Thing of the Day: Sunshine

Some pretty excellent things happened this weekend.

I ate pizza every day from Thursday-Sunday, Sarah Palin resigned from her "job," Sarah Jessica Parker and her three absurdly named but nonetheless adorable children are looked at houses in Park Slope (take that, Carrie Bradshaw! You may hate on the BK but I'll take the real SJP if she promises to wear heels at all times), I spent my 4 hour commute home back from the beach downloading Pandora for Blackberry (genius!) and despite Michael Bloomberg's warning, I watched fireworks both legal and smuggled to the tunes of my roommate's dad's 4th of July Playlist (Included: The Star Spangled Banner, American Girl, American Pie, American Woman, Simon and Garfunkel's America, Proud to be an American and an impromptu a-capella version of America, Fuck Yeah!)

That was a lot of parenthesis. Today's thing of the day is sunshine for several reasons:

1. I really liked the above picture

2. Even though The Today Show reported last week that New York's June weather has been equivalent to that of Finland (come ON, Scandinavia!), this week promises to be a bright and sunny one of 80 degree highs.

3. Thus a plethora of outdoor activities have been planned: outdoor dinner & drinks before the Meiko concert tomorrow, outdoor gallery/bar crawls at Dumbo First Thursday, outdoor binge drinking at Saturday barbeque's and outdoor $2 Coronas and $1 Corn on the Cobs from highly illegal beach vendors at Coney Island Sunday.

On a slightly less optimistic and sunshine filled note, this week's episode of NYC Prep really disappointed me. Taylor--what the f. You are not representing Stuyvesant High School adequately when you go on mediocre dates AND SLOPPILY MAKE OUT WITH boys who describe themselves in their Bravo Bio as "known among his circle of friends as the guy who constantly hooks up with the hottest girls – either in the City or at his place in the Hamptons." Sebastian. There is only one Chuck Bass. I hate you. And Tay--if you are reading this, send me your phone number. I have some mentoring I would like to offer you free of charge. On camera, of course). Other than that, the clothes were cute, the food looked good, and I think I will give the show another 2 episodes before I start watching it on mute.

Also, Bravo--how about a reality TV show set at COLLEGE, where we are actually old enough to drink on our dates and at our parties. We can set it at Vanderbilt (potential titles: Vandyland, Club Vandersex, open to suggestions) and film episodes at tailgates, parties, Sportsmann's, Stevenson, and beyond. Our parents would all stop paying our tuition, but I'm sure with the dollaz and free shit we score as reality TV shows, we'd make it through our last semester on our own. You know where to reach me.

Thing of the Day: Celebrity Chefs

As I laid in bed last night watching my third consecutive hour of the Food Network (Iron Chef America: Battle Octopus),I found myself thinking about several things.

1. Why the f was I laying in bed eating grapes and cold pasta when there were delicacies like fried octopus calamari with papaya sauce, octopus seviche with fresh salsa, octopus carpaccio, braised tuscan octopus, pressure cooked octopus with rock shrimp, and slowly grilled octopus skewers to be had?

2. Octopus sausage? Really? I don't know, Chef Kaysen.

3. When did obsessing over food, food preparation, and the chefs who prepare it become a socially acceptable thing to do, a hobby reserved not only for trained culinary specialists and the morbidly obese but also for your average, normal BMI, unskilled college student?

I first discovered my immense and inappropriate love for food via the Bravo hit Top Chef, which I caught by accident after a Project Runway finale and have ever since seen every episode of. Since that fateful moment two or three years ago, I have further expanded my food interests to include a personal (read: non family, delivered to my dorm room) subscription to Food and Wine magazine, frequent perusing of FoodNetwork.com recipes, ending every weekend in Kitchen Stadium, stopping to read every single moderately interesting menu I see on the street, daily research of new lunch spots on Citysearch (today's pick: The Green Table), watching Rachael Ray re-runs on mute (her voice makes me want to slit my wrists, but the woman can cook), and reading famous menus the way many people watch famous pornographic films.

And I am not even close to most fanatic of my friends. In the past decade, avidly following celebrity chefs, culinary reality TV, and "designer" restaurants have become a huge phenomenon in popular culture. Names like Rachael Ray (ugh), Wolfgang Puck, Paula Dean, Alain Ducasse, Mario Batali, Anthony Bourdain and Bobby Flay have become as well known as those of Paris Hilton, Justin Timberlake and Britney Spears. Ray, the highest earning celebrity chef, makes $18 million a year on her Network show. Puck, Dean and the rest follow with similarly unbelievable numbers.

Any why not? If Americans can watch a show about a brain-dead couple and several other D-listers fighting it out in the jungle, and another about a fame-whorrific couple and their adorable plethora of half-Asian children, why wouldn't we watch a show--or a dozen--about a crictical life need--food?

Lucky for me, the Food Network's glorious headquarters are just around the corner from my summer internship. And in between "working," perusing menus on the internet, and g-chatting with stunning speed, I will continue to camp out in the Chelsea Market basement until I get the opportunity to seduce Bobby Flay into becoming my personal chef/husband.