family love.

Since my brother knows that I am full of hot air, it is highly unlikely he would ever read this blog. I am therefore going to publish the message I received from him yesterday. I must add that I have never received a message this long from him, ever ever before. I must also note that while I love fiction, James does not lie. I know that he writes this message purely from personal experience. I love this message. It cheers me up. 

- Olivia

James wrote: 

"beer? thats sooooooo "first year" olivia. 

I've got the idea that will give you legendary status. 

You're going to need about 15-20 boxes of wine (preferably white) at at least 9 boxes of Kraft singles. 

Take the wine out of the boxes so its in its natural bag form. Make the rule that you can only drink out of the bag once you slap the bag and yell some sort of profanity at the top of your lungs. After then you can be showered in its juices. 

Once you have completed that one of your associates would approach you and ask you if you would like some cheese with that wine. Now at this point you have swallowed as much wine in huge gulps as possible and a little lean piece of cheddar seems delicious. With the cheese in your hand you have two choices....... 1) eat it, which is not recommended because its like plastic or 2) Reward yourself with "Instant-Fun" by throwing the square of cheese to the destination of your choice.

The clean up is a bitch but its well worth the drunken deuchbagory. 

or you could get PBR make it a shotgun only rule...thus incorporatiny "Instant-Fun."

The Most Vital Show of Our Time

This is my thursday afternoon. I gave a presentation in class about Paul Celan, a German Jew who wrote about the Holocaust. His poetry is extreeemely difficult and the whole class was a challenge, we became aware of how little you can say of certainty or how few answers you can plausibly give to a short, beautiful poem like his. 

Then, I came home, exhausted, having over loaded on academics and literary theory for the week. So I made my dinner, sat down to watch The Most Necessary Show of Our Time. (Grey's Anatomy, in case that is not clear, I have to admit it's hard to understand that someone who doesn't follow Lexi's predicaments reads this blog). For those who aren't fortunate enough to have discovered this magical show yet - truly it warms my heart - Lexi is a young pretty thing and she is secretly dating Sloan the older scruffy boss. Secret relationships, as I don't have to tell you, are an added stress. And she keeps insisting he be open and tell his friends, and she goes "It's like DATING ANNE FRANK! I'm dating Anne Frank!" 

WHAT?!?!?!?! that the most insane reference I have ever heard. That is all. and perhaps all secret relationships from now on must be referred to as "doing an anne frank." but, really, what is that. 

- Olivia

I am at the library working on a paper right now and was just re-watching the Wiley video (here). I love the dancing foxes.

Here's a taste of what's to come:

and
- rosemary

Dear PIC,
PVC is awesome, from leggings to Peter Frampton. I am sleepy and should be reading about Quebec. But yes, multilingualism is great, woo hoo. And Parent Trap sounds great, but I'm pretty sure I have the genes of a midwesterner. And are you implying that I talk too much?!

TSCHUSSI!

Rosemary

dearest P-I-C, (partner in crime, and hey, that rhymes with PVC, perfect!) 

re: multilingualism. it's a bit like parent trap with the olsen twins who i adore (file under Olivia's Inappropriately-Obsessive-Idol-Worship), you know your parents are not both your parents and you're just waiting to bump into your identical twin to find out your mother is european. it's boring to speak only one language over there, and since you speak more than I will ever, let's combine our powers to multiply the multilingualism. yes, internal rhyme. 

love, 

Olivia

Huh?

Woah woah woah, what is this? Sorry, Olivia, j'ne comprendez vous or whatever. You could've let me know that we were going to go multilingual.

I would like to share this with you:



And also say that I am sick of winter. More specifically, I am sick of my winter coat (and if you know me, you know I usually really like that coat). The zipper pull broke the other day, and now there is a safety pin in its place. Ghetto, I know.

I'm excited to wear outfits like this:

Except I don't wear hats.

- Rosemary

aux armes, citoyens

le problème avec ce blog c'est le manque de représentation francophone. je dois avouer: j'adore le français, je me sens bien en parlant français, peut être que je me sens même MIEUX en parlant français qu'anglais... merde c'est troublant ça non? je dois vous rassurer que je parle français avec beaucoup plus de facilité que je l'écris, alors soyez gentils. je sais que je fais beaucoup d'anglicismes à l'écriture, mais j'essaie... 

pour moi, le français représente mon enfance, j'étais à une école française depuis l'âge de 6 ans et j'ai toujours adoré les cahiers, les stylos, les manières. à l'arrivée à ma nouvelle école à 6 ans, toute la classe savait déjà lire et moi non. j'ai pleuré pendant les trois premières semaines et la fille (qui plus tard est devenue ma copine) a dit "maitrESSE la nouvelle pleure!!" l'enfer. 

comme mes copines à paris le savent très bien, j'ai une obsession avec la france. j'adore ce pays. il n'y a pas d'autre pays auquel j'amerai voyager, c'est la france, point. même si j'y retourne et j'y retourne, ça vaut toujours la peine. et la france me manque. mais aussi, le québec, j'adore. mon frère y habite, j'ai des très bons amis à montréal, je sais que j'y serai un jour. 

alors, "a plus," merci pour lire. 

je vous embrasse. 

- Olivia 

status: little Olivia is scared.

Tomorrow is my birthday and I am remembering how much of a kid I am fated to be. I have many fears. One of the hugest is of the easter bunny. Someone mentioned lent the other day and I shuddered. I saw those marshmallow fluorescent peeps in the drug store, went to buy them for my friends, and reminded myself: I can't be surrounded by those evil things! and dropped them back on the shelf. This is a difficult terror to have, because I love rabbits, they used to be my favourite animal. I had a pet white rabbit named Snowy - of course. What is it about the bringer of chocolate eggs? Well, I am absolutely terrified of those big bunny suits that swallow the person whole. Every easter my large family would go to the same easter party at a golf club. It was usually sunny and no surprise, I was incredibly sensitive to the sun, so already a bad scene. I had been forced into a scratchy dress and being a big tomboy and proud of it, a dress was an embarrassment. The uncles and my dad made sure the cars were all parked properly and locked and we lined up to get in. Strange that there was a line up, isn't it? Well it's because a big fat fucking super cheery easter bunny was standing at the door handing every. single. child. a handful of chocolate eggs. I freaked out. I yanked on my mother's arm, she ignored me, I pretended I was feeling sick, she ignored me, I whined, she ignored me. But we're getting closer to the rabbit, and his huge paws and stupid head keep bobbing up and down, and some echo-y voice coming from inside of him is laughing and greeting the greedy little monsters. Finally I have the smarts to bother my dad. And he patiently acquiesces. Victory! But I feel awful. We are so close to the door, it's urgent, I pull him aside. And he reassures that there are many entrances into the building. We circle the entire club, try many, many doors, all locked. Finally, we reach the big french windows - also locked - and he raps on the glass, someone inside the party looks at us curiously, generously lets us in, and asks what we were doing. I glare at my toes. My father mumbles something about wanting to take a better look at the scenery. Absolute hell. It's even difficult to write this post. 

If I ever get really, really rich

Cartiere de Panthere ring.

Wow.

- RM

When I was at home over Christmas break, I saw more of my former high school classmates than I normally have. It was fine-- I think it's been long enough to be past the point of trying to avoid awkwardness because you haven't kept in touch. At a party on New Year's Eve, I ended up with a lot of the same people I used to hang out with after two sets of plans fell through. One of these friends said something I liked: "We basically haven't changed, we just have better haircuts."

Now, though I thought my hair looked good in high school, I liked the sentiment behind this comment. Of course we've changed. But what's important is that we've changed in ways that make sense. It is misguided to think that someone won't change over time, so with this in mind, it's comforting to see that people have changed in ways that seem true to their nature. And I think that's the case with my friends from high school.

I would like to adapt this for my uni friends: We haven't changed since first year, we just dress better now.

- Rosemary

Olivia's Inappropriately-Obsessive-Idol-Worship

To my dad, to talk about personalities, to bitch, to analyze characteristics or neuroses is silly. His eyes laugh at me when I talk about psychoanalysis, and he starts to read his newspaper when I start sentences like "you won't believe what this girl at school said to me today..." 

But, I never took my dad's advice. I stoop instead quite low to Inappropriately-Obsessive-Idol-Worship. And on this blog, I would like to profess my love to Scarlett Johansson. 

Dear Scarlett, 

Since your virginal and unpierced days of a Girl with a Pearl Earring - that colour blue really suits you by the way - I have loved you. You washed those sheets with such intelligence and took to market so passionately, I would have learned painting just to be able to paint you. 

And, don't worry, you didn't lose me in translation, I stayed faithful when you became sexy. Your deep voice grew raspier as if you'd just finished your pack of slim cigarettes for the day, and were just popping out to the store for me, and we all know smoking's hot. Your curves made me want to sleep in a Louis Vuitton Suitcase. When you played evil in Match Point, I still loved you. When you tried silly with Woody that summer, with the magician and the smart car, I was there. Maria Cristina, I adored you, I was worried I would be distracted by Javier or Pen because they are faves of mine, but they just brought your beauty out more. That skinny neurotic I can talk faster about paint drying that you can sip your wine actress, what was she doing? Is he really just not that into you? If you say so. 

SJ, I'm yours. 

- Olivia 

Obsession du Jour

My current obsession for quite a few "jours" now, really. Ok I know no French.

(if you click on them, you will go to the site. cause i'm awesome.)

They're AMAZING!! I cannot wait to own them.
I chose "Grey's Anatomy" over the library tonight.

-RM

When I grow up, I wanna be Swedish

It's true, I'm in love with all things Swedish. Except for cold. And meatballs. But anyway, I LOVE Scandinavian fashion, design, architecture, style, dish towels, electro blah blah blah. All of it. And the gorgeous people, of course. Also the flag has nice colors.

Today the Cool Hunter newsletter brought to my attention the Swedish architecture/design studio Electric Dreams (go to their website! there're beautiful pictures!). Cool Hunter did a story on an office that they designed in Paris. The office was so cool but with an almost-juvenile influence that was quite refreshing, mostly in its colorfulness, that I went to the Electric Dreams website. That's when I realized that I've been to two of their spaces already! I went to Stockholm last May and did a lot of shopping. And a lot of talking about how awesome the shopping there is (cause it is). And, of course, I went to Weekday (the home of Cheap Monday) and Monki.

Monki 1

Weekday

The thing about these stores is that the general layout of the space, the layout of merchandise, and supercool, creative design makes the shopper feel like they are in a boutique. And while the clothes are just as cool as the ones you find in a boutique, they are not nearly as expensive (with the exception of some of the stuff at Weekday). So you find a cool little arrangement of shoes in Monki, and yet are surprised by the pricetag. It doesn't feel like it should match up. But the fact that it does is something that keeps the hip 20-somethings coming back.

- Rosemary

I miss my naïve teenage existence when I wore birks, and wanted dreads, and didn't know what an eyeliner pencil was for other than it wouldn't do for my math problem sets. 

- Olivia

schmoozing expats.

I'm just back from a bar on the upper west side where I met a girl who went to university with me but she studies in NY now. I arrived and took a glance at the group and realized - we are all nerds here. Not the severe dark glasses and sleek skinny black and grey hipster induced style of my literature and graphic novel obsessed classmates, no, instead, the plain wool sweater the mother must have bought and the also sleek glasses but in a danish design kind of way - minimalist metal frames. All this to say, people I don't hang around with often. And I am both horrible at and quite used to schmoozing. I detest it and I love how easily the fakeness of practicing it comes to me. I spoke with enthusiasm about my fascination with public policy and economic development but soon grew tired of smiling and nodding and laughing about unknowns. There were some faces I knew from residence. Shudder. Memories. Oops. 

And then I realized we were all Canadians around the table. Mostly expats living in the city. And we talked about Iggy of course and we talked about diners in Ottawa and the need to be bilingual. And then pause. I ordered another mojito thinking do I need it, then reminding myself of the conversation, and slurping it down like it was my best friend. One guy who had been a bit standoffish revealed that he works at the Morgan Library and I practically SQUEALED (like I have a tendency to do). Everyone shushed, surprised at my genuine excitement and I twittered on about the Paradise Lost manuscript I had seen there and the Babar originals and the library's secret staircase and the architecture and the atrium. He is a medievalist scholar and works in the archives and he told me they are water-tight and have submarine walls!! It is my favourite museum in the city. 

There is a word in french dégringoler. And if I'm using it correctly, by the end of the evening, the conversation had 'dégringolé'd' to people we have in common, a very Canadian and heart-warming activity. And, of course, we've almost all lived in the same residence in Toronto, we know each other's ex's, blah blah. Those small communities I thought had expiry dates like high school and ski teams and tennis clubs keep turning up like discovering old cheese behind the mayonnaise in my fridge and in fact it's gone a bit moldy but I don't believe cheese goes bad and so I love it anyway. 

- Olivia

First, imagining Olivia and I as the JCrew-wearing, cigarette-smoking inhabitants of the White House is just fun. Thanks for that visual, O. Can we pose on the cover of Vogue together?

I almost yelped with joy the other day- except it was 8:47 a.m. and I was walking to my architecture midterm- when I heard the NPR show "This American Life" endorse Obama's smoking. Their reasons were irrelevant to me. I agreed. I can't help it; smoking can be sexy. Look at this:

The man is now not only his normally brilliant, good-looking self, but he is also smoking and waving a Terrible Towel. It's the bad-ass edge he needs.
Sigh. Pittsburgh meets Harvard Law School.
(I'm from Pittsburgh, by the way.)

Ok, the hat.
The hat did not turn out so so well. I mean, the cables turned out beautifully and everything, but something is off about the band. But as one of the Frenchies pointed out, I can (and probably would end up doing so every time anyway) hide this with my scarf.
Therefore:

Hm. Whatevvvs.

From sunny Toronto,
Rosemary

Here goes. I'd like to dedicate this first post to my good friend and co-author of this blog. Rosemary, we are in this together. If you let me, I will willingly be Michelle to your Barack. I will shop at J. Crew while you shoot hoops. I will walk our hypo-allergenic dog while you have a fag - I mean cigarette. I will even flirt with Bill while you and Hill convert - I mean save - the Middle East. 

I like the name of this blog. "Is it yummy" reminds me I'm a huge kid, and makes me think of being around the pool with my little brother, and of course I'm too nervous to try the new green popsicle we just bought so I ask him "Is it yummy?" 

I like yummy things too. So this name suits me. I am a huge gourmande. 

My uncle goes to this coffee shop in Toronto where Ondaatje supposedly hangs out but I've never seen him there. Anyway, my uncle is a regular with the group of bikers (except they're cyclists in spandex, no leather and no chains) and there is a group of young mothers who pitch up in the morning after dropping their darlings off at kindergarten. The mothers are called the "yummy mummies." (Unbeknownst to them). 

- Olivia

If I ever get rich...

...and still live in an arctic country, I want these snowboots.
- Rosemary

We're here.

It is 2 am and I should be sleeping. Or at least thinking of sleeping.
Instead I'm awake and thinking about knitting.
But also I had a lot of beer.

Anyway, we're here. We is me- Rosemary- and my partner in crime, who will now be my partner in blogging. We've been talking about blogging for awhile. We entertain each other every day, so we thought maybe we should attempt to entertain others.

We were at a party tonight, a house party of sorts. One of the measures of a good party is if time goes by quickly. I didn't look at my watch once and was there for five hours. That's all I'll say for now. And now back at home I am playing thermostat wars with my housemate I don't like (I need to think of a pithy nickname for her).

I'll post a picture of my knitting once it's done.