It Was Hard, But Didn't Suck

In case you're wondering about that title, no, I haven't branched out into the world of writing for the one-handed reader.

Although I've had worse ideas.

But when I go back into my mind's time capsule of 2011, that's what I would say. "It was hard, but it didn't suck."

Every year I have the pleasure of attending the same New Year's party at the home of some excellent friends, with yet more excellent friends. It's a tradition I look forward to. But one aspect of that party I dread is the inevitable moment after the ball has dropped, the bubbly has been clinked, the auld langs have syned and all the kisses and well wishes have made the rounds. The "now what" moment that begins the new year. I am usually very pleased to kick the old one to the curb, have hopes the next one is better, but never really sure how that can actually work in my favor.

This year is different. I did a hell of a lot to turn things around for myself. These were not merely resolutions. I personally think the term "New Year's resolution" is an excuse to do something half-assed. It's as ritualistic as walking down a familiar block and passing an empty gym on a cold February morning.

So here's my 2011 Top Whatever:

1. Lost 30 pounds. Still have an awesome chest.

2. Finished grad school without quitting, destroying my laptop in a fit of rage or attacking anyone's sensibilities. This required lots of walking and muttering to myself.

3. The fine folks at Snooth giving me a creative outlet that actually lets me put skills I've gathered over the years to good use. I am forever grateful for the opportunities they have given me and will hopefully continue to nurture.

4. The Lobo for all-week brunches, friendly, worthwhile discussions and MacGyvering cocktails to indulge my whims. And for putting Crema mezcal in my coffee.

5. The friends who are still speaking to me after falling off the grid, and partaking in my days of sanctioned indulgences. You know who you are.

6. @ElBoombito and @RuthBourdain. Woody Allen realized Duck Soup was his raison d'etre in Hannah and her Sisters. These complete strangers kept me going in as little as 140 characters on a near daily basis.

7. RIP box television. All hail HD.

8. Passing a group of white, middle class teenagers in Tribeca and overhearing, "You can't argue the facts, Moses."

9. The fine ladies in my writing group. Whoda thunk we would actually get stuff written, gather with great food and wine and bother to actually read and critique things instead of just eating, drinking and chatting? AND, best part? We've kept up the good work and didn't fizzle.

10. Ladies and gentlemen, my parents. They continue to be the tops of my Top Ten. Boy, do they put up with a lot.

Have a great 2012, everyone!

No More Pencils! No More Books!

I did it! As of today, I have earned my graduate marketing certificate! Eleven months, 34 papers... Hang on. Is that? Yup. 34. Let me spell that out. Thirty-four, THIRTY-FOUR, papers. In eleven months. Which is almost 34,000 words. Thirty- Never mind, you get the enormity by now. 

(And two final exams.)

I did it. Done. Over. I'm all Alice Cooper up in this biotch.

I'm proud of myself. You have to understand, before this, the only other thing I'd ever seen through was Saran Wrap.

OK, OK. I graduated high school and college (barely). And wine school. But this feels a lot more serious because, as I've discussed before, there have been some decisions that weren't very thoroughly measured before I made them.

That said, I don't feel the way I thought I would today. I was expecting to feel lighter, more free. Cathartic, like I've attended a Viking style funeral for 34,000 words sent blazing down the East River.

But the thing is, I'm worried. I pushed myself really hard. I exhumed fancy marketing lingo and business-minded promotional schemes from buried places within me that my 17-year-old, hell 30-year-old self would have called the poseur police on. I did it all hoping I've finally done something useful for a change.

What if it isn't?

What if I spent this whole year stressing out, shutting in, losing sleep, growing in pure white hairs, missing all the fun and...

...nothing changes?

?

Ok. Let me have a couple of drinks. This is cause for celebration, right?

These things will sort themselves out.

Right?

Like a cat, I always land on my feet.

I'll try to ignore the fact that for the first time in 11 years I just saw my cat miss a landing.

Look, I Wrote Things!

Aaaaaaand once again apologizing for a long silence as I complete my graduate marketing certification, only 3 more weeks to go! But I've also been busy with my booze writing. Here's a link to my WhiskyFest 2011 roundup in The Spirit. OK. So this signage is from last year. Couldn't get a good shot this year thanks to the glaring bulbs above the sign.

And last month I reviewed the new Auchtentoshan and Glen Garioch releases, also for The Spirit. 

Hopefully there's time again soon to get back to my regularly scheduled blogging. 

Cheers!

Sound the Alarm

For someone who is such a light sleeper, I seem to be deaf to alarm bells. They've gone of all around me, my whole life, in almost every aspect. But I always seem to hit a proverbial snooze button, denying the inevitable until something reaches that moment of unavoidable confrontation.

I was thinking about this as I took brisk sunset walk to the Promenade last night. At that moment, even though my Frankenpod could only seem to function on the "shuffle all" setting, it somehow knew what sort of soundtrack fit the mood: David Bowie's "Wild is the Wind" played just as the orange sky darkened over the Brooklyn Bridge. Arcadia's "The Flame" played as I took the scene in (oh, shut it, you purists). Siouxsie and the Banshees "Spellbound" sped up my walk home. And Robyn Hitchcock's "Dark Green Energy" accompanied me to my door.

Lately I've been pondering my single lady status a lot. Even with all the distractions from my busy academic and booze writing, I've had moments where I've been feeling this empty space where a male companion should be, like a phantom limb. Oddly, this is most often when I am in public settings. When I'm around my couple-y friends. When I'm the one who went solo to the gathering. When people have stopped even bothering to put a "plus one" on my invitation.

These thoughts were egged on by an online discussion yesterday about this article from the NY Times. Last weekend, I started reading it, thinking it might contain the answers to why so many women like me live like this. But instead, it was just another piece written from romantic inspiration. Words that never would have been strung together if the writer hadn't found her fucking "soul mate." The exchange with friends today, made me ponder my own path to being 40 and single. Well, 40 and single and clambering for a self-sustaining direction.

The article's message, that being single isn't necessarily someone's fault or choice, doesn't ring true to me. After all I am a person who pursued a degree in Medieval History with no follow up plans and never thought about why there is no such thing as a famous Medievalist. I'm the one who married someone two years after he checked the construction of waterproof boots by drowning them in the bathtub. Then had the nerve to be surprised when this translated into 45 minute teeth brushing twice a day and 6 hour car washing on weekends.

But for all these mistakes, I have done some things right. And even as I wanted to walk through my own self pity party, I could consider the good coming of all this. Being single again introduced me to a new solar system of friendships, adventures and knowledge that never would have been a part of me. I've finally started taking "sensible" directions even though I'm scared shitless of what it will take to reach my new goals. I've been in a bit of a cocoon stage this year. But I am emerging with a better sense of direction, better priorities, and a smaller waistline.

Yet I still have a 36DD chest. Score.

But I don't believe that Times article, that finding a partner isn't about me. That it's just dumb like and people just need to find a partner that appreciates them for what they are. That article is written from the perspective of someone who thinks they won the lottery and wants to gloat without sharing the wealth.

I'm realizing it's about finding someone when there is a better me to share. And that it's likely not this cinematic happenstance. I know now that a snooze button still sounds an alarm. And when to run from it.

A Tale of Three Wines

Thought I'd take a moment to write on a rare, relaxed Sunday evening. Of course I have a grad school marketing paper due tomorrow. As these things go, I'm wearing the editing hat this week and naturally my west coast team member hasn't submitted his portion yet. So as I await the section on flavored cigarettes marketing strategies (while Bill Hicks rolls in his grave), I thought I'd share an wine-related occurrence.

Friday was my mother's 75th birthday. To celebrate, we went to one of her new favorite restaurants, Il Buco, a homey, haute Italian joint in the East Village, with assorted friends and my Uncle Richard. In attendance were a couple who have been close family friends for decades, and they've amassed quite the serious wine collection over the years. A dinner with them often means some pretty terrific juice to go with it (in the past we've enjoyed things like, oh, 20 year old Chateauneuf du Pape or some dessert wine from a little producer known as Chateau d'Yquem). This occasion being no exception, we happily split the corkage fee to drink the goods. In their cellar, they happened upon a forgotten bottle of Ruffino Chianti Classico Riserve Ducale Oro 1971, ("Who does that," you ask? Let's just say I was in the presence of the only 2 people on earth who hoard that kind of wine and the other shares DNA with me) which they generously brought to honor the 40th anniversary of my birth year. And for my mother, 2 bottles of Ceretto Bricco Rocche Prapo Barolo 1979.

Starting with the Chianti, we opened and decanted each bottle throughout dinner. When the Chianti was first poured, it had this strange beef broth smell and aroma, but I could tell it wasn't corked, just weird. A few rigorous swirls and some fruit flavors surfaced, but it wasn't anything great. But everyone sipped it anyway. I left a lot in my glass and asked for the other wine to be served.

The wine from the first bottle was surprisingly thin and light colored for a Barolo that was likely born the same year as Star Wars. While it had some tart cherry and leather notes, the finish was short and it reminded me more of a young Dolcetto, or even a Freisa, certainly not the "king of wine, the wine of kings." Not that it was bad, but it disappointed. Like it graduated high school as the valedictorian and then ended up blowing the scholarship to tour with the Dead.

The second bottle was markedly different right off the bat. The color was a royal purple (still not the deep red/rust brown one would expect) and it smelled more concentrated. The dark fruit flavors mixed with licorice, earth and spice were much more evident. While this still lacked that wonderful "Barolo-ness" we all craved and this time resembling more of a middle aged Barbera, it was delicious and matched beautifully with our main courses, which were mostly meat or mushroom-centric.

This is when Paul, who brought the wine, told us that the 2 bottles had each been stored differently. One was in a country cellar with no temperature control, the other was in a bonafide wine warehouse kept at 55 degrees. But he wasn't sure which one we opened first! While convention tells us to think the second bottle was the one that had been kept "properly," this might not be the case. Both were lacking the structured flavors and tannins he had laid those bottles down for so long to achieve in the first place. But the second bottle felt heavier and fruitier, maybe that was the one that had been exposed to more heat. Being "cooked" a little might have been beneficial to a weaker wine.

There was still most of my glass of Chianti left, so I decided to take a sip. Guess what? The now hour and a half later made all the difference. Ruffino had been revived with the air and all the pretty flavors came to life, though granted, didn't linger long. I found myself very thankful I'd left some to gather its strength when no one else did. Another big surprise that doesn't add up with what we've been taught. That wine seemed totally DOA and was instead just pretending.

In all, another great celebration in a year of milestones. Plus it's been wonderful to have my uncle around and giggle in a corner with him during these festivities. Sure gonna miss him in October when he goes back to Israel. But at least there are a couple of weeks left to hang out and seem him in far better health than when he arrived. Cheers to my mom and double cheers to everyone's health!

Are you there, blog? It's me. Amanda.

Hi, everybody! Dijah miss me?

I have been remiss in our correspondence lately, and for that I apologize. You see, my life has taken this turn where I am writing constantly out of necessity and the few brain cells left after seven straight days of mental gymnastics can sympathize with Nadia Comaneci's hamstrings. I've had nothing left in the tank for "outside" writing.

I keep telling myself this is all for the greater good. Going back to school, at my age, ahem, to study marketing. Which is like 5th in line to things I'd actually enjoy studying like Library Science and rye distillation. But here I am. At an online university. Yup. The bad credit loans that got the economy, and me with it, into this mess, are the student loans I'm using in hopes to get out of it.

Now my weekends, once the ultimate triumph of excess and leisure, are spent writing marketing papers. In proper APA format. Instead of drinking margaritas I'm analyzing existing brands and coming up with my own based on them. Now instead of watching movies I am formulating integrated marketing media plans.

Some of these weekly papers are team efforts, which has a high PIA (pain in ass) factor when no one on the team lives in the same time zone and only communicates, often with limited grammar skills, by sporadic email. We've never met, but our academic careers depend on each other. AWKWARD. One of these was a project hypothesizing what it would take to market a Hollywood film to Nigeria. Here is what I wanted to write:

"Dear film distributor: Good day, sir. This letter may come as a huge surprise since we don't know each other, but I need your help. I have completed a wonderful, happy film that makes everyone who sees it feel as though the heavens are shining light on their backs. But my reels have been held captive in a warehouse in Culver City. To make matters worse, Jodi Foster is holding Mel Gibson captive in the same warehouse as punishment for the bad publicity that ruined profits for The Beaver. His fumes of bigotry and hatred are eating away at my film reels! I need your help.... By opening this bank account with a $5000 deposit the monies in the security vault can be transferred safely. I implore you to please give consideration to my predicament. And may Allah show mercy as you do!..."

But no. We went legit. Anyway, it's been a slog, let me tell you.

But since I enjoy writing, especially about booze, and I need any income I can get, I also took a part time gig writing a wine grape and region index for Snooth. It sounds like a lot, and it is, but it's a worthwhile experience. I'm finding that, not unlike lizard tails, brain cells can apparently regenerate. I just have to awaken the "files" in them again. It's been great re-visiting old friends. In some cases, old friends who've been hiding some fun secrets they didn't teach us in wine school.

So between these two things, I've been too spent to share my other thoughts with all of you. Not getting much time off and when I do, I just need some cinematic mental floss. But keep checking back. Perhaps some inspiration will hit me and I can ride some of the remaining fumes into the blogosphere. Until then, kids, be well. Enjoy a margarita on a weekend, or two, or three, for me.

40 Things

I begin to write this on what is now the last day of my 30s (but finish it 4 days later). I can't believe I'm here already! Officially middle-aged! Equidistant from 20 and 60. People are coming of drinking age if they were born in June of the year I graduated high school and started college!

Oy.

I could write endless pages about the meaning of all this and woe is me this is not how I envisioned the future blah, blah, blah. Instead, I will impart to you the lessons I have learned thus far. I've tried to put them in chronological order. So for you, in honor of my birthday, a little wisdom.

1. It's sometimes hard to fall asleep or stay asleep. At this age it's OK to make noise if this is bothering you.

2. Crawling is fun, but walking is power. I can then knock things off the living room table and take sips of the drinks. What do you mean I'm not supposed to have "Scotch juice?"

3. The reason Grandpa Vic couldn't play ball today was because sometimes, even if someone has a good heart, it doesn't work so well and it just stops. This is no one's fault. Treasure the memories of silly faces and newspaper hat parades.

4. Life's Cruel Joke Lesson Number 1: Boys don't like to be kissed till their teens. But they don't get good at it till their 20s. When you are in your mid 30s and considered too old to date them and the available ones closer to your age still act like they're 4.

5. Tony Orlando is one person and Dawn is two people. It's not Tony, Orlando and Dawn.

6. Letters form words. Words form sentences. Sentences form ideas. Ideas form books. Books form information. Great teachers form enthusiasm to read and learn. Thank you, Mrs. Safran.
6a. Boys will like me more if I see Star Wars as many times as possible. Just don't try and kiss them.

7. My next door neighbor is lying when she tells me she gets x-ray vision from eating peanuts. I know this, because one day after eating peanuts she is surprised to find a toad in her shoe.

8. Karma is a bitch. It's too bad I didn't know that the people who make fun of you at school end up fatter than you'll ever be.

9. There is more to Chinese food than spareribs.

10. So I got a little obsessed with Henry VIII and Queen Elizabeth I. And what did you do over the summer, ride a smelly horse?

11. Don't run in the house with only socks on your feet.

12. The scent of pinecones, the filth of manmade lake water, the lack of bug spray, chlorasceptic cures all, the pianos out of tune, sleeping and waking up to the sound of a trumpet, peanut butter fights, writing letters with actual paper and pens. Just don't call it "band camp."

13. There is more to music than top 40 playlists. Seek out new music wherever you can find it. Find your own WLIR.

14. John Hughes.
14a. John Cusack.
14b. Trash and Vaudeville, Revolver Records, Little Ricky's, Postermat, 99x, Unique, Antique Boutique, Zoot.

15. Laughing at myself preempts others from laughing at me.
15a. (This is when I should have learned to walk in high heels.)

16. So I can't use magic markers instead of semi-permanent hair dye?

17. Boys suddenly like kissing! Too bad they aren't very good at hiding who else they're kissing.

18. My social security number.
18a. David Lynch, Forbidden Zone, John Waters, Werner Herzog, Evil Dead II, The Coen Brothers, Wong Kar Wai, Chinese Ghost Story, Dolomite!
18b. New York City is best on foot.

19. A loud street and my own room is way better than sharing space with someone crazy.

20. Taking a year off school and getting a job will motivate me to finish what I started.

21. (This is where I should have learned that one should never turn down an opportunity to stay in a rock band or study in a different country because of a boy).

22. That magical elixir of tequila, triple sec, simple syrup and lime. And chili con queso.

23. (This will be the first and last time my major came in handy for employment.)

24. Did I learn nothing from number 19?

25. Seriously, NOTHING?

26. Lots of stress can be channeled into using a tool that can solder an elbow joint as well as it makes creme brulée.

27. Home is only 4 more stops on the F train and worth the extra effort.
27a. There is a reason that train starts with F.

28. I have very understanding and loyal friends.

29. When driving across country and listening to Fleetwood Mac's Rumors, it's a definite sign a marriage is ending when you wish you were already broken up like Stevie Nicks and Lyndsey Buckingham. Or wondering which field to dump the body in.

30. The ones with fur are the only kind of crazy roommates who are enjoyable to be around.

31. It's more fun to sit at the bar.

32. Aaaaaaand see item number 4.

33. But wait! You can be friends with your ex!

34. That was a lot of Jameson.
34a. Flowers do not open door locks.

35. It's never too late to learn a new skill set and switch careers, make new friends.
35a. Grenache, Syrah, Mourvedre, Mencia, Cab Franc, Cot, Nebbiolo, Sangiovese, Uva di Troia, Aglianico, Viognier, Pinot Gris, Riesling, Falanghina, Greco di Tufo, etc, etc, et every delicious cetra.

36. Going to sommelier school would have been a better idea if I already worked in restaurants in my younger years.

37. See number 23.

38. Throwing a going away party for a part of your body you have to take out is a very nice gesture, considering all the trouble it's caused.
38a. After being given Dilaudid intravenously, I know I must never try heroin unless I am certain the world is ending within the next hour.

39. "You have failed at more things than most people have tried."

40. So why not do more things?

Manhattan Cocktail Classic Roundup

(Don't worry. It's mostly pictures...)

It was that time a year again. And what a time it was! Since I sadly won't be making it to Tales of the Cocktail in New Orleans this summer, I gave myself permission to indulge at the Manhattan Cocktail Classic (though not the gala at the Public Library) instead.

Seven events. One liver. Here's a recap:

Saturday: Pegu Club, Stories Behind the Bar. I had heard how great this booze-infused lecture by owner Audrey Saunders, about her way up in the cocktail world (I almost said "cockisphere" and realized that just. wasn't. right.) had been the year before. I anticipated the same type of experience this time round. But instead we (myself, my dear friend Ruth and a small bunch of enthusiasts) got a valuable cocktail lesson from head bartender Kenta Goto, plus a full bar set courtesy of Erick Castro and Plymouth Gin! We learned which drinks to stir and which to shake and why, by making them and tasting the right and wrong way side by side, then how different proofs also affect flavor. Then Audrey herself gave us some pointers. A really great and worthwhile afternoon in a beautiful bar that I wish I could visit more often.

I knew that after this I'd be going for Japanese food. This was clearly a job for the Kamikaze Toucan dress!

Later, my friend Liza constructed a temporary sculpture from the bar set.

Sunday: The British Invasion party at Eleven Madison Park. After a week of flawless sunshine, of course right in time for an outdoor party, the weather shifted into what became a vicious cycle of misty gray. No matter. The "patio" (a.k.a. outdoor covered entrance) was fitted with tables, a Beatles cover band, a bar, Union be-Jacked wait staff, a bull dog and clever art direction for a smashing good time.

BEST dang fish and chips I ever ate. Lots of. 

Penny the bulldog. No British Invasion can be without one (especially one this sweet and cute!). Photo courtesy of Jason Bylan.

The Crooners, who played great selections of the Beatles catalog from Skiffle beginnings to psychedelic finish. You haven't lived till you've heard "Helter Skelter" performed live in an NYC thunderstorm next to a park. 

Shake it up, baby now! (sorry so blurry, was also twisting and shouting while shooting).

Oh, and I should mention another small detail. Servers who went round with teapots filled with Negronis, topping off those who had them. I had them. And then I had more. And then we went to Molly's and I ordered a Negroni there too. Hey, it was May British Invasion Day, not Judgement Day!

Monday (a.k.a The Boozy Doozy): Death's Door Gin Pig Roast at Hearth, Indy Spirits Expo, Yo Ho Ho and a Bottle of Rum and Espolon Tequila party in Marble Cemetery.

Somehow, my insides still stained bright orange Campari, I got myself up and made it to Hearth by noon for this spectacular feast. A whole pig was brought in by Wisconsin's Death Door Spirits and the folks at Hearth cooked it up any which wonderful way they could, cracklings and all.

And they made a cheese luge.

YUM!!!

Later that day, great chats with peeps at the Indy Spirits Expo, which I didn't get to stay at terribly long before Rum and Pirates back at the Mother Ship (Astor Center). Fantastic discussion led by Dave Wondrich, Ed Hamilton (a former rum-runner, now heading the Ministry of Rum), cocktailian and general wiseman Dånny Ronen and Ron Zacapa's Danny Valdez. Awesome seminar, where we learned, among many things, that there were Jewish pirates! There is actually a book called Jewish Pirates of the Caribbean (although my brother-once-removed Jason pointed out it should be titled My Son, the Pirate). I want to read it! Dave made us a fab rum cocktail and Danny Valdez treated us to some divine Ron Zacapa XO.

Still time to make it to the last hour of the Espolon Tequila party in Marble Cemetery. Beautifully art directed, great friends to hang with, decent bites of food, but they ran out of juice for cocktails before the party ended! Not to mention, they should have done more to honor the dead besides having us drink over them. But still, a very cool happening I'm glad I got to be a part of.

Here's me in the shadows toasting by a grave (courtesy of Jason, as is the image above).

You always know you've had a great time when you find fun treats in your purse the next day. Here's Bruce with some things I found in it. He can never resist a photo op. 

Tuesday: Mysticism and Magic, Connecting Spirits With Their Unique Cultural Heritages. 

One last trip to the Astor Center Bar before the class, where representatives from Portland Cocktail Week were shaking things up at the bar. And yup, they put a bird on it! (Psst. They had a stencil and spray bitters. Genius.)

Mysticism and Magic was a great way to end four days of quality (mostly) imbibing. It was a seminar led by self-proclaimed drinks geek Andy Seymour, Del Maguey importer Ron Cooper, cocktail instructor extraordinaire Steve Olson, bartender and theologian Misty Kalkofen, Tippling Bros. cofounder Tad Carducci and another spot with Zacapa brand manager Danny Valdez. This was a discussion where the spiritual and spirited met with humor and cultural significance. Salud!!

All in all, a fantastic four days using our great city as the ultimate backdrop. Thanks to curator Lesley Townsend for making it all happen. 

Where I've Gone Wrong: A Resume Update

Well, gee, guess this is where I've been going wrong these past couple of years! Posted on Huffpost Comedy this week. Here I am with the professionally-written resume, two different versions even, and the painstakingly written cover letters. Week after week applying to want ads, hoping for a response.

It's mostly been like fly-fishing in the Dead Sea.

With the occasional bite from someone who is clearly just curious to meet me, but has no intention of actually offering me a job because I'm either slightly too inexperienced, or so overqualified they think I'll get bored. Or they have no intention of paying me with actual currency. Those are fun. How could you do this to people in a recession? Why get their hopes up at all? Just give it to me straight, will ya? Instead of the sick, twisted time-waster of a mangler you've just put me through. Or just don't call me. Trust me, you'd rather keep your anonymity in my grudge-ridden existence.

So to that end, for your pleasure, here is my updated resume. Don't think I won't use this.

OBJECTIVE

To finally be compensated for my talents and justify my lifestyle with less debt. And get some use out of those dress pants I bought "just in case" that I'd get too much cat hair on if I only wore them around the house.

PERSONAL ATTRIBUTES

• Talented daywalker considering the persistent insomnia.
• Able to multi-task as long as you don't keep coming at me with irrelevant details and let me get one thing done at a time.
• Strategic accessorizing with pinpoint accuracy.
• Can drink like Marion Ravenwood in Raiders of the Lost Ark, but shake off the hangover as long as I have access to coffee and bacon.
• Team player, especially when ordering takeout (often has own change).
• Proficent at Microsoft Office Suite with creative use of Excel, especially hidden data. I'm like the Witness Protection Plan for spreadsheets. They won't ever be found or harmed again.
• Guilt-tripping people in the banking and communications industries for instant credit.
• Uncanny ability to discuss Tudor History in accurate detail when I've forgotten something you've just told me or the two years of Spanish I've been trying to learn. 
• Total freak magnet.

EXPERIENCE

• To paraphrase my brother-once-removed, I have failed at more things than most people have tried.

EDUCATION

• Can still recite all of Jabberwocky after memorizing it in the sixth grade. 
• In addition, have managed to get this far in life with eight years of classical piano training, four years of tennis, did OK in public high school despite missing a lot of gym class, six years of non-conversational French, a Medieval History degree, a minor in writing, kick ass metalsmithing, labor-intensive enameling, easy-way-out bead stringing, Quark, a sommelier certification, an online cocktail training certification, completion of a course in food writing and am currently going for a graduate marketing certification. 
• Astounding avoidance of math, science or US History.

REFERENCE

• Here, have one of these business cards that was handed to me at an event last night.