The Pit of Despair

Uncle Oinker's Bacon Mints

2008-02-02T08:50:00.000-05:00

So...so very much is wrong with this confection. The good folks at The A.V. Club voluntarily sacrificed themselves for the benefit of the masses by taste-testing the "mints." Here is the article. For an extra treat, read some of the reader comments.

At long last, the theory that you can improve anything by adding bacon has been disproven, courtesy of a mysterious, pig-faced individual known only as Uncle Oinker. The presumed ideal for Bacon Mints: Tasty, tiny, refreshing bacon-flavored confections in a convenient tin, suitable for freshening your breath and satisfying your bacony cravings. The reality: Aspirin-like poison pills that offer just enough of a hint of bacon to make you try them, even as you know you’re going to regret it.

Taste: Imagine a tin full of sugary hard mints, squirted with liquid smoke and left to fester in the dark for weeks on end. The smell released when the tin is opened is pervasive and suffocating. It isn’t minty at all; it resembles a blend of rotting bacon and hot plastic, like raw bacon draped across a traffic cone and left outside in Arizona-summer heat for a couple of days. The taste is sour and richly meaty, like jerky gone bad; there’s definitely some mint in there, poking through the overwhelming semi-rotten-bacon taste at odd intervals, but mostly, it’s artificial bacon, and a whole lot of it.

Office reactions:
• “I’ve got a cold, so I can’t really taste anything at—Wait. EWWW. That shit is GROSS.”
• “It gets more nauseating the longer you have it in your mouth.”
• “They smell like Band-aids.”
• “I can’t even figure out what this tastes like. It tastes like having an aneurism. Seriously, they give me a pain in my head.”
• “It tastes like a dog treat.”
• “Something’s wrong. I consider myself very attuned to bacon, but all I’m getting here is ‘sweet.’”
• “There is no way I would want my breath to smell like these things.”
• “Oh my God. That really does taste like bacon and mints. These things should not exist.”
• “It’s like bacon bits and Andes mints at the same time.”
• “More like the greasy aftertaste of a bag of smoked almonds, with a festive sprig of mint.”
• “It’s not the most disgusting thing I’ve ever tasted. I guess.”
• “After 15 seconds, it turns into medicine. It’s kind of like bacon, and then it makes your mouth go numb. It turns into Novocaine.”
• “You have what? Oh, I can’t. There’s no way. I would throw up all over you guys.”

Once again, we had a Taste Test first: An inordinate number of people in the office took one look at the tin and flat-out refused to taste these. Normally, Onion staffers are pretty game about anything taste-testable, but this time around, we practically had to chase people down in order to get some reactions. Also, it’s worth noting that while we still have a good 85 or so of the 100 mints in the tin left, not a single tester has come back for a second one.

Where to get them: The tin says they’re manufactured in China exclusively for accoutrements.com (which also sells Uncle Oinker’s strawberry-flavored gummy bacon, as well as bacon-flavored toothpicks and this gross-looking-yet-amusing faux-bacon wallet) but they’re also available online via other novelties-and-sundries sites like mcphee.com and perpetualkid.com.

This Year's Family Knitted Christmas Gifts.

2008-01-14T11:47:00.000-05:00

Here are a few pics of the pieces I knitted for family this year:

Crocheted shamrock bookmark for a close family friend. I crocheted all the shamrocks individually, then sewed them together.

A close up shot.

A triangle shawl for mom.

What a pain in the ass! The shawl, not mom. Though sometimes... Hat for my brother-in-law. Don't worry, it stretches. His head isn't that pointy.
Closer pic. I really loved the heathering in this yarn.My favorite knitted gift this year: a scarf for my mother-in-law. The yarn company names colors after famous women in history. This colorway is named after one of her favorite authors, Emily Dickinson.

Close-up pic of the lace pattern.

New Jersey...The Seat of Dimensional Travel.

2008-01-06T12:13:00.000-05:00

So, I just finished creating this year's holiday newsletter and writing cards to my friends. Mike sends his out earlier in the season—on time, some might say—so those from his camp already received the lovely photo triplet of us in various stages of celebration this year. Honestly, it feels like I just created last year's newsletter and just finished writing those cards—same template as this year's because we liked it just that much. And I didn't realize just how long it's been since I blogged, since it feels like I just struggled with Blogger over the need to save everything constantly. Though now, it has an auto save feature which is just fantastic.

So it has been a while, I guess. I think it's Jersey, honestly. As I wrote in a friend's card this year, I swear Jersey exists in an alternate dimension where clock hands spin on a dial like a Price is Right game. Heck, maybe it's a Drew Carey thing, then, because I don't remember time flying this quickly during the Bob Barker era. Anyway, it all begins at the top of the Garden State Parkway. Compass dials spin uncontrollably, GPS systems malfunction, farm hands dress like scarecrows... Just a bit freakish.

This year, I'm hoping to post about once a week on all the crazy stuff I see and have seen and experienced in the city. It's beginning to grow on me. I feel itchy.

At The Decider's Expense...

2007-03-25T11:28:00.000-05:00

...T-shirt/bumper sticker slogans (my favs are #s 18 & 23):

1) (Seen on an infant's shirt): Already smarter than Bush.
2) 1/20/09: End of an Error
3) That's OK, I Wasn't Using My Civil Liberties Anyway
4) Let's Fix Democracy in This Country First
5) Bush. Like a Rock. Only Dumber.
6) You Can't Be Pro-War And Pro-Life At The Same Time
7) If You Can Read This, You're Not Our President
8) Hey, Bush Supporters: Embarrassed Yet?
9) George Bush: Creating the Terrorists Our Kids Will Have to Fight
10) We Need a New Decider and a New Vice Decider, too.
11) America: One Nation, Under Surveillance
12) They Call Him "W" So He Can Spell It
13) Which God Do You Kill For?
14) Jail to the Chief
15) Who Would Jesus Torture?
16) No, Seriously, Why Did We Invade?
17) Bush: God's Way of Proving Intelligent Design is Full Of Crap
18) Bad president! No Banana.
19) We Need a President Who' s Fluent In At Least One Language
20) We're Making Enemies Faster Than We Can Kill Them
21) Rich Man's War, Poor Man's Blood
22) Is It Vietnam Yet?
23) Bush Doesn't Care About White People, Either
24) Where Are We Going? And Why Are We In This Handbasket?
25) You Elected Him. You Deserve Him.
26) Impeach Cheney First
27) When Bush Took Office, Gas Was $1.46
28) The Republican Party: Our Bridge to the 11th Century
29) 2004: Embarrassed, 2005: Horrified, 2006: Terrified

Who Says There's Nothing To Do In Bismarck?

2007-02-19T10:16:00.000-05:00

I just think this is neat.

Snot Factory.

2007-02-18T08:24:00.000-05:00

One of the most challenging aspects of moving for me has been trying to stay healthy. Before we moved, I was doing well. I was losing weight, feeling fantastic, and managing to fend off even the most persistent college germs. We moved in the middle of July, and by the beginning of September, I caught a cold. It wasn't too bad, because the minute I feel like something's off, I take extra vitamin C and start on herbs. I thought I had kicked it, but by the middle of October, it resurfaced bigger and badder than before. I actually had to leave early from my job—which I had just started a week earlier—on the insistence of my supervisors. I guess they were a little grossed out by festival of mucus at cubicle 508.

I finally felt better, though not 100%, by Thanksgiving. Then, about the second week in December, the mucilaginous bastard asserted itself, and I started to panic—we were hosting our first Christmas dinner for our families, and I had an ambitious menu planned (more on this in a future blog). I don't know if it was adrenaline or what, but two days before Christmas, I felt well enough to take on the holiday.

During January, I actually felt a little better, until about three weeks into the month when I caught an entirely different bug. Usually, when I would catch a stomach virus, I'd end up dealing with it while seated on the toilet, not facing it. It's pretty weird, but for the past 23 years, I've actually felt like I had a choice in the matter. Every time I felt like I was going to be sick, I would think my way out of it. I guess because the last time I was sick as a kid, it was so incredibly awful that I just never wanted to be sick like that again. I was proud of my 23 year vomit-free streak, and would brag about it any chance I got. Well, my hubris caught up with me a few weeks ago. I was sort of feeling off during the day, but thought I was just a little tired. I was looking forward to getting home and having a piece of the football-shaped Carvel cake in the freezer. Truly, I was really excited about it because it was coated in the best thing about Carvel cakes: the crunchies. One large slice, a handful of chocolate cookies, and about two hours later, I was feeling really, really crappy.

I tried to get some rest, but by 11pm, I was facing the toilet with Mike at my side for moral support, hoping for the inevitable. Nothing happened, but the boulders I must have swallowed at some point during the day prevented me from getting any sleep. Finally, at about 2am, my streak ended. During the moments after, I realized there were many worse things I could have eaten that evening. Several hours and a "review" later, I called my boss to tell him I wouldn't be in. He tried to cheer my up by stating, "There'll be other streaks, Sue." One month and 23 years to go.

But anyway, I was feeling pretty good aside from that interruption, until two weeks ago when I started feeling crappy again. This time, I had a sore throat, clogged ears, and post nasal drip that was just beyond description. I mean, I could describe it, but...well, ugh. I decided it was time to make an appointment with a doctor. Of course, by the time the appointment rolled around, I was feeling better. He put me on an antibiotic anyway, which I've now finished. I'd love to be able to say that I feel fantastic, but I don't. I certainly don't feel awful, but I've felt better. I'm thinking it's probably all part of the healing process, but it just bothers me that I haven't gotten any advice on how to keep healthy while being bombarded by germs pretty much all the time down here.

It just feels like I've had some version of this issue since we moved, and I'm tired of it. I'm tired of being a walking mucus manufacturing plant. A few of the union administrative assistants at work have placed grievances with the union because they're always sick as well. I know the air was tested, but a report hasn't been filed yet. And, not everyone is getting sick. I thought maybe there was something in the apartment, but Mike hasn't been sick. So, even if there is something in the air here, or at the office, my immune system isn't strong enough to fight it off. And there's always going to be someone sick, dripping, or hacking in my general direction on the train. So, it's obvious that I need to work on things myself. I'm going to do what makes sense—eat better, exercise, and start seeing a holistic doctor for advice on how to truly kick this once and for all instead of treating the symptoms.

And, I need to add, that I am truly lucky to have health insurance that covers regular MD appointments with a co-pay, and even luckier to be in a position where I can afford at least one consultation with a holistic doctor out of pocket. So, we'll see what shakes out. I'll post more on my quest for health and the various places my journey leads—stopping short of wearing a copper pyramid on my head. Because that's just plain goofy.

Knitting: A Dark, Depressing Past. Now Go Have Fun.

2007-02-16T07:13:00.000-05:00

Whenever I begin a new project, or learn a new craft or technique, I'm always tempted to buy all the nifty gadgets, paints, tools, and specific accoutrement that are "necessary" for the task. For me, have the fun is researching and purchasing these new toys. So, being that I'm still new to this whole knitting thing, I've been slowly amassing a collection of knitting support hardware. One of my recent purchases was a set of Knifty Knitter circular looms. After reading reviews on JoAnn.com, it seemed like the looms would be an easy way to start making hats. As seen in the Introduction to the Knifty Knitter instruction pamplet:

"An interesting note is that often the sweaters were knit with distinctive stripes, cables or patterns, then if a fisherman was unlucky enough to be caught in a storm and drowned at sea, when the body washed up to the shore the pattern on the sweater could be used to identify the body.

Use many variations of texture and color to personalize a garment for a loved one or make something for yourself. We hope you will have a great time making hats, stockings, and more fun projects."

Um, sure... I'll go try and have fun knitting something for a loved one... maybe it'll lift me out of this sudden and inexplicable depression. Heh...

New PseudoCertainty!

2007-02-13T07:25:00.000-05:00

I can't think of any other way I'd rather spend an hour than listening to Mike and Joe discuss the appeal of Harry Potter and lament over a missed B5 opportunity.

http://www.pseudocertainty.com/

Leave It To The Swedes...

2007-02-13T07:15:00.000-05:00

When you're feeling that nothing you do makes any visible difference in the world, and you just want to make one bright, brief impact on society...

http://www.gettrio.com/2007/02/color_by_numbers_1.html

Baby Blankets: The Progression of a Knew Knitter

2007-02-11T13:04:00.000-05:00

I recently knitted three baby blankets for two baby showers. This one was knitted over the summer, before, during, and after our move to JC:It's a striped basket weave design, created for my step-sister-in-law. It turned out to be more of a trapezoid than a square—not really noticeable unless she tries to fold it neatly. As part of the gift, I turned a stuffed animal into a marionette:

Marionettes are one of my favorite gifts to give, since there's pretty much zero risk of gift duplication. And they just rock, anyway. My SSIL and BIL loved the marionette. After the shower was over, I gave them a brief tutorial on how to manipulate it. They really appreciated the time and effort that went into the making of both gifts—they're just really cool people anyway. That is going to be one lucky kid, with such a wonderful family on both sides. I helped as much as I could through the whole shower prep thing. Lesson learned: don't ice cupcakes at the end of July with the AC on the fritz. It was good times.

But, this is a knitting progression post, so onto the projects that I just finished for my co-worker. I chatted with her one day about how she was anticipating that her little poodle will have a hard time adjusting to no longer being the center of the universe. Her pooch is a good dog, never defiles the carpet or furniture, but is a princess. She demands attention and reprimands her owners when she's feels she's being ignored. The dog is even doted on by my co-worker's parents and grandmother. In essence, she's the first-born. So, it's going to be a shock to the poor little thing when people no longer jump at her every whim, and when her spot on the lap is taken over by the new center of everyone's universe.

So, keeping this in mind, I thought it might be nice to knit her dog a little matching blanket. Here are pics of the two:

The top two pics are of the baby's blanket. I embroidered/crocheted a bunch of free-form flowery blobs on the knitted blanket. The blanket itself is a moss pattern, which is really easy. I used two thin yarns together to make it a little puffy—and to make it knit up a little faster since I could use bigger needles. I then crocheted a white edging around the perimeter. The blanket itself is a little over 2'x2'. The doggie blanket is half that size. I used the same pattern and technique on this one, but switched the colors. I'm *very* pleased with how they both turned out. I even joked with some co-workers about keeping them, since I already contributed to the office gift. But, honestly, there was no way that I was going to keep them. And I'm glad I didn't, because she *LOVED* them. When she pulled the baby blanket out of the gift bag, everyone in the room ooo'ed and aah'ed. Then she pulled out the doggie blanket, and I thought she was going to cry. She just kept thanking me. Everyone else loved it, too, and after all the gifts were opened, people crowded around the blankets to look at them more closely. The other hit gift was a hand-knit baby hat trifecta by one of the other office knitters. I might try knitting hats next. But anyway, she stopped by my desk the next day to say how much her husband and family loved the blankets, especially the one for her dog. It really made me feel good to know that they were appreciated so much, since I had put so much time and thought into them.

So, this is the progression of my knitting. I'm hoping to try some easy or intermediate stitches soon, and work on learning how to read patterns better. They're a little confusing sometimes, but I'm having fun. I'm doing these projects as much for me as I am for others. I feel like the projects help keep me sane. It's nice to have something to focus on while riding to work everyday, and nice to have something creative and active to do while relaxing in the evenings.

On to a birthday gift...

"Not Even Wensleydale?"

2007-02-11T11:19:00.000-05:00

Being a huge fan of Wallace and Gromit, and enjoying my share of cheese I've been looking for Wallace's favorite cheese—Wensleydale—for some time. I found a Wensleydale variety not too long ago, but it had cranberries and some other infiltration packed within its cheesy rinds. I mean, I'm not opposed to cranberries in cheese, but I wanted to try straight Wensleydale before experimenting with the fancier varieties. The other day, while being financially hoovered by Whole Foods on my lunch break, I stumbled upon pure Wensleydale while perusing the cheese case. I grabbed the smallest slice I could find, wrote a quick "Keep your yankee wanker mitts off my Wensleydale," and gleefully stashed it in our shared regridgerator. I planned to try it when I got home, so I had something different to look forward to later.

Somehow, I made it through the day without piercing the plastic, and managed to stop from ripping into it on the train. Once I got home, I greeted Mike as he hung up my jacket (he's so sweet!), I put down my bag and rummaged through it for the cheese. I carefully unwrapped it, making sure to keep the plastic in tact since I forgot to buy plastic wrap while at the store (distracted by the cheese, no doubt). I sliced a small piece from the wedge and tasted it. It was so creamy... I now have a new favorite cheese to add to my expanding library: fontina (Italian), comte, asiago fresco, asiago aged, pecorino romano, parmigiano reggiano, goat cheese, cheddar, homestyle ricotta, fresh mozzarella, and lorraine.

I wrestle with my love of cheese... I try to eat these in small amounts, only buy cheese for a specific meal, and try to only buy from local or organic farms where the animals are treated well. I have a huge beef (heh) with the dairy industry for drumming into American heads that milk and other dairy products are necessary for our health, when in fact, we get all the calcium we need from vegetables like soy beans, greens, and broccoli—and keep it through weight-bearing exercise. It's *animal* milk, for goodness sake. We eat and drink these products because we like them, not because we need them. The only time you see an animal drink milk is when it is provided by a human. Interestingly, the only time you see an obese animal is when it's owned by a human.

Speaking of animal products in general, I don't necessarily feel that humans aren't supposed to eat meat or other animal products. But I think that it's important to think for a moment about where these products come from and what kind of life the animals live, because we *can*. I also believe there would be many more vegetarians out there if people had to raise their own main course. There's such a disconnect between buying packaged meat—heck, packaged anything—in the stores. We've convenienced ourselves into a vacuum-packed society.

I don't mean to turn this little post into an ethical debate—especially since I don't know how the animals that provided for my Doc Martens were treated. I also don't know how the animals that provide the wool for my knitting projects are treated. But I'm trying. I'm trying to live a more globally responsible and considerate life. I'm trying to make better choices, and though they may not be the best of all options, they are what I can do within our means. I'm trying to educate myself, and welcome any tips or info that can help us to make reasonable choices.

Wow. Darn Wensleydale...

Weekend Report.

2007-02-05T07:15:00.000-05:00

Mike and I had a fun and surprisingly productive weekend. It's always a surprise when I'm productive and I don't have to be, though, this weekend I needed to be productive and I was, so I guess it shouldn't have been a surprise. Eh.

We spent Saturday in Asbury Park celebrating Mike's mom's birthday. After we arrived at her place—a convenient hour south of Jersey City via NJTP and GSP—the three of us chatted for a bit before she and I set out to put the smack-down one of her favorite yarn stores. The store was having a 20%-Off Super Bowl Sale—talk about a clash of worlds. Knitting and favorite Super Bowl snack items do not mix. I guarantee you wont find anyone parked in front of the TV with a fistful of cheesy poofs in one hand and his or her most recent project in the other. That and spontaneous sports-related outbursts could cause one to drop a stitch, lose his or her place in counting stitches or rows, or inflict Wii-style damage upon one's self, buddies, pets, or surroundings. I'm sure there are people who can knit and 'Bowl at the same time. I'm just not one of them. I've barely got walking down so forget about throwing gum into the mix.

Anyway, back to the story. We entered the store and my jaw dropped. There were so many different kinds of yarn...it was just amazing. I started to giggle and couldn't stop. I wanted one of everything. "It's okay," I rationalized. "Everything in the store is at least 20% off!" I followed my mother-in-law around the store, pawing at the yarns like a gangly teenage boy at the first girl to give him the time of day. At one point I held several skeins, but put them back, trying to keep our upcoming expenses in mind. I ended up with three, one of which my MIL purchased for me in a birthday switch-eroo move. I also took a magazine home with me—one of those Vogue Knitting ditties of which I have no hope of ever being able to create any of the pieces pictured throughout the pages regardless of detailed patterns provided. A girl can dream, can't she? Or at least torture herself.

My MIL purchased some choice colors after methodically narrowing down her choices. We had a great time, and I can't wait to go back! I wish my mom was able to knit. I mean, she used to knit a bit, but now, her arthritis makes it painful for her to manipulate the yarn and needles for any extended period of time. Even the larger needles cause her discomfort. I'm not sure if she misses it, since it's been a long time since she's made anything. We're talking, maybe fifteen years. I remember she got "burned-out" knitting a sweater for me, because it was the same pattern as one she had recently finished for my sister. But, now that she's retired, I wonder if maybe she wishes that she could pick up the sticks again pain-free.

Aprés knitting, we picked up Mike—who spent his time at his mom's alternating between trying to befriend her cat (something he's been doing for over two years now) and updating her computer anti-virus software—and went out to eat at a local establishment that recently changed ownership. The food was decent, and everyone enjoyed their meals. We finished up, went back to her place, and left a short while afterwards. A nice birthday celebration!

On Sunday, my mission was to finish, if not come *really* close to finishing, baby blankets I had been working on for a co-worker's baby shower on Wednesday. I knitted/crocheted/embroidered from 7am to 3pm, then for another hour in the evening. It was crazy, but I almost finished it. I'm hoping to finish it during the day today on my lunch break, or this evening. I'm really happy with the way it's turning out so far.

While I was working on the project, Mike did a bit of cleaning around the house. I always feel guilty when he cleans, because I know I could do a better job of picking up after myself and cleaning around this place, so I straightened up a little bit. In the process, I found a watch that I'd thought I lost a few months ago. It was a $7 marvel of time piece engineering, so I wasn't too upset—I knew that I had misplaced it somewhere in the house, but I just could not find it anywhere I looked. So, I picked up another of similar style and quality at Target, aqua blue face with stainless link clasp band, which I promptly lost a few weeks later. We tore the apartment apart looking for it (I half-hoped that I'd find the original lost watch in the process), but it had vanished. I even tried my declaration, "That's it! It's gone and I'm never going to find it!" This phrase, blurted in frustration after exhausting all possible hiding places, is almost always followed by the discovery of the rogue item in a place where we've each looked at least twice separately. It is also followed by my feeling like a moron for misplacing the item in the first place.

So, I decided to purchase one more watch of a higher quality, thinking maybe that I wouldn't misplace it if subconsciously I assigned more monetary value to it. I naturally gravitated towards a similar style, luckily on sale at Kohls. Within two weeks, I found lost watch #2. And now, with my initial watch found, I have three of the same-style watch. Maybe I'll wear them all at the same time and make a fashion statement or something, like everyone did with Swatches in the '80s. Maybe I'll set them to New Hampshire, Vermont, and New Jersey time.

Why I Don't Paraglide.

2007-02-05T07:05:00.000-05:00

http://today.reuters.com/news/articlenews.aspx?type=oddlyEnoughNews&storyid=2007-02-02T171233Z_01_L0298057_RTRUKOC_0_US-AUSTRALIA-EAGLES.xml&src=rss

Because Jersey City pigeons are territorial, too.

Daylight: Even More Savings!

2007-02-01T06:59:00.000-05:00

I just read an article this morning about the extension of Daylight Savings this year. It will begin this year on March 11 and end the first weekend in November, giving us all a full four more weeks of extra daylight! I, for one, am thrilled about this prospect, because it means that I'll have four more weeks to enjoy walking home from work in setting sunlight.

I did find it interesting that there is a ton of hub-bub around the change, from people who are excited about the change, to those who are equating it to Y2K. I hadn't thought about this, but all the automated time-change systems will need to be updated. *ALL* of them. This affects, well, just about everyone, but will have the most impact on airlines and other businesses that need to coordinate times with other countries. Because there's potential for global impact, people are equating it with the Y2K panic. I'm not sure it's that much of a big deal.

I mean, Y2K was a massive world-wide panic involving the perceived impending shut down of all computerized systems—including wartime and weapons systems. With the Daylight Savings change, we're not looking at this kind of crash. I mean, yes, it's going to be a pain in the keester for the systems people to manage the update, but total global collapse it 'aint.

I participated in one of those live votes on the website and was surprised at the percentage of people who stated that the time change would affect them negatively. When asked the question, " Will the lenthened Daylight Savings time have an affecton your life," 23% said yes, it was a massive inconvenience, 63% said no, I just need to remember to change my clock, and 14% haven't given it a thought. To the 23% percent who said yes, unless you are computer programmers or systems people, relax, and take advantage of that extra hour. Think of all the happy little kids who will have an extra hour of light to go trick-or-treating in safety. Never mind that most of them have taken their tricks to the malls to pound the linoleum in search of treats from B.Dalton and Forever21.

I think it's a pretty swell idea. The first swell idea to come from the Bush administration—even thought technically it isn't a new idea since there was a brief time in the 70s when Daylight Savings was increased to reduce the use of oil and gas for energy in lighting our world for an hour each night. It is kinda weird how they buried it in another proposal, though, like they knew a bunch of influential businesses would buck the idea if they read the fine print. Anyway, read the article. It does a much better job of describing the buzz:

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/16912614/

Gravy Boat? Or Something Much More Sinister...

2007-01-31T07:41:00.000-05:00

So... who can tell me what this is? I'll give you a few hints:

It's ceramic
It is used for irrigation, though not of the garden variety
It holds liquid, though you wouldn't want to drink from it

Kudos to those of you who actually know what this is and what it is used for. And I'll send a prize to the first person who is brave enough to admit that they've used it on this post. I'll post the answer in a later entry.

Too Long...

2007-01-31T07:23:00.000-05:00

Wow... I can't believe how long it's been since I've written a post. It's not like nothing's happened. In fact, *TONS* of things happened in the virtual space and time in between blogs. I don't know why I didn't write about them as they were happening. Maybe I was too busy dealing with them as they happened. Here's a quick rundown of all things Mike & Sue since my last post:

Mike accepted the Assistant Director of Residence Life for Community Development position at Saint Peter's College in Jersey City
We packed up ship and moved back to the motherland in July
I adjusted to the change by alternating between fistfulls of triscuits and sticky-fingered doughnuts from the semi-local Stop n' Shop
In mid August, I sent out a resume blitz to an assortment of interesting colleges with interesting job postings in interesting areas
In the space of 4 weeks, I went on ten interviews for six positions, was offered three, and accepted a gig as the Enrollment Coordinator for University Admission and Enrollment Operations at The New School
I started my job, and my commute, in October
We celebrated the beautiful wedding of a grade/high school friend of mine at The Pierre in November--black tie and beads!
We finally broke out the wedding china and hosted our first Christmas dinner
I broke a 23-year streak (think the "black and white cookie" Seinfeld episode)

I plan to comment on the above over the next few months, and fill in whoever reads this thing on the general goings on and various life musings past and present.

Why I Like Live Shows.

2006-06-15T05:01:00.000-05:00

The Big Z and I went to see the Tony Levin Band perform in Northampton, MA this past Sunday and let me tell you, I was pleasantly surprised by the total experience. I really like Northampton... it's such a neat, artsy, musical, diverse town with plenty of neat shops, restaurants, and events. We ate at Paul & Elizabeth's, which is one of my favorite restaurants. It's not entirely vegetarian, but the chefs do specialize in natural foods. I ate this truly scrumptious entree: fried tofu, sauteed greens, and japanese rice patties. It was the vegetarian special...drool... It's 6am in the morning and I could totally go for one of those patties right now... When we finished, we walked around a bit, and I realized how much I missed the town. When we lived in southern Vermont, we'd go to Northhampton every now and again. Ah, memories... We made our way over to the bar/restaurant/music hall for the event and relaxed a bit. I picked up a copy of the Valley Advocate and head straight for the News of the Weird. This article, in particular, caught my attention:

Wrong Place, Wrong Time: (1) Konoshin Kawabata, 48, was arrested in Osaka, Japan, in March for burglarizing a temple; he wandered through an unmarked door and was surprised by 20 sumo wrestlers, who were staying at the temple and who easily detained him. (2) Police in Melbourne, Australia, arrested a 34-year-old man for robbery in January after the victim (renowned illustrator Bill "Weg" Green) provided police with an unusually helpful drawing of the perp's face. [Agence France-Presse, 3-31- 06] [Sunday Times (Perth)-AAP, 1-17-06]

Sumo=comedy. And, you can't beat the Back Room personal ads for entertainment... Eventually, the show started, and I was just blown away by the musicianship of these guys... It also helped that the bass vibrated the wooden chair I was sitting on basically throughout the whole show. When it ended, we stood on line to get autographs. To get to TLB members, we had to pass one of the guys from the first act. I lagged behind a bit, trying to figure out how to take pictures with my cell phone. Just last weekend, I learned how to retrieve voice mail messages. It's about time, since I've had the phone since December.

As luck would have it, the line slowed to a stop, parking me right in front of one of the opening act guys. I was stuck there, talking about Hanover to a keyboardist from Australia who truly could give a rats behind that we drove two hours to see TLB. There I stood, making empty promises to see them perform at their next show in Boston. "Oh, we're *always* in Boston!" After that blatant lie, I felt obligated to sign their mailing list. The line finally started moving again and I caught up with Mike—whom I believe may have caused the back up with his innocent, awestruck, enthusiastic banter—camera phone at the ready. I took a couple of shots of him and various band members, though I have no idea how to get them from phone to computer. I'm going to try and figure out how to do that before this December.

I really had a great time, and I'm sure I would have even without the vibrating chair. TLB is one sexy band! Tony is hot, Peter Levin is a-dorable, and the other guys had that confident, I'm-doing-what-I-love-and-having-fun attitude that is so appealing. Or maybe I just have a thing for balding musicians... :)

Absence Makes the Blog Grow Fonder

2006-06-14T05:50:00.000-05:00

I can't believe it's been almost two months since I've written a post! I feel like I've wanted to, but other things sorta got in the way. I finished knitting scarf #3 as a gift for a close friend of mine. About half way through, I realized that I wasn't entirely happy with the pattern I'd created. But, I felt like I'd gone too far to stop and rip it out. That and I guess I was hoping that the end result would turn out well. It turned out okay, but part of me wishes I had ripped it out and started over. I was pressed for time, since her birthday is this month. You know, I could have ripped it out,started over, and given a new one to her as a Christmas gift... Ugh. Here's the issue: I tried knitting two different yarns together—a thick, multi-colored purple and a soft, solid purple—to create a thicker scarf. Then, to create subtle stripes, I used two strands of the multi yarn. But, the stripes turned out a little *too* subtle for my taste and I realized I should have chosen the solid purple for higher impact. Also, the stripe itself isn't that big, so it gets lost. I just realized something... How many people obsess about things like this?? As the ever-factual Zorknapp said, "You didn't knit it for you. It's a gift and I'm sure she'll love it and appreciate it. It looks fine." I, of course, countered with, "How can I give a gift that I'm not completely satisfied with?" Sigh...

Here's a photo of the stripe, located in the first third of the shot on the left:

And a little closer:

The truth of the matter is that I'm sure she'll like it. And if she doesn't, she probably won't say anything to me anyway, and just wear it when I see her. Which is totally fine by me.

Joly Jicama!

2006-04-21T15:30:00.000-05:00

I just tried jicama for the first time the other day at lunch... I can't believe what I've been missing!! Sweet. crunchy, substantial... so delicious! Want more...

One Suggestion, Many Solutions

2006-04-19T19:21:00.000-05:00

Thanks to playwright and culinary sherlock, Sheila, for this handy-dandy helpful kitchen tip sure to help prevent frustration, salmonella, and lengthy blog entries.

Resto en la Paz, Chia

2006-04-18T10:02:00.000-05:00

Like a shooting star across a midnight sky, so was my Chia... May you rise again to see another planting free of mold and funk.

Party!

2006-04-16T16:05:00.000-05:00

The party—well, my personal party—started yesterday morning at 6am. I woke up and made a bee line for the kitchen, ready to tackle the first in my list of pre-party preparations: baking matzoh berry tea cakes. After a few rounds of negotiations with the oven, it agreed to assist in producing a dozen tea cakes. Unfortunately, I had to take the quiche off the bargaining table. I crossed my fingers and hoped a dozen deviled eggs would suffice. I finished the haroset while the tea cakes baked and moved onto room set up. I set up three separate stations in our living room: two for egg dyeing and one for peep defacing/decorating. Zorknapp showed off his prowess with the vacuum while I prepared the food for presentation. The first of our guests arrived, and jumped right into the eggs. I hadn't read the directions on the boxes—all six of them (hey, some people are sparkle, others are sponge paint)—which very clearly state that eggs should be room temperature prior to dyeing. Oops. In any case, people enjoyed themselves, the eggs, and the food. The evidence:

Let the games begin!

A master and her muse...

What was supposed to be the "Big Green" egg...

...is now Brian's "Big Peen."

Eggs-traordinary!

Zorknapp, lounging on his throne, refusing to join the peasants in their egg decorating mischief.

The bittersweet cake of life.

Is my wit that obscure?

Pic of my creations: Homage to PacMan, All that Glitters is Egg, and—my personal favorite— I AM EGG.

Why, Vanilla? Why?

2006-04-14T19:55:00.000-05:00

I'm exhausted... I spent literally the entire day, beginning at 5am, preparing for our egg decorating shin dig tomorrow. Actually, I was awake at 3:30am. I tried, but simply could not fall back asleep. Sometimes, I'll wake up and just start thinking...thinking about anything and everything, from what I have to do that day to worries about the future to things I can't control. Lately, it hasn't been so bad. The best is when I think about stopping thinking. Heh... But back tothe story... I just kind of lay there peacefully until 5am, which I consider a reasonable hour to get up. No, really. I love the morning. My best hours are 5:30am-1pm. I pretty much count the hours until bedtime after that. Anyway, I got up and went directly to Food Network.com and printed out a bunch of recipes that sounded good for the day: deviled eggs, quiche, strawberry crumb pie, blood orange sorbetto, and carrot pineapple spice cake. I searched for a nice mix of Passover desserts, since some of our guests will be celebrating the holiday. Those included chocolate-dipped macaroons, chocolate bittersweet cake, matzoh kugel, Passover cobbler, matzoh fruit teacakes, and haroset (really neat fruit/nut/sweet wine/cinnamon sweet salad). I spread the collection out on the floor to see what I could do in a reasonable amount of time. I decided on a menu of deviled eggs, quiche, macaroons, chocolate cake, teacakes, and haroset since they seemed pretty quick and simple to make. Or so I thought.

After deciding on the menu, I thought about which dishes could be made the day before and which would be best to make the day of the party. I needed to make the chocolate cake a day ahead as it needed to be refrigerated overnight. So, I decided I'd bake the chocolate cake, boil the eggs, and make the macaroons today, saving the deviled eggs, tea cakes, haroset, and quiche for Saturday morning. I prepared a list of ingredients for shopping, thinking first about what things I already had in stock. I hit the local co-op grocery and filled up the shopping cart with foods my kitchen has *never* seen: matzoh meal, potato starch, Kosher sweet wine, etc. I was sooo excited to try these recipes—I just love new foods, and I hoped they would turn out well. After all, other Food Network viewers had given the recipes four stars or more. I loaded everything onto the belt and was surprised at the volume—it didn't seem like that much when I was selecting the items! I'm a carry basket kind o' girl, so I can tell how many items I have based on how many times I have to put it down during the trip. Usually, I buy smaller amounts and have enough time to bag things myself as fast as the cashier scans them. This time however, I gladly accepted professional bagging assistance. I checked out, packed up the car, returned the cart (because it's the right thing to do), and headed home. I spread out the items on the countertops into groups based on the recipes. I was planning to make the chocolate cake first, then hop on the eliptical trainer as a pre-emptive caloric strike, while the cake baked for an hour. As I was about to start cracking eggs, I remembered that I hadn't bought the 10" springform pan needed for the cake. Great.

So, I decided to exercise first,then walk to the kitchen store in town to buy the pan, and finally start the baking. When I got back, I started the cake. Following the recipe, I cracked all eight (!!!) eggs and reached for the vanilla. Imagine my dismay when the final drops failed to fill the tablespoon. I mean, I knew we had vanilla. I *felt* we had vanilla. I remember opening the new bottle during my Christmas baking binge. I swore there was still a decent amount of vanilla in the bottle. But I didn't *check* it. After a few carefully selected expletives, I put the half-tablespoon in the eggs and called my better half at his office, praying he'd swoop into the apartment, cape flapping and carrying vanilla. After three rings, I knew I was headed for voicemail and had to think for myself. Time was ticking and it was nearing 2pm. I had no time to waste waffling—a tactic employed to delay the most obvious solution in the name of full consideration of all options. I quickly decided to put the vanilla-ed egg mass in the fridge and hit the stores. Again.

I was worried about leaving the vanilla in the eggs, thinking about what kinds of chemical reactions could be taking place between yolk and extract. I bought an extra dozen eggs—just in case—in addition to the vanilla. I got home, pulled the bowl out of the fridge, and examined the egg vanilla mingling carefully. I don't know...something just seemed off. I figured it was better to toss the eggs and start fresh. Eggs aren't that expensive, but I hated throwing away all that food. Somewhere there's a chicken saying, "You think I pushed out eight of those just so you could throw them away?" Ugh... anyway, I started over, followed the instructions exactly, put the cake in the oven, and set the timer for an hour.

While the cake was baking, I boiled the decoration eggs and prepared the macaroons. The timer rang and I pulled out the rack to check on the cake. When the steam cleared from my glasses, I wasn't looking at chocolate cake. I was looking at chocolate cake soup. I knew the oven was on—hence, steam—so I checked the temperature. It was set correctly. I remembered a similar experience with a cake I baked in the beginning of January. I had used one of those new silicon things that had been given to me as a gift. I had to cook the cake an extra 45 minutes just to get it to turn from liquid to solid. I thought it had something to do with the silicone pan. So, after using language similar to earlier in the day, I pushed the colloid cake back into the oven and set the timer for another half hour. I wrapped the macaroons and put them in the fridge, waiting for the half hour to be finished so I could pop them in the oven.

Two hours and fifteen minutes later, I pulled the cake out of the oven and put it on the cooling rack. I'd missed a lovely evening playing miniature golf with friends. I love mini-golf. And I dislike this oven. Somehow, I managed to coax twenty macaroons out of it by doubling the bake time before calling it quits. Maybe I'll have better luck with the matzoh meal tomorrow...

Just in Time for Summer

2006-04-10T17:35:00.000-05:00

I did it! I finished the scarf! It took me five days of varying hours each day and I must say, I'm pleased with it. I really like the muted rainbow effect and the chunkiness of the yarn. I used the whole skein and made it extra long for serious winter wrapping. It was my first knitting project in over 20 years. The lovely and vivacious Zorknapp agreed to pose with the scarf for size comparison. Now if only I could figure out how to get it off the needles...

Uh, Stop Please...

2006-04-07T07:47:00.000-05:00

This thing is huge... and frightening. After one week, my Chia-phant has exploded in green psuedopods. I'm a bit apprehensive about coming in on Monday... I have visions of happily whistling my way to the office door, not noticing that the little window is blocked with green growth. Cheerfully distracted by thoughts of spreadsheet design, I unlock the office door. The door swings open and a towering mass of chia spills out from the office, knocking me to the ground. I scream in terror, and try to scramble away, but the tendrils spring forth and wrap around my ankles. I claw at the slick, freshly polished hallway tile as I'm dragged into the office. My screams turn to muffled whimpers as I'm englufed in chia and I realize that if I don't come up with a plan, others will fall victim to the Chi-monster, decimating the entire department. Thinking quickly, I remember that chia plants were originally grown as food and for oil. I furiously chomp at the sea of green, trying to eat my way out of my predicament. Chomp-Chew-Swallow-Breathe Chomp-Chew-Swallow-Breathe. The chia is no match for a lifetime of gluttony and a decade of vegetarianism. I finally break free and stumble down the hall, cheeks covered in green drool. I throw myself onto the nearest phone, apologize to the frightened employee who belongs to said phone, and quickly call campus security. I sputter out the chi-mergency in between gasps of air, unable to stop the masticated chia spray from my adrenaline-juiced jaw. The security officer tells me to stay where I am and that the Chia Control Squad has been dispatched. I slump into a nearby chair, shaking from the ordeal, and babble out another apology. Eyes filled with sympathy, she hands me a glass of water, a napkin, and a trash can—just in case. A security officer arrives, wraps me in a thick wool blanket, and guides me outdoors to a waiting medical team. And it dawns on me that chia tastes like crap.

Knit One, Purl Me

2006-04-06T06:18:00.000-05:00

Yesterday at lunch, I learned how to knit, courtesy of the Health Awareness Program at Dartmouth College. How cool is that? I mean, what business offers free workshops on knitting to employees—except maybe yarn stores? Although, if you're looking for work selling yarn, my guess is you already know how to knit and are in it for for the chenille. HAP offered a one shot lunchtime lecture on how to knit, promoting knitting as a souce of relaxation, in addition to the already varied spring program of lunchtime walking tours and workshops on Tai Chi, sleep disorders, and the benefits of olive oil. I was the last person to squeeze into the class and was so glad I went. Most of the people there had no idea how to knit, so I had a bit of an edge, having learned from my grandmother many years ago. I'd pretty much forgotten how to wrap the yarn around the needles and I never knew how to start the yarn on the needle—or cast-on, as it's called. So, after I got my knit legs back, I was moving along at a pretty good clip—in comparison to the other knitting knewbies who were putting great care into each loop and wrap. One of the workshop leaders came over to me and said, "Good for you! You're clicking!" referring to the click of the needles. I guess that's knit-speak for "You're kicking ass!" Maybe I'll post 'click ass' as an entry on Urban Dictionary and start a new slang trend with a knit bend.

Anyway, I was so proud of my little square and felt like I had some serious acreage to show for my time. The knitters took turns inflating my head with words of awe. I'm surprised no one accidentally popped it with one of their #13s. Alas, it's a fine line between pride and cockiness. When I got home, I whipped out my knitting and started to click away. But I soon discovered that I'd dropped my groove somewhere between work and home. I kept picking up loops from the previous row and dropping the wrong loop when trying to correct it. At some point I finally realized that I'd need to start over, since I was just making things worse. So, I ripped out my handiwork and cast-on again, remembering the knitting frustrations of my youth.

But along with the frustrations came fond memories... My grandmother would start the yarn on the needles for us, and we'd take it from there. We'd knit for hours until we got bored, then we'd go to the retirement complex's club house and play ping pong or shuffleboard while sucking on Charms lollipops, engage in a raucous game of Old Maid which my brother would inevitably lose, or run around outside collecting fallen leaves, twigs, and acorns for ground nests we were sure the squirrels would appreciate. It's been a while since I thought of the more precious moments of my childhood... Grandma winking at us trying to control her giggling when she knew that our brother had the Old Maid, listening to stories of Jimmy the Squirrel who liked to play on Brooklyn telephone poles (Grandma loved Brooklyn), Sunday morning peanut butter and jelly on generic english muffins, sleeping on the plastic-covered fold-out sofa... I'm going to knit these good times into this new project, so it won't be as long between rememberings.

You Can Do It!

2006-04-05T06:06:00.000-05:00

The infinite is possible at Zombo Com.

IT'S ALIVE!!

2006-04-03T08:37:00.000-05:00

...my birthday present from two of the coolest people here at work...
Last Wednesday, as per Chia instruction, I soaked it overnight in one of our trash bins to prepare it for planting. I put the directions on top of the bin so our custodial staff wouldn't toss it through force of habit. I soaked the seeds as well—overnight they transform the water into this weird gel-like substance that helps the seeds stick to the ridges carved into the Chi-animals. Thursday, I spread the Chia-goo on my Chia-phant. Things were sort of rooting by Friday, but nothing like when I walked into work this morning. Seriously, how cute is this:

This makes me happy.

Jeopardy

2006-03-29T06:22:00.000-05:00

This is an actual MRI detailing the charismatic genius that is Zorknapp. His brain holds more information than I've ever had the pleasure of being intimidated by. Which is why the great Z took a shot at the online Jeopardy test last night to try and become a contestant. Each weekday night at 7pm I am treated to a truly awesome display of knowledge. There he lounges, sprawled out on the couch, questions effortlessly rolling from thought to tongue as I sit in a tight little ball, fists clenched from nerves, waiting for the "fun" categories where I actually have a chance. To my credit, I have guessed such questions as, "What is eustachian, Alex," and "What is cuckold," the latter being a final Jeoapardy question that no one answered correctly (whooo yeah). But, my little bursts of brilliance are no match for the force seated beside me. I find myself amused, impressed, proud, envious, and exhausted by his encyclopedic wisdom and recall. It's not all brain display—we have a grand time poking fun at contestants during the "getting to know you" part and throughout the show (Snoopy is *not* the alphabetical last of the seven dwarves, duh). When all is said and done, I think I fill in the few and far between info gaps pretty well (insert partnership parallel here). Though he did tell me my SAT score "wasn't terrible." Why I oughtta... We make a darned fine team on and off the Jeopardy playing field. Because I know what hollandaise sauce is.

V.

2006-03-27T07:24:00.000-05:00

Mike and I saw V for Vendetta this weekend and I have to say, I really enjoyed it! I can see why it received mixed reviews and had some people concerned about the glorification of terrorism. But are we really living in the United Lemmings of America? Are people honestly going to walk out of that movie believing that terrorism is the new black? Are they going to avoid the movie entirely based on these alarmist reviews, believing what others believe without forming their own opinions? Are they going to see the movie to find out what all the hype is about and leave dissapointed that it doesn't advocate for extremists? I guess I can see the concern...people buy what they are told are must-haves, say what they think others want to hear, believe what they think will be most accepted in their community, are easily influenced by people with social/fashion/political/style authority... And I *am* completely guilty of succumbing to mass popularity and pressure again and again; knuckling under to what I am told I *need* when it is really only what I want during that moment because someone told me I should. But I'm not going to launch price comparisons on explosives because V wore them so well. I truly don't believe this movie says, "Hey everyone! Terrorism is A-Okay!" And I don't think would-be terrorists are throwing back salty super-combo deals thinking, "Finally, a movie that speaks to my fondness for violent intimidation of society." It's a movie, people, a movie, based on a comic book. And it was fantastic! I really enjoyed the premise that it is the idea that is important, not the person. Ideas, of course, live beyond people, but it is the people that bring action and color to the ideas. An idea thrives on human passion, desire, and determination, and becomes a reality when the right idea is supported by the right person. Climbing down off a rickety soap box and going to see V a second time...because I like Hugo Weaving.

35

2006-03-16T06:56:00.000-05:00

Today is my wonderful husband Zorknapp's birthday. Yesterday, he received what is quite possibly the best geek gift ever—a "working" replica of a lightsabre—from his close friend and partner in all things alien, the incomparable Taskboy. He called me a few days ago to ask if Mike had a lightsabre—not such an unusual question, right? I thought for a moment, and remembered Mike saying something about a small, yet significant, Star Wars collection in one of his parents' basements. I wasn't quite sure if a lightsabre was among the at ats and action figures in stasis. Joe said, "You'll *know* if he has one of these..." So, I was eagerly anticipating the arrival of the sabre and couldn't wait to see what it looked like. My jaw dropped to the floor when Mike pulled it out of the box. This thing visually powers up and down just like the "real" ones and has all the sound effects from the movies. The sounds are controlled by a motion sensor, so when being wielded, there are actual pitch changes. Best of all, when it comes in contact with, oh, let's say, a hand, it makes the clash sound! Mike beamed brighter than the glowing blue blade. Of course now, I'm screwed. I got him a $7 Johnny Cash CD from his Amazon wish list. I do have one more gift to give him, but still... Cash vs. Skywalker? Well, wait a minute now...let's give this some serious consideration... I think Cash *could* take Luke in a sabre duel.

The bottom line is, Zorknapp, my love, if you are reading this, a wonderfully happy birthday to you! And Joe, if you happen to be reading as well, my birthday is March 9.

Man's Best Friend? My Ass!

2006-03-07T16:25:00.000-05:00

Upper Valley pet owners never fail to amaze me. They just assume that everyone who lives up here loves dogs and that everyone *should* love dogs, especially *their* dogs (the word "dog" can be replaced with "child" and ring true up here, but that'sa blog for a different day...). They let their dogs run around town without leashes, even though the town has a leash law. Even those who do leash their pets adopt a we-own-the-sidewalk-and-you-should-count-your-lucky-stars-that-we're-feeling-generous-today attitude. And their dogs are just as obnoxious barreling down the sidewalks because they haven't been taught any better. There are dog owners up here who are kind and considerate and their dogs are well behaved and friendly. There are other owners who know the temperment of their pets and shorten leashes appropriately when strolling down a well traveled sidewalk. Based on the owner's control of the dog, it should be obvious whether or not the dog is friendly, fearful, timid, or protective. My gripe is mainly with the lax attitude, broad assumptions, and lack of responsiblity up here. Three shining instances stand out among several—and I love dogs for goodness sake!

exhibit A:
I was walking back from my chiropractic adjustment, which is about a mile and change from home, feeling oh so proud about the fact that I walked there in the first place (given my current preference for sloth) when I noticed a woman and her dog walking towards me. I thought, "Looks like I'll make a new friend today!" in hopeful anticipation of a friendly encounter. I saw that the dog was on a long lead from one of those retractable leashes, which I viewed as a positive sign. As they approached, I kept an eye on the dog, wondering if it would come close for a head scratching. It didn't look like the dog was in the mood for chit chat, so I turned my attention back towards the road ahead of me. But just as we were about to pass, the dog lunged at me with a growl, and sort of nipped/hit my hand as a warning. Luckily, I was wearing densely padded gloves. I don't think the dog would have broken skin if I hadn't, but still! Talk about scary... I could have lifted a car with the amount of adrenaline pumping through my rubbery limbs. The woman was prepared to walk on with a slight gasp and an apology, but I stopped to make sure that nothing was ripped and that she knew her dog scared the bleep outta me. She was quite sincere, to her credit, but if you own a dog that lunges, you've got to keep it on a tight leash—no ifs, ands, or buts. At that point, her dog looked at me with his head down in I-warned-your-fat-ass posture, and I wasn't going to hang out for round two. So, I totally got bit by a dog yesterday. Well, accosted is probably more like it...but there was contact, man! Ugh...

instance b:
I was walking around the neighborhood recently on an exercise trip around the local pond and checking out the homes. Land around the pond is *prime* real estate and only the most well-off in a town of well-offs can afford to live there—we're talking mi-hillions here. So, I'm walking around the pond, daydreaming about winning the lottery, when two standard poodles launched themselves from the open door of one of the larger homes on the street. They charged at me, and before I knew it, one had rammed me with its snout while the other swerved from its own collision course at the last minute. The owner sauntered out of his house just in time to witness the show. He had leashes in hand and called for his dogs. I tried to continue walking, but the dogs were circling me and barked each time I tried to move. I tried to think about what to do to get out of the situation, since the owner had stopped walking halfway down his property and stood there like an f-ing lawn jockey, apparently amused by the display. I had a water bottle with me, so I unscrewed the top and prepared to douse the dogs with the water. The owner must have sensed that I was through playing chew toy and uprooted himself from his post on the lawn. They ran to him finally, so I walked away fearful and fuming—the asshead didn't offer an apology or acknowledge the incident in any way. Apparently being in a higher tax-bracket absolves these idiots from responsibility and decency towards others. I think Bush actually has something to do with this... The following week I saw Wife of Asshead with Asshead Spawn inching down the driveway in their big black Lincoln SUV. Of course. So, I felt totally justified as I stopped right in my tracks and scowled at them until they pulled out and headed down the street. The look on their faces was a mix of fear and what the f---. It was great.

dumb ass c:
Our lovely living space looks out onto several apartment houses which are clustered around a small parking lot, smaller yard, and grassy strip adjacent to our dorm. Truth be known, the divide between their small yard and our grassy strip exists mainly in my own brain, since I believe the apartment houses are college-owned. Anyway, one of the apartment dwellers would walk her two large Newfoundlands all over the grass and leave the poop for unsuspecting college students to, ahem, *discover*. And newfie poop is no ordinary canine poop. We're talkin' circus elephant standards. You could bowl a perfect game with this poop. Anyway, this chick would let her dogs out without leashes thinking she'd be able to reign them in with just a call. Yeah. If I had a nickel for everytime I saw her running into the street after them, I'd have a home on the pond. The biggest offender was Cooper, the eldest of the two. He was an older dog, with saggy eyelids and an arthritic walk, sweet and possibly deaf—judging by the frequency with which we heard his name being yelled. Or maybe he was just pretending to be deaf in some sort of little power struggle move. There were times I wanted to yell his name out the window, just to give the owner an idea of how loud she actually was. I'd actually have loved to start a Cooper chorus; have other people sick and tired of hearing her yell at this poor dog scream his name out their windows, slowly staggered at first, then increasing in frequency and volume. Ugh, those poor dogs. The Cooper chonicles get better—or worse, I should say... One fine summer day, Mike and I were sitting in our living room with the windows wide open watching television when we noticed a large SUV back up on the lawn in front of one of the apartment houses. Cooper and owner were sitting outside on a small blanket, apparently waiting for the people who just arrived. I didn't think anything of it and stood up from the couch since there was puttering to be done. Mike, however, continued to watch the little scene outside with curiosity. The SUV people walked around to the back of the vehicle and pulled out a very purposeful box. Out of the box came a rubber tourniquet, a few vials, and syringes. And there, out on the lawn, in view of whoever happened to be passing by on the street or looking out a window, Cooper was put to sleep. They packed up the death kit, wrapped him in the blanket, put him in the euthenasia mobile, and drove away. I missed the whole ordeal since I was preoccupied with puttering. I remember looking out the window and seeing them all on the blanket, but I guess I thought they were just relaxing, maybe preparing for a picnic or something. I'm not sure how I would have reacted if I saw the whole thing go down. I mean, I understand she wanted to have her dog be comfortable for his last moments on earth, surrounded by familiar sights and sounds, not the sterile stainless steel of an examination room. Her apartment is on the second floor of an elevatorless house, so they'd have to drag him down a flight of skinny New England stairs. But to put the dog to sleep in front of the whole neighborhood? I'm still speechless. Anyway, a few days after Cooper's departure, we heard a familiar yell outside our window. We both thought we misheard, but over the course of the next few weeks, it was confirmed—she had renamed the other dog Cooper. I know the dog had a different name when Cooper was alive, because he also had a fondness for well-travelled asphalt. Again, speechless. She has since moved out of the building and was replaced by a couple who walks their cat on a leash. While the sight of Kitty on a String is unusual, I applaud its owners' recognition of its need to explore, stalk, and just be a cat outside. KoaS doesn't seem to mind the leash and enjoys the exercise.

This concludes my Upper Valley pet ownership rant... for now...

HAPPINE$$

2006-03-04T20:34:00.000-05:00

Bought myself some happiness the other day in the form of a fabulous pair of brown ankle boots by John Fluevog. I saw my first Fluevogs at my sister's second wedding celebration—the first for the Freaks, the second for the Greeks—on the capable feet of the best man. He was wearing a pair of striking black and white wing tips. It was lust at first sight and I physically *needed* a pair from this stylish designer. I hit the internet at first chance aprés wedding and nearly fell off my ergonomic chair when I saw the prices. I know there are more expensive shoes out there, but with my fondess for fresh footwear, I fear I'll send the two of us into financial ruin. In a worst case scenario, I could literally construct a house out of my Doc Marten collecetion. It'd be the only one on the block that resists oil, fat acid, petrol, and alkali. I guess I'm lucky, since there's not a shoe horn in the world that can cram my wide-ass feet into the more expensive brands. Those designers cater to the upper echelon of society, whose delicate, narrow, pampered feet haven't been widened by a hard day's work. Also, it seems like price increases proportionately with the height of the heel. The higher the heel, the less likely I'll be able to actually stand in them, much less walk. Shoes don't look half as cute when they're on the feet of someone spread eagle on the sidewalk. So, I had some Christmas gift certificates from Zappos begging to be used. I decided to treat myself to the most expensive shoes I've ever owned. Thankfully, they're quite comfortable. This could be the start of a bee-yooou-tiful friendship... Another recent purchase I can't stop raving about is this little bag by Baggallini, bought from eBags. I absolutely adore the design of this bag! My cell phone fits perfectly and it comes in several different colors. Its tiny size prevents me from carrying around a bunch of accumulated stuff like unecessary receipts, pieces of paper, movie tickets, and other stuff that I used to just toss in a bag and forget about for months. Credit cards are easy to pull out—no tight sleeves. The little coin section is a little small, but a benefit is that I'm not loaded down with loose change. I'll just let the stuff accumulate in my jacket pockets instead...distribute the weight more evenly...or something.

Mike & Sue x2!

2006-03-01T07:32:00.000-05:00

Yesterday was Mike and my second wedding anniversary! Yippee!!! Mike is truly a wonderful partner... I am, without question, the luckiest person in the universe and am so thankful I stumbled upon his AOL site over five years ago. Our wedding was a gorgeous, unbelievably mild 55 degree winter day down on the Jersey shore, filled with love, family, friends, fun, and enormous amounts of food. Speaking of enormous food, Mike and I celebrated the years by going to the new Mexican restaurant in town. It's mostly authentic, fromwhat we can tell—fajitas are nowhere to be found onthe menu. It is really wonderful to actually have a Mexican restaurant in the area. We've had three tex-mexy places come and go in the four and a half years we've been living up here. Well, one is still around, because it's a chain and they bombard residents with coupons bearing photos of men in sombreros and patrons sucking back margaritas in a forced fiesta setting. My least favorite of the three was actually located within walking distance. It was owned by the same guy who runs one of the town's staple restaurants whose menu boasts ostrich, bison, and game animals. Now, I don't know what kind of call there is for large flighless birds on buns with a side of fries up here... I think the menu is mainly for the benefit of parents from large metropolitan areas coming to visit their children. "See? We really are cutting-edge! We're urban! We're hip and happenin'! We serve niche meat! Your children are safe with us once they make it past the bar." This is a restaurant that uses books sliced in half so they fit in pseudo wall bookcases as decor. In any case, for a clearer picture of the tex-vex offered at its sibling restaurant, here is my review written in September, 2002:

mike and i decided to give Mojo's a shot this past weekend. everything started off really well...the chips were nice and hot, the salsa was spicy and fresh tasting, and our waitress brought us a second bowl of chips when there were still a few lingering in the first bowl. so i'm thinkin', points for service. i ordered vegetable fajitas, and asked the waitress if they are cooked on the fajita pan or on the grill with meat, and she said that the veggies would be totally separate from the meat, cooked on their own pan. cool, i thought, even better since i'm a vegetarian.

so when our dinner was served i peeled back the three fajita shells from the top of the pile of veggies-yes that's right, no separate container for the shells, and yes, only three. isn't there usually a four tortilla minimum, a commandment carved into the stone tablets of american mexican restaurant wannabes? thou shalt not bear false witness against thy salsa, thou shalt not serve any less than four flour tortillas... but anyway, it's a trivial point so i decide not to base my initial opinion of the restaurant on the number and placement of the tortillas.

but what do i find poking out through the anthill of exhausted green peppers like Excalibur but an index finger sized hunk of grilled chicken. although i am sure i had the power to pull the sword from the rock, i felt it was necessary to show our waitress, especially since it is a new restaurant and may not find patrons so forgiving in the future.

so i replaced the wilting fajita shells back on the peppers, and patiently waited. she came back, apologized, and disappeared into the depths of red, green and purple with the offending meal. i powered down more chips and salsa while i waited, and ate the beans that she had earlier assured me were meat free.

within a reasonable amount of time, she reappeared in a cloud of sizzling, smoky onions, and placed a fresh plate of food in front of me. once again, i peeled back the layer of floppy circular dough, satisfied at the sight of veggies sans chicken.

so i'm loading up the first shell with stuff, excited because it's fun to play with food, when i unearth a small portion of ground beef along with the grease that accompanies it that had been mingling with a few peppers at the bottom of the pile. now, if i hadn't already established that there would be no meat at all in the food, i would not have had a reason to be concerned. if they had told me that everything is cooked together and then separated, i would have most likely ordered something else, but at least i would have known and not been surprised if i had chosen to stay with the fajitas.

so i put the beef and fat coated peppers on a napkin, and took it to the head waiter, who asked me, "are you sure it's not a bean?" uh...yeah, you know what...upon closer inspection, it kinda does look a little like a bean. A FREAKIN' BEEF BEAN! i didn't know modern science had been genetically engineering pinto beans to look like chopped meat.

anyway, the manager of the restaurant came to our table, and spouting apologies like Ol' Faithful, offered anything on the menu. so, i run down the checklist in my brain of what other varities of meat i hadn't been served yet, and didn't relish the thought of a ham hock resting luxuriously on a bed of supposedly vegetarian taco salad like cleopatra. so, as i was full from chips, salsa, and unaltered pinto beans, i politely refused. he said, "it's a free meal, really anything you want!" so i told him i was full, and if possible, i'd like to come back and take him up on that offer. he told me that he didn't have the capability to offer me a free meal at a later date, so i told him that the beans, chips, and his concern was enough for me. he got off easy, man...

our waitress returned to collect the bill, and said that she hoped that this wouldn't stop me from coming back to the restaurant in the future. i SAID, "i'm sure i'll be back, this kind of thing happens...". i THOUGHT, "i'm sure i'll be back, when hell rents ice skates..."

Pass the lettuce.

Missed My Calling

2006-02-28T09:12:00.000-05:00

So, I'm walking to work this morning with Project Runway's signature catwalk music stuck in my head when I notice I've begun to do a model walk as if I'm actually on the show. There I was, fiercely pounding down the salt and dirt covered concrete, wrapped head to toe in winter protection, breath condensation crystalizing on the scarf encircling my head, snotcicles threatening, glasses coated in frozen fog... The world is my catwalk.

Yoda vs. Christ

2006-02-27T10:50:00.000-05:00

As seen on bash.org's top 100 discussion threads:

chrisg: Is it Star Wars ep. 2 thats got the little green guy jumpin' about fighting and stuff?
grifferz: What you have just asked, is, to a Star Wars fan, akin to saying, "So, that Bible, is that the one where the beardy guy conjures up a heap of fish?" to a Christian.

I am a Jackass.

2006-02-20T18:46:00.000-05:00

Oh yes. A Jackass. This morning, I walked to work, as I usually do—unless I'm feeling particulary lazy in which case I'll drive and inevitably get a ticket or two when I forget to feed the meter because I've forgotten I've driven to work because I usually walk. Anyway... after completing the usual Monday morning office-type stuff (filling the coffee machine with water, refilling paper in the copier, checking the couch for loose change, removing any porn left on our public workstations), I phoned my mechanic to alert him to this weekend's new developments with the car.

After a little chuckle, he told me he wasn't particulary busy this week and suggested I have AAA deliver the car today so he could figure out what the deal was with it. So, I called AAA, arranged for the tow, and walked home to meet the driver. He showed up much quicker than I expected and started to prep my car. I asked him if there was anything I needed to do, but he just requested I leave the key in the car. So, as I was putting the key in the ignition, I gave the interior a quick visual inspection for evidence of the water and Russell Stover diet I've been following religiously since the holidays. As I collected the tell-tale wrappers and other remains of my flying leap off the wagon, I noticed my Dunkin Donuts thermal coffee/tea/hot liquid transport still sitting in the cup holder. I'd been feeling under the weather lately and drinking gallons of herbal tea to help soothe my tired sinuses. I yanked the thermos from the cup holder and heard a 'click.' I knew what it was instantly. It was my gear shift locking into the 'Park' position. I thought, "Well, this shouldn't have anything to do with my bum starter..." and shut the car door.

As I was walking back to the apartment, the tow driver called me back to the car.
Tow Guy: Hey, you know, I think your car just needs a jump.
Me: But, we tried that this weekend and it didn't work...
Tow Guy: Let's give it another shot and see what happens.
Me: I'm going to feel like a gigantic jackass if this works.

So, he walked back to the truck, whipped out this neat battery-thing with jumper cables already attached, hooked everything up, and proceeded to start my car. As predicted, I felt like a gigantic jackass. Apparently, my car had been twinkle-toeing the fine line between park and neutral thanks to Dunkin Donuts, poor cup holder placement, technicolor snot, and general ignorance—for four whole days. That would explain why the key wouldn't release initially and why the battery was drained. I thanked the man for his time and effort and sheepishly called my mechanic to cancel the appointment. My little car is truly an amazing piece of machinery built to withstand any abuse, injustice, or idiocy. Toyota. Cars built for Numbskulls.

Aging Bull.

2006-02-19T12:22:00.000-05:00

Sigh... After almost twelve years of impeccable service, dependability, and companionship, I fear my Toyota has turned onto the road of Constant Repair. As we all know, Constant Repair intersects with Financial Stability, which turns into Credit Debt once you cross over Cost Analysis.

Our story begins this past Thursday morning... I had just come from my weekly gripe session, and was feeling especially clear, decisive, and upbeat. I had completed my homework the previous day and was learning how to categorize specific worries in order to deal with them easier; sort of a worry to-do (or to don't) list. Basically, the point being that I have better ways to spend my energy than worry about situations I can't control. So anyway... I skip out to the car, start the engine, put it in D, and drive my satisfied little self over to the chiropractor for a cracking good time. I pull into a parking space carefully selected for its ease of escape, since I was headed to work afterwards and time was of the essence. I put the car in park and proceed to remove my key, as I've done about a billion times in the past. Normally, my car releases the key without incident or argument. This time, however, the key was held for questioning. No matter how hard I tried, I could not get the key out of the ignition. I tried turning the car on and off, starting it, putting it back in drive and park, staring at it, talking to it, and combinations of all the above. Then, at some point, logic, reason, and experience got out of the car (apparently deciding it was better to wait for me in a warm doctor's office) and I started to question the way I've been driving it for the past decade plus. "Maybe I've been removing the key the wrong way all this time... Maybe I underestimated my own strength and jammed it in there when I started it... Maybe the key was dipped in some kind of chemical compound specifically formulated to react with the heat of the car causing the metals to bond instantly... Maybe this is some distraction for an even larger subterfuge of which I'm an unknowing participant..." When I finally finished banging my head against the wheel (which, incidentally, didn't loosen the key as I'd hoped), I got out of the car, purposely focused on the unlocked lock so as not to reflexively lock the door (you can take the girl outta Jersey...), shut it, and walked into the office. I reunited with the toasty trio of good sense, got some onery vertebrae adjusted, drove back home, locked my car, and walked to work.

I sat down at my desk and called my trusted auto mechanic to try and get an appointment. I explained the situation, minus the whole conspiracy theory thing, praying he'd tell me it'd be a piece of cake to fix and to bring it on in. Unfortunately, he told me that it sounded like I'd need a part that he didn't have and it would be better if I took it to the dealer. My gasp must have been audible, because he reassured me that the dealer is the best place to go and not to worry. Ugh... The last time I went to the Toyota dealership up here, I was told I needed new brakes and rotors (which were actually fine according to a second opinion), in addition to the huge service I for which I was already scheduled. When I arrived for the service, this chick roared out of nowhere, "This is MY customer!" What she really meant was, "This is MY commission!"

So, being faced with the unsavory prospect of going back to the dealership, I steeled myself and made the phone call. After a bit of a challenge in actually connecting with someone in the service department (service, eh?), I was told that the earliest available appointment was Wednesday. This meant that my car would be sitting outside in our communal lot with the key stuck in the ignition as a virtual invitation for SIX days/nights. Our lot is right next to the dorms AND, funny enough, a frat house. So, plagued with visions of drunken undergrads slim-jimmimg their way into my car and taking it for a little spin around town—or Boston, I asked the service scheduler if there was any way I could bring it in earlier. Wait, I just lied. I actually said, "You mean I have to leave the key in the ignition until WEDNESDAY?!" Realizing I could have handled that a bit better, I quickly apologized, saying I didn't know if it would be a quick job or not. Honestly, I felt I should be on my best behavior lest they *just happen* to find other issues with my car that should be looked into while they have it in the shop as punishment for my snottiness. Anyway, the scheduler checked with the service manager who actually said, "Well, if she's brave, she can try to force the key out herself, but she'd run the risk of jamming the starter or breaking the key off in the ignition, and then she wouldn't be able to drive it in." At this point, I'm thinking, "There's a difference between bravery and jackassery," but I didn't say anything in light of my previous outburst. I made the appointment and crossed my fingers.

Cut to Saturday afternoon. After two successful mornings of waking up to my car being exactly where I left it, I felt confident in driving it to my acupuncture appointment. I opened the door with one of the two spare keys created by a AAA approved locksmith in Brooklyn one steamy, frustrating Sunday in July (a story for a future blog entry...) and turned the key lodged in the ignition to start it. Alas, my trip was not to be. My car simply wouldn't start. Pleas for justice were met with the clicking sound of a bum starter. Mike, bless his heart, helped me try and jump start the car, just in case the battery was involved as an accomplice. So tomorrow, on Mike's observant suggestion, I'll be calling my favorite mechanic since more pieces to the puzzle have been revealed. And, he should be able to order parts, if needed. The funny thing is, my key actually came out of the ignition after the fuss of trying to get the car to start. Sigh...

The Best Job Ever.

2006-02-16T15:11:00.001-05:00

Just finished organizing our coffee service packets by color. Is that weird?

PSA: Winter Driving

2006-02-16T12:29:00.000-05:00

WINTER DRIVING FACT SHEET

The leading cause of death during winter storms is transportation accidents. Preparing your vehicle for the winter season and knowing how to react if stranded or lost on the road are the keys to safe winter driving.

Before Winter hits hard, have a mechanic check the following items on your car.
* Battery
* Antifreeze
* Wipers and windshield washer fluid
* Ignition system
* Thermostat
* Lights
* Flashing hazard lights
* Exhaust system
* Heater
* Brakes
* Defroster
* Oil level (if necessary, replace existing oil with a winter grade oil or the SAE 10w/30 weight variety)

Install good winter tires.
* Make sure the tires have adequate tread. All-weather radials are usually adequate for most winter conditions. However, some jurisdictions require that to drive on their roads, vehicles must be equipped with chains or snow tires with studs.
* Keep a windshield scraper and small broom for ice and snow removal.
* Maintain at least a half tank of gas during the winter season.

Plan long trips carefully.
* Listen to the radio or call the state highway patrol for the latest road conditions. Always travel during daylight and, if possible, take at least one other person.
* If you must go out during a winter storm, use public transportation.

Dress warmly.
* Wear layers of loose-fitting, layered, lightweight clothing.

Carry food and water.
* Store a supply of high energy snacks and several bottles of water.
* Contact your local emergency management office or American Red Cross chapter for more information on winter driving.

Winter Car Kit
Keep these items in your car:
* Flashlights with extra batteries
* First aid kit with pocket knife
* Necessary medications
* Several blankets
* Sleeping bags
* Extra newspapers for insulation
* Plastic bags (for sanitation)
* Matches
* Extra set of mittens, socks, and a wool cap
* Rain gear and extra clothes
* Small sack of sand for generating traction under wheels
* Small shovel
* Small tools (pliers, wrench, screwdriver)
* Booster cables
* Set of tire chains or traction mats
* Cards, games, and puzzles
* Brightly colored cloth to use as a flag
* Canned fruit and nuts
* Nonelectric can opener
* Bottled water

IF TRAPPED IN CAR DURING A BLIZZARD

* Stay in the car. Do not leave the car to search for assistance unless help is visible within 100 yards. You may become disoriented and lost is blowing and drifting snow.
* Display a trouble sign. Hang a brightly colored cloth on the radio antenna and raise the hood.
* Occasionally run engine to keep warm. Turn on the car's engine for about 10 minutes each hour. Run the heater when the car is running. Also, turn on the car's dome light when the car is running.
* Beware of carbon monoxide poisoning. Keep the exhaust pipe clear of snow, and open a downwind window slightly for ventilation.
* Watch for signs of frostbite and hypothermia.
* Do minor exercises to keep up circulation.
* Clap hands and move arms and legs occasionally. Try not to stay in one position for too long. If more than one person is in the car, take turns sleeping.
* For warmth, huddle together.
* Use newspapers, maps, and even the removable car mats for added insulation.
* Avoid overexertion. Cold weather puts an added strain on the heart. Unaccustomed exercise such as shoveling snow or pushing a car can bring on a heart attack or make other medical conditions worse. Be aware of symptoms of dehydration.

Wind Chill
* "Wind chill" is a calculation of how cold it feels outside when the effects of temperature and wind speed are combined.
* A strong wind combined with a temperature of just below freezing can have the same effect as a still air temperature about 35 degrees colder.

Winter Storm Watches and Warnings
* A winter storm watch indicates that severe winter weather may affect your area.
* A winter storm warning indicates that severe winter weather conditions are definitely on the way.
* A blizzard warning means that large amounts of falling or blowing snow and sustained winds of at least 35 miles per hour are expected for several hours.

Frostbite and Hypothermia
* Frostbite is a severe reaction to cold exposure that can permanently damage its victims. A loss of feeling and a white or pale appearance in fingers, toes, or nose and ear lobes are symptoms of frostbite.
* Hypothermia is a condition brought on when the body temperature drops to less than 90 degrees Fahrenheit. Symptoms of hypothermia include uncontrollable shivering, slow speech, memory lapses, frequent stumbling, drowsiness, and exhaustion.
* If frostbite or hypothermia is suspected, begin warming the person slowly and seek immediate medical assistance. Warm the person's trunk first. Use your own body heat to help. Arms and legs should be warmed last because stimulation of the limbs can drive cold blood toward the heart and lead to heart failure.
* Put person in dry clothing and wrap their entire body in a blanket.
* Never give a frostbite or hypothermia victim something with caffeine in it (like coffee or tea) or alcohol. Caffeine, a stimulant, can cause the heart to beat faster and hasten the effects the cold has on the body. Alcohol, a depressant, can slow the heart and also hasten the ill effects of cold body temperatures.

Another One Bites the Dust

2006-02-15T09:03:00.000-05:00

What the hell is wrong with Fox? I just don't understand the thought processes of the execs over there... These short-sighted yes-men have decided to cancel the wittiest, most nuanced show on television: Arrested Development. Everytime I re-watch episodes, I discover something new, some other level of humor missed in a previous viewing due to temporary laughter spasm-induced hearing loss. The story lines are intricately woven and so unassuming... There is nothing forced about this show; no you-must-laugh-now direction so common in sitcoms today. Don't tell me when to laugh and what to find funny. It's obvious networks view the American public as lemmings. "We're telling you this is comedy now, so laugh, lemming, LAUGH! Everyone else is! You're not smart enough to decide on your own. Now, get up and get yourself some Hamburger Helper, buy an SUV, and watch previews of future schlock we're going to force feed you numbskulls." I mean, look what they did to Futurama for pete's sake! Free Annyong! Ooooohhhhh yeah... that feels better.

My Husband, Zorknapp.

2006-02-14T14:50:00.000-05:00

My husband is truly the most inspiring, intelligent, interesting, insightful, level-headed, kind, caring, patient, supportive, funny person I know. And I'm not just saying those things because it's Valentine's Day and I have to. At this precise moment, he is laying on a stretcher-type-thing having his blood recycled through his body in a process called double red cell donation. This is how it works: Blood is drawn from one of the donor's arms. The red blood cells, which are responsible for carrying oxygen through the body, are kept, while the rest of the blood components are deposited back into the donor's body via the remaining arm. It takes quite a bit of time for the process to finish. Mike says he can feel the coolness of the blood going back into his vein. Wow. I've never given blood. I feel selfish, holding onto it like I do. I have a very hard time with blood leaving my body. I know it's not a big deal, that a glass of juice and a doughnut are all you need for quick recovery, but I just have a big paralyzing freakiness about it. I hold those who donate blood and double red cell donations in high regard. Someday, I'll get over this. One anxiety at a time...

The Chocolate Croissant...

2006-02-13T08:01:00.000-05:00

...quite possibly the single greatest food in the universe.

The Disappearance of My Upper Lip

2006-02-13T07:53:00.000-05:00

So, apparently consuming large amounts of Pizza Hut salad causes my upper lip to recede - as indicated by this lovely little photo. Now, if only I could figure out what food is causing my hairline to shrink back into my scalp, I'd be fine... :D

We went to Pizza Hut on New Year's Eve as our tradition dictates. Truth be known, we've only gone once since we've been together - but it's tradition none the less! :D We went our first year together, when we were living in southern Vermont, where we met. If memory serves, we were one of maybe three tables being served. We walked in, and the wait staff was like, "What the heck are you doing in Pizza Hut on New Year's Eve? Don't you losers have anything better to do? I mean, this is Brattleboro, Vermont, but surely there's something going on somewhere!" In any case, we enjoyed our pizza and each others company immensely, and rang in 2001 with a deep dish to remember. Life is good.

Let the Fur Fly

2006-02-01T10:36:00.000-05:00

I cannot stop watching this clip... Mike and I are thinking about doing something like this with just the two of us...

And so... it begins.

2005-07-14T18:15:00.000-05:00

Well, here goes...my maiden voyage into the blogosphere.

Feeling a little nervous, and I can't explain why... Oh alright. I can explain why. I haven't actually written anything in a long time. Wait, that's a lie. I should say, I haven't written anything journalistic or creative in a long time. I actually wrote a huge expository piece on the history of puppetry for my last job. It was really exciting and very fun to write, because I love the art... but I miss creativly reporting the gripping thrill-ride that is my life. I used to write quite a bit just a few years ago, when I was touring with the National Marionette Theatre. I just loved describing each new experience for friends and family. Writing helped me realize how incredible, amazing, unique, and electric touring as a professional performer was. It's been almost four years since I left the troupe, and I haven't written much since then. It was almost like nothing in my life could possibly be as interesting as touring, so why bother writing? Well, *plenty* of interesting things have happened in my life post-puppetry, and it's high time I started reporting again. Of course, the uninteresting, unappealing, and uninspiring greatly outweigh the exciting - a phenomenon I'll address frequently. And I'm sure I'll be dredging up some memories from the vault from time to time, even if I only report to myself about myself. I'm not sure how often I'll write, but I'm going to make an effort, darn it, for myself and all of humanity - or at least those who stumble into the pit.