These prices are for kittens as of September, 2017. Not listed—the feline leukemia vaccine, which you should definitely get for your li’l one!
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Author: Mollie Bloudoff-Indelicato
Waking Up Katie
*I found this gem on an old computer while I was looking for a different file. I wrote it almost a decade ago during an early-morning creative writing class. (Resemblances to my actual little sister are pretty far off as she’s a gorgeous woman!)
Waking Up Katie
Two red-rimmed eyes peer through the semi-darkness, their blurred pupils suddenly coming to focus on me. Caked in gunk and watering slightly at the edges, these orbs of irritated flesh stare expectantly. A lone finger, its nail bitten to the quick, revealing the raw pink inside, interrupts this questioning gaze and proceeds to methodically explore the grimy crevices, smearing yellow goop across an eyebrow and down a cheek. The remnants of Barbie magenta nail polish dip in and out of the two small pockets and finally come to rest on one of the pale blue irises, causing the globes of color to cross and uncross rapidly.
With her hair sticking up at odd angles and her arms and legs entangled rather dangerously in summer sheets sticky with sweat, she resembles a mad contortionist, a science experiment gone awry. The being in the bed next to mine sniffs twice and, after casting another, pleading glance at me, rolls over in a convulsion of flailing arms and knotted curls. Soon, her breathing slows and she begins to snore, loudly.
My little sister can sneeze up to 25 times in a row. It’s a world record; we’ve checked. She has asthma, severe allergies, scoliosis, weight issues and chronic colds. When you look at her porcelain fair complexion, knobby knees and stooping way of carrying herself, you’d think she was about to drop dead any second. But the child has an impish smile that confirms it—ignorance is bliss. She still hasn’t gotten her head around her own physical limitations enough to recognize them. My mother hopes she never will.
The alarm clock goes off, its scream beginning the day in a manner as tranquil as a punch in the face.
My sister’s posture tenses subtly as she instinctively clutches tighter, her tiny fingers wrapping securely around a post in the headboard. She feigns sleep but sneezes five times and utters a word she probably shouldn’t know under her breath.
My sister is a weakling, but she’s a fighter, and it’s my turn to wake her up.
New Game: Airport Scavenger Hunt
Necessity is the mother of all invention. Greg and I created this game the last time we were stuck in an airport, waiting for a flight that was more than three hours delayed. Everyone was bored, JetBlue had run out of free chips and the CNN anchors rambling on about the economy just weren’t cutting it as entertainment. We needed a distraction.
The rules of airport scavenger hunt are easy. All you need to do is grow a pair (of ovaries or cojones, take your pick), and talk to strangers. Revolutionary! Each team (*ahem, Greg and I) comes up with 10 questions, picks a section of the airport and then runs around asking questions. The first person to find different people who can answer each of the questions accurately, wins!
But the real win is meeting a whole bunch of really interesting individuals. I was given the opportunity to connect and learn from people whose paths would never again cross with mine—something I rarely take advantage of anymore. It’s amazing how often we go about our days, sitting next to people on the metro, walking past them at parties and never get to know them (even in the most basic sense).
I was surprised at how many stranded passengers wanted to participate, were stoked to get involved and tell their stories. Even those not participating looked pretty darn amused. I like to think our little game made their arduous wait a little less BLARGH. And that’s the whole point of being alive, right? Making things just a little better for others.
When you try the airport scavenger hunt, lmk the questions you used and how people responded!
My Trip to Israel in 7 Patterns
I like finding patterns. Humans are programmed to look for order and structure among chaos, and I embrace my evolutionary heritage. I see faces in trees, cars and, yes, even grilled cheese. I know that Volkswagon bugs are not smiling at me, but it’s nice to give into the mind-bender and smile back. Patterns can be absolutely lovely. On this trip to Israel, I was lucky enough to make some of my own using the Adobe Capture cell phone app. See if you can find your own smiley faces:
Man at a café in Tel Aviv
Why I’m Not Apologizing for My Diet Ever Again
For years, I’ve apologized for my diet, for my food allergies. I’ve kowtowed to shop owners, genuflected in front of flight attendants and begged pardon from baby-faced waiters whose eyes I pray will someday get stuck mid-roll.
Part of it is my upbringing—we’re a very non-confrontational family—we don’t make waves. Part of it is media, telling me (and you) that I’m a weirdo. Part of it is friends, family, tour guides, etc. enforcing the stereotypes and making me feel small. But most of it is me being afraid that everyone is right. That I am weak, that I’m faking it, that I’m a burden, that I don’t deserve to eat out, travel or attend dinner parties without bringing my own food (which is what normally happens).
And it’s bullshit.
And all those people owe me an apology. In fact, I’m going to take this a step further and suggest that you take a look at your own behavior. Because, odds are, you’ve been a dick to someone about their food allergies. We deserve a fucking CAKE for all the crap you “normal people” put us through. (Granted, it’s gonna have to be a gluten-corn-sugar-nut-dairy-free cake, but we’ll take it.)
When you interact with someone who has food allergies, please keep these simple rules in mind:
DON’T ask: “What happens if you eat it?”
I’ll projectile vomit all over your mother’s blouse. I’ll get so constipated that my intestines protrude over my waistline. I’ll get diarrhea so bad it puts food poisoning to shame. I’ll sprout pus-filled blisters all over my face, and then blood will start squirting from my eyeballs.
REALLY? Do you really want our dinner conversation to include a detailed list of all my gross symptoms? If you want to know out of concern for my safety, you can ask whether I carry an Epi pen and where it’s located in case of an emergency. Otherwise—and I mean this kindly—bugger off.
Do you know how difficult it is to explain disgusting stuff in a way that won’t disgust people? Do you know how much I hate doing it?
First of all, I’m NOT going to eat “it” so this isn’t a relevant question. Secondly, I wouldn’t ask YOU about your health problems over dinner, and I think it’s incredibly rude that you ask about mine—EVERY. SINGLE. TIME.
(In case you’re not great with sarcasm, the above allergies are made up. But, still, you get the idea. It’s never going to be pretty. That’s why we allergic people don’t EAT these foods. If food allergies gave me silkier hair or prettier skin, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be writing this blog post right now.)
DON’T make me feel like a freak
I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been out to dinner when the waiter will take my partner’s order and then, after listening to me, give him a nod and say, “Oh, so you’re the normal one.” Or maybe he’ll refer to me, from then on, as “the difficult one.” Or, my favorite, “So you’re THAT girl.”
Yes, you’re right, waiter. I came here so I could feel bad about myself. Thanks for letting me know that I’m a freak and reminding me that my life will always be a little shittier because I’m forced to deal with people like you. Totes awesome.
About 15 million people in the U.S. have some sort of food allergy. I happen to have more food allergies than the average person, but that’s not my fault. You wouldn’t tease someone with a broken leg, calling them “difficult” or abnormal. I wish I had a broken leg—at least it would eventually heal. This shit is probably gonna stay with me forever.
So, please, I beg of you, THINK before you open your mouth and spew words.
DON’T openly make fun of me
Do you think I like giving up delicious foods? Cookies right out of the oven—that’s heaven right there. And I can’t eat them.
Oftentimes, the one thing people remember about me is “Oh, she’s the woman allergic to XYZ” because YOU made such a fuss over it. I’m a pretty cool person with lots more to be remembered by than food allergies. Please refrain from being a jerkface.
DON’T just order pizza
FACT: 60 percent of the U.S. adult population is lactose intolerant. And, in the U.S., minority populations are much more likely to be affected. So the next time you plan an event and only order pizza, you’re really just excluding more than half of your attendees AND managing to dissuade minorities from showing up. How about you reconsider that order, huh?
DON’T act like this is a bigger deal for you than it is for me
I recently took a reporting fellowship to Israel. I was told that I’d be “fed a lot and often.” Free food? Who doesn’t like free food? Especially free Mediterranean food! But, of course, just to be on the safe side, I emailed the trip coordinator the week before, letting him know about my allergies.
Of the 30 countries I’ve visited, it was the worst experience I’ve ever had traveling abroad.
Now, usually, I’d be totally fine procuring my own food. Drop me anywhere in a Romance language-speaking country, and I’m a food-finding machine. But this is Israel. I have no idea how to speak or read Hebrew.
I told the coordinator that I was allergic to the ingredients in falafel the day before we were stopping at a falafel place for lunch. Instead of planning ahead and helping me out, we got to the falafel place, and the coordinator said I could eat hummus. HUMMUS. He wanted me to scoop up hummus and eat it with a spoon.
I’m all for a good hummus spread, but that’s not exactly a filling meal.
It gets better. The tour guide finally offered to help me find food, which took a while because it turns out that falafel stands are SUPER popular. So finally we stumble across a Japanese place that makes sushi and the guide goes to order me some salmon rolls. Normally, this would be awesome. But the salmon had obviously been sitting out for a while and was kinda graying at the edges. I asked the guide to inquire after refrigerated salmon.
He flipped. The look he gave me was of pure disgust. He stalked out of the restaurant, threw his hands up in the air and proceeded to tell me how frustrating and difficult I was. He told me, angrily, that there was no way I could get food poisoning from eating that fish.
WUT?
I explained to him that I was sorry he was frustrated but to look at it from my perspective. I’d had food poisoning before and wasn’t eager to get it again. Plus, he had to deal with my allergies for five days—I had to deal with them for life. He proceeded to tell me that I wasn’t making his life any easier.
*whistling sound as the point of the conversation goes over someone’s head *
Yes, during the trip, both the guide and the coordinator berated me for having food allergies, for not getting myself food and for being difficult, frustrating and a burden on the trip. They also told the entire fellowship, a sizable group of journalists, all about my food allergies, discussing them openly, loudly and publicly—as one usually discusses the health problems of others. NOT.
(In his defense, the tour guide did apologize eventually. But not until I sat in the bathroom of a Japanese restaurant for 20 minutes, sobbing.)
(ALSO, I packed half my suitcase with food I could eat. I just didn’t have enough for three meals a day. BUMMER.)
DON’T tell me to eat at vegan/vegetarian restaurants
I’ve been to plenty of vegan and vegetarian restaurants where the chef doesn’t know what ingredients they use in their sauces. That’s the cue for me to get up and walk out. And it SUCKS.
DON’T ever use the words “Oh, why don’t you just try eating a little?”
Because I can’t even.
DO try and be flexible
When a waiter goes out of their way to make sure my meal is allergen-free, I call their boss, I write an amazing review, and I tip really well.
Should I have to do this? Shouldn’t it just be a part of a waiter’s job? You’d think, but it’s incredibly rare.
So, friends, isn’t it worth the extra time to make someone feel less awkward and alienated? I’ll make it worth your while (probably with cake!)!
DO ask how you can help
I was recently on the phone with United Airlines for more than an hour, trying to get a list of the ingredients for their in-flight meals. I was days away from boarding an international flight, and I didn’t want to take up precious space in my carry-on to pack my own breakfast, lunch and dinner.
I’d like to tell you that United Airlines has a list of ingredients for their meals, this being 2017, but that’s not the case. In fact, when I got on the flight, the flight attendant didn’t even have the gluten-free meal I’d requested. Instead of apologizing for the mixup, she told me that I should’ve called ahead of time.
Which I did. And I emailed. Twice.
So, when you extend some compassion—any compassion—to someone with food allergies, know that you’re making their day. It’s a common courtesy that I rarely get from anyone.
DO refuse my apology
Because I shouldn’t have to apologize for something that’s not in my control. And I’m going to try my damnedest to stop apologizing, but if you hear me do it, please politely decline. That’ll let me know you care about me, and that I’m worth your time, your compassion and your (extra) effort. And from one human being to another, I thank you so, so much.
Flight 90 to Tel Aviv
Today I’m headed on a fellowship to Israel, where I’ll spend a couple weeks reporting on fascinating sciencey things. So far I’ve been in two different airports, and I still haven’t left the U.S. But I don’t mind. I’d forgotten how much I love airports, just sitting and observing—the calm amidst the chaos. It reminded me of a blog post I wrote almost seven years ago when I was about to embark on my first international adventure as an adult. For my nostalgia, and your entertainment:
September 2010
Airports are the perfect oxymoron.
They are the harbingers of tears while at the same time couriers of joy. They are as structured as they are chaotic, as full of hope as despair. They are an end and a beginning simultaneously.
In an airport, all walks of life gather with great hope, with great faith that a thin sheath of metal will hold true and deliver them safely to those waiting on the ground. In an airport, as in life, everything is a gamble, and the only constant is the understanding that nothing is ever constant at all.
But among the comings and goings of thousands there is a distinct aura of budding potential, which is why, despite my usual lack of moxie, I wasn’t nervous when I found myself sitting in the terminal of SFO, waiting for my own end/beginning.
On Oct. 14, I will officially be a visiting scholar at the University of Oxford, UK there to study geography. At around 3 p.m. that same day I’ll walk into my first class, of which I am the only member, prepared to argue the stance I took in a 2,500-word essay that my professor will expect to be without flaw.
I’ll be required to read dozens of books a week, and, consequently, I’ll make good friends with the research assistants at the Bodleian Library. My skin will probably get whiter — if that’s even possible — and I’ll develop an affinity for fish and chips as well as Yorkshire pudding. I’ll attend formal dinners dressed in traditional black robes and cheer on the rowing team when Oxford challenges Cambridge.
And there will be bad days: times when I’ll wonder why I traded a brilliantly sunny California for the wretchedly gloomy days of Oxford, times when I’ll question whether I can keep up with the intense workload plus the stress of being a foreigner.
Yet, even now, sitting on the plane, one train transfer and a short walk away from meeting my new home, I’m still not intimidated. In fact, I’m ready, ready for the essays, the reading, the new food — all of it.
Maybe I still have a touch of that airport optimism in me, but as far as I’m concerned, everything and everyone has potential, including me.
Things to Do (and Eat) in Lima, Peru
Here are some ideas for things to do. Let me know if one piques your interest, and I’ll give you more concrete tips. NOTE: Lima is basically all about eating as you’ll see…
- Get famous Peruvian sandwiches (pavo con criollo) and fries (papas) from a local chain called La Lucha and eat them in Bosque Olivar, which is a really beautiful old park in San Isidro. You can then get coffee/tea and Peruvian cookies (alfajores) at my favorite bakery next door to the park called Casa Alfajores.
- Go to Madame Tusan for modern Peruvian-Chinese fusion, known as chifa. There are tons of regular chifas, but they’re very similar to the U.S. version of Chinese food.
- There are also Peruvian-Japanese fusion restaurants called Nikkei. Our favorite is Ache. Maido is also very good.
- Try traditional Peruvian dishes. Those are ceviche, lomo saltado, aji de gallina, causa limena, arroz con pollo, ocopa. There’s also the famous pisco sour and lesser known maracuya sour. As for fruits, lucuma is Peruvian staple and we really enjoy desserts with chirimoya.
- The Plaza de Armas is the heart of the historic downtown. It’s worth a short stop and perhaps a meal. I’d suggest going around sunset.
- The best sight we’ve seen downtown is the San Francisco monastery because it has catacombs with a ton of bones.
- The main art museum is downtown and called MALI. I’m not sure what’s showing now, but I’d say you can skip it. The contemporary art museum (MAC) in Barranco is more interesting.
- Night tour of South America’s second oldest cemetery.
- Dinner overlooking Lima’s old ruins at Huaca Pucllana. This is the best food the Significant Other and I have had in Lima!
- Dinner at Astrid y Gaston. You need to make a reservation. It’s one of the top 50 restaurants in the world.
- Make sure to order ceviche (Peru’s national dish) and a pisco sour (Peru’s national drink) at Punto Azul
- Cultural event like dance or opera or a musical (in English or Italian)
- Futbol game (our team isn’t great, but it’s fun to watch!)
- Going to Parque Kennedy, the main square, and eating picarones (a very Peruvian dessert), and getting juice (it’s a BIG thing here, going for juice!)
- Lima’s Magic Water Show (google it) is gorgeous, especially during the hot summer months
- Walking along the Malecon, Lima’s version of a boardwalk overlooking the ocean, and getting lunch at a bungalow (beware: don’t go during rush hour)
- Day trips to go see the Peruvian pyramids, sand boarding or the Nasca lines
Stop Calling it an Adventure
I just moved back to the United States after living and reporting from Lima, Peru. Reacclimating has been tough. I miss reporting on topics I know are important. I miss the challenge of navigating Latin America. But, most of all, I miss my old world. It’s just weird to be on U.S. soil.
People rarely ask me about Peru, but when they do it’s mostly to reference Machu Picchu and rattle off some platitude about the joys of traveling. And that’s cool. Small talk is small talk. But it kind of wears on a gal, you know?
In the future, when you meet someone who’s just moved “home” after time away, keep the following tips in mind. It’ll make their (very stressful) transition oh-so much easier.
Stop calling it a journey, an adventure, a gap year, a fellowship or a “year off.”
This isn’t some “Eat, Pray, Love” bullshit. I didn’t run away from the first world so I could gofindmyself or embracemybody or discoverthemeaningoflife.
Also, an adventure is what little kids go on after their mothers have sufficiently smothered them in sunscreen and checked the backyard for snakes. Take note.
No, my parents didn’t fork over the big bucks so I could galavant across a continent.
No, I didn’t have an institution backing my work or paying my way.
No, I didn’t take a year off, but I did work my ass off.
Stop telling me, “Oh, I could never do that.”
You definitely can’t do it. You can’t do it, but not for the reasons you’re implying. You sigh and say, “Not everybody has as much spare income as you.” “Not everyone has so much time.” “Not everyone has so few responsibilities.”
I would like to point out that I am white, and my parents are proud members of the U.S. middle class, which means I have WAY more opportunities than most people in the world. But you, naysayer, aren’t referring to that.
Stop implying that I have money to burn—I’m a freelance reporter. Stop suggesting I spent a year in the lap of luxury—see this post. Stop insinuating that I had no one to answer to—I have personal goals, financial demands, editors, family and face societal pressures just like everyone else.
Maybe you can’t do it because you’re not willing to throw yourself into the unknown without a safety net. Maybe you’re not a fan of literally chasing down sources? Maybe you want to avoid tear gas? Or, maybe international reporting just isn’t your thing. And that’s fine, but please stop with the nudges and winks already.
Stop saying, “Oh, that must have been so much fun!”
Because, most of the time, it wasn’t.
Most of the time the simple act of eating was a battle because everything that went into my mouth came out. Most of the time I was fighting people who wanted to screw me over. Most of the time I was grappling with the cultural barrier. Most of the time I was cold or sick or scared or a lovely combo of all three.
<rant>Do you know how difficult it is to pitch stories about Latin America? GOOD stories? Stories that take history into account, that don’t whitewash, that don’t gloss over culture? Do you know how much mansplaining I had to endure with editors back home? how much ignorance and apathy there was in regard to anything that wasn’t U.S.- or Europe-related?</rant>
Yes, you went to Machu Picchu. Yes, you went on a reporting trip to the Amazon. No, it is not the same thing as living and reporting in the country. That is called “parachuting in.”
So, yeah, I’d do it again in a heartbeat, but it wasn’t all rainbows and unicorns.
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How to Pitch a Story
I’ve been an editor, and I’ve been a freelancer so I know how pitches work from both sides of the table. Here’s some advice from what I’ve gleaned over the years. Let me know if you have questions!
Do Your Homework
Before pitching make sure you’re talking to the right person. There’s nothing worse than getting pitches about dog food promos when my bio clearly states I’m into neurology.
Google the story to make sure it hasn’t been covered extensively—or by the publication you’re pitching. Oftentimes, a pub won’t want to cover the topic if their competitor has already touched on it. You’ll need to make sure your angle is sufficiently different and interesting enough to warrant another article.