525,600

New Year’s, that day of the year when we rewind our calendars back to the beginning, get a little extra dressed up to go out and kiss strangers on the lips for good luck. Sounds pleasant enough. So then, what is it about New Year’s that inspires such hatred?

The opinion on New Year’s is generally split into two camps, those who love it and those who hate it. Very few people hate other holidays, like Christmas or Thanksgiving (besides the Heat Miser and Chandler Bing), so why New Year‘s? Spending a fair amount of the past six New Year’s with my friends the Schers has provided me with a bit of a case study into the mind of the New Year’s hater. From what I can deduce, the hatred is two-fold- but both have to do with expectations. Admittedly, New Year’s does come with certain expectations of a good time- expectations, the haters claim, that are built on the foundation of a silly holiday that is no different that any other day of the year. I would like to contend, that any night I go out I expect to have a good time. In fact, it’s not so much an expectation but rather a hope that any evening I plan would end in merriment rather than disappointment. Why on New Year’s then should we be forced to go out and make merry when we can go out any other night of the year, the haters would say. Well, I don't think you should be forced to go out, but really why not? There is no work to go to the next day, it’s a great excuse to throw a massive party and wherever you may live the chances are that there is going to be a hell of a lot more things to do on New Year’s eve than any other eve.

The second fold in this origami of hate are the people who actually like going out on New Year’s. It’s these revellers, the haters hate. These New Year’s merry makers who go out with great expectations of laughter and love. It’s these people who make going out on New Year’s so unbearable. Maybe the haters are afraid of catching some of the spirit instead of just consuming it. This leaves me perplexed. If this holiday is as much rubbish as the haters think, then what are all those millions of people at Times Square, the Edinburgh Hogmanay, in Rio de Janeiro and Kiribati so damned happy about? Do they go home with more than a few streamers in their hair and a stranger? Do they wake in the morning with a sense of unfulfillment to go along with that hangover? I’m not making fun of you haters, I just don’t understand...honestly.

Thursday evening I met some school friends for dinner. With New Year’s so close, I asked what everyone’s plans were. As we went around the table telling of our great, or not so great, arrangements the topic inevitably turned to how much the holiday sucks. I sat there quietly listening as Rebecca lectured about how New Year’s is such crap and spending 75 dollars on a night just because it is New Year’s is absurd. Then I asked, ‘But you like to go out anyway and the place where you are going is all you can eat and drink, what’s the problem?” I got a grumbled, “I guess.” When she asked what I was doing I told her that the place where I was thinking of going had a free open bar all night and no cover- it also happened to be one of the hottest parties in Manhattan. I’m not bragging, I’m just saying that even on New Year’s there are fun, free and chill things to do if you just look- no need to pay out the nose to hang with a bunch of bridge and tunnel bankers who after two Maker’s Marks start talking to your cleavage instead of your face.

So what are my personal feelings about New Year’s? I’m a New Year’s lover in waiting. And perhaps my ‘in waiting’ status has to do with expectations. Ever since I hit the legal age, I’ve expected that one year I’ll have that amazing New Year’s. One where I’ll be dressed up and beautiful and find the perfect man to kiss at the stroke of midnight. This is not that year. This year I’ll be ringing in the New Year with my family, eating Chinese food and drinking strawberry daiquiris.

My Uncle Charles called today and asked if I got all I could get out of my 2005. “No.” I answered. “I probably could have gotten more.” And it’s true, I could have gotten more, who couldn’t say that? But that’s not to say that I didn’t get a whole hell of a lot including: five new, amazing friends (hey Javier, Brook, Stephanie, Stevie D and Jan), I set foot in six different countries, I started an awesome new music blog with a great friend (which got nearly 600 hits the other day!), I got my masters, I made a surprise visit to NY, I finally grew all the blond out of my hair, I figured out what I actually might want to do for a living and now I get to celebrate New Year’s with my family, without whom my 2005 never would have been possible.

I wish for all of you out there that you may spend the final moments of the year reflecting on the past 365 days- about the people you’ve loved and lost, the moments that made you laugh and those that made you cry and thinking about all the wonderful things you hope to do in 2006. I know I will. And with that, I am signing off my final blog of 2005.

Happy Boxing Day and Some Very Drunken Birthday Pictures

I'm sitting here on the couch in my new Christmas pjs, watching a marathon of seaQuest DSV, eating peppermint sticks covered in dark chocolate. Could it get any better than this? Christmas is just another name for "Eat Whatever the Hell You Want." isn't? Because boy have I. Pie for breakfast and eggplant parmesan for snack, it's just all so good! I promise to stop though...starting tomorrow because right now, that shrimp linguini is sounding awfully good.

I realise that I am overdue for my birthday update so if I can tear myself away from my fork, I'll try to get to it.

December 16th



I had all these great plans to get a haircut and my nails done before my birthday dinner. Too bad my sister had other ideas, like searching all over Long Island for the perfectly shaped, and priced, Christmas tree.



That evening, Deb, Kristin and I took the train into the city to meet up with my friends before dinner. Above is Greg (Kristin's boyfriend and my future brother-in-law, yikes!), Kristin, Jason, Deb and Matt at Telephone bar.



For dinner, we went out for Moroccan food at a place called Zerza. It was tre bien, though my sister and I did have a bit of trouble eating our snapper. The chef forgot to take out the eyeballs and teeth, crikey.



Stacey and Deb at dinner. At this point I was a bit tips, with three pints at telephone and a fair few glasses of red at dinner.



Matt and Happy looking like the hot New Yorkers they are.



We decided to round off dinner with some apple flavoured hookah. There's Happ taking a puff...or smelling something really bad- maybe both. Like I said, I had a lot to drink.



Kristin said, "Take a picture of me with smoke coming out of my mouth, it can be my Christmas card." Greg looks stoned in the back but trust me, there, unfortunately, was no hashish in the hookah.





For dessert, Happy ordered rose flavoured ice cream. The consensus from the table was that it tasted like soap. I thought it was lovely, like rose flavoured loukum (Turkish delight).



Jason and Matt, haha, nice one.



Happy, definitely looking Happy.



'Hey mister, she's my sister.'



After dinner, we were led to Odessa by Laura. It was v. hipster and v. chill.



And people kept buying me beers! Hurrah for American ales!



After Odessa, we finally got a hold of Stacey- whom had ditched us to meet up with...dunno, people somewhere else- and got her to drive us home. This is a picture I took while Jason, Deb and I loitered on 2nd and tenth waiting for her. Arty.

It was a very good evening, thanks everyone for coming and for dinner. It was fabulous. I haven't stayed out until 5am in a long time. And to all those, excluding one, who didn't show at the last minute (making me feel rather upset during an already rough patch) might I suggest this for your next purchase.

A Very Merry Christmas

Christmas Eve!

By far, Christmas Eve is my favourite day of the year. When I was very little, my entire family (both mom and dad's side) would go over to my father's mother's house in Plainview for Christmas Eve dinner. We would have a massive Italian meal, which traditionally for all Italian families consists strictly of fish instead of meat. After my mother's parents moved away, it became just my Uncle, Aunt and cousin who would go over to my Grandma's and now, with my grandmother gone and aunt and uncle divorced, the number is dwindling still. Some years it's just my parents, sister, brother and I but some years, we are blessed with my aunt and cousin- like this year.



Aunt Val and Cousin Tara at the dinner table.

I feel compelled to keep up the traditions of a big Christmas Eve dinner that my grandmother passed down. Thus, Christmas Eve morning I woke up and immediately began cooking. My first task was peeling shrimp for the scallop and scampi pasta and shrimp cocktail. Then I began frying the eggplant for the parmesan. This might all sound like a bit of a hassle but really, nothing gets me more in the Christmas spirit than cooking a big meal for my family. Luckily I had a lot of help though with the complicated scampi pasta dish from my aunt, a fabulous cook who also made some brilliant roasted carrots.



Every time Tara comes to visit, her and Ryan get glued to the video games. So while everyone was barely able to move after dinner, these two munchkins went straight to the tv.



At about ten, we were finally able to cram some dessert in.



I insisted that we buy a mince pie, it being the traditional dessert for Christmas in the UK. Unfortunately, no one warmed to it the way I did so it looks like I'll be eating mince pie alone for another week.

Christmas Day!



Kristin opening her gifts.

The rule this year was that presents weren't to be open until 7am. So I guess the kids were just getting me ready when they woke me at a quarter to. Luckily, I wasn't woken up with the call of "You're ruining Christmas!" this year. Instead that became the new family joke. Everytime someone would drop something, fart, or, well, do pretty much anything, they would be met with a resounding "YOU'RE RUINING CHRISTMAS!"


Aunt Val opening her new, customized sled from the cousins.

I don't think I woke up really until two hours and cups of coffee later.



Ryan and his new China Town shirt.



My stack of presents, including De Lovely from my brother. Bless his heart, he went searching for a movie with Robbie Williams in it. My request for no "things" was pretty much abided by. I got a new pair of pjs, which I needed, a jacket, a flask from my sister with some peach schnapps to go in it (cheeky monkey) and an ipod car player.



Tara opening a gift from my family, an ipod mini case.



The aftermath of Christmas day. Even the dogs seems tired.



Yay Christmas!



The girl cousins all sporting their new pearl necklaces my mom bought us. The pearl came in the shell, so you had to pry it open to see what colour you got and then match it to the pearl colour chart. Mine was gold, which means wealth supposedly.



Dad and Max asleep under the tree.



The Family. Happy Christmas everyone! Love, The Kellases.

Knackered

I'm currently watching the countdown to the MTA strike in Manhattan on the local news. Only an hour left until what looks like an inevitable walkout. You would think the sky was falling the way they are carrying on and acting so dramatic. Sure, it sucks for people needing to get to work but honestly, good on those workers. Why shouldn't they get things like better pay and greater healthcare coverage for an already shitty but completely necessary job that keeps this mammoth city running? God forbid. If NYC (and a large chunk of the east coast) can make it through a complete blackout in the dead of summer, it can survive walking to work for a day or sharing a few taxis. Or hey, it's the end of the year so why not use up some of those left-over sick days, stay in your pjs on the couch and watch reruns of Dawson's Creek. Lord knows that's what I'll be doing, but then again, I'm unemployed.

My aunt and little cousin have come up for the holidays from Georgia; I picked them up from the airport yesterday. Today, for the second day in a row, I drove into the city so that the out-of-towners could go and see the tree. It's a very bad idea to drive into the city during Christmas time. The sidewalks are packed with tourists and the streets are bumper to bumper with skiddish cars sporting out of state license plates. It's a recipe for an aneurysm. After the chaos of the tree, I city-drove our asses out of midtown and headed for the quieter streets of the lower east-side. A parking spot was found with ease in front of a cute Italian bistro and a piece of chocolate cake later, my sanity was found as well. And now, after four days of too little sleep and too much to drink, I am completely and utterly knackered. And it's not even Christmas.

Streets of Philadelphia

Saturday 10 December 2005



Friday night, Happy and Sea were meeting up in Philadelphia to see Fiona Apple and stay with our friend Harrison for the weekend. Not to be left out, Deb and I drove down to meet up with them on Saturday for some Philly fun.



After Deb and I dropped our stuff off at Harrison's, the first port of call for all of us was food and some catch-up chat.



And then hit the streets to explore the city.



Phillys a really cool place. The last time I was there I was 10 and on a class trip. All I really remember was seeing the bell and eating some gross food. Unlike many cities, Philly doesn't seem to be carved into areas of class. Sure there are posh houses to live in but for the most part, Philly gives off this feeling of a giant co-mingling. It's really beautiful too. The courthouse is breathtaking, and the old area surprises by thrusting you right into the 1700s.



Before dinner that evening, we decided that a few drinks were in order.



And a half a giant bottle of vodka later, we were indeed very jolly. Too jolly to finish our game of rummy 500 (we, meaning Harrison, Sea and I, ALWAYS played rummy 500 in London. Did I mention that's how I know Happy and Harrison? From London? Sea and I were friends from U of Maryland and then went to London to study abroad together during our junior year. That's where we met Happy, Harrison, and a slew of other cheeky characters- but I'll save them for another time.)



"And it was this big!"

For dinner we went to a great restaurant that Harrison suggested. I had grilled scallops.



Happs and I.



Sea and Deb, Deb looks a wee bit tips here doesn't she?



After dinner, we stopped by Harrison's bar, where she works on Friday nights, for a drink. We were all so knackered, that we could only stay for one drink before heading home.

11 December



The next day, Deb, Happy, Sea and I were on our own- Harrison had to go to her gran's house for a very early Chanukah celebration. We decided to do a little sight-seeing and shopping, but not before getting our eat on. The carnivors of the group all headed over to Genos for some cheesesteak, while I had a veggie omelet with tortillas at the place next-door. My place had seating, so after they scarfed down their cheesesteaks in the freezing cold outside, they joined me at my very festive Mexican place to watch me eat.



Yum, egg and tortilla.



Deb is unamused by the festive Mexican decorations.



Next up was Independence Hall and the bell. Bell security was harsher than getting through customs. At one point on the line, some Japanese tourist took a picture of the security check and you would have thought he had just yelled 'BOMB!' or 'The Phillies SUCK!' the way he was taken down. He was pulled off the line, his camera checked and then the picture he took had to be deleted. It was all a bit scary and weird.



But it was all worth it once you got to see that magnificent bell. A symbol of our nation's freedom and liberty...hmmm, maybe not.

At any major tourist site in any country, you are bound to see male Japanese tourists posing very still, with no smile on their face, in front whatever is the hot attraction in that particular place. The bell was no different. Each guy would take a turn stand stock still in front of the bell, hogging it by the way, while they had their picture taken. I wonder if they think their soul will be stolen if they smile, like people in old timey photographs.



I couldn't stand to be outdone by the Japanese so Deb indulged me by getting in my bell picture. I just felt I couldn't leave Philly without one.



After the bell, we were herded over to Independence Hall. We jumped on a tour because I thought it would take us into some cool historical spot. Instead it led us to this room that ended up to be just a replica of the original congress. Sea was so annoyed and confused as to why we were there. "WHERE ARE WE?!" she shouted before the park ranger came on to speak. We didn't stay for the rest of the tour.



Instead we headed over to Cosi for some coffee and smores to warm us up. Happy nearly gave me a heart-attack by joking that it was owned by Starbucks. I was already racked with enough guilt over going there.



After the site-seeing was done, the shopping was on. We shopped until the stores closed. No tax on clothes in PA- can't beat that. Don't tell my dad I spent 150 dollars on clothes. After living for a year in a town with one well priced store for young people, and wearing the same pairs of ill fitting jeans over and over and over, I always feel like I just returned home from a desert island whenever I go to the shops. "ooooh, what are these? They are so sparkly and only 50 dollars. My god, that is only 25 quid!"

Life and Death on Long Island

It's currently very early in the morning to be up and writing, but here I am, pardon the typos. Last night I went to the party of a friend whom had just returned from a fifty-week trek around the world, that very day in fact. Before his travels, I hadn't known him but through his blog and various connections I ended up inviting him to stay with me in Scotland. If like me, you've seen Notting Hill a couple of hundred times then you'll remember when Hugh Grant tells Julia Roberts that meeting her was 'surreal, but nice.' That's how it was when I first met Brook, 'surreal, but nice.' The first thing that Brook said to me was, 'This is weird.' Meeting him wasn't like meeting a celebrity, though I really wouldn't know what that is like to be honest, it was more like meeting a character out of a book I was in the process of reading. One whom had suddenly come to life on my doorstep.

This time around it wasn't strange to see him and it certainly wasn't strange to see him in New York. New York City isn't my New York City, maybe seeing him in my home in Syosset would be weird but we'll jump that hurdle when we get to it. For me, Brook will always be that sudden burst of New York when I was in a foreign country so seeing him back in the place I know he knows so well felt entirely normal. I hope that even begins to make a glimmer of sense for anybody.

The girl whom facilitated Brook and I meeting through her blog was there and the topic of conversation for the three of us revolved mainly around what it feels like to be back in America after being gone so long. So here I feel is as good a time as any to finally address the fact that I have moved home after over a year away and what that feels like. Amy said it was the accents, Brook said it was the knowledge that he would be here for a period of time longer than a week and not get to move on. For me, certainly, it was both of those things. When away, I would always cringe at loud, obnoxious Americans shouting, never just talking, on the street (and yes, as an American I am able to admit that most of my fellow countrymen aren't exactly the best of travellers but personally, I would rank Italians at a notch above Americans in the worst traveller category). Being back in New York means that not only am I always surrounded by shouting, but I'm surrounded by shouting in New York accents. It was a bit jarring when I first arrived- and something I still find, not obnoxious but, amusing I guess.

To jump off from that more superficial difference in being home, I am finding the issue of politeness to be a great factor in my difficulty to adjust. I'm used to smiling at salespeople, saying 'pardon', 'please' and 'thank you' and then hearing it back. I'm used to men holding doors for me all the time, giving me their seat and buying me drinks. I think, I'm just used to being treated with more respect. Certainly, I'm used to more respect than an American most often gives their fellow man. 'No RESPECT!' as my hero Rodney Dangerfield would shout.

The last thing about being home that is hard to adjust to is more along the lines of what Brook was saying. I find it difficult to come to terms with the fact that I don't have a ticket out of here. And that once more I am back to where I started from and for a long time at least, there is no escape.

A few days after coming back I walked to the grocery store. In a rather large town like mine, it was a bit of a hike and when I came back from that 3 hour expedition I wrote this about being home: SUVs, driving everywhere, no green space, car fumes, Goodfellas accents, capitalism, apathy, slowly reverting back to that person I hate. Welcome home.

I find myself loosing hold of that person I was while away and falling into the same patterns all over again. There are times here when I find myself needing to step away from situations and try to remember how a calmer, healthier, more go with the flow Jen would act. It's difficult, especially in a situation where once again, there are more people to worry and take care of than just me. Now is the time to 'suck it up', as I am prone to say, get on with it and try to not loose myself too much in the extra baggage that comes with being home.

Right, I'm going back to bed.

25 Years Young

Do you remember how in Lord of the Rings, the traditional birthday celebration is for the birthday hobbit to give presents to all of their friends instead of the other way around? I love that idea. I think we all should start doing that. Then instead of agonising over what to buy each specific person on their birthday, we can get all of our friends the same gift. That could be your signature gift for that year! It would be so much easier to remember what people bought you as well. “Oh, when Lauren turned 23 she gave everyone multi-coloured scarves.” See? Easy. Come to think of it, it’s kind of a good way to eliminate all those unwanted friends as well. No gift = please don’t call round here anymore.

Well, since you out there in the blogosphere are all my friends I decided to give you all a birthday gift on my special day (and, let’s be honest, clean house a bit) by putting up all those pictures from the past, oh, four months that I neglected to post and narrate out of sheer laziness. So enjoy people and Happy My Birthday.


August 29th: Skopje, Macedonia



This leads off from the point where Kiril, Crawford and I were running to catch Crawford's train to Thessaloniki from our bus from Ohrid. And if I'm not mistaken, that's Crawfy getting on the train.


August 30th: Skopje, Macedonia



The day after Crawford left, Kiril's mom took us both to Skopje's modern art museum. The scenery was better than the artwork and took in the entire city.



Macedonia feels like such a quiet, secluded place to live. Looking at these pictures now, to me they excude such stillness. It makes me want to move there, become anonymous and get lost in the silence and calm.



After the museum, we all grabbed a coffee by the Vardar River, the place where Kiril first brought me when I arrived. That's Kiril's mom (Mamo he says) with me. I think the word mom was created for her. She is so large-hearted and kind. She was always making us homemade food and making sure we were alright. My mother is great is so many ways but I...hmmm...wish I knew what it was like to be able to have a mother like that. Coming off a long and solitary summer into her home was just what I needed to boost a failing spirit.

After coffee, Mamo and Kiril dropped me off at the bus station. Kiril waited outside until I was safely on and the bus pulled away. I don't think he saw me then, but I guess I'll confess it now, I couldn't help but cry.

The bus I was on was the overnight express to Istanbul. It's didn't look dodgy from the outside but once I realised we were smuggling goods into Turkey, something clicked in my head about where I actually was and where I was going. Here now, an exert from my diary:

30th August 2005, Somewhere in Bulgaria:
Courtesy of the two men in front of me, I'll be smoking all the way to Istanbul.
We've stopped at a truck stand. I found a toilet but it was a disgusting squat one and I decided that in fact, I rather try to sleep off my need to pee then go there. Oh to be a boy. (I can hear the collective groan of travellers past as I write this. Oh, forgive my western ways!) You were meant to pay the girl outside the loo for paper but I have nothing smaller then a hundred, and something tells me she doesn't give change. Here's hoping my hotel has a toilet other than the squat variety. Time to leave, it's 10:10pm.

When the bus started up again there was a small glimmer of hope that it might at least be somewhat more enjoyable when the first movie ended (some sort of Macedonian Laurel and Hardy scenario). An American film was turned on, albeit a road trip movie with Ice Cube but still, at least it was going to be in English. Unfortunately, Ice Cube in this flick spoke Macedonian. I floated in and out of sleep while listening to the entire of the Who's Tommy (which from this day forth will always remind me of Bulgaria).

Exert: 4am, I was rudely awakened at the Bulgarian border to disembark and show my passport. The shit hit the fan at the Turkish border when all the exchanges were closed and the atm was broken. The bus host helped me out finally, after much running back and forth, by giving the visa guy 20euros for me in exchange for my remaining denars. Thank god or I still might have been there, stranded. Thank goodness as well; Kiril didn't accept my denars when I tried to thrust them on him before I left.

Sun-up 5:15am, Turkish Border Control: The entire bus is helping load back on all the goods the bus company people bought at duty free. At the border, we were made to get off the bus and stand with our belongings while they were inspected. The bus company people put by each of us one of their many bags of duty free so that they wouldn't get in trouble for taking it into the country. This seems to be normal practice as the bus passengers waiting to be checked on other coaches all seem to have bought an abnormal amount of alcohol and perfume as well. The inspector finally came to me, and a girl younger than me shone a flashlight in my bag for a hot second before moving onto the next person. Midnight Express it was not.

I could barely keep my eyes open as the bus entered the city. When we hit the remains of the great Byzantine wall, I allowed myself to blink and suddenly we were parked at the station. Mild confusion then ensued at the bus station when no one seemed to speak English. I ended up convinced to hop the free shuttle to Ankarska where I found an HSBC (thank god) and took out some much needed cash. I wandered around trying to find the hotel to no avail. Istanbul is a medieval city at it's most medieval. Streets curve, veer and magically skip around the city. Add to that the absence of signs indicating on which unpronounceable four-word street you are on and you will see me resorting to taking a taxi driven by an equally lost taxi driver two blocks to my hotel.

My hotel/hostel was clean and very friendly (Stone Hostel for anyone wanting a safe, friendly place to stay in Istanbul). My request for a single room equalled me alone in a two-bunk room. Not exactly the backpacking way to get a single, but I wanted to be able to write in peace and go to bed when I wanted. A good choice as well since the heat had me sleeping in my knickers nearly every night.


August 31st: Istanbul, Turkey




































September 1st






















September 2nd: Istanbul, Turkey

















































September 6th: Istanbul





















September 9-10: Burgos and Espinosa de Los Monteros, Spain














































September 11: Espinosa de Los Monteros and Burgos, Spain


















September 12th: Burgos, Spain















September 13th: On the train from Burgos to Barcelona