One of my favorite things to do around our apartment is chalk art. While all of my roommates are away for Thanksgiving, I’ve found comfort in being home alone by chalking.
There is a funny story behind this phrase, “Kroshka Kartoshka.” Several months ago I met a traveling Russian man at the park and, after some conversation about his adventures in New York and upbringing in Moscow, invited him to the dinner party my roommates were throwing that evening at our apartment. One of my roommates, Arielle, has a tendency to speak in a very fake Russian accent out of habit (in fact, she was a “White Russian” cocktail for Halloween, you can imagine) and was engrossed in every word spoken by Leorid, our guest. We could not wrap our minds around the idea that a chance encounter had summoned a person with a bonafide Russian accent — a real, live Russian — to eat Tator Tot Hotdish in our living room. It was too perfect.
During a conversation about McDonald’s, Leo casually mentioned a fast food chain in Russia with amazing potatoes. When he said the name of the restaurant, KROSHKA KARTOSHKA, we stopped all conversation and made him repeat it over and over again. It was too incredible and beguiling a phrase not to, and especially when said in a thick Russian accent.
Since that occasion we now use Kroshka Kartoshka around our apartment as an exclamation of excitement, surprise and most often, for no reason whatsoever. Giving new meaning to a Russian restaurant chain has brought us so many beautiful laughs.
Three years ago I was celebrating Cold Pizza Day. Today it’s Thanksgiving in NYC — thankful for life.
I had promised my friend Thom months, and months, and months ago that I would design him a postcard with the words of Antonio Machado’s poem, The Wind, One Brilliant Day. I am a promise-keeper, but not a timeline-keeper (usually), so I still do plan to finish this for Thom (as he has helped me out so much through my collegiate years and beyond).
The plan is to release the poem on here, line by line, until I’ve completed all eight lines of Wind.
• • • • •
(As an aside, I’ve been trying to get motivated + work — seriously — since I moved here, and am diligently attempting to correct the two things I’ve felt have kept me from art: The proper equipment and a good desk + chair to work at.
(Well, I got the computer programs I “need” [or just really, really wanted] and the other day I scooped a 1950’s kitchen table for two, complete with fold-down leaves, off the curb. Still working on the chair part, but for now — let there be a fauxstudio!)