christmas Moment of the Day

Not from a movie, but a favorite Christmas quote of mine, and many. When I younger and living at home, we would always try to listen in for the local news radio station, KYW 1060's, reading of it. It is the Chicago Sun letter known as "Yes Virginia, There is a Santa Clause".

Virginia, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They do not believe except they see. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds. All minds, Virginia, whether they be men's or children's, are little. In this great universe of ours, man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect as compared with the boundless world about him, as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole of truth and knowledge.

Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus! It would be as dreary as if there were no Virginias. There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The external light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished.

Not believe in Santa Claus! You might as well not believe in fairies. You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if you did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove? Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus. The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see. Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn? Of course not, but that's no proof that they are not there. Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and unseeable in the world.

You tear apart the baby's rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived could tear apart. Only faith, poetry, love, romance, can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real? Ah, Virginia, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding. No Santa Claus! Thank God! he lives and lives forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay 10 times 10,000 years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.

Christmas lines, part dos

When I'm tired, and I can't sleep
I count my blessings instead of sheep.
And I fall asleep
Counting my blessings.

I love that line. To those of you who don't, Christmas is the time of year that it's acceptable to be cheesy, so don't tease me too much ;-)

Favorite Christmas Movie Moments

Since I don't really have time for true blogs, per se, I think I'll at least make sure I post a favorite Christmas moment/line. Today's:

It's the summer of the soul in December.

Go figure out where it's from and enjoy the rest of the lyrics to that song!

Christmas feast

I only have a couple minutes to update before diving headlong into ILaw studying, but I felt I owed it to myself and my valiant cooking attempts to post about the Chambers Holiday Dinner.

The whole thing was Amy's brilliant idea, and it all went down this past Wednesday. There was a lot of stress on my part leading up to the big day, mostly based in obsessive desire to have turkey at the dinner and my obvious lack of cooking skills. That, coupled with several attempted Safeway trips defeated by too much work and/or the snowy wilderness (read: slushy state of DC), led Amy and I to buy a pre-cooked Turkey. So off we went to Safeway with, you guessed it, my GIANT suitcase to pick up all the groceries we needed. Including a nice 10-15 pound (they didn't label it, which proved difficult for cooking) pre-cooked turkey. Before you scoff at my cooking sell-out, remember that a pre-cooked Turkey still must be warmed in the oven for about an hour and a half, and carved. Which we did awesomely.

Amy also introduced me to the marshmallow school of sweet potato thought, since I was brought in a strictly pecan family. They were delish. Tim came over early to help with the cooking and was instrumental in my sautee-ing of onions to add to my instant stuffing. I also made brie with cranberry sauce on top that was delish, and served the remaining cranberry sauce as a side that went over quite well -- it was normal cranberry sauce mixed with cinnamon, nutmeg, and rum, so how could it not!? Anthony made delicious garlic mashed potatoes with chives which involved the debut of our electric mixer... very exciting.

And before your food jealousy is complete, we must not forget the copious amounts of wine everyone brought (including Tim's bottle of "Smoking Loon", which we all loved), and the amazing desserts provided by Jeff and Dominic and Jenny. Really, an awesome night.

And now, my current situation is not having *nearly* enough time to finish everything I have to. As part of my motivational inspiration, I'm revisiting old iTunes playlists. Right now we're about an eighth of the way through my Spanish music collection, which is impressive. But I'm sure you knew that.

Oh, and P.S. Safeway through the snow with a suitcase. Pilgrim that!

These are a few of my favorite things!

Taking after Amy, Tim, and Bob, I now present to you, the first thing that appears in Google images when I type in...

My first car: Camry

I forget what year it's from, but it certainly isn't quite so pretty. And it's tan. And five times dented by one sister.


Home town: Philadelphia



Or, Wayne, Pennsylvania




Current city of residence: Washington, DC


My name: Caitlin

I don't play lacrosse though.


My blog alias: McCaitlin

The one and only picture that comes up. Apparently my names are pretty sporty.


My favorite food: Brie



My favorite drink: Margaritas



My favorite song: Hallelujah

I like all versions that I've heard, Rufus, Leonard, Jeff. And I like the funny pictures that come up for Hallelujah images.


There, now you feel like you really know me, in person and in Google images. Hallelujah!

The "holiday season" : well wishes or the "worst elements in our culture"?

While I don't usually use this blog to link to different news articles, I couldn't help myself today. I particularly like the "war on Christmas" that seems to have snuck under my radar - who knew this was going down!

Analysis of a night on the second floor... in progress

11:00 Amy and Caitlin decide progress has come to a stand-still, a total contradiction, and head to the library to stop the paradoxical madness
11:30 Amy and Caitlin find 2 cubicles in the 2nd floor hot spot (the front cubicles are the place to be)... NEXT TO EACH OTHER. Insert audible gasp here.
11:45 Caitlin is answering e-mails.
12:00 Caitlin makes the rounds to see what cool people are hanging out on 2.
12:15 Caitlin answers more e-mails.
12:45 Caitlin and Amy take Mid Mug break
1:00 Caitlin answers more e-mails.
1:15 Caitlin starts her paper.
1:45 Caitlin has a pretty cool outline of half of her paper that's half a page long.
2:00 Caitlin takes a break to blog.

Productivity is so overrated...

Is there a 2nd floor facebook group? Because I so belong there.

Oh Christmas Tree

Yesterday my family engaged in our time-honored Christmas tradition of driving half an hour to a Christmas tree farm to cut down our own tree. The event is so well-rehearsed right now that the script is as familiar as our favorite holiday films. Each member of the family chooses a tree that they like and then shoots down any suggestion made by anyone else. My mother's familiar line is always repeated at least five times on several different trees, "NOT big enough!" Outrageous at the suggestion that we get a tree shorter than my dad standing up straight with his hand in the air -- the exact height of our living room -- we inevitably choose a tree about a foot taller than said height, bring it into the house and have to chop off the top, creating a slightly trapezoidal shape. My mother insisted that you really don’t notice the top of the tree that much, and fulfilling tradition we selected an incredibly tall tree. I was unable to stay around to see the tree go up, but I can’t wait to go home in a few weeks and see it. Hopefully we won’t have a repeat event from a few years ago when our tree tipped over. We tie it to the curtain rods now to help prevent this tragedy from becoming habit.