Tomorrow, at 7:15 a.m., I board an Air Canada plane to Montreal. A couple hours later, my boyfriend will also board a plane from London, to meet me in Montreal. We haven’t seen each other since mid-October. I miss him a lot, more than any words I can write here now. This is a much needed trip for both us, not only because we miss each other terribly, but because we both really feel the need to just get away from it all. Life is changing, on more ways than one. Or, life has been the same for too long and we’re fed up of it either way.

I’ve heard such great things about Montreal. The Paris away from Paris, they call it. It was not only named the 10th cleanest city in the world by Forbes Magazine in 2007, but was recently ranked 16th in a list of the world’s most livable cities in the 2008 edition of Monocle Magazine. While I was doing some research, I found out that Montreal is a sister city to Yerevan, and that made me smile a bit. Apparently, Montreal has a large Armenian community, about 25,000, so that’s really exciting. There are a number of Armenian schools and churches. It would be nice meeting some Armenians away from the confines of Glendale. Most of them live in Laval, a suburb of Montreal. I have also found a couple Armenian restaurants there, the most significant and blatantly Armenian of them being Massis Restaurant, located in Laval.

The Montreal Jazz Festival will also be taking place while we’re there! I am so ready to get away.

I’ve had a series of horrible events take place in the last 2 weeks where I’ve cried many tears and sulked numerous times. For the past few months I’ve been going to the gym in hopes of getting in shape for the summer. For the amount of hard work I’ve put in, I accepted to see some difference, but that difference barely came. Which makes me think there is an underlying medical condition to this unfair curse. On top of that, a position I was vying for at work was yanked from under me and although I didn’t feel the sting then, this week it has definitely sunk in. But wait, there’s more. For the first time in probably a handful of years, I received a hair cut that really truly ruined my life. I spent the entire weekend crying. That should be enough information for you. I went to the Bokaos Aveda Salon at the new Americana shopping complex in Glendale. For a $100, the stylist, Angelica, gave me a hair cut fit for a Japanese doll. Don’t worry, I got my money refunded to me. Take that, Bokaos Aveda. It was just horrible. Then on the same night, a woman by the name of Diana Ljungaeus ruined my life with her snotty and holier than thou attitude at the SoCal Journalism Awards Gala, an event which I was sent to cover as press.

Work has been unbearable this entire week as well. If there was ever a time I needed to just clear my head, it’s now. I know I’m complaining and I wish so many things were different in my life, but really, I am so lucky to have such amazing family and friends that not only help me out, but most importantly make me laugh.

I always say, that the best things in life are the ones you have to work the hardest for, and I have. I’ve worked hard. I’ve worked hard for the things I love and in the end, the rewards are amazing. Sometimes though, I wish things weren’t so hard. Just the simple things. Like feeling good about myself, for starters. I’m 23-years-old, and there are a lot of times when I don’t feel comfortable in my skin at all. There are times when I hate myself, there are other times when I love myself, but most of the time, I’m never satisfied. And this is a horrible feeling to have, because it not only starts to eat away at you, but it affects other aspects of your life.

My hair will grow back, I got my revenge at Ljungaeus by writing an editorial and I got my $100 back.

But I digress. Back to Montreal. So I’m going to Montreal tomorrow. I’m going to Montreal with the love of my life. And I’m happy. And at this point, I’m going to let everything that’s bothering me disappear, because we both deserve to have a good time, dammit. I will be back, with photos and stories to share.

Photo of Montreal Museum of Fine Arts (or Hearts!) by appaloosa via Flickr

Next to swap meets, attending farmer’s markets is one of my favorite ways of spending time. To me, there’s nothing more exciting than picking your own fresh and organic vegetables and fruits that were grown nearby. It’s nice seeing the faces of the people who plant, maintain and harvest crop that I later eat. Nothing is better than getting food from a farmer’s market, except baking and cooking with it. Now that takes the cake, no pun intended.

I work literally steps away from the Santa Monica Farmer’s Market that takes place every Wednesday morning and afternoon on 2nd Street. There were times when I used to go every single week, but I hadn’t been in a while, so when this Wednesday rolled around, I was really excited.

In addition to picking up fresh produce, you also learn what fruit and vegetables come into season at which time during the year. If you chat up the sellers, you can even learn some recipes or two. It’s a great way to spend at least some of your morning and definitely gives me a break from office life.

Carrots are definitely available year round, however they grow best when planted in early Spring. They are one of my favorite vegetable, although I will be the first to admit that I don’t eat them enough. Holtville, which is located in California’s Imperial Valley touts itself as the “Carrot Capitol of the World.” They even have an entire festival devoted to the vegetable.

Oh peaches. What can I say about that hasn’t been already said? You’re lovely and I think you know it. You’re a food fit for the Gods. Are you feeling tired and listless on an unbearable hot Summer day? Just take a bite out of a ripe, juicy peach. You’ll instantly feel better. I swear. At this point you might be thinking, those aren’t peaches, they’re nectarines! Not so fast. Nectarines are actually smooth, fuzzless peaches, for your information.

I tasted a couple samples that happened to come from Regier Family Farms. As God is my witness right now, they were perhaps, the BEST fruit I have ever tasted in my life. I mean at that moment, candy did not exist for me, because I was in love with nature’s candy: peaches from Regier Family Farms. I ran out of cash when I came upon them, but when I go back again, rest assured I will be stocking up. My mouth is totally watering just thinking about them.

Have you ever tasted fresh walnuts? I’m not talking about the kind you buy in a bag from the grocery store. I’m talking about the ones above. The ones you get to crack open yourself. They are heavenly. And they make all the difference in a recipe that calls for walnuts. Fresh walnuts are juicy and soft and so much more delightful to eat than regular walnuts. Plus, cracking them is so much fun, especially around the holidays.

Don’t they look beautiful? There’s a Salmonella scare currently going on, and California is one of the 30 states where cases have been reported, but I don’t think buying locally will put you at risk. Plus, I think the number of people affected references tomatoes from other places, not California. Salmonella or not, these look so amazingly good.

Olive you! I never used to like olives when I was younger, but that goes along with most things. I was never a fan of broccoli or spinach. Now I love them. Having olives with some Feta cheese and dry cracked bread sounds so good right now.

Cherries are in season! Although I do love cherries, they’re very iffy for me. They have to be really firm for me to be able to revel in them, like I do peaches.

Have I told you how much I love figs? Oh I love them. I love them fresh and made into jam and with tea. My mom usually makes a huge batch of fig jam (with whole figs intact). I could live off it. I don’t know with what intention I bought these. It’s a bit early for fig season, so I’m hoping these taste good. I looked up some recipes recently and I found some good ones, including one for fig muffins. If I don’t do anything with them, they’re being handed over to my mom for some delicious jam.

I have to say that I love asparagus, even though it makes your pee smell funny. They are so good on their own, with a little lemon sauce or as part of a dish. If there is any vegetable I’d love to grow, it would be asparagus.

This goat milk feta is from the award winning Redwood Hill Farm. Let me just say, that you haven’t tasted cheese until you taste some of the many varieties of goat cheese that Redwood Hill Farm has. In addition to feta, there is fresh chevre, camellia, California crottin and bucheret. If you are a cheese aficionado, this is the place for you. They also have tons of recipes on their site, including one for ‘goat cheese creme brulee. Wow.
If you ever get a chance to attend the Santa Monica Farmer’s Market on 2nd street, you really should.  It will be hard for you walk away without something in hand.

Somehow, someway, I got involved in co-hosting an internet radio organic gardening show, eHow’s Edible Gardens, a couple months ago at work. It happened quite simply. The regular host was out sick, and so when they asked around the editorial team, I was the only one who not only said yes, but enthusiastically said yes. I have always been interested in gardening. To me, it’s just another form of creation and creativity. I remember my grandmother’s backyard so vividly. It was full of strawberry plants, a lemon tree, orange tree, herbs, tomatoes and rich colored roses. That garden was her pride and joy. I have tried to somehow replicate her success over the years, but for one reason or another, I’ve failed. The thing is, just like a pet or a baby, you have to devote considerable time and energy to foster growth and that’s something I never had. I was too busy running around in high school pursuing my dream of that out of reach, illustrious journalism career.

But now that I am co-hosting this show, it gives me such a great opportunity to talk about and learn about something I love. Gardening expert Willi Galloway is who I co-host, and believe you me, Willi knows more about gardening than anyone you’ll meet. She loves it, so it kinda comes naturally I believe. In addition to being Queen of the garden, Willi also is West Coast Editor of Organic Gardening magazine and she also has this really awesome site called DigginFood, where she gives advice about gardening, posts personal gardening stories and also shares recipes! It’s a great read and I suggest you check it out.

I’ve enjoyed doing the show a lot so far. I’ve learned so much about strawberries, container gardening, growing your own hops, different varieties of tomatoes as well as unusual herbs. I got so inspired this last week especially, that I planted some seeds today. I don’t know if I’m doing things right to be honest, but it’s more or less a first try, so we’ll see how it goes. It’s definitely a learning process.

Here are some photos from my garden…

This is perhaps my favorite thing in the back yard. A pomegranate tree. The fruit up above is the first one it’s given this year.

This is a photo of last year’s fruit. There is nothing better than home grown fruits and vegetables. It was delicious. Pomegranate is very significant to me because of my background. It’s the central fruit in Armenian culture and usually represents fertility and abundance.

A blossom from the lemon tree (also below). This was initially a small tree, taken from my grandmother’s backyard after she passed away last year. With some extra care, it has managed to not only bloom, but bear fruit!

The pots above have tomato and spinach planted in them. I hope they give some seedlings. I hope I remember to water them.

This is also a remnant from my grandmother’s yard. I believe it’s an orange tree, and is relatively small. It has not given any fruit as of yet.

This garden is Henry-approved!

It was so hot today in Los Angeles that we decided it was time to put our pool and backyard to use. So we ventured outside, with towels, sun tanning lotion and two vegetarian pizzas from Trader Joe’s. I gave Henry a bath just before we went outside, but as a trade off for not being able to get wet in the pool, I let him dry off naturally in the sun. I think he enjoyed himself.

Today, my sister graduates from one institution of learning to another institution of higher learning. I can’t believe it was 6 years ago that I graduated high school as well. I can’t believe all that time has gone by. Four years from now, she’ll be graduating college, and God only knows where I’ll be. When you leave school, your life becomes sort of a big gray blur. School keeps your grounded. You know where you’ll be tomorrow (in class), a month from now (taking finals), or a year from now (one step closer to graduating.) But when all that goes away, and you’re left with no one to tell you what time to wake up, or what to read or study, or do, life gets complicated.

Although she rarely reads my blog, I want to address this part to her anyway. Alina, the advice I can give you to guide through life (at least for the next 4 years) is simple: Be yourself. I know you’ve heard that a dozen times and seen it on inspirational posters in some teacher’s room, but it’s true. There is nothing better, than to be yourself. Because when you try to be other people, it just doesn’t work. You owe it to yourself, to be yourself. Stand up for yourself. I’m sure that won’t be a problem with you, because you’ve done it all your life, and I’m so proud of you for that. This will come in handy for the rest of your life. No matter how self-conscious you feel, no matter how embarrassed you feel, stand up for yourself. You’ll see that this pays off in the end. Take risks. Take as many risks as you can. Risks are what make life interesting and they’ll not only get to know other people, most importantly, risks allow you to fully understand yourself. Have passion. Passion is what life is all about. Feel passionate about something. Have a fire in you about something, whether it be a class you’re taking, a relationship you have or life in general. Remember Jack Kerouac’s quote:

The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes Awww!

That’s all, I think. What I’ve written will only sound like words now, but one day down the line, you’ll think back and realize that they are so much more.

It seems that every Saturday, I develop a greater desire to bake than any other day. This is probably due to the fact that I’ve spent the greater part of the day relaxing, doing nothing and de-stressing. I got around to looking at recipes last night to see what kind of concoction I will make this time around and it occurred to me that I had been thinking of rum cake all week long. I set off to Epicurious to find a recipe, however, my search didn’t yield and desirable results, so I headed off to the next best thing, Google.

I searched for “rum cake” and amidst all the results, I found one from Recipe Zaar entitled “Almost Tortuga Rum Cake.” Oh how the memories came flowing back to me. The first time I ever lay eyes on Tortuga Rum Cake, a food fit for the Gods, was when Nat returned from The Cayman Islands, cake in hand. “This is the best thing you’ll ever taste,” she told me. I had my doubts, as at 16, I didn’t think anything that combined cake and alcohol as ingredients could ever taste good.

Oh was I wrong. I was so wrong. One bite and I was hooked. The cake melted in my mouth, the essence of the rum dancing around on my tongue. It was the best thing I had tasted. After that, me and Nat forgot about rum cake for years, as it was sold exclusively in the Cayman Islands, Jamaica and Barbados. We could have it shipped to the U.S., but the cost and the hassle was just a bit too much for two teenagers.

So last Saturday, I had my eyes set upon making this luxurious cake, that is, if I already had all of the ingredients. It was 9 p.m. and I was not about to go down to the super market to buy missing pieces of my rum cake puzzle. Miraculously, I happened to have it all, even the vanilla pudding mix the recipe called for ( I used French vanilla, I don’t think it makes too big a difference, if anything it made it better). The real hunt came for the rum. I need whaler vanille rum, otherwise known as Hawaiian style rum. What I found instead of Bacardi Puerto Rican Rum. I had my doubts, but when I took a whiff, it smelled more or less like Tortuga Rum Cake. Thank God for ingredient substitutes, as the recipe called for cake flour and I only had regular flour. Turns out you can substitute about a quarter of corn starch in with regular flour (for a 2 cup measurement) to make cake flour, which means I used 1/4 cup corn start and 1 3/4 cups flour.

So I set off to make my rum cake. And let me tell you, it might be the creation I am most proud of to date.

Although nothing can ever beat the taste of Tortuga, this almost takes the cake.

The press junket is perhaps one of the most surreal experiences I’ve ever had. I attended my first ever junket today for the movie “The Wackness,” starring Sir Ben Kingsley, Josh Peck, Olivia Thirlby and Method Man. I saw the movie on Monday and fell in love. It was almost everything I wanted in a movie and more. Three days later, I made my way across town from Santa Monica to the Four Seasons in Beverly Hills, up to the 14th floor in a mad rush, only to be confronted with a room full of publicists and journalists.

As usual, I was the youngest one there. As I gave my name to one of the publicists, I heard someone say “Are you Armenian?” I turned around and it was a young guy my age. We got to talking about why we became writers, how every other Armenian young person we know have either gone the Business or Dentist or Lawyer route, how print is dying, how press junkets work. Somewhere along the line, we discover that one of his friends is the brother of one of my sister’s good friends. This situation right here, this would only happen to us Armenians. Out of all the most obscure places, the Four Seasons Hotel in Beverly Hills on a Thursday afternoon for a press junket, do I meet someone I can play six degrees of separation with.

Let me explain what I gathered from how press junkets work. They gather a bunch of journalists into a sort of “holding room,” jam crammed with more food and drinks than you can fathom. You wait and you eat and you wait and you eat, until they assign you rooms to talk to the talent. You mosey on to the room where there is a big round table (hence the term “roundtables”) accompanied with about six or seven chairs for writers. The publicist and the talent walk in the room. The talent sits down, literally 2 feet away from you at the table. Everyone turns on their tape recorders and pushes them towards the talent. Questions ensue. This repertoire continues on for about 15 minutes until the publicist comes in, gives a 2 minute mark and jots out the door. Two more minutes of questions take place. The publicist comes back in, the talent thanks everyone and is ushered out the door. The tape recorders retreat back to their owners and remain on standby, until the entire process it repeated again with the next person.

I was stuck in a room with women older than my mother who (I think) had a hard time understanding the entire film. Sure they asked questions and looked interested, but all around, they just couldn’t begin to understand how many kids growing up in the 90s can relate to the character in this film. When they heard Method Man was going to be part of the interview process, they scoffed. Why him, they asked. They knew nothing about him or his music and they didn’t want to know either.

The shining light of my day was sitting across the table from Sir Ben Kingsley. It was as if I was interviewing Ghandi himself. He is so humble, kind and down to earth. And so articulate and intelligent. What an amazing man. I feel lucky just to have been able to sit in the same room with him.

I didn’t ask any questions during the entire process. It’s not that I didn’t have any, but I didn’t feel it was the right time to ask. I’m not sure. It was either that, or I was nervous. A combination of both most probably.

On the way there in my car, I kept having these day dreams of Ben Kingsley singling me out to talk to me. I don’t know why I would think this. I knew I wasn’t really going to be talking, so I kept imagining him saying in his soothing accent, “You, you over there, you’re not saying anything. Talk to me.” And then I saw myself talking to him, just me and him, no old cranky journalists around, no publicists, just me and him. Then I took a wrong turn on the way to the hotel and my daydream bubble popped.

Method Man is quite charming and handsome. And he has a booming voice. Like the voice of God or something. Olivia is beautiful. She’s only 2 years younger than me. Again I wanted to banish the other women in the room and talk to her like we were friends. She had gorgeous hair as well. Josh Peck has the most striking blue eyes you’ll ever see. And he’s so handsome and nice and funny. I wanted to put him in my pocket and take him home.

When the junket was finished, I came out with two tapes full of recordings from Director Jonathan Levine, Ben Kingsley, Josh Peck, Method Man and Olivia Thirlby, and a pounding headache that still has not gone away. I drove back to work in traffic, stayed for 3 and a half more hours, then headed home.

I will post links to my review and interview once they’re published. Thanks for reading, if you did.

I like to think of my car as my second home, since I seem to spend so much time in it these days. I feel quite connected with my car, the little white VW Golf that could. A lot of people name their cars for various reasons (Neil Patrick Harris named his car Judas. He has a Prius. Judas Prius, get it?) but I somehow never got around to naming mine. I thought about it a couple times, but all I could come with was…car. Either way, my car is my home away from home.

In my car I have: an umbrella bought from H&M in London, Clinton Kelly and Stacy London’s book, “Dress Your Best,” the current issue of New York magazine, my gym bag, my makeup bag from J.Crew, my purse, the new Anthropologie catalogue, a tin can shaped liked a London phone booth with change in it for meters and a Los Angeles travel guide.

I also have two post its with directions to Sony Studios (one without highways and one with – neither helped), the ticket and press packet to Sex and the City on my dashboard, along with a strawberry car freshener that no longer smells of anything. In the back seat I’ve got more than I should, including some new gray Dolce Vita shoes, my portfolio full of clips and some miscellaneous papers I just threw back there because there was no where else to put them at the time.

My car kinda serves as a public storage, except it’s private, and I like it that way. When I get around to it, I do clean it out eventually. At this point, I wouldn’t have any other car. It keeps me warm in the winter, cool in the summer, stores my stuff and takes me throughout Los Angeles every day to Santa Monica. I love his little hatch back and that I can fit into virtually any space and that despite the current gas crunch, it doesn’t cost that much to fill him up, compared to what other people pay anyway. Right now, with the average gas in L.A being somewhere around $4.15 to 4.50, it takes me $50 to fill up my tank. When I first started driving in high school 6 years ago, I think it cost about $25 to fill it up. How sad.

To be beautiful, all a woman needs is a black pullover and a black skirt and to be arm in arm with a man she loves.

It’s a lovely name isn’t it, Yves Saint Laurent. Some names are just destined to be known all over the world. Yves Saint Laurent was one of those people. Yesterday news broke of his passing and for the first time in a really long time, I was affected by the death of someone I personally did not know. I can’t remember the last time I felt so strongly about the passing of someone who was not my own. Maybe Heath Ledger, but most of that was shock. When I heard YSL had died, at the age of 71 from brain cancer, I was truly upset. While I was driving to work this morning, I listened to an NPR report about him and how he revolutionized the fashion world. How he popularized “ready-to-wear” in an attempt to democratize fashion and was the first designer to use black models in his shows and created “Le Smoking” suit, a tuxedo suit for women that created a lot of buzz in the fashion industry. Be became the first living fashion designer to be honored by the Metropolitan Museum of Art in 1983.

I was reading that after he was put in charge of running Christian Dior, he had to serve in the French Army during the Algerian War of Independence and after 20 days of hazing, he had to be institutionalized in a French mental hospital for a nervous breakdown. This is really upsetting and disturbing.

How could anyone do this to the man that once said “A woman who has not found her style, who does not feel at ease in her clothes, who does not live in harmony with them, is a sick woman.” Truer words have never been spoken. Or that “fashion isn’t just to decorate women, but to reassure them, give them confidence.”

In 2002, Saint-Laurent retired from the world of fashion and became reclusive. I don’t blame him really. From what I’ve read and heard, he was quite a gentle soul.

After his hospital stay, Saint Laurent launched his YSL fashion label with former partner Pierre Bergé. The house was sold to pharmaceutical company Sanofi in 1993 for $600,000,000. Try to just imagine that amount of money. Then in 1999, Gucci bought the brand

I had completely forgotten that I had photos from the night we went to see Adele at the Roxy, so I present them here now:

The Roxy in Hollywood. Full text says: “The Roxy presents an evening with Adele”

Me on the left, Nat on the right. I don’t love this photo (what else is new?) but I don’t hate it either. It was after work and I was tired, so it’s ok. I realized my hair resembles Adele’s hair from this photo.

Just because I said I had photos, doesn’t mean I said they were any good. It came out blurry, but concert photos always do. Also I’m short, so you can imagine…

Adele was wearing a black blouse, with black washed jeans. It was simple and casual, just like her music. Her hair, as you can see, was tied back to the side and gathered up with a hair net. I thought that was a bit unusual, but clever at the same time. She had a ring on her ring finger. It was gorgeous. It looked like an engagement ring. I wonder if she’s engaged.

People were taking photos of her the entire night. There was also a filming crew there for some reason. When they decided they had gotten enough footage, she got really happy and said, “I hate being filmed.” Then realizing, that people in the audience were also filming, she added, “Not by you guys, you can film me, I don’t mind, cos you’re not getting paid to do it. Ha ha ha!” It was cute.

I also had recorded a snippet of “Daydreamer” that I will include in this post. Click to listen: DayDreamer