Whenever tragedy strikes any community, local news outlets inevitably quote at least one bystander as saying, "things like that just don't happen here."
I'm not naive enough to believe that's true; there is no such thing as a "here" where bad things don't happen. I learned that the hard way long ago. But that doesn't make it any less horrifying when tragedy strikes your town.
Yesterday, five women were shot and killed in a Lane Bryant store not four miles from where I live, and only a few doors away from the Super Target where I do my grocery shopping and the Petsmart where I take my dog for obedience classes. After so many public shootings in recent years, no one shopping in that center could have said with any confidence, "that wouldn't happen here." But by the same token, you don't expect to see a man with a gun while you're out picking up your week's groceries or shopping for a new dress.
I've been reading the book "The Stranger Beside Me," true crime author Ann Rule's account of the murders committed by famed serial killer Ted Bundy. Rule and Bundy had been friends; they'd met while volunteering together at a crisis center and spent many hours chatting together. Years later, Rule, a journalist at the time, was reporting on the murders of young women in Washington and Oregon when she realized that much of the evidence police had gathered pointed toward her old friend. In the book, she details her personal struggle as both a journalist at Bundy's friend, and she tells the stories of the women who died, and the women who lived.
Yesterday morning, before I heard about the murders at the Lane Bryant store, I was reading a passage in the book about murders Bundy committed in a sorority house in Florida after escaping from prison in Colorado. Two women were killed, and two were severely injured. Reading what happened to them turned my stomach, but even scarier to me were the details about the other women who lived in the sorority house. One escaped injury by a fraction of a second, having walked down the hall from the bathroom to her bedroom at the exact right time to just miss Bundy. Another entered the back door just as Bundy went running out the front.
Whenever senseless things like this happen, there seems to be a very thin line dividing those who live and those who die. Something as simple as Saturday shopping can get a person shot, while staying out late with friends can mean escaping a violent murder. And the faceless serial killer you're having nightmares about every night can turn out to be the nice man who sits next to you at work.
Police aren't sharing many details about yesterday's shootings, other than to say they believe the man has left the area. Until they can say more, I just won't be able to relax. While I am confident that police are doing everything they can, I couldn't help checking my locks three times before I went to sleep last night or looking around at church this morning for a man who fit the description of the suspect.
I've always known it could happen here, but now that it has, I can't help wondering when it will happen again.
Sunday, February 03, 2008
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Connection In An Isolating Age
Like many people, I really found myself when I went away to college, and a great deal of that had to do with the people surrounding me. I've had some wonderful friends in my life, and some very long friendships, but there was never a time that I felt so truly understood and accepted as my college years.
Lately, though, I've been feeling a little out of touch. I don't talk to many of my school chums all that often, and when I do, it's not the same. It's just the way life is. People go in all different directions; priorities change. And that's a good thing; I don't want to be the same person I was in college, and I don't want the same things from my friends as I did then, nor do I offer the same things to my friends. Not to mention how hard it is to maintain relationships from a whole different time and place. So for the past few years, I've kind of retreated from those old friendships, wondering if it was really possible to be both myself, as I am now, and the friend my friends remember.
Today, I realized it is.
During my junior year of college, my roommate Miranda and I befriended one of our fellow student theatre people named Stephen. He and Miranda co-directed a show together, so consequently, he was always at our apartment. We began hanging out together a lot, and working on a couple of shows together (including one in which I played Stephen's mistress) we became good pals. He was even my "big brother" when I joined the theatre honors fraternity.
I hadn't seen Stephen since 1999 or talked to him since 2002, but lately, I'd been thinking about him often. Oddly enough, it started with one word -- Dolomites. I don't remember where I heard it, but I do remember thinking of Stephen instantly. In that play in which I played his mistress, our characters had a fight, and it ended with his character trying to appease mine by reminding her of their trip to the Dolomites, and my character shouting, "the Dolomites! The Dolomites! That's all you ever talk to me about!"
Funny the things you remember.
Anyway, it got me thinking about Stephen. I wondered what ever happened to him, where he was, what he was up to. So I took advantage of today's instant access culture and Googled him. I didn't find much, but I did find a press release from four years ago listing his name and phone number. Taking a chance that the number was still current, I called him last week. As soon as I heard his voice mail kick in, I knew I had the right number. I left a somewhat bumbling message, trying to mix in casual hey, how are you stuff with here are some details about me in case you don't remember who I am, since, let's face it, we haven't seen each other in nine years stuff.
Today, he called me back, and it was wonderful to hear from him. He told me all about what he's been up to, and I updated him on my life. And the best part was that even though our lives have both changed a great deal, and none of the things that made us friends in the first place are really factors anymore, we weren't at a loss for things to talk about.
So perhaps it is possible to reconnect with people, even far-removed from the time and circumstances that made you friends in the first place. Everyone changes, but that doesn't mean the past should be forgotten. And the best way to realize that is to get back in touch with an old friend.
Lately, though, I've been feeling a little out of touch. I don't talk to many of my school chums all that often, and when I do, it's not the same. It's just the way life is. People go in all different directions; priorities change. And that's a good thing; I don't want to be the same person I was in college, and I don't want the same things from my friends as I did then, nor do I offer the same things to my friends. Not to mention how hard it is to maintain relationships from a whole different time and place. So for the past few years, I've kind of retreated from those old friendships, wondering if it was really possible to be both myself, as I am now, and the friend my friends remember.
Today, I realized it is.
During my junior year of college, my roommate Miranda and I befriended one of our fellow student theatre people named Stephen. He and Miranda co-directed a show together, so consequently, he was always at our apartment. We began hanging out together a lot, and working on a couple of shows together (including one in which I played Stephen's mistress) we became good pals. He was even my "big brother" when I joined the theatre honors fraternity.
I hadn't seen Stephen since 1999 or talked to him since 2002, but lately, I'd been thinking about him often. Oddly enough, it started with one word -- Dolomites. I don't remember where I heard it, but I do remember thinking of Stephen instantly. In that play in which I played his mistress, our characters had a fight, and it ended with his character trying to appease mine by reminding her of their trip to the Dolomites, and my character shouting, "the Dolomites! The Dolomites! That's all you ever talk to me about!"
Funny the things you remember.
Anyway, it got me thinking about Stephen. I wondered what ever happened to him, where he was, what he was up to. So I took advantage of today's instant access culture and Googled him. I didn't find much, but I did find a press release from four years ago listing his name and phone number. Taking a chance that the number was still current, I called him last week. As soon as I heard his voice mail kick in, I knew I had the right number. I left a somewhat bumbling message, trying to mix in casual hey, how are you stuff with here are some details about me in case you don't remember who I am, since, let's face it, we haven't seen each other in nine years stuff.
Today, he called me back, and it was wonderful to hear from him. He told me all about what he's been up to, and I updated him on my life. And the best part was that even though our lives have both changed a great deal, and none of the things that made us friends in the first place are really factors anymore, we weren't at a loss for things to talk about.
So perhaps it is possible to reconnect with people, even far-removed from the time and circumstances that made you friends in the first place. Everyone changes, but that doesn't mean the past should be forgotten. And the best way to realize that is to get back in touch with an old friend.
Most Likely To Succeed
My little girl is a big graduate!
Last night, Stella received her puppy school diploma and departed her Petsmart training with new knowledge, self-esteem and a big yellow tennis ball.
As part of the graduation festivities, each dog got a moment in the sun, either to show what they'd learned in class or show off something they'd learned somewhere else. Stella chose to show off her superb walking-next-to-daddy skills, and did a few laps around the rink with my husband, off-leash. I was very proud. Eight weeks ago when the class began, she hated to walk with us; she would plant her feet and refuse to move. But after we learned that a few well-timed treats would keep her walking where we wanted her, she was leash walking like a champ and soon began to walk just as well off-leash.
I'm proud to say she received an enthusiastic round of applause.
I couldn't be happier about Stella's progress. She's learned a lot in these eight weeks -- and so have my husband and I. We've learned how to read her, and how to teach her things, when to reward her and when and how to correct her. And it's worked! She's a better listener, and she knows how to ask nicely for things, too. It's amazing how these small changes in behavior can make such big differences.
It's been really cool to watch her progress, and I'm looking forward to getting her into the intermediate level of her training. My sweet baby puppy is becoming a wonderful big girl!
Last night, Stella received her puppy school diploma and departed her Petsmart training with new knowledge, self-esteem and a big yellow tennis ball.
As part of the graduation festivities, each dog got a moment in the sun, either to show what they'd learned in class or show off something they'd learned somewhere else. Stella chose to show off her superb walking-next-to-daddy skills, and did a few laps around the rink with my husband, off-leash. I was very proud. Eight weeks ago when the class began, she hated to walk with us; she would plant her feet and refuse to move. But after we learned that a few well-timed treats would keep her walking where we wanted her, she was leash walking like a champ and soon began to walk just as well off-leash.
I'm proud to say she received an enthusiastic round of applause.
I couldn't be happier about Stella's progress. She's learned a lot in these eight weeks -- and so have my husband and I. We've learned how to read her, and how to teach her things, when to reward her and when and how to correct her. And it's worked! She's a better listener, and she knows how to ask nicely for things, too. It's amazing how these small changes in behavior can make such big differences.
It's been really cool to watch her progress, and I'm looking forward to getting her into the intermediate level of her training. My sweet baby puppy is becoming a wonderful big girl!
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
The Girl Who Ate Michigan...Literally
A year ago in October, I went to Michigan to visit my friend Marla and did almost nothing but eat. I chronicled my adventure in this entry.
Well, a couple of weeks ago, I ate Michigan again. Except, it wasn't really Michigan; it was just a piece of chicken shaped like Michigan. Except Michigan is backwards, so really, it just kind of looks like a mitten or a boxing glove. Still, I thought it was cool enough to take a picture of it. Just not cool enough to write about until two weeks later when I found the picture.
Well, a couple of weeks ago, I ate Michigan again. Except, it wasn't really Michigan; it was just a piece of chicken shaped like Michigan. Except Michigan is backwards, so really, it just kind of looks like a mitten or a boxing glove. Still, I thought it was cool enough to take a picture of it. Just not cool enough to write about until two weeks later when I found the picture.
More On Oscar
I got to thinking about how I've always said I don't care for award-winning movies (not because they're award-winning, that's just usually how it turns out), and I got to thinking, I must have seen at least a few Best Picture winners that I liked. So I looked up a complete list of the winners, and here's my rundown of what I thought of the ones I've seen.
Gone With The Wind (1939): Loved it. Loved it even more the second and third times.
Casablanca (1943): I thought it was overrated. Not bad, but not what I was expecting. But I think I might have liked it better had I lived in that time period and had some frame of reference of what was happening.
Am American In Paris (1951): Hated it. I like dancing, but this was like 15 minutes of movie and an hour and a half of dancing. I fast-forwarded through most of it.
Ben-Hur (1959): I don't remember being significantly impressed or disappointed with this one, but since I watched it in Mr. Giles' social studies class in 10th grade, I'm not surprised.
The Sound of Music (1965): Loved it, still love it.
Oliver! (1968): Liked it, but I liked all musicals back when I saw that. I did fall asleep during it though.
Terms of Endearment (1983): Liked it a lot, and used to be able to play the theme song on the piano. Still watch it when I see it on TV.
Amadeus (1984): Seeing as I saw this movie in 1984 (or whenever it came out on VHS), I don't really know if I formed an opinion. I remember pretty costumes though.
Forrest Gump (1994): Despite the fact that the tag lines got pretty old pretty fast, I really liked this one and still enjoy watching it every once in awhile.
Titanic (1997): Loved it, and I'll admit that I still cry at the end if I watch it alone.
Shakespeare In Love (1998): This was the first movie I ever saw in the theatre by myself. I thought it was great, and the dialogue was very witty, much like Shakespeare's writings, and I appreciate (almost require) witty dialogue in movies.
A Beautiful Mind (2001): I liked this one, but I wasn't as wowed as some people. But I saw it kinda late in the game and probably expected too much.
Chicago (2002): Somewhat entertaining but overrated. Also, I don't like Renee Zellweger at all, so that couldn't have helped. But I did like that Chicago won the year I moved to Chicago.
Crash (2005): Liked it a lot, although Munich was also nominated that year, and I liked that one better.
The Departed (2006): Liked it a lot. Satisfying plot twists and interesting characters, plus humor and that witty dialogue I love.
Gone With The Wind (1939): Loved it. Loved it even more the second and third times.
Casablanca (1943): I thought it was overrated. Not bad, but not what I was expecting. But I think I might have liked it better had I lived in that time period and had some frame of reference of what was happening.
Am American In Paris (1951): Hated it. I like dancing, but this was like 15 minutes of movie and an hour and a half of dancing. I fast-forwarded through most of it.
Ben-Hur (1959): I don't remember being significantly impressed or disappointed with this one, but since I watched it in Mr. Giles' social studies class in 10th grade, I'm not surprised.
The Sound of Music (1965): Loved it, still love it.
Oliver! (1968): Liked it, but I liked all musicals back when I saw that. I did fall asleep during it though.
Terms of Endearment (1983): Liked it a lot, and used to be able to play the theme song on the piano. Still watch it when I see it on TV.
Amadeus (1984): Seeing as I saw this movie in 1984 (or whenever it came out on VHS), I don't really know if I formed an opinion. I remember pretty costumes though.
Forrest Gump (1994): Despite the fact that the tag lines got pretty old pretty fast, I really liked this one and still enjoy watching it every once in awhile.
Titanic (1997): Loved it, and I'll admit that I still cry at the end if I watch it alone.
Shakespeare In Love (1998): This was the first movie I ever saw in the theatre by myself. I thought it was great, and the dialogue was very witty, much like Shakespeare's writings, and I appreciate (almost require) witty dialogue in movies.
A Beautiful Mind (2001): I liked this one, but I wasn't as wowed as some people. But I saw it kinda late in the game and probably expected too much.
Chicago (2002): Somewhat entertaining but overrated. Also, I don't like Renee Zellweger at all, so that couldn't have helped. But I did like that Chicago won the year I moved to Chicago.
Crash (2005): Liked it a lot, although Munich was also nominated that year, and I liked that one better.
The Departed (2006): Liked it a lot. Satisfying plot twists and interesting characters, plus humor and that witty dialogue I love.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Oscar Schmoscar
I'm not much of an awards show fan, and Big Daddy Oscar is at the top of my list of awards I don't care about.
It's nothing personal. I just get bored with the speeches, and most of the movies that are nominated are ones I haven't seen. This year's nominees were announced today, and as it turns out, I've only seen one of the potential Best Pictures. If the rest are anything like it, I don't think I want to see them.
On Saturday, my husband I went to a matinee of Atonement. Much touted by critics and radio commercials, the movie has been put forth as this decade's Titanic, an epic love story destined to amaze viewers with its brilliance. I'm a sucker for love stories, especially ones that take place in time periods with great clothes, but even I couldn't muster any excitement for this movie.
The story is a bit complicated to condense into one paragraph, but the crux is that a young girl (Saoirse Ronan) misinterprets something she sees, and that misinterpretation causes her to send an innocent man (James McAvoy) to prison, and ultimately, into the horrors of World War II. Incidentally, he's also the great love of her older sister (Keira Knightley), so she not only ruins his life, she ruins her sister's, causing a lifelong guilt trip and much grief and sadness all around.
The movie was adapted from a book, and it's pretty obvious there were some key things the moviemakers skipped over. The sisters have exactly two conversations in the movie -- one at the very beginning and one later in the younger sister's imagination. It's hard to believe she feels that awful about ruining the life of a sister she never speaks to.
Furthermore, I never got to see any of the "white-hot chemistry" between Keira Knightley and James McAvoy that the radio ads mentioned, mostly because their "epic love" lasted all of five minutes before they were torn apart forever. They fought in the morning, he wrote her a dirty letter in the afternoon, and by evening, they were in flagrante in the library. Is that what the kids are calling epic love these days? Whatever happened to witty conversation? I hate to sound cold-hearted, but I didn't really care whether those two ever got together again. Especially because when they did, they barely knew what to say; they seemed like strangers, not star-crossed lovers whose passion had been building for years.
It just felt forced. Hearing Keira Knightley whisper/whimper/cry "come back to me" got really old, really fast, and even the big moment of revelation where the younger sister figures out what she really saw (which I'm not even certain I believe she saw -- the way the movie goes, it almost seems as if the guilt she feels has made her simply make up a new version of events) fell flat. And the terrible bastard we're supposed to hate is someone we never really liked in the first place.
I could go on, but I won't. I will say that the movie was very nice to look at, and it made me want to read the book, because I think the story is intriguing and was simply told badly. I also feel compelled to say that I like Keira Knightley, but I wish she didn't always walk with her arms flapping behind her. It's a bit distracting.
It's nothing personal. I just get bored with the speeches, and most of the movies that are nominated are ones I haven't seen. This year's nominees were announced today, and as it turns out, I've only seen one of the potential Best Pictures. If the rest are anything like it, I don't think I want to see them.
On Saturday, my husband I went to a matinee of Atonement. Much touted by critics and radio commercials, the movie has been put forth as this decade's Titanic, an epic love story destined to amaze viewers with its brilliance. I'm a sucker for love stories, especially ones that take place in time periods with great clothes, but even I couldn't muster any excitement for this movie.
The story is a bit complicated to condense into one paragraph, but the crux is that a young girl (Saoirse Ronan) misinterprets something she sees, and that misinterpretation causes her to send an innocent man (James McAvoy) to prison, and ultimately, into the horrors of World War II. Incidentally, he's also the great love of her older sister (Keira Knightley), so she not only ruins his life, she ruins her sister's, causing a lifelong guilt trip and much grief and sadness all around.
The movie was adapted from a book, and it's pretty obvious there were some key things the moviemakers skipped over. The sisters have exactly two conversations in the movie -- one at the very beginning and one later in the younger sister's imagination. It's hard to believe she feels that awful about ruining the life of a sister she never speaks to.
Furthermore, I never got to see any of the "white-hot chemistry" between Keira Knightley and James McAvoy that the radio ads mentioned, mostly because their "epic love" lasted all of five minutes before they were torn apart forever. They fought in the morning, he wrote her a dirty letter in the afternoon, and by evening, they were in flagrante in the library. Is that what the kids are calling epic love these days? Whatever happened to witty conversation? I hate to sound cold-hearted, but I didn't really care whether those two ever got together again. Especially because when they did, they barely knew what to say; they seemed like strangers, not star-crossed lovers whose passion had been building for years.
It just felt forced. Hearing Keira Knightley whisper/whimper/cry "come back to me" got really old, really fast, and even the big moment of revelation where the younger sister figures out what she really saw (which I'm not even certain I believe she saw -- the way the movie goes, it almost seems as if the guilt she feels has made her simply make up a new version of events) fell flat. And the terrible bastard we're supposed to hate is someone we never really liked in the first place.
I could go on, but I won't. I will say that the movie was very nice to look at, and it made me want to read the book, because I think the story is intriguing and was simply told badly. I also feel compelled to say that I like Keira Knightley, but I wish she didn't always walk with her arms flapping behind her. It's a bit distracting.
Monday, January 21, 2008
Pop Goes My Heart
Yesterday, it sub-zero outside, and I had cut a four-inch-long gash into my leg while shaving (which bled all day long), so I wasn't really in the mood to go much of anywhere. So I did what I've often done on cold weekend days lately; I watched TV and crocheted.
There was nothing good on, and I had no new Netflix movies to watch, so I ended up spending an hour or so with VH1's Top 100 Songs of the 1980s while I finished a scarf I'd been working on. It's your typical VH1 special, where famous (and marginally famous) people share their memories and make jokes about the songs, plus they throw in a "where are they now" for those folks who haven't been in the limelight lately.
There were a couple of sad faces. They kept showing the guy from A Flock of Seagulls talk about how sick he is of people asking him to play "I Ran," and the singer from Dexy's Midnight Runners voiced his disappointment that "Come On Eileen" is the only song people remember of theirs. And I'm sure it is very frustrating to people who worked hard for years. But then, there were some folks who had great songs and then moved on to other things and are just tickled that someone remembers something they did 20-some years ago.
I have no aspirations to become a professional musician. Even if I had the talent and desire, I don't think I'd survive the lifestyle. But watching that special yesterday got me to thinking, I might like to have a one-hit wonder. I'd have enough fame to make me some money and get me into cool parties for awhile, but before I got a chance to let the fame go to my head or start using drugs, I would quietly fade back into the background, emerging only every once in awhile to commentate on VH1 specials. And because it was never my dream to make a career out of music, I wouldn't feel bad about the "has been" label.
I'm not really sure how one goes about securing one's place on the one-hit wonder charts, but I think if I send a few query letters to some record companies, I might generate some interest. If anyone wants to help lick the envelopes, let me know.
There was nothing good on, and I had no new Netflix movies to watch, so I ended up spending an hour or so with VH1's Top 100 Songs of the 1980s while I finished a scarf I'd been working on. It's your typical VH1 special, where famous (and marginally famous) people share their memories and make jokes about the songs, plus they throw in a "where are they now" for those folks who haven't been in the limelight lately.
There were a couple of sad faces. They kept showing the guy from A Flock of Seagulls talk about how sick he is of people asking him to play "I Ran," and the singer from Dexy's Midnight Runners voiced his disappointment that "Come On Eileen" is the only song people remember of theirs. And I'm sure it is very frustrating to people who worked hard for years. But then, there were some folks who had great songs and then moved on to other things and are just tickled that someone remembers something they did 20-some years ago.
I have no aspirations to become a professional musician. Even if I had the talent and desire, I don't think I'd survive the lifestyle. But watching that special yesterday got me to thinking, I might like to have a one-hit wonder. I'd have enough fame to make me some money and get me into cool parties for awhile, but before I got a chance to let the fame go to my head or start using drugs, I would quietly fade back into the background, emerging only every once in awhile to commentate on VH1 specials. And because it was never my dream to make a career out of music, I wouldn't feel bad about the "has been" label.
I'm not really sure how one goes about securing one's place on the one-hit wonder charts, but I think if I send a few query letters to some record companies, I might generate some interest. If anyone wants to help lick the envelopes, let me know.
Saturday, January 19, 2008
Bless Us, Oh King...
The first time it happened was in 1999. I was on my way to an out-of-town concert with my friend Darcey, and we stopped to eat at a Burger King along the way.
Somewhere in the middle of our meal, Darcey started laughing. Looking across the restaurant, I saw a table of people praying over their paper-wrapped sandwiches.
I couldn't help laughing too. My family never said a blessing before any meal, so maybe I just didn't get it, but I thought it was a little weird to pray over a greasy value meal. Darcey agreed.
"It's fine if you want to pray at home," she said, "but I don't think God cares if you bless your Whopper."
It was one of those moments in which a private joke was born; "bless your Whopper" became one of our favorite funny phrases to say to each other.
It happened again in 2002, again at a Burger King. I was eating lunch with a friend when a group of kids from the Catholic high school across the street came in. They bought their food, sat down, and prayed. I burst into giggles and tried to explain to my baffled lunch date about Darcey and "bless your Whopper." He didn't get it.
I thought it strange that I would witness the same phenomenon twice at Burger King. I've never seen anyone pray before a meal at any other restaurant, fast food or otherwise. What is it about Burger King that brings out people's faith?
I thought maybe it was just a fluke, but now I'm not so sure. Because today, it happened again. My husband and I were grabbing a quick lunch, and in came a group of five people. They bought food, sat down at a table and said a blessing before eating. I never knew Burger King was such a spiritual place. But it must be. I've seen this three different times in three different Burger Kings.
I'm still not sure what to make of it. But if I ever see the guy behind the counter turn fountain Coke into wine, I guess I'll have no choice but to bless my Whopper too.
Somewhere in the middle of our meal, Darcey started laughing. Looking across the restaurant, I saw a table of people praying over their paper-wrapped sandwiches.
I couldn't help laughing too. My family never said a blessing before any meal, so maybe I just didn't get it, but I thought it was a little weird to pray over a greasy value meal. Darcey agreed.
"It's fine if you want to pray at home," she said, "but I don't think God cares if you bless your Whopper."
It was one of those moments in which a private joke was born; "bless your Whopper" became one of our favorite funny phrases to say to each other.
It happened again in 2002, again at a Burger King. I was eating lunch with a friend when a group of kids from the Catholic high school across the street came in. They bought their food, sat down, and prayed. I burst into giggles and tried to explain to my baffled lunch date about Darcey and "bless your Whopper." He didn't get it.
I thought it strange that I would witness the same phenomenon twice at Burger King. I've never seen anyone pray before a meal at any other restaurant, fast food or otherwise. What is it about Burger King that brings out people's faith?
I thought maybe it was just a fluke, but now I'm not so sure. Because today, it happened again. My husband and I were grabbing a quick lunch, and in came a group of five people. They bought food, sat down at a table and said a blessing before eating. I never knew Burger King was such a spiritual place. But it must be. I've seen this three different times in three different Burger Kings.
I'm still not sure what to make of it. But if I ever see the guy behind the counter turn fountain Coke into wine, I guess I'll have no choice but to bless my Whopper too.
Monday, January 14, 2008
You Know Your Husband Truly Loves You When...
...he tucks your puppy in on a night when you're not home and sings to her the song you always sing to her at night, and you didn't even ask him to sing it.
Friday, January 11, 2008
Stella's First Slumber Party
Today is a very big day for my little dog.But it's a bigger day for me.
This morning, I took Stella to the vet's office and dropped her off; she's getting spayed today. She'll spend tonight at the vet, and tomorrow after 10 a.m., I'll be able to bring her home.
I'm a little anxious about the surgery, but I'm more anxious about the fact that I won't see my peanut girl again until tomorrow. She hasn't spent a night away from my husband and me since we got her, and she's so attached to us; I worry that she'll be terribly lonely tonight with no one to cuddle her and no reminders of home.
But I know this is a good exercise for both of us. She needs to learn to become less dependent, and I need to cut the apron strings. My husband and I have a long list of places we'd like to travel, and we can't take her everywhere. Maybe spending a night away from home will help Stella when the time comes for us to board her.
I think she'll be treated well at the vet's office. She's so little and cute that everyone there fawns over her; in fact, the girl behind the desk when I went in this morning told me 10 times how cute Stel is and even asked to hold her. I know my puppy will get lots of love today. But I'm sure she'll still feel lonely when it's lights out.
And I'm sure I'll still feel lonely when I get home and there's no puppy there to greet me.
Monday, January 07, 2008
The Girl Scouts: Empowering Women, 25 Cookies At A Time
A few months ago, I ordered Girl Scout cookies from a coworker's daughter. Much to my delight, they arrived today.
Another coworker bemoaned the cookies' arrival, saying it would ruin her New Year's diet resolution. I understand, in a way, but I think she missed the bigger picture.
We always hear "you are what you eat." Of course, that means if you eat healthy foods, you will be healthy, and if you eat crappy fatty foods, you will be a massive tub of goo. But I prefer to take the statement more literally when it comes to Girl Scout cookies.
I myself ordered the ever-popular Thin Mints and fudge-coated shortbread cookies called Thanks-A-Lot (so named because each cookie is imprinted with "thank you" in one of several languages). I am what I eat. Ergo, eating the cookies I ordered will make me thin and thankful -- sounds good to me!
The Girl Scouts organization is all about empowering girls and giving them positive, life-shaping experiences. So why not keep the streak going and use the cookies to empower grown women? That's what I say.
So, ladies, don't worry about that preposterous "serving size" printed on the side of the box. Hunker down with a box of cookies and munch till your heart's content!
On another note, I'd also like to take this opportunity to applaud the Girl Scouts (or, more specifically, ABC Bakers/Interbake Foods LLC) for making my favorite cookie treats dairy-free. Female empowerment should never include tummy trouble.
Another coworker bemoaned the cookies' arrival, saying it would ruin her New Year's diet resolution. I understand, in a way, but I think she missed the bigger picture.
We always hear "you are what you eat." Of course, that means if you eat healthy foods, you will be healthy, and if you eat crappy fatty foods, you will be a massive tub of goo. But I prefer to take the statement more literally when it comes to Girl Scout cookies.
I myself ordered the ever-popular Thin Mints and fudge-coated shortbread cookies called Thanks-A-Lot (so named because each cookie is imprinted with "thank you" in one of several languages). I am what I eat. Ergo, eating the cookies I ordered will make me thin and thankful -- sounds good to me!
The Girl Scouts organization is all about empowering girls and giving them positive, life-shaping experiences. So why not keep the streak going and use the cookies to empower grown women? That's what I say.
So, ladies, don't worry about that preposterous "serving size" printed on the side of the box. Hunker down with a box of cookies and munch till your heart's content!
On another note, I'd also like to take this opportunity to applaud the Girl Scouts (or, more specifically, ABC Bakers/Interbake Foods LLC) for making my favorite cookie treats dairy-free. Female empowerment should never include tummy trouble.
Friday, January 04, 2008
Let Me Sleep On It
Since my parents would not admit to kidnapping me from a king and queen somewhere, I finally relented and bought a new mattress. It arrives tomorrow.
Of course, now that I know I'll have a new mattress in a few days, I am even more bothered by the old one. Last night, I slept fitfully, waking up every hour and, when I finally fell back asleep, dreaming of the strangest things....
First, I dreamed that my husband and I attended play auditions together. The play was a musical children's show about a princess or something (not sure if there was a pea involved). He was cast as one of the main character's sisters (yes, you read that right), and before I went up to perform my audition piece, I realized that I hadn't learned the dance. I told the director to forget it, that I didn't want to audition after all because I had never been taught the dance, and he told me don't worry, come back in a few months for the next show's auditions. I was upset, because I really wanted a chance to be in the show, but I also wanted the director to fight for me a little.
My next dream had to do with my husband's brother's children. I was at his house, babysitting I think. Behind their house was a gigantic swimming pool that actually belonged to their neighbor, but anyone was welcome to use it. It was unlike any other pool I've ever seen, with treasure chests and things under the water, and hidden rooms (even a bathroom). That was a pretty cool dream, but it would have been cooler if I could have figured out how the bathroom was supposed to work.
My husband's other brother appeared in the last dream. Somewhere, he had obtained a taser (although it was much bigger than an actual taser) and was having fun tasering everyone at a family get-together. In fact, one of my sisters-in-law bragged that she could withstand the taser for 10 minutes. (Note: If, for some reason, someone brought a taser to one of my husband's family's get-togethers, I think that is probably how things would go down). My brother-in-law kept trying to tase me, and I kept telling him not to. He wouldn't let up, so eventually, I got so mad that I slapped him across the face. I still kind of feel bad about that, actually, but I do hit like a girl, so I'm pretty sure he wasn't hurt.
Maybe I ought to get a hotel room tonight, just so I don't have to sleep on that mattress again.
Of course, now that I know I'll have a new mattress in a few days, I am even more bothered by the old one. Last night, I slept fitfully, waking up every hour and, when I finally fell back asleep, dreaming of the strangest things....
First, I dreamed that my husband and I attended play auditions together. The play was a musical children's show about a princess or something (not sure if there was a pea involved). He was cast as one of the main character's sisters (yes, you read that right), and before I went up to perform my audition piece, I realized that I hadn't learned the dance. I told the director to forget it, that I didn't want to audition after all because I had never been taught the dance, and he told me don't worry, come back in a few months for the next show's auditions. I was upset, because I really wanted a chance to be in the show, but I also wanted the director to fight for me a little.
My next dream had to do with my husband's brother's children. I was at his house, babysitting I think. Behind their house was a gigantic swimming pool that actually belonged to their neighbor, but anyone was welcome to use it. It was unlike any other pool I've ever seen, with treasure chests and things under the water, and hidden rooms (even a bathroom). That was a pretty cool dream, but it would have been cooler if I could have figured out how the bathroom was supposed to work.
My husband's other brother appeared in the last dream. Somewhere, he had obtained a taser (although it was much bigger than an actual taser) and was having fun tasering everyone at a family get-together. In fact, one of my sisters-in-law bragged that she could withstand the taser for 10 minutes. (Note: If, for some reason, someone brought a taser to one of my husband's family's get-togethers, I think that is probably how things would go down). My brother-in-law kept trying to tase me, and I kept telling him not to. He wouldn't let up, so eventually, I got so mad that I slapped him across the face. I still kind of feel bad about that, actually, but I do hit like a girl, so I'm pretty sure he wasn't hurt.
Maybe I ought to get a hotel room tonight, just so I don't have to sleep on that mattress again.
Friday, December 28, 2007
The Squeaky Wheel Revisited
I must admit, I was surprised when I got no response to my letter to Sam's Club regarding my tire debacle. I thought they would at least give me a halfhearted apology; after all, I am a paid member of their club who said I didn't want to come back.
But yesterday, they came through.
Ruben, an assistant manager, gave me a call to ask what could be done to resolve the situation. Much like I did when I spoke to UPS last year, I tried to sound as nice as possible so he would know I am not a bitch, just not willing to take crappy customer service with a smile. He was pretty nice; he said he talked to the folks in the tire department, and none of them seemed to remember me or what had happened. (Of course they didn't.) But he did apologize for the "breakdown in the system."
He also offered me a $48 gift card to Sam's Club, which is the amount of the road hazard protection for all four tires. I thought that was fair and happily agreed, thanking him for his attention to my letter. I just hope he really does do something about the problem, because he's gonna be handing out a lot of gift cards if he doesn't.
But yesterday, they came through.
Ruben, an assistant manager, gave me a call to ask what could be done to resolve the situation. Much like I did when I spoke to UPS last year, I tried to sound as nice as possible so he would know I am not a bitch, just not willing to take crappy customer service with a smile. He was pretty nice; he said he talked to the folks in the tire department, and none of them seemed to remember me or what had happened. (Of course they didn't.) But he did apologize for the "breakdown in the system."
He also offered me a $48 gift card to Sam's Club, which is the amount of the road hazard protection for all four tires. I thought that was fair and happily agreed, thanking him for his attention to my letter. I just hope he really does do something about the problem, because he's gonna be handing out a lot of gift cards if he doesn't.
Thursday, December 20, 2007
Teacher's Pet
Class is officially in session.
Last night was Stella's first official night of puppy school. We were both excited, but for different reasons. I was excited for her to meet new dogs and learn about good behavior, and she was excited to try the chicken breast we had baked for her in response to the trainer's instruction to bring "really great treats."
On the way to class, Stella and I had a talk. I let her know that while she was there to make friends and have fun, she was also there to learn. I think she might have taken me a little too seriously.
For the first class, we learned the basics of "sit," "watch" and "leave it." At six months, Stella is very good at "sit," and has even moved beyond "watch" to "stay." We've been working on "leave it" here and there as well, so she did very well at her studies.
I've been told that Boston Terriers are "food motivated," and knowing my little piglet, I don't doubt it, but I'm afraid the want of treats is making Stella the class suck up. Every time the trainer came close, Stella would sit and face her in the "ready position," just waiting to be praised. At first, I was proud that she was behaving so well, while other dogs were barking and pulling on their leashes, but at "recess," I realized just how far Stella was willing to go to be the star pupil.
The trainer split us up into two groups of three dogs and, one group at a time, told us to take our dogs off leash so they could have some social time. The other two dogs in our group scampered after each other, while Stella stayed on the sidelines, sniffing the ground for any treats that might not have been grabbed. While the other dogs played, Stella was doing cleanup.
Good God. My dog is the hall monitor.
The trainer assured us that she'll come out of her shell and eventually start playing with the other pups in class. I hope so; I want her to get used to being around other dogs, and I want her to enjoy her time at puppy school.
And hey, at least she's a good student. That's a relief. If my dog has to be a loner, I'd much rather she be Diane Court than Allison Reynolds.
Last night was Stella's first official night of puppy school. We were both excited, but for different reasons. I was excited for her to meet new dogs and learn about good behavior, and she was excited to try the chicken breast we had baked for her in response to the trainer's instruction to bring "really great treats."
On the way to class, Stella and I had a talk. I let her know that while she was there to make friends and have fun, she was also there to learn. I think she might have taken me a little too seriously.
For the first class, we learned the basics of "sit," "watch" and "leave it." At six months, Stella is very good at "sit," and has even moved beyond "watch" to "stay." We've been working on "leave it" here and there as well, so she did very well at her studies.
I've been told that Boston Terriers are "food motivated," and knowing my little piglet, I don't doubt it, but I'm afraid the want of treats is making Stella the class suck up. Every time the trainer came close, Stella would sit and face her in the "ready position," just waiting to be praised. At first, I was proud that she was behaving so well, while other dogs were barking and pulling on their leashes, but at "recess," I realized just how far Stella was willing to go to be the star pupil.
The trainer split us up into two groups of three dogs and, one group at a time, told us to take our dogs off leash so they could have some social time. The other two dogs in our group scampered after each other, while Stella stayed on the sidelines, sniffing the ground for any treats that might not have been grabbed. While the other dogs played, Stella was doing cleanup.
Good God. My dog is the hall monitor.
The trainer assured us that she'll come out of her shell and eventually start playing with the other pups in class. I hope so; I want her to get used to being around other dogs, and I want her to enjoy her time at puppy school.
And hey, at least she's a good student. That's a relief. If my dog has to be a loner, I'd much rather she be Diane Court than Allison Reynolds.
Saturday, December 15, 2007
Everywhere A Moo Moo
Just when I was thinking about becoming a vegan (or at least thinking like one), my husband and I had a corresponding weekday off and spent part of it at Fogo de Chao, a Brazilian steakhouse in downtown Chicago.
For those who have not visited such an establishment, you know that Cheerios commercial where the people are walking around the grocery store and all they have are Cheerios? Fogo is like that, except all they have is meat. Well, and some side dishes no one eats. What happens is, these guys carrying gigantic cuts of meat come to your table, and if you want some of it, you say so, they cut a portion for you and move on. They bring bread, mashed potatoes, polenta and fried bananas to your table, but no one ever eats much of that stuff.
I had been to a Brazilian steakhouse before, but I had such a horrible meat hangover the next day that I was reluctant to go back. My husband, however, is a typical man who loves this veritable meat buffet, so when his friends asked if we wanted to go, I agreed.
I almost didn't get to eat anything; it took about 20 minutes for me to get someone to tell me whether any of the meats are prepared with butter (many better establishments brush their steaks with butter before serving them). And once I got the go-ahead, I went ahead, filling up on filet, top sirloin, sausage and other meaty goodness. I came home with another meat hangover.
I think I'm ready to become a vegan now.
For those who have not visited such an establishment, you know that Cheerios commercial where the people are walking around the grocery store and all they have are Cheerios? Fogo is like that, except all they have is meat. Well, and some side dishes no one eats. What happens is, these guys carrying gigantic cuts of meat come to your table, and if you want some of it, you say so, they cut a portion for you and move on. They bring bread, mashed potatoes, polenta and fried bananas to your table, but no one ever eats much of that stuff.
I had been to a Brazilian steakhouse before, but I had such a horrible meat hangover the next day that I was reluctant to go back. My husband, however, is a typical man who loves this veritable meat buffet, so when his friends asked if we wanted to go, I agreed.
I almost didn't get to eat anything; it took about 20 minutes for me to get someone to tell me whether any of the meats are prepared with butter (many better establishments brush their steaks with butter before serving them). And once I got the go-ahead, I went ahead, filling up on filet, top sirloin, sausage and other meaty goodness. I came home with another meat hangover.
I think I'm ready to become a vegan now.
Thursday, December 13, 2007
I Am The Most Fascinating Person Ever: Christmas Edition
1. Wrapping paper or gift bags?
Wrapping paper, unless it's something hard to wrap and I happen to have a gift bag lying around.
2. Real tree or Artificial?
Real real real. I will never have an artificial tree, unless it is put up over my dead body.
3. When do you put up the tree?
Eh, the first or second weekend of December.
4. When do you take the tree down?
My first day off after New Year's Day.
5. Do you like egg nog?
I drank about ten gallons of soy egg nog last year. I was up to three quarts this year, but then I got a bad batch of nog, and I think I'm done with it till Christmas 2008.
6. Favorite gift received as a child?
I remember being really excited the year I got my chalk board and my baton.
7. Do you have a nativity scene?
Yes, although I'm not sure why. My mom gave it to me, although we're not terribly religious folks, which is pretty much proven by the fact that there's one figure in there whose identity I can't figure out. I think he must be the innkeeper or something.
8. Hardest person to buy for?
My dad, unless Harry Turtledove has come out with a few books that year.
9. Easiest person to buy for?
My brother-in-law, so long as they keep making ferret calendars and lawn gnome memorabilia.
10. Mail or e-mail Christmas cards?
Mail, but I haven't sent any in a few years.
11. Worst Christmas gift you ever received?
I think the classic dead mouse from my great-grandfather will always top this list. I am so going to win a contest with that one someday.
12. Favorite Christmas movie?
White Christmas
13. When do you start shopping for Christmas?
Whenever I feel like it, usually around the beginning of December. That way, I feel like I'm totally on the ball and then (much like this year) in mid-December, I freak out and realize I've only bought two gifts and have a long way to go and no ideas.
14 . Have you ever recycled a Christmas present?
Not as a present. But I have, on occasion, given things to people in the "I got this as a present and don't want it; do you?" way.
15. Favorite thing to eat at Christmas?
Cookies, Chex Mix, stuffing and scrapple.
16. Clear lights or colored on the tree?
Colored. It's more festive.
17. Favorite Christmas song?
The holidays don't really begin till I've heard Elvis' "Blue Christmas."
18. Travel at Christmas or stay home?
The hub and I rotate, so last year, we went to his parents' house (which is in Illinois) and this year, we're heading for Pennsylvania and some homemade pumpkin pie at my parents' house.
19. Can you name all of Santa's reindeer?
Not only can I name them all, I can tell you about how two former coworkers of mine got into a heated month-long debate (it felt that long, anyway, it was probably only like an hour) about whether the one reindeer's name was Donner or Donder.
20. Angel on the tree top or a star?
Always a star. I like stars.
21. Open the presents Christmas Eve or morning?
When I was a little kid, we used to open one on Christmas Eve and the rest on Christmas morning. Now, we just open them all at once. Except for last year, when I opened the gifts from my mom the day after Christmas because UPS went Grinch on me.
22. Most annoying thing about this time of year?
The fact that it makes people so mean, and also the fact that you can't run into any store just for one quick thing.
23. Favorite ornament theme or color?
I'm not much of a theme gal when it comes to Christmas; I like my ornaments to have meaning. I still have the popsicle stick sled I made when I was in preschool, the foil gift box I made in fifth grade and all of the ornaments my mom has bought me over the years, even the scary-ass clown that I make a point to hang on the back of the tree where no one can see it.
24. Favorite for Christmas dinner?
Stuffing and mashed potatoes. I don't really care about anything else.
25. What do you want for Christmas this year?
Life has been very stressful and busy for me lately, so all I really want is a nice, relaxing visit with my family. And a great big TV.
Wrapping paper, unless it's something hard to wrap and I happen to have a gift bag lying around.
2. Real tree or Artificial?
Real real real. I will never have an artificial tree, unless it is put up over my dead body.
3. When do you put up the tree?
Eh, the first or second weekend of December.
4. When do you take the tree down?
My first day off after New Year's Day.
5. Do you like egg nog?
I drank about ten gallons of soy egg nog last year. I was up to three quarts this year, but then I got a bad batch of nog, and I think I'm done with it till Christmas 2008.
6. Favorite gift received as a child?
I remember being really excited the year I got my chalk board and my baton.
7. Do you have a nativity scene?
Yes, although I'm not sure why. My mom gave it to me, although we're not terribly religious folks, which is pretty much proven by the fact that there's one figure in there whose identity I can't figure out. I think he must be the innkeeper or something.
8. Hardest person to buy for?
My dad, unless Harry Turtledove has come out with a few books that year.
9. Easiest person to buy for?
My brother-in-law, so long as they keep making ferret calendars and lawn gnome memorabilia.
10. Mail or e-mail Christmas cards?
Mail, but I haven't sent any in a few years.
11. Worst Christmas gift you ever received?
I think the classic dead mouse from my great-grandfather will always top this list. I am so going to win a contest with that one someday.
12. Favorite Christmas movie?
White Christmas
13. When do you start shopping for Christmas?
Whenever I feel like it, usually around the beginning of December. That way, I feel like I'm totally on the ball and then (much like this year) in mid-December, I freak out and realize I've only bought two gifts and have a long way to go and no ideas.
14 . Have you ever recycled a Christmas present?
Not as a present. But I have, on occasion, given things to people in the "I got this as a present and don't want it; do you?" way.
15. Favorite thing to eat at Christmas?
Cookies, Chex Mix, stuffing and scrapple.
16. Clear lights or colored on the tree?
Colored. It's more festive.
17. Favorite Christmas song?
The holidays don't really begin till I've heard Elvis' "Blue Christmas."
18. Travel at Christmas or stay home?
The hub and I rotate, so last year, we went to his parents' house (which is in Illinois) and this year, we're heading for Pennsylvania and some homemade pumpkin pie at my parents' house.
19. Can you name all of Santa's reindeer?
Not only can I name them all, I can tell you about how two former coworkers of mine got into a heated month-long debate (it felt that long, anyway, it was probably only like an hour) about whether the one reindeer's name was Donner or Donder.
20. Angel on the tree top or a star?
Always a star. I like stars.
21. Open the presents Christmas Eve or morning?
When I was a little kid, we used to open one on Christmas Eve and the rest on Christmas morning. Now, we just open them all at once. Except for last year, when I opened the gifts from my mom the day after Christmas because UPS went Grinch on me.
22. Most annoying thing about this time of year?
The fact that it makes people so mean, and also the fact that you can't run into any store just for one quick thing.
23. Favorite ornament theme or color?
I'm not much of a theme gal when it comes to Christmas; I like my ornaments to have meaning. I still have the popsicle stick sled I made when I was in preschool, the foil gift box I made in fifth grade and all of the ornaments my mom has bought me over the years, even the scary-ass clown that I make a point to hang on the back of the tree where no one can see it.
24. Favorite for Christmas dinner?
Stuffing and mashed potatoes. I don't really care about anything else.
25. What do you want for Christmas this year?
Life has been very stressful and busy for me lately, so all I really want is a nice, relaxing visit with my family. And a great big TV.
The Gift That Gave Twice
My sister once left a comment on this blog that I always write about the dumb things she does but never anything complimentary.
Well, this must be the week to highlight her generous side, because I got another gift from her yesterday.
Every year around Christmas, my sis and her husband send out gifts from a company called Swiss Colony. They have meat and cheese logs, pancake mixes, nuts, truffles, all kinds of goodies. This year, my Swiss Colony package included the "blueberry breakfast," which came with pancake mix, blueberry syrup, jam, bread and a few other things, all in a nice blue stoneware bowl. Unfortunately, the bowl came severely cracked, so I called the company to ask for a replacement.
They couldn't replace just the bowl, so instead, they're sending me a whole new blueberry breakfast package. It won't come until late January, but that's fine with me. After all, it was only the bowl that was broken; everything else was fine. I'm really looking forward to all the blueberry goodness.
And as for my sister, or anyone else who wants to be featured in a nice way on this blog, the lesson here is clear: Send me presents.
Well, this must be the week to highlight her generous side, because I got another gift from her yesterday.
Every year around Christmas, my sis and her husband send out gifts from a company called Swiss Colony. They have meat and cheese logs, pancake mixes, nuts, truffles, all kinds of goodies. This year, my Swiss Colony package included the "blueberry breakfast," which came with pancake mix, blueberry syrup, jam, bread and a few other things, all in a nice blue stoneware bowl. Unfortunately, the bowl came severely cracked, so I called the company to ask for a replacement.
They couldn't replace just the bowl, so instead, they're sending me a whole new blueberry breakfast package. It won't come until late January, but that's fine with me. After all, it was only the bowl that was broken; everything else was fine. I'm really looking forward to all the blueberry goodness.
And as for my sister, or anyone else who wants to be featured in a nice way on this blog, the lesson here is clear: Send me presents.
Monday, December 10, 2007
Hint Really Heavily And Ye Shall Receive
I received a package from my sister today containing a mix CD of Christmas songs.
I was excited to see that several selections from my Christmas music wish list were on it. In fact, the only ones that weren't were "Happy Christmas (War Is Over)," "Baby It's Cold Outside" and "Sleigh Ride."
It also contained heartwarming holiday classics like the Schweaty Balls bit from Saturday Night Live, "Merry Fuckin' Christmas" from South Park and "Chipmunks Roasting On An Open Fire," plus some actually heartwarming holiday classics. It's exactly what I needed to get me through the last few weeks of the crazy, hectic season.
Side note: Also in the package was a pair of earrings and a bracelet that my sis made; she's been learning about jewelry making and having fun with funky beads. I really like it and am excited she made it for me, but it did make me feel a little bad that I haven't bought her anything for Christmas yet.
I was excited to see that several selections from my Christmas music wish list were on it. In fact, the only ones that weren't were "Happy Christmas (War Is Over)," "Baby It's Cold Outside" and "Sleigh Ride."
It also contained heartwarming holiday classics like the Schweaty Balls bit from Saturday Night Live, "Merry Fuckin' Christmas" from South Park and "Chipmunks Roasting On An Open Fire," plus some actually heartwarming holiday classics. It's exactly what I needed to get me through the last few weeks of the crazy, hectic season.
Side note: Also in the package was a pair of earrings and a bracelet that my sis made; she's been learning about jewelry making and having fun with funky beads. I really like it and am excited she made it for me, but it did make me feel a little bad that I haven't bought her anything for Christmas yet.
Spamtastic
After I got married and changed my name, I changed my e-mail address to reflect the name change. I still keep the old address around, just in case someone doesn't have the new one, but I have the messages forwarded to the new one. Messages perceived to be spam, however, are not forwarded, and every once in awhile, I check them to make sure something real hasn't been tossed into the wrong folder.
When I checked today, I had 101 messages in my spam folder, only one of which was something I was supposed to receive. Usually, I just delete the spam, but today, I couldn't help noticing some of the better subject lines and wanting to share a few.
The majority of the messages (if the subject lines are really a true indication, since I didn't actually click on any of them) were about how I desperately need to get my penis enlarged. As a girl, I'm not sure how I'm supposed to interpret those messages, especially the one that read: Don't envy well-hung guys! You could easily become one of them!
There were plenty of non-penis-related messages as well, including one urging me, don't agree to stay a loser in new year (wow, thanks) and another telling me, you'll laugh your but off. Apparently, whatever they are advertising is so funny that I've already laughed off the second t in butt. And I'm still trying to figure out what it was I was supposed to take from the message whose subject was helping you veiw not old and create your minute al. But it probably has something to do with how my penis is too small.
When I checked today, I had 101 messages in my spam folder, only one of which was something I was supposed to receive. Usually, I just delete the spam, but today, I couldn't help noticing some of the better subject lines and wanting to share a few.
The majority of the messages (if the subject lines are really a true indication, since I didn't actually click on any of them) were about how I desperately need to get my penis enlarged. As a girl, I'm not sure how I'm supposed to interpret those messages, especially the one that read: Don't envy well-hung guys! You could easily become one of them!
There were plenty of non-penis-related messages as well, including one urging me, don't agree to stay a loser in new year (wow, thanks) and another telling me, you'll laugh your but off. Apparently, whatever they are advertising is so funny that I've already laughed off the second t in butt. And I'm still trying to figure out what it was I was supposed to take from the message whose subject was helping you veiw not old and create your minute al. But it probably has something to do with how my penis is too small.
Sunday, December 09, 2007
An Opening for a Princess
I'm pretty sure my parents have been lying to me all my life.
I don't think I'm a regular gal from Pennsylvania after all. I am now fairly certain I'm actually a princess.
I don't mean "princess" in the spoiled way; I mean actual princess. See, I've been waking up with a backache for several days now, so I figure there must be a pea under my mattress somewhere. I thought at first it might just be that the mattress is old (I'm not sure how old, as it was my husband's before I was), but I kept piling extra padding on top of it and it's still not working.
So if anyone out there wants to restore me to my rightful place in some royal palace somewhere, I'm ready.
Otherwise, it hasn't been all that interesting of a weekend, but here are some "in other news" tidbits I just know everyone out there will find fascinating.
- I saw a little boy last night who looks exactly like Charlie Brown would look if he were a real kid.
- I went yarn shopping three times and plan to go again tomorrow. I think someone might have to enroll me in some sort of yarn addiction program, or, failing that, AARP.
- I had a dream last night that I was married to Steve Carell and some kid robbed our house of non-perishable food. And later, I had a dream that -- with my actual husband, and his actual family -- I went into outer space. Apparently, my in-laws had some sort of RV, but you took it to space instead of Yellowstone. Also, it was shaped like a snowman.
I don't think I'm a regular gal from Pennsylvania after all. I am now fairly certain I'm actually a princess.
I don't mean "princess" in the spoiled way; I mean actual princess. See, I've been waking up with a backache for several days now, so I figure there must be a pea under my mattress somewhere. I thought at first it might just be that the mattress is old (I'm not sure how old, as it was my husband's before I was), but I kept piling extra padding on top of it and it's still not working.
So if anyone out there wants to restore me to my rightful place in some royal palace somewhere, I'm ready.
Otherwise, it hasn't been all that interesting of a weekend, but here are some "in other news" tidbits I just know everyone out there will find fascinating.
- I saw a little boy last night who looks exactly like Charlie Brown would look if he were a real kid.
- I went yarn shopping three times and plan to go again tomorrow. I think someone might have to enroll me in some sort of yarn addiction program, or, failing that, AARP.
- I had a dream last night that I was married to Steve Carell and some kid robbed our house of non-perishable food. And later, I had a dream that -- with my actual husband, and his actual family -- I went into outer space. Apparently, my in-laws had some sort of RV, but you took it to space instead of Yellowstone. Also, it was shaped like a snowman.
Saturday, December 08, 2007
The Squeaky Wheel Gets The Tires
This morning, I had an e-mail from my sister saying that she got through a "holiday impatience" moment by thinking of my blog. In line at a store behind a woman who kept having to run back for more things, check prices, etc., she found herself annoyed at having to wait, but because the woman was apologetic, she decided to smile and be patient, in the spirit of the season.
I was not so patient yesterday and plan to write another letter akin to last year's to UPS about an awful, awful customer service experience. As I mentioned a few days ago, the tires on my car were getting really bad, and with the snowy season approaching, I knew I had to replace them. I priced a few places a couple of weeks ago and ultimately decided to join Sam's Club, for the sole reason of purchasing tires there, because I could get a much better tire for much less money. And then the trouble began...
Here's the story.
Saturday afternoon: I ordered the tires on Sam's Club's Web site. They said they'd ship them to my local Sam's Club, and when they arrived, I would receive an e-mail saying they were there.
Wednesday afternoon: I received an e-mail message stating, "your recent online order is ready for pickup at your local Sam's Club."
5:30 p.m. Thursday: I went to my local Sam's Club, and a slick tire department dude wearing a hat with sparkly silver lettering on it told me, "well, you know, we're real busy. We gotta do like three cars and then we gotta take a break, so you'll have to wait till at least seven till we can get to you." I bought a gigantic bag of candy and a stack of notebooks and left.
10 a.m. Friday: I entered Sam's Club just as it opened, went back to the tire department and the guy there (Slick Dude is apparently not on the morning shift) looked in their book and told me my tires haven't come in yet. I told him I'd received an e-mail two days before saying they had, and he said, "yeah, they just sort of send those out whenever they want. We're not supposed to tell people that, but they never really send them when your stuff actually comes in." He said they had already checked in all of their tire deliveries for that morning, so he knew they were definitely not there.
11 a.m.: I'd driven around for an hour, running other errands and mulling over the problem. I was angry that I'd wasted two trips to Sam's to get tires that weren't even in yet, angry that I had been notified that they were in. In fact, I was angry enough to call my husband and tell him he had to talk me down from going into Sam's Club, demanding to speak to the manager, and then demanding my money back for my membership. He talked me out of the membership thing but said I should definitely complain, in person. So I went back to Sam's, complained to customer service and was directed to call 1-800-Wal-Mart, as the problem had been a premature e-mail, which comes from the corporate office, not from the club. I went outside right away and called from my car.
11:30 a.m.: After a really long time on hold, the woman I spoke with (who had been on hold the whole time with the club) told me she couldn't get any answers either. She put in a request for me to get a phone call from the store manager within 24 hours.
11:57 a.m.: While I was in the gym, sweating off the stress from the past two hours, the tire department guy I'd spoken to earlier left me a message. My tires have just been checked in and are ready for me whenever I want to come get them, he said. Note that this is the same guy who told me earlier they'd checked everything in and my tires were definitely not there. Hmm.
12:45 p.m.: Immediately after receiving the message, I went to Sam's Club -- in my sweaty gym clothes -- for the third time that day. A guy I hadn't seen before helped me, saw in his book that my tires were in and went to the back to get them. When he returned, he took a look at all of the tires he'd brought up and said to me, "I think they sent the wrong ones." At this point, I was just waiting for any reason to fly off the handle, but I actually kept calm while he went to look again. Nope, nothing in the back. So he looked around the tire area, where the "in-stock" tires are kept and somehow found them. Obviously, my tires were not, in fact, a part of Friday's delivery, had not "just been checked in" and were probably sitting there the entire time I was getting the runaround.
2 p.m.: Four hours after entering Sam's Club the first time, I left with my new tires and a draft complaint letter to the manager. I did not, however, leave with an apology from anyone.
As this was my first purchase from Sam's Club (besides the candy and the notebooks of the day before), it really sours my view of the place. I don't think I'll be returning, but it depends on what the manager has to say after he receives the letter I'll be writing him today.
I was not so patient yesterday and plan to write another letter akin to last year's to UPS about an awful, awful customer service experience. As I mentioned a few days ago, the tires on my car were getting really bad, and with the snowy season approaching, I knew I had to replace them. I priced a few places a couple of weeks ago and ultimately decided to join Sam's Club, for the sole reason of purchasing tires there, because I could get a much better tire for much less money. And then the trouble began...
Here's the story.
Saturday afternoon: I ordered the tires on Sam's Club's Web site. They said they'd ship them to my local Sam's Club, and when they arrived, I would receive an e-mail saying they were there.
Wednesday afternoon: I received an e-mail message stating, "your recent online order is ready for pickup at your local Sam's Club."
5:30 p.m. Thursday: I went to my local Sam's Club, and a slick tire department dude wearing a hat with sparkly silver lettering on it told me, "well, you know, we're real busy. We gotta do like three cars and then we gotta take a break, so you'll have to wait till at least seven till we can get to you." I bought a gigantic bag of candy and a stack of notebooks and left.
10 a.m. Friday: I entered Sam's Club just as it opened, went back to the tire department and the guy there (Slick Dude is apparently not on the morning shift) looked in their book and told me my tires haven't come in yet. I told him I'd received an e-mail two days before saying they had, and he said, "yeah, they just sort of send those out whenever they want. We're not supposed to tell people that, but they never really send them when your stuff actually comes in." He said they had already checked in all of their tire deliveries for that morning, so he knew they were definitely not there.
11 a.m.: I'd driven around for an hour, running other errands and mulling over the problem. I was angry that I'd wasted two trips to Sam's to get tires that weren't even in yet, angry that I had been notified that they were in. In fact, I was angry enough to call my husband and tell him he had to talk me down from going into Sam's Club, demanding to speak to the manager, and then demanding my money back for my membership. He talked me out of the membership thing but said I should definitely complain, in person. So I went back to Sam's, complained to customer service and was directed to call 1-800-Wal-Mart, as the problem had been a premature e-mail, which comes from the corporate office, not from the club. I went outside right away and called from my car.
11:30 a.m.: After a really long time on hold, the woman I spoke with (who had been on hold the whole time with the club) told me she couldn't get any answers either. She put in a request for me to get a phone call from the store manager within 24 hours.
11:57 a.m.: While I was in the gym, sweating off the stress from the past two hours, the tire department guy I'd spoken to earlier left me a message. My tires have just been checked in and are ready for me whenever I want to come get them, he said. Note that this is the same guy who told me earlier they'd checked everything in and my tires were definitely not there. Hmm.
12:45 p.m.: Immediately after receiving the message, I went to Sam's Club -- in my sweaty gym clothes -- for the third time that day. A guy I hadn't seen before helped me, saw in his book that my tires were in and went to the back to get them. When he returned, he took a look at all of the tires he'd brought up and said to me, "I think they sent the wrong ones." At this point, I was just waiting for any reason to fly off the handle, but I actually kept calm while he went to look again. Nope, nothing in the back. So he looked around the tire area, where the "in-stock" tires are kept and somehow found them. Obviously, my tires were not, in fact, a part of Friday's delivery, had not "just been checked in" and were probably sitting there the entire time I was getting the runaround.
2 p.m.: Four hours after entering Sam's Club the first time, I left with my new tires and a draft complaint letter to the manager. I did not, however, leave with an apology from anyone.
As this was my first purchase from Sam's Club (besides the candy and the notebooks of the day before), it really sours my view of the place. I don't think I'll be returning, but it depends on what the manager has to say after he receives the letter I'll be writing him today.
Wednesday, December 05, 2007
Best Headline Ever (Or At Least of the Week)
From CNN.com:
"Naked Men Enter Store, Calmly Buy Skittles"
I am trying so hard to refrain from making a "taste the rainbow" joke.
There's a link to a video, but since it doesn't say "Handsome Naked Men Enter Store, Calmly Buy Skittles," I don't want to click it. And even if it did, I think that headline gives me as much information as I want about this story, except, perhaps, whether they bought the original fruit variety or something else.
"Naked Men Enter Store, Calmly Buy Skittles"
I am trying so hard to refrain from making a "taste the rainbow" joke.
There's a link to a video, but since it doesn't say "Handsome Naked Men Enter Store, Calmly Buy Skittles," I don't want to click it. And even if it did, I think that headline gives me as much information as I want about this story, except, perhaps, whether they bought the original fruit variety or something else.
About The Weather
I wouldn't say I've lead a charmed life -- but every once in awhile, I have a charmed day.
A few days ago, news outlets all over Chicago started talking up a snowstorm, about a snowstorm. It would be the "worst of the season so far," they said (which actually wouldn't be much of a feat, since it's only snowed once, and only about a quarter inch -- it's only the beginning of December, after all). It was predicted to begin around noon yesterday and end around noon today, with a total accumulation of several inches.
Great, I thought, as I listened to the reports. That will ruin my Tuesday commute home from work and my Wednesday commute to work. I desperately need new tires for my car, and they've been ordered, but since they're an odd size (and therefore, a special order), it could be another week before they come in, leaving me with no traction in the snow. So I was very concerned about this storm and what it might mean, driving-wise.
But I was lucky, very lucky.
As noon approached yesterday, I checked the weather report, and it now said the snow would begin late in the afternoon. When it got to be late in the afternoon, the reports said it would now begin at 6 p.m. I drove home from work seeing a few flurries, and just after I got home, the snow started coming in full force. By 7:30, the ground was completely covered.
Just before I went to bed, as it was still coming down, I checked the weather report again. The full-on snowfall would end in the early hours and turn to light snow showers, and the whole thing would be over by mid-morning, it said. And it was, which meant that road crews had plenty of time to clean up before the morning commute. When I left for work today, the roads were pretty much clear, except for one small stretch that was almost solid ice. Even so, I was able to find the small patches of road peeking out from underneath, so even that wasn't all that bad.
My shoes, socks and pants are soaked through to the knee from trudging around brushing snow off my car, and my butt is wet because I stupidly opened the driver's side door and a bunch of snow fell in...but it's a small price to pay for deliverance from commuting on treacherous roads. And actually, the cold, wet feet and bum make me feel a little nostalgic; I feel like I just came in from sledding. If I had my Crayola crayon sleeping bag and a mug of cocoa, I'd be set.
A few days ago, news outlets all over Chicago started talking up a snowstorm, about a snowstorm. It would be the "worst of the season so far," they said (which actually wouldn't be much of a feat, since it's only snowed once, and only about a quarter inch -- it's only the beginning of December, after all). It was predicted to begin around noon yesterday and end around noon today, with a total accumulation of several inches.
Great, I thought, as I listened to the reports. That will ruin my Tuesday commute home from work and my Wednesday commute to work. I desperately need new tires for my car, and they've been ordered, but since they're an odd size (and therefore, a special order), it could be another week before they come in, leaving me with no traction in the snow. So I was very concerned about this storm and what it might mean, driving-wise.
But I was lucky, very lucky.
As noon approached yesterday, I checked the weather report, and it now said the snow would begin late in the afternoon. When it got to be late in the afternoon, the reports said it would now begin at 6 p.m. I drove home from work seeing a few flurries, and just after I got home, the snow started coming in full force. By 7:30, the ground was completely covered.
Just before I went to bed, as it was still coming down, I checked the weather report again. The full-on snowfall would end in the early hours and turn to light snow showers, and the whole thing would be over by mid-morning, it said. And it was, which meant that road crews had plenty of time to clean up before the morning commute. When I left for work today, the roads were pretty much clear, except for one small stretch that was almost solid ice. Even so, I was able to find the small patches of road peeking out from underneath, so even that wasn't all that bad.
My shoes, socks and pants are soaked through to the knee from trudging around brushing snow off my car, and my butt is wet because I stupidly opened the driver's side door and a bunch of snow fell in...but it's a small price to pay for deliverance from commuting on treacherous roads. And actually, the cold, wet feet and bum make me feel a little nostalgic; I feel like I just came in from sledding. If I had my Crayola crayon sleeping bag and a mug of cocoa, I'd be set.
Sunday, December 02, 2007
If Anyone Needs A Scarf, Let Me Know Now
I know it's not altogether polite to brag about what one spent on something, but I can't help sharing my fantastic (albeit a bit dorky) find.
Yesterday, I decided to check out a local craft store's yarn prices, as I've been crocheting quite a bit lately and spending a lot on yarn. The price for the stuff I regularly buy was the same as the store I frequent; however, this place had quite a few varieties on sale for 99 cents per skein! It was nice stuff, too, that typically goes for five or six bucks.
I picked up as much as I could carry (literally) and took it to the register; it cost about $13 for everything. But it wasn't until I got home and added up the tag prices that I realized just how much money I had saved. Had I paid full price, that yarn would have been more than $80.
I didn't take the find for granted, though; as a thank-you to the yarn gods, I helped a lady in the store find a few things her daughter needed to finish a project. I hope it will give me good karma for my next yarn shopping adventure.
Yesterday, I decided to check out a local craft store's yarn prices, as I've been crocheting quite a bit lately and spending a lot on yarn. The price for the stuff I regularly buy was the same as the store I frequent; however, this place had quite a few varieties on sale for 99 cents per skein! It was nice stuff, too, that typically goes for five or six bucks.
I picked up as much as I could carry (literally) and took it to the register; it cost about $13 for everything. But it wasn't until I got home and added up the tag prices that I realized just how much money I had saved. Had I paid full price, that yarn would have been more than $80.
I didn't take the find for granted, though; as a thank-you to the yarn gods, I helped a lady in the store find a few things her daughter needed to finish a project. I hope it will give me good karma for my next yarn shopping adventure.
Monday, November 26, 2007
So Big!
My little girl is growing up so fast.Stella seems to be advancing by leaps and bounds lately -- some figurative, some literal -- especially in the past week. Not only has she pretty much doubled in weight since we got her, she's learning new things all the time.
This past weekend was especially exciting for her. Since about a week after she came home with us, she'd been suffering from a potentially contagious cough, so we hadn't been able to socialize her with other dogs or take her to obedience school. Furthermore, because of the latter, we hadn't been able to socialize her with many people, either. But after the vet gave her a clean bill of health a few weeks ago, we decided it was time for puppy classes. We start in two weeks.
I made the arrangements for the class over the phone and was told that I could pick up the receipt at the store, so on Wednesday night when I got home from work, I asked my husband if he wanted to go there with me and bring Stella along. I thought it would be good for her to see the place and also to go out somewhere besides the vet's office. It was her first errand, and she did very well. She definitely has some things to learn when greeting people (we have, so far, been unable to break her of her jumping-up habit), but she did just fine with the other dogs, and once she calmed down a bit, she was even able to sit for a treat.
By the way, she was a total rock star, too. Everyone who saw her commented on how cute she was. I mentioned to the store employees that that happens at the vet's office, too (every time they take her in the back room to weigh her or give her a shot or something, I can hear all the vet techs going, "Stella! Oh, Stella, you're so cute!"). The employees told me that's how they are with all dogs, but I didn't see any other dogs getting the red carpet treatment while we were there. I think Stella's just the best. If the attention she's received to date is any indication, I have a feeling my little peanut girl will be the prom queen at puppy school.
On Thursday, Stella went on another outing -- over the river and through the woods to my in-laws' house. She met my sister-in-law's chihuahua, Rosa, and while the two didn't exactly hit it off (Stella wanted to sniff and say hello, but Rosa -- one of the few dogs in this world smaller than Stel -- was a bit nervous), I think she did alright. She also met two of my brother-in-law's kids, ages five and six, and she patiently allowed them to pet her and scratch her behind the ears. I had a brief moment of panic when she took a flying leap into my brother-in-law's lap (a lap in which he was holding his six-month-old baby) and then walked across it to say hello to his wife, but otherwise, she did just fine.
Side note: It really creeped me out on Thanksgiving when people called Stella our "daughter." I adore her, but that doesn't change the fact that she is a dog, not a human child.
But the most exciting milestone of the weekend came the night my husband and I decided not to take her out for a middle-of-the-night potty break. We tried once before, but she woke us up at 5:30, whining to be let out. This time, however, she made it all the way through. I was so proud of her. I think she was proud, too, because as soon as she came back in, she went straight to the bedroom door, pushed it open and jumped up onto the bed and my sleeping husband to tell him the good news.
I wonder if "leave puppy parents alone while they are sleeping" is on the obedience school syllabus. I'm kind of hoping so, because although it was funny when it happened to my husband, I'm not so sure I'd think the same thing if it had been me.
Sunday, November 25, 2007
And So This Is Christmas
When we use the phrase "Christmas spirit," we usually think of happy things -- the joy of giving, the excitement of seeing friends and family, the love we feel for our fellow man.
Today, I saw the other kind of Christmas spirit -- the meanness that comes out only during the yuletide season.
I volunteer with a community group that puts together events for residents of and visitors to our town, and today, we held our annual Santa's arrival. There are carriage rides, cookies, music, a tree lighting, and, of course, visits with the big guy himself. It's a lovely family event, and it's all free -- which means it attracts some of the meanest people in the community.
It's amazing the way anything to do with children or Christmas brings out the nastiness in people, and the sense of the entitlement they get when attending a free event.
Stationed at the door where people entered to visit with Santa, I heard quite a few nasty comments. People didn't like having to wait; they didn't like the fact that they needed a ticket; they didn't like that we pulled them out of line when they tried to sneak in out of turn.
One man stood and yelled at me for so long that I finally relented and told him to get in line, and then he continued to complain to everyone in line with him. I heard later that the man behind him told him to shut up, that this was a free event and the least he could do was abide by the rules. (I wanted to hug that man). There was also a lady who played the "you're breaking my toddler's heart" card after we told her she wouldn't be able to see Santa today. Sorry kid, but maybe if your mommy hadn't waited to bring you until half an hour after we finished handing out tickets -- the time had been clearly printed in several publications -- she wouldn't be on the naughty list, and you'd get to see Santa.
I understand these parents want their kids to see Santa, and I'm sure the kids looked forward to it. Plus it was a long, cold wait outside, especially for those children whose parents hadn't bothered to dress them in winter coats. But come on. This was a free community event. We had more than 500 people attend. People shouldn't expect to get in and out within 10 minutes; it just doesn't work like that.
It just goes to show that no good deed goes unpunished and that no amount of nice things you do for a person will ever be enough.
I've had a really stressful couple of weeks, and this weekend has been especially maddening. So on the way to the event today, I got to thinking how it would lift my spirits to attend a community celebration where happiness was the order of the day. How disappointing that some people thought their happiness was more important than the happiness of others.
So now, with the day behind me, I can't help feeling a little like Charlie Brown, wondering if anyone out there can tell me what Christmas is all about.
Today, I saw the other kind of Christmas spirit -- the meanness that comes out only during the yuletide season.
I volunteer with a community group that puts together events for residents of and visitors to our town, and today, we held our annual Santa's arrival. There are carriage rides, cookies, music, a tree lighting, and, of course, visits with the big guy himself. It's a lovely family event, and it's all free -- which means it attracts some of the meanest people in the community.
It's amazing the way anything to do with children or Christmas brings out the nastiness in people, and the sense of the entitlement they get when attending a free event.
Stationed at the door where people entered to visit with Santa, I heard quite a few nasty comments. People didn't like having to wait; they didn't like the fact that they needed a ticket; they didn't like that we pulled them out of line when they tried to sneak in out of turn.
One man stood and yelled at me for so long that I finally relented and told him to get in line, and then he continued to complain to everyone in line with him. I heard later that the man behind him told him to shut up, that this was a free event and the least he could do was abide by the rules. (I wanted to hug that man). There was also a lady who played the "you're breaking my toddler's heart" card after we told her she wouldn't be able to see Santa today. Sorry kid, but maybe if your mommy hadn't waited to bring you until half an hour after we finished handing out tickets -- the time had been clearly printed in several publications -- she wouldn't be on the naughty list, and you'd get to see Santa.
I understand these parents want their kids to see Santa, and I'm sure the kids looked forward to it. Plus it was a long, cold wait outside, especially for those children whose parents hadn't bothered to dress them in winter coats. But come on. This was a free community event. We had more than 500 people attend. People shouldn't expect to get in and out within 10 minutes; it just doesn't work like that.
It just goes to show that no good deed goes unpunished and that no amount of nice things you do for a person will ever be enough.
I've had a really stressful couple of weeks, and this weekend has been especially maddening. So on the way to the event today, I got to thinking how it would lift my spirits to attend a community celebration where happiness was the order of the day. How disappointing that some people thought their happiness was more important than the happiness of others.
So now, with the day behind me, I can't help feeling a little like Charlie Brown, wondering if anyone out there can tell me what Christmas is all about.
Monday, November 19, 2007
Pie Heaven
Last night, I made the best pumpkin pie ever.
It was a bit premature, I know, since Thanksgiving isn't till Thursday, and turkey day, such as it is, is not until Friday. My husband's family always eats lasagna on Thanksgiving, and while they have turkey too, it's not the same carby, over-the-top, gorge-yourself-on-
stuffing-and-mashed-potatoes-and-corn-and-
cranberries-shaped-like-the-can-they-came-in (then top it all off with pie) meal I grew up with. So I figured this year I'd make my own turkey dinner with all the trimmings, including pie, on Friday. But I ended up making the pie early.
The thing is, I wasn't sure I'd be able to make a decent pie that I could eat. I've always made pumpkin pie with evaporated milk, but I haven't seen a soy version of that, so I had to go looking for a pie recipe that was naturally dairy free.
I found one on a vegan Web site. It needs few ingredients -- just canned pumpkin, sugar, spices and tofu (yes, tofu) -- and requires very little work, so I figured if it turned out tasting like crap, at least I wouldn't feel as if I'd wasted my time. I was skeptical about the tofu though. I've eaten it before, but I had never cooked with it before, and I quickly learned that it smells a bit like something you might use in elementary school art class. Then again, raw meat smells pretty bad too, so I gave the tofu the benefit of the doubt and mixed it on in.
And the pie was amazing. Really amazing. The only difference between it and regular pumpkin pie is that it's not quite as firm (but I think if I used firmer tofu, it would be). Even my husband, who doesn't like pumpkin, told me it was "delicious."
I had been a little bummed on Saturday when I passed the lady fingers at Trader Joe's, knowing there's probably no way I can make those without dairy products, but this pie recipe gives me hope that I can still eat well in a world without dairy.
It was a bit premature, I know, since Thanksgiving isn't till Thursday, and turkey day, such as it is, is not until Friday. My husband's family always eats lasagna on Thanksgiving, and while they have turkey too, it's not the same carby, over-the-top, gorge-yourself-on-
stuffing-and-mashed-potatoes-and-corn-and-
cranberries-shaped-like-the-can-they-came-in (then top it all off with pie) meal I grew up with. So I figured this year I'd make my own turkey dinner with all the trimmings, including pie, on Friday. But I ended up making the pie early.
The thing is, I wasn't sure I'd be able to make a decent pie that I could eat. I've always made pumpkin pie with evaporated milk, but I haven't seen a soy version of that, so I had to go looking for a pie recipe that was naturally dairy free.
I found one on a vegan Web site. It needs few ingredients -- just canned pumpkin, sugar, spices and tofu (yes, tofu) -- and requires very little work, so I figured if it turned out tasting like crap, at least I wouldn't feel as if I'd wasted my time. I was skeptical about the tofu though. I've eaten it before, but I had never cooked with it before, and I quickly learned that it smells a bit like something you might use in elementary school art class. Then again, raw meat smells pretty bad too, so I gave the tofu the benefit of the doubt and mixed it on in.
And the pie was amazing. Really amazing. The only difference between it and regular pumpkin pie is that it's not quite as firm (but I think if I used firmer tofu, it would be). Even my husband, who doesn't like pumpkin, told me it was "delicious."
I had been a little bummed on Saturday when I passed the lady fingers at Trader Joe's, knowing there's probably no way I can make those without dairy products, but this pie recipe gives me hope that I can still eat well in a world without dairy.
Saturday, November 17, 2007
Baby, It's Cold Outside
I'm in trouble.
It's only November, and I am freezing. Not miserable, not yet, but it's chilly enough outside to make me break out the flannel jammies and warm socks. And that's not all.
I have an addiction to hot baths. It seems to be the only way I can get warm on chilly nights. I crank up the heat in my condo, turn on the humidifier and cuddle under blankets, but I've got a constant underlying chill in my bones unless I take a near-to-scalding bath or shower in the evening.
It's not a good idea; I'm going to make my skin dry out even more than it usually does in the winter, and my water bill is going to be astronomical. But I can't help it. I just can't get warm without a hot bath, and once I take one, I'm comfortable for the rest of the night.
If I feel this way now, though, I wonder how I'm going to feel in February. I might have to start warming my clothes in the dryer too.
It's only November, and I am freezing. Not miserable, not yet, but it's chilly enough outside to make me break out the flannel jammies and warm socks. And that's not all.
I have an addiction to hot baths. It seems to be the only way I can get warm on chilly nights. I crank up the heat in my condo, turn on the humidifier and cuddle under blankets, but I've got a constant underlying chill in my bones unless I take a near-to-scalding bath or shower in the evening.
It's not a good idea; I'm going to make my skin dry out even more than it usually does in the winter, and my water bill is going to be astronomical. But I can't help it. I just can't get warm without a hot bath, and once I take one, I'm comfortable for the rest of the night.
If I feel this way now, though, I wonder how I'm going to feel in February. I might have to start warming my clothes in the dryer too.
Monday, November 12, 2007
The Dutiful Wife
I hope my mother doesn't read this entry, because I know it will only disappoint her.
A few years ago, she gave me a stern warning that if I start doing all of the housework, my husband will get used to it and never help. I'm sure she's right, but luckily, my husband and I have always been pretty good about splitting up the chores. I do most of the laundry, scour the bathrooms and do the vacuuming and dusting, and he does the dishes and cleans the kitchen (my most-hated chores). He also does the "man stuff" like change the oil in our cars and put goop around the windows to keep bugs from coming in.
He's never said anything to me like, "that shelf is looking rather dusty," or "how about running the vacuum today," but I realized last night that he has in fact gotten used to at least one thing I do around the house.
After dinner, I mentioned that chocolate chip cookies would taste really good. He had bought some chocolate chips at the store, so he said, "yeah, you should make some." I told him never mind; I didn't really feel like baking, but he kept on about it. Every time I walked through the kitchen, he'd ask if I was baking cookies yet.
"When did you become that husband?" I asked him.
"When you became that wife," he shot back.
He had a point; he really did. He loves chocolate chip cookies, so I've sort of made it a habit that when he has a long week or a particularly bad day, I'll bake him some. It's something small that I can do that I know will brighten his day. He's always very appreciative, but now I guess he's gotten used to it.
And I will admit it. I made the cookies. After all the cookie talk, I really had a taste for them. I even brought him a couple just-out-of-the-oven ones to enjoy.
But I also left the kitchen for him to clean.
A few years ago, she gave me a stern warning that if I start doing all of the housework, my husband will get used to it and never help. I'm sure she's right, but luckily, my husband and I have always been pretty good about splitting up the chores. I do most of the laundry, scour the bathrooms and do the vacuuming and dusting, and he does the dishes and cleans the kitchen (my most-hated chores). He also does the "man stuff" like change the oil in our cars and put goop around the windows to keep bugs from coming in.
He's never said anything to me like, "that shelf is looking rather dusty," or "how about running the vacuum today," but I realized last night that he has in fact gotten used to at least one thing I do around the house.
After dinner, I mentioned that chocolate chip cookies would taste really good. He had bought some chocolate chips at the store, so he said, "yeah, you should make some." I told him never mind; I didn't really feel like baking, but he kept on about it. Every time I walked through the kitchen, he'd ask if I was baking cookies yet.
"When did you become that husband?" I asked him.
"When you became that wife," he shot back.
He had a point; he really did. He loves chocolate chip cookies, so I've sort of made it a habit that when he has a long week or a particularly bad day, I'll bake him some. It's something small that I can do that I know will brighten his day. He's always very appreciative, but now I guess he's gotten used to it.
And I will admit it. I made the cookies. After all the cookie talk, I really had a taste for them. I even brought him a couple just-out-of-the-oven ones to enjoy.
But I also left the kitchen for him to clean.
Thursday, November 08, 2007
Meat Me In St. Louis
As part of my never-ending quest to pretend that I want to eat healthier, I picked up the book Skinny Bitch from the library last week.
The book aims to be a no-nonsense, kick-in-the-ass guide to teach people just how unhealthy they are eating, and the authors, a former model and a former model agent, are touted on the back of the book as "your new smart-mouthed girlfriends who won't mince words and will finally tell you the truth about what you're feeding yourself."
In my opinion, they often come off not as "smart-mouthed girlfriends" but "snotty head cheerleaders who call you nasty names just because you can't do a pull-up." Note: Despite the fact that this sounds like an autobiographical situation, it's not. Except for the part about my not being able to do a pull-up.
Attitude aside, however, the book definitely was somewhat of a wakeup call. The chapter about sugar (aka "the devil") was especially interesting to me, as sugar is something I love. But cutting out the sugar in my diet has been on my mind ever since I interviewed a cancer survivor last month who told me that sugar pretty much is the devil when it comes to cancer.
There was also some pretty damning information about the meat and dairy industries, some of which I'm positive is true, some of which I can't be sure about without more investigation. The book was basically a persuasive speech about why people should become vegan, both for health reasons and to fight against poor treatment of animals.
I'm not going to run out and become a vegan; it's hard enough just avoiding dairy, and that's even factoring in the tummy trouble it gives me. But the book did make me want to make better food choices. I don't eat horribly, but I could eat a lot better than I do, and this book really made me want to. At the very least, it made me not want to eat as much -- the chapters on meat processing alone were enough to make me lose my appetite for awhile.
So while the chances of my actually becoming vegan are skinny bitch to none, I do plan to try to think like one from now on. I am officially done with dairy (which means a trip to Whole Foods is in order so I can re-investigate the world of soy cheese), and I will henceforth make every effort to cut the white sugar from my diet. As for meat, I vow to at least feel guilty when I eat it.
I've been cruising some vegan Web sites for recipes, and while some of them are full of ingredients I wouldn't touch with a 10-foot pole, there are a few I think I can handle without stepping out of my comfort zone too much.
As a half-assed step in the right direction, I bought some green tea the other day. I hate the taste of green tea on its own, so I bought "jasmine green tea," which smells fantastic and kind of tastes like it smells, but since I sometimes use jasmine scented stuff on my body, it almost tastes like I'm drinking perfume.
Oh well. If my insides aren't healthier, at least they'll smell good.
The book aims to be a no-nonsense, kick-in-the-ass guide to teach people just how unhealthy they are eating, and the authors, a former model and a former model agent, are touted on the back of the book as "your new smart-mouthed girlfriends who won't mince words and will finally tell you the truth about what you're feeding yourself."
In my opinion, they often come off not as "smart-mouthed girlfriends" but "snotty head cheerleaders who call you nasty names just because you can't do a pull-up." Note: Despite the fact that this sounds like an autobiographical situation, it's not. Except for the part about my not being able to do a pull-up.
Attitude aside, however, the book definitely was somewhat of a wakeup call. The chapter about sugar (aka "the devil") was especially interesting to me, as sugar is something I love. But cutting out the sugar in my diet has been on my mind ever since I interviewed a cancer survivor last month who told me that sugar pretty much is the devil when it comes to cancer.
There was also some pretty damning information about the meat and dairy industries, some of which I'm positive is true, some of which I can't be sure about without more investigation. The book was basically a persuasive speech about why people should become vegan, both for health reasons and to fight against poor treatment of animals.
I'm not going to run out and become a vegan; it's hard enough just avoiding dairy, and that's even factoring in the tummy trouble it gives me. But the book did make me want to make better food choices. I don't eat horribly, but I could eat a lot better than I do, and this book really made me want to. At the very least, it made me not want to eat as much -- the chapters on meat processing alone were enough to make me lose my appetite for awhile.
So while the chances of my actually becoming vegan are skinny bitch to none, I do plan to try to think like one from now on. I am officially done with dairy (which means a trip to Whole Foods is in order so I can re-investigate the world of soy cheese), and I will henceforth make every effort to cut the white sugar from my diet. As for meat, I vow to at least feel guilty when I eat it.
I've been cruising some vegan Web sites for recipes, and while some of them are full of ingredients I wouldn't touch with a 10-foot pole, there are a few I think I can handle without stepping out of my comfort zone too much.
As a half-assed step in the right direction, I bought some green tea the other day. I hate the taste of green tea on its own, so I bought "jasmine green tea," which smells fantastic and kind of tastes like it smells, but since I sometimes use jasmine scented stuff on my body, it almost tastes like I'm drinking perfume.
Oh well. If my insides aren't healthier, at least they'll smell good.
Wednesday, November 07, 2007
Stella for Star
It is common knowledge among those who know me that I don't give a flying fig about the personal lives of celebrities.
But while doing some research last night for a freelance story I'm writing, I found this photo of Denise Richards and her Boston Terrier, Stella. Finally, a piece of information about a famous person that really does relate to my own life.
I wonder if Denise Richards' Boston Terrier Stella is also nicknamed Peanut Girl. I'd like to think yes.
But while doing some research last night for a freelance story I'm writing, I found this photo of Denise Richards and her Boston Terrier, Stella. Finally, a piece of information about a famous person that really does relate to my own life.
I wonder if Denise Richards' Boston Terrier Stella is also nicknamed Peanut Girl. I'd like to think yes.
Tuesday, November 06, 2007
An Open Letter To Whoever Hires Writers for Movies and TV
Dear Whoever Hires Writers for Movies and TV,
I've never written for movies or TV, but whatever I came up with couldn't be any worse than stupid ad-libbed reality shows. You could at least bet on some quirky comedy. And I would charge less than the union does.
Just something to think about. I look forward to your call.
Sincerely,
Erika
I've never written for movies or TV, but whatever I came up with couldn't be any worse than stupid ad-libbed reality shows. You could at least bet on some quirky comedy. And I would charge less than the union does.
Just something to think about. I look forward to your call.
Sincerely,
Erika
Monday, November 05, 2007
Why Did No One Tell Me About This?
This has got to be one of the best ideas ever.
I only wish I had been invited to participate. I could probably write a whole score for these folks.
I only wish I had been invited to participate. I could probably write a whole score for these folks.
Christmas Songs I Wish Someone Would Put On A Mix CD For Me
I listened to Christmas music on the radio all weekend.
It almost felt wrong, and it definitely felt too early. But like I said the other day, after Christmas is over, nothing good happens for several months, so doggone it, I'm going to make the most of Christmas.
The trouble is, there are a lot of Christmas songs I don't particularly like. And I find those get in the way of the ones I do. A few months ago, I posted a list of songs I wanted someone to put on a mix CD for me, and no one ever did (except for "Baby Got Back," but I had to beg). Anyway, I figured I'd try with Christmas songs and see if anyone wanted to oblige.
"Christmas Time Is Here" by Vince Guaraldi Trio -- It's just not Christmas without this Charlie Brown tune.
"All I Want for Christmas Is You" by Mariah Carey -- This is the only song of Mariah Carey's that I can stand. It came out when I was in high school and no doubt had my eye on some boy I was hoping to meet under the mistletoe, so it gives me a nice nostalgic feeling. Which in itself is a miracle, because most of the boys I had my eye on in high school never took notice of me. But it also makes me think of the movie "Love Actually," which also gives me warm Christmas feelings.
"I Want A Hippopotamus for Christmas" by Gayla Peevey -- Even though this was released in 1953, I had never heard it until two years ago. And I started hearing it all over the place. So it became the Christmas theme of 2005 for me. And "hippopotamus" is such a musical word that I just can't help loving this song.
"Happy Christmas (War Is Over)" by John Lennon and Yoko Ono -- I didn't pay much mind to this song until five years ago, when I sang it in a Christmas cabaret. It's a nice song. Kind of depressing, though, that it was recorded before I was born and is still relevant.
"Baby It's Cold Outside" -- But it has to be an old version where they still let the woman say "maybe just a cigarette more" instead of changing it to something healthier.
"Sleigh Ride" by The Ronettes -- Nothing brings holiday cheer like a little "ringalingaling ding dong ding."
"I Yust Go Nuts At Christmas" by Yogi Yorgesson -- My parents had this on 45 when I was a little kid, and I remember listening to it over and over. I think I probably still know all the words.
"Please, Daddy (Don't Get Drunk On Christmas)" by John Denver -- I heard this on the radio the day before I left college my freshman year for Christmas break and not once since. It's not supposed to be a funny song, but with the story of how the dad fell down under the Christmas tree and drunkenly yelled out "Merry Christmas," I don't see how it could not be.
"The Grinch Song" by Thurl Ravenscroft -- A classic tale, a classic song, and a classic reason to get Stella some antlers.
"Mele Kalikimaka" by Bing Crosby -- Even though it was April, I had this song going through my head the whole time I was in Hawaii. I even bought a Christmas ornament in a souvenir shop.
Really, anything by Bing Crosby -- He might have been an SOB in real life, but that man can croon a quality Christmas song. When I was little, my Aunt Shellie made my mom a mix tape of Christmas music, and it was a favorite in our house at holiday time, as was the movie "White Christmas." If anything gives me warm, fuzzy holiday feelings, it's Bing music. When I hear it, it's like I'm automatically transported back to my mom's kitchen, pressing Hershey's kisses into hot peanut butter cookies. And as we all know, there's no place like home for the holidays.
It almost felt wrong, and it definitely felt too early. But like I said the other day, after Christmas is over, nothing good happens for several months, so doggone it, I'm going to make the most of Christmas.
The trouble is, there are a lot of Christmas songs I don't particularly like. And I find those get in the way of the ones I do. A few months ago, I posted a list of songs I wanted someone to put on a mix CD for me, and no one ever did (except for "Baby Got Back," but I had to beg). Anyway, I figured I'd try with Christmas songs and see if anyone wanted to oblige.
"Christmas Time Is Here" by Vince Guaraldi Trio -- It's just not Christmas without this Charlie Brown tune.
"All I Want for Christmas Is You" by Mariah Carey -- This is the only song of Mariah Carey's that I can stand. It came out when I was in high school and no doubt had my eye on some boy I was hoping to meet under the mistletoe, so it gives me a nice nostalgic feeling. Which in itself is a miracle, because most of the boys I had my eye on in high school never took notice of me. But it also makes me think of the movie "Love Actually," which also gives me warm Christmas feelings.
"I Want A Hippopotamus for Christmas" by Gayla Peevey -- Even though this was released in 1953, I had never heard it until two years ago. And I started hearing it all over the place. So it became the Christmas theme of 2005 for me. And "hippopotamus" is such a musical word that I just can't help loving this song.
"Happy Christmas (War Is Over)" by John Lennon and Yoko Ono -- I didn't pay much mind to this song until five years ago, when I sang it in a Christmas cabaret. It's a nice song. Kind of depressing, though, that it was recorded before I was born and is still relevant.
"Baby It's Cold Outside" -- But it has to be an old version where they still let the woman say "maybe just a cigarette more" instead of changing it to something healthier.
"Sleigh Ride" by The Ronettes -- Nothing brings holiday cheer like a little "ringalingaling ding dong ding."
"I Yust Go Nuts At Christmas" by Yogi Yorgesson -- My parents had this on 45 when I was a little kid, and I remember listening to it over and over. I think I probably still know all the words.
"Please, Daddy (Don't Get Drunk On Christmas)" by John Denver -- I heard this on the radio the day before I left college my freshman year for Christmas break and not once since. It's not supposed to be a funny song, but with the story of how the dad fell down under the Christmas tree and drunkenly yelled out "Merry Christmas," I don't see how it could not be.
"The Grinch Song" by Thurl Ravenscroft -- A classic tale, a classic song, and a classic reason to get Stella some antlers.
"Mele Kalikimaka" by Bing Crosby -- Even though it was April, I had this song going through my head the whole time I was in Hawaii. I even bought a Christmas ornament in a souvenir shop.
Really, anything by Bing Crosby -- He might have been an SOB in real life, but that man can croon a quality Christmas song. When I was little, my Aunt Shellie made my mom a mix tape of Christmas music, and it was a favorite in our house at holiday time, as was the movie "White Christmas." If anything gives me warm, fuzzy holiday feelings, it's Bing music. When I hear it, it's like I'm automatically transported back to my mom's kitchen, pressing Hershey's kisses into hot peanut butter cookies. And as we all know, there's no place like home for the holidays.
Friday, November 02, 2007
Do You Hear What I Hear?
My brother-in-law Mark told me today that a local radio station has begun playing Christmas music.
For several years (probably since before I came to Chicago) this station has played all Christmas music beginning the day after Thanksgiving, which I think most people will argue is the official start to the holiday season. But either last year or the year before, they began the Christmas jamboree earlier.
Most folks roll their eyes about Christmas coming earlier every year, but I for one don't mind all that much. I'm not really in the mood for Christmas yet, but what the heck? Christmas is my favorite time of year, and since January, February and March don't offer much in the way of holidays or decent weather, I don't see a problem with making the most of what comes before.
Which is why I also plan to stake out the candy aisle of Target to get the first bag of the Christmas Cadbury Mini Eggs that hits the shelves.
For several years (probably since before I came to Chicago) this station has played all Christmas music beginning the day after Thanksgiving, which I think most people will argue is the official start to the holiday season. But either last year or the year before, they began the Christmas jamboree earlier.
Most folks roll their eyes about Christmas coming earlier every year, but I for one don't mind all that much. I'm not really in the mood for Christmas yet, but what the heck? Christmas is my favorite time of year, and since January, February and March don't offer much in the way of holidays or decent weather, I don't see a problem with making the most of what comes before.
Which is why I also plan to stake out the candy aisle of Target to get the first bag of the Christmas Cadbury Mini Eggs that hits the shelves.
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Found Credit
I have a credit card that I pay and monitor online. I hardly ever use it, so when I do, I always have to remind myself to pay on the last day of the month.
Today, I went to pay and realized that I have $0 due. I checked my records, and it turns out I paid it early this month and completely forgot.
It's not quite as cool as finding 20 bucks in your coat pocket, but since the rest of my day has been kind of stressful, this really gave me a boost.
Today, I went to pay and realized that I have $0 due. I checked my records, and it turns out I paid it early this month and completely forgot.
It's not quite as cool as finding 20 bucks in your coat pocket, but since the rest of my day has been kind of stressful, this really gave me a boost.
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
I Must Be Overworked
When my alarm went off at 3 this morning for Stella's overnight potty break, I thought at first that the noise was the fax machine at my office.
Friday, October 26, 2007
Guacamole for Everyone!
If a dream deferred is a raisin in the sun, a dream realized is an avocado in a box addressed to you.
Thanks to my sister, one of my lifelong dreams has been fulfilled. I am now an official member of the club -- the Avocado of the Month Club, that is. Yesterday, I received a box of six enormous avocados and some kind of tool, which is supposed to be a peeler or scraper or something. I don't care what it is; I've always wanted to belong to an of-the-month club, and now I do.
I'm not sure if they're really going to send me avocados every month or if it's just an honorary title, but either way, I'm excited.
Thanks to my sister, one of my lifelong dreams has been fulfilled. I am now an official member of the club -- the Avocado of the Month Club, that is. Yesterday, I received a box of six enormous avocados and some kind of tool, which is supposed to be a peeler or scraper or something. I don't care what it is; I've always wanted to belong to an of-the-month club, and now I do.
I'm not sure if they're really going to send me avocados every month or if it's just an honorary title, but either way, I'm excited.
Thursday, October 25, 2007
CNN Tells It Like It Is
I'm not sure whether to laugh at or be embarrassed for CNN.com about the link they posted to this story about an animal donated by the Make-A-Wish Foundation dying after being attacked by a pair of dogs.
The link reads Pit Bulls Kill Cancer Boy's Miniature Horse.
Cancer boy? Pretty harsh there, CNN. If the loss of his horse doesn't make him feel horrible, I'm sure this label will.
The link reads Pit Bulls Kill Cancer Boy's Miniature Horse.
Cancer boy? Pretty harsh there, CNN. If the loss of his horse doesn't make him feel horrible, I'm sure this label will.
Shaggy Has Left The Dumpster...At Least For Now
It's been two weeks, and my shaggy blonde dumpster diving pal has not made another appearance.
After the last sighting, I did in fact go to the cops and tell them what I'd seen. It felt strange to visit the police department and not get paid for it; every time I've been there before, I've been picking up reports for the newspaper. I half expected the ladies at the front desk to hand me the basket of papers, but I'd never seen them before, and I haven't covered their town for close to two years anyway.
I thought they'd brush me off, but actually, the gatekeeper lady who they make you talk to over the phone (I guess so they can get your information and run a background check on you before actually looking at you) admonished me for not calling right away when I first saw the guy . In fact, the tone was almost accusatory. I wasn't sure whether to be glad I decided to come in, or sorry.
Anyway, the cop I talked to face-to-face agreed that it was probably a medical center janitor but said he doesn't typically work the overnight shift, so he's not as familiar with the cleaning crew schedules of area businesses as the cops on that shift are. He also said that it's unlikely someone looking for medical records or financial information would find anything, as doctor's offices usually shred these things before throwing them away. Still, he took as much information as I could give him and said he'd share it with the officers on the overnight shift so that they could swing by and keep an eye out. He also said that if I saw the guy again, I should give them a call right away so they could check it out.
Well, there's been no sign of Shaggy and no word from the cops (although they never said they'd keep me updated). I did, however, see a report in the local paper about a shaggy haired blonde guy raping a woman in a neighboring town. It could be a coincidence, but that still hasn't stopped me from holding the door open while Stella pees so we can get inside quickly when she's done.
After the last sighting, I did in fact go to the cops and tell them what I'd seen. It felt strange to visit the police department and not get paid for it; every time I've been there before, I've been picking up reports for the newspaper. I half expected the ladies at the front desk to hand me the basket of papers, but I'd never seen them before, and I haven't covered their town for close to two years anyway.
I thought they'd brush me off, but actually, the gatekeeper lady who they make you talk to over the phone (I guess so they can get your information and run a background check on you before actually looking at you) admonished me for not calling right away when I first saw the guy . In fact, the tone was almost accusatory. I wasn't sure whether to be glad I decided to come in, or sorry.
Anyway, the cop I talked to face-to-face agreed that it was probably a medical center janitor but said he doesn't typically work the overnight shift, so he's not as familiar with the cleaning crew schedules of area businesses as the cops on that shift are. He also said that it's unlikely someone looking for medical records or financial information would find anything, as doctor's offices usually shred these things before throwing them away. Still, he took as much information as I could give him and said he'd share it with the officers on the overnight shift so that they could swing by and keep an eye out. He also said that if I saw the guy again, I should give them a call right away so they could check it out.
Well, there's been no sign of Shaggy and no word from the cops (although they never said they'd keep me updated). I did, however, see a report in the local paper about a shaggy haired blonde guy raping a woman in a neighboring town. It could be a coincidence, but that still hasn't stopped me from holding the door open while Stella pees so we can get inside quickly when she's done.
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
God Loves A Terrier
It's official -- I'm becoming my mom.
I think that for most women, this revelation comes when they find themselves saying things like "clean your room or no TV for a week" or "I'll take the orange lipstick and an embroidered holiday sweatshirt, please," but for me, it came in a more sneaky way. A sort of musical way.
My mom has always had a thing about making up songs. She doesn't just willy nilly go around singing about any old thing, but I don't know if she's terribly selective about her subjects, either. I remember very well when I was little and we got our first microwave oven, and for weeks, she went around singing, "ohhhhhhhhh! I love my microwave!" in an almost operatic fashion. And when I was 17 and we got her a dog for Mother's Day, she gave him his own theme song, the lyrics to which were, "everybody loves my dog. People really seem to like my dog."
Well, people seem to like my dog too, I guess. Or at least I do, because after less than three months with Stella, I already have enough songs about her to make an album. Not a good album, but still.
I didn't realize just how many songs there were until last night, when my husband interrupted a chorus of "Piggly Wiggly Girl" to laugh at me for making up songs. I then began to list them, and the list is pathetically long.
There's "The Peanut Girl Theme," which is a take on the Spiderman theme: "Peanut Girl, Peanut Girl, living in her peanut world. She's so good and so cute. I love her, yes I do. Look out, here comes my peanut girl." There are more words, but they just get more embarrassing.
There's also "Hello, Peanut Girl, Goodbye Heart," an homage to Creedence Clearwater Revival.
I have an original composition I call "Stella Bella Peanut Girl," which is basically the words "peanut girl" repeated over and over. A B-side version of this is "Smooshy Smooshy Smooshy Face." Same tune, slightly different lyrics.
And let's not forget "Beautiful Stella" the tune of which was taken from "Beautiful Dreamer."
I know, I know. I'm certifiable. And I'm quite likely well on my way to becoming "crazy dog lady." Although I think you need at least one dog figurine and a tee shirt with your dog's face on it to truly qualify for that title.
Ah, well. If it's good enough for Mom, it's good enough for me. And for my piggly wiggly giggly jiggly piggly wiggly girl.
I think that for most women, this revelation comes when they find themselves saying things like "clean your room or no TV for a week" or "I'll take the orange lipstick and an embroidered holiday sweatshirt, please," but for me, it came in a more sneaky way. A sort of musical way.
My mom has always had a thing about making up songs. She doesn't just willy nilly go around singing about any old thing, but I don't know if she's terribly selective about her subjects, either. I remember very well when I was little and we got our first microwave oven, and for weeks, she went around singing, "ohhhhhhhhh! I love my microwave!" in an almost operatic fashion. And when I was 17 and we got her a dog for Mother's Day, she gave him his own theme song, the lyrics to which were, "everybody loves my dog. People really seem to like my dog."
Well, people seem to like my dog too, I guess. Or at least I do, because after less than three months with Stella, I already have enough songs about her to make an album. Not a good album, but still.
I didn't realize just how many songs there were until last night, when my husband interrupted a chorus of "Piggly Wiggly Girl" to laugh at me for making up songs. I then began to list them, and the list is pathetically long.
There's "The Peanut Girl Theme," which is a take on the Spiderman theme: "Peanut Girl, Peanut Girl, living in her peanut world. She's so good and so cute. I love her, yes I do. Look out, here comes my peanut girl." There are more words, but they just get more embarrassing.
There's also "Hello, Peanut Girl, Goodbye Heart," an homage to Creedence Clearwater Revival.
I have an original composition I call "Stella Bella Peanut Girl," which is basically the words "peanut girl" repeated over and over. A B-side version of this is "Smooshy Smooshy Smooshy Face." Same tune, slightly different lyrics.
And let's not forget "Beautiful Stella" the tune of which was taken from "Beautiful Dreamer."
I know, I know. I'm certifiable. And I'm quite likely well on my way to becoming "crazy dog lady." Although I think you need at least one dog figurine and a tee shirt with your dog's face on it to truly qualify for that title.
Ah, well. If it's good enough for Mom, it's good enough for me. And for my piggly wiggly giggly jiggly piggly wiggly girl.
Thursday, October 18, 2007
On The Eve of the Last Year Before I Turn 30...
My 20s have been interesting.
If I even began to list the highlights, the list would be a mile long. Suffice it to say that I've learned a lot and had a reasonably good time.
But as I close in on my 30s, I find myself breathing a sigh of relief. The 20s, interesting as they were, have been crazy, unsettled and often unsettling. I'm hoping the 30s bring a little more harmony, a little more balance, to my life.
But before all that zen bliss begins, I have one more year. So damn it, I'm gonna make it a good one.
I made a list of 30 things I want to do before I turn 30, and I plan to chronicle the checking-off process in a new blog, Pearly Wise. (Stapling Jello will continue to bring you the same brilliant insights as always).
What's on the list? Will I accomplish all 30 things?
We'll start finding out tomorrow.
If I even began to list the highlights, the list would be a mile long. Suffice it to say that I've learned a lot and had a reasonably good time.
But as I close in on my 30s, I find myself breathing a sigh of relief. The 20s, interesting as they were, have been crazy, unsettled and often unsettling. I'm hoping the 30s bring a little more harmony, a little more balance, to my life.
But before all that zen bliss begins, I have one more year. So damn it, I'm gonna make it a good one.
I made a list of 30 things I want to do before I turn 30, and I plan to chronicle the checking-off process in a new blog, Pearly Wise. (Stapling Jello will continue to bring you the same brilliant insights as always).
What's on the list? Will I accomplish all 30 things?
We'll start finding out tomorrow.
Wonder of Wonders, Miracle of Miracles
Well, well, well.
My UPS package just showed up. On time and in tact.
I think they must have my name in a "don't piss off this person" database.
My UPS package just showed up. On time and in tact.
I think they must have my name in a "don't piss off this person" database.
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Stella Is A Thoughtful Girl
Today, I received this card in the mail.The label was typewritten, there was no return address, and the postmark came from Chicago.
Inside, the card said, in swirly type, "Happy Birthday! I didn't get you a gift, because now that you have me, what more could you want? Love, Stella."
And you know what? She's right.
I think someone must have helped her with the card, although really, Stella is pretty technology savvy. So maybe she just did it on her own.
In any case, I was tickled to get this surprise from my little peanut girl.
If It's Brown...
My mother sent me a package via UPS this week.
It's supposed to arrive on Thursday. Well, we'll just see about that.
After last year's Christmas package debacle, I don't feel terribly confident about the folks in the brown shorts delivering anything to me on time. Still, when my mom e-mailed to tell me that she'd sent me something via UPS, I decided to give the company the benefit of the doubt.
Even if they had re-routed my Christmas package three times without my knowledge or consent.
Even if their employees were completely unhelpful and rude.
Even if their idea of making amends was to send me a fruit basket.
Today, my mom forwarded me an e-mail update she had received on the status of my package's journey. In the summary, my name and the name of my company had been misspelled.
If anyone wants a banana or something, let me know now.
It's supposed to arrive on Thursday. Well, we'll just see about that.
After last year's Christmas package debacle, I don't feel terribly confident about the folks in the brown shorts delivering anything to me on time. Still, when my mom e-mailed to tell me that she'd sent me something via UPS, I decided to give the company the benefit of the doubt.
Even if they had re-routed my Christmas package three times without my knowledge or consent.
Even if their employees were completely unhelpful and rude.
Even if their idea of making amends was to send me a fruit basket.
Today, my mom forwarded me an e-mail update she had received on the status of my package's journey. In the summary, my name and the name of my company had been misspelled.
If anyone wants a banana or something, let me know now.
Thursday, October 11, 2007
Concerned Citizen, or Law & Order Fan?
He's back. Whoever he is.
Two weeks ago, as I wrote then, Stella and I were outside on our 3 a.m. pee break and heard something being thrown into a dumpster and the dumpster lid slamming shut. I looked over and saw a man (I'm pretty sure it was a man -- the person had a mannish build) with shaggy blonde hair. I couldn't see a face. Stella started barking, and I hustled her inside. Whoever the guy was and whatever he was dumping, I didn't want any part of it.
I was definitely a little uneasy about it, but simply being outside at 3 a.m. is not a crime -- heck, I was. I figured he was just a night-shifter taking out his garbage or something.
But this morning, I saw him again. Stella and I were outside at 3 a.m., I heard the dumpster lid, looked over, and saw his silhouette and the blonde hair (there are lights over that way, so while I couldn't see his face, I definitely saw that the hair was light). Once again, I didn't want to be alone in the dark with a stranger, so Stel and I went inside. My unit is on the wrong side of the building for me to be able to see the area from my window, so I couldn't keep an eye on him from inside and see what exactly he was doing.
When I took Stel out right before I left for work, I realized that standing where I had been overnight, and two weeks ago, I wouldn't have been able to see the guy if he had been in the residential dumpsters. However, just behind them are dumpsters for a medical center which is directly behind my building. From where I was standing, I could (and would) have seen someone standing by those dumpsters.
It is possible that the mystery guy was just part of a cleaning crew throwing out garbage. However...of all of the possible reasons I can imagine for someone to be in a dumpster at 3 a.m., that is the only one that doesn't cause me concern. If he wasn't part of a cleaning crew, he was either dumping something illegally or looking for something he shouldn't be looking for.
I called the police department's non-emergency number today, to see if I could talk to an officer, but the person who answered the phone told me that they won't take reports over the phone and won't even talk to you unless you come in.
So I will pay the cops a visit this evening. I feel kind of weird about it; I don't have much to go on except "guy was outside at 3 a.m." And I kind of worry about coming across as someone who watches too much TV. But I would rather have the police think I'm a sensationalist than be afraid to take my dog outside.
Two weeks ago, as I wrote then, Stella and I were outside on our 3 a.m. pee break and heard something being thrown into a dumpster and the dumpster lid slamming shut. I looked over and saw a man (I'm pretty sure it was a man -- the person had a mannish build) with shaggy blonde hair. I couldn't see a face. Stella started barking, and I hustled her inside. Whoever the guy was and whatever he was dumping, I didn't want any part of it.
I was definitely a little uneasy about it, but simply being outside at 3 a.m. is not a crime -- heck, I was. I figured he was just a night-shifter taking out his garbage or something.
But this morning, I saw him again. Stella and I were outside at 3 a.m., I heard the dumpster lid, looked over, and saw his silhouette and the blonde hair (there are lights over that way, so while I couldn't see his face, I definitely saw that the hair was light). Once again, I didn't want to be alone in the dark with a stranger, so Stel and I went inside. My unit is on the wrong side of the building for me to be able to see the area from my window, so I couldn't keep an eye on him from inside and see what exactly he was doing.
When I took Stel out right before I left for work, I realized that standing where I had been overnight, and two weeks ago, I wouldn't have been able to see the guy if he had been in the residential dumpsters. However, just behind them are dumpsters for a medical center which is directly behind my building. From where I was standing, I could (and would) have seen someone standing by those dumpsters.
It is possible that the mystery guy was just part of a cleaning crew throwing out garbage. However...of all of the possible reasons I can imagine for someone to be in a dumpster at 3 a.m., that is the only one that doesn't cause me concern. If he wasn't part of a cleaning crew, he was either dumping something illegally or looking for something he shouldn't be looking for.
I called the police department's non-emergency number today, to see if I could talk to an officer, but the person who answered the phone told me that they won't take reports over the phone and won't even talk to you unless you come in.
So I will pay the cops a visit this evening. I feel kind of weird about it; I don't have much to go on except "guy was outside at 3 a.m." And I kind of worry about coming across as someone who watches too much TV. But I would rather have the police think I'm a sensationalist than be afraid to take my dog outside.
Tuesday, October 09, 2007
Soy and the Sneaky Wife
My husband is fairly open-minded when it comes to food. Like me, he enjoys trying new recipes, and he will usually at least take a bite of something that is unfamiliar.
The one exception has been soy. For some reason, I can never get him to try any dairy-like products that aren't actually dairy. I'll admit, some of them are kind of gross, but the soy ice cream isn't bad, and soy milk doesn't taste any worse than regular milk does.
Ever since I gave up dairy, cooking has been tough. We've constantly been looking for recipes that either called for no dairy or could be made in two separate dishes -- one lactose-laden, one not -- so that I could avoid the curse of the cow. I still eat dairy about once a week, but when it's not dairy day, meal planning can be a challenge. I've tried to get my husband to agree to make things with dairy-free milk and butter, but my soy-shy sweetheart has always refused.
On Saturday night, we were both hungry for chicken marsala, which we always have with mashed potatoes. It had been a busy day, and a busy week, so rather than messing with two versions of the same meal, I volunteered to cook, directed my husband to play with Stella and got to work, cooking the chicken in soy butter and adding soy butter and milk to the potatoes, all the while looking over my shoulder to make sure my secret ingredients went undetected.
As we sat down to dinner, I didn't say a word about the fact that this was a dairy-free meal, figuring I'd wait to see if he said anything before I confessed. I didn't feel good about my deception, but it was the only way I could get him to try the dairy-free products to which I have resigned myself. If he hated them, I told myself, I would never make him eat them again, but if he didn't, perhaps this would be the dawn of a new era in our kitchen.
I was nervous -- not only because I thought my husband might be upset but also because butter is part of what makes chicken marsala so good, and I was afraid our dinner would taste bad with a soy substitute. I took a bite -- and it was actually very good. I tried the potatoes, and they were good too. I could hardly tell the difference, so perhaps my husband would be fooled after all.
He was. He complimented me several times on the meal, even saying that I "always make the best chicken marsala." I beamed, and when our plates were clean, confessed what I'd done. His reply was completely predictable.
"I knew it."
Yeah, right. If he had had any idea, he would have asked as soon as he took one bite. But he insisted he'd had an inkling that something was up. I didn't believe him for a second, but I can't roll my eyes too much, because my little experiment proved a success. The next morning, my sweet husband made omelets for the two of us -- with soy milk.
Lesson learned: Never ask your husband to try something. Trick him into trying it and strong-arm him into admitting that it wasn't so bad after all.
The one exception has been soy. For some reason, I can never get him to try any dairy-like products that aren't actually dairy. I'll admit, some of them are kind of gross, but the soy ice cream isn't bad, and soy milk doesn't taste any worse than regular milk does.
Ever since I gave up dairy, cooking has been tough. We've constantly been looking for recipes that either called for no dairy or could be made in two separate dishes -- one lactose-laden, one not -- so that I could avoid the curse of the cow. I still eat dairy about once a week, but when it's not dairy day, meal planning can be a challenge. I've tried to get my husband to agree to make things with dairy-free milk and butter, but my soy-shy sweetheart has always refused.
On Saturday night, we were both hungry for chicken marsala, which we always have with mashed potatoes. It had been a busy day, and a busy week, so rather than messing with two versions of the same meal, I volunteered to cook, directed my husband to play with Stella and got to work, cooking the chicken in soy butter and adding soy butter and milk to the potatoes, all the while looking over my shoulder to make sure my secret ingredients went undetected.
As we sat down to dinner, I didn't say a word about the fact that this was a dairy-free meal, figuring I'd wait to see if he said anything before I confessed. I didn't feel good about my deception, but it was the only way I could get him to try the dairy-free products to which I have resigned myself. If he hated them, I told myself, I would never make him eat them again, but if he didn't, perhaps this would be the dawn of a new era in our kitchen.
I was nervous -- not only because I thought my husband might be upset but also because butter is part of what makes chicken marsala so good, and I was afraid our dinner would taste bad with a soy substitute. I took a bite -- and it was actually very good. I tried the potatoes, and they were good too. I could hardly tell the difference, so perhaps my husband would be fooled after all.
He was. He complimented me several times on the meal, even saying that I "always make the best chicken marsala." I beamed, and when our plates were clean, confessed what I'd done. His reply was completely predictable.
"I knew it."
Yeah, right. If he had had any idea, he would have asked as soon as he took one bite. But he insisted he'd had an inkling that something was up. I didn't believe him for a second, but I can't roll my eyes too much, because my little experiment proved a success. The next morning, my sweet husband made omelets for the two of us -- with soy milk.
Lesson learned: Never ask your husband to try something. Trick him into trying it and strong-arm him into admitting that it wasn't so bad after all.
Guacamole: Check
It's official. I have done it. I have reached the one goal I wanted to meet before I turned 29.
I have made guacamole.
After my husband and I gobbled the Trader Joe's guac that I bought last week, he not-so-subtly hinted that he would like some more. So on my way home from work on Thursday, I stopped and bought some ready-made guac. But with my Oct. 19 deadline looming in front of me, I thought it best to get started on making my own, and I picked up some avocados as well.
At this point, I still had no idea what good avocados looked or felt like, so I just grabbed. A few days later, Marla called and detailed for me exactly what a good avocado should feel like (firm, but with a little give) and look like (I forget) and how she prefers to smash up the avocados (just smash them, which is what I did, although I like my guac a little smoother, so I think next time I'll try the food processor).
After a hectic weekend, I decided that last night would be the big night. One of my four avocados had gotten really squishy, but the others were fine, so I sliced, gutted and smashed them up, added red onion, lemon juice, garlic powder and salt and reached for the tortilla chips for a taste test. The guac was a little bland, so I played with it, ultimately adding real garlic and a tiny bit of cumin. If I had had cilantro, I would have thrown that in, but unfortunately, I was fresh out. Next time, though.
It felt good to accomplish this goal. It felt good to stuff myself with homemade guacamole. And it felt really good when my husband told me he liked my very first attempt at homemade more than the store brand.
So what goals will I set for myself before I turn 30? I guess we'll find out in 10 days.
I have made guacamole.
After my husband and I gobbled the Trader Joe's guac that I bought last week, he not-so-subtly hinted that he would like some more. So on my way home from work on Thursday, I stopped and bought some ready-made guac. But with my Oct. 19 deadline looming in front of me, I thought it best to get started on making my own, and I picked up some avocados as well.
At this point, I still had no idea what good avocados looked or felt like, so I just grabbed. A few days later, Marla called and detailed for me exactly what a good avocado should feel like (firm, but with a little give) and look like (I forget) and how she prefers to smash up the avocados (just smash them, which is what I did, although I like my guac a little smoother, so I think next time I'll try the food processor).
After a hectic weekend, I decided that last night would be the big night. One of my four avocados had gotten really squishy, but the others were fine, so I sliced, gutted and smashed them up, added red onion, lemon juice, garlic powder and salt and reached for the tortilla chips for a taste test. The guac was a little bland, so I played with it, ultimately adding real garlic and a tiny bit of cumin. If I had had cilantro, I would have thrown that in, but unfortunately, I was fresh out. Next time, though.
It felt good to accomplish this goal. It felt good to stuff myself with homemade guacamole. And it felt really good when my husband told me he liked my very first attempt at homemade more than the store brand.
So what goals will I set for myself before I turn 30? I guess we'll find out in 10 days.
Monday, October 08, 2007
My Heart On My Sleeve, My Mind On My Chest
Someone sent me a link to an online store with this T-shirt design available. I really think I need one. The message embodies one of my most fundamental beliefs.If I am ever chosen to be on a magazine cover, I think I will wear this. Not that there's much of a chance of that happening, but I figure it's good to have something ready, just in case.
Thursday, October 04, 2007
iDiot
I suppose it was inevitable, but it is no less annoying.
I wasn't entirely surprised to see this story about a lawsuit filed by Dongmei Li of Queens, New York against Apple for slashing the price of the iPhone and discontinuing the less expensive of the two models of the phone. Li purchased one of the less expensive phones for $499 sometime between their debut and the announcement of the price cut and discontinuation.
Li, who is seeking $1 million, alleges in the suit that by cutting the price of the more expensive model from $599 to $399, Apple injured her and other early purchasers of the product because they are now not able to sell the phones they bought at the same price as those who bought them after the cut.
First of all, Apple doesn't make and sell products so that private citizens can buy them and make money off of them. People have a right to do so, I suppose, and if they can get a little cash, more power to them. But I don't think a corporation should be held responsible if it doesn't work out.
I also have to wonder how much Li thought she was going to get for her iPhone, as they aren't that difficult to find in stores, and people can order them right on Apple's Web site. Why would someone buy something a private citizen was selling for an inflated price when the company had the same product readily available for the retail price? I know that several people did resell the phones when the product first came out, but I have my doubts that Li could do the same for a profit at this point anyway, price cut aside.
But apparently, given the terms of the lawsuit, she thought the going resale price was $1,000,499. Yes, I know the award in a lawsuit covers legal fees and things like that, but as far as I can tell, this is not a class action suit at this point; once the piper is paid, Li would be the only beneficiary of the spoils.
Apple has issued an apology and made amends with people who bought the phone up to 14 days before the price cut, offering a $200 refund and, for those who bought the more expensive model, a $100 credit to be used at Apple stores. In my opinion, that was a pretty kind gesture; anyone who buys a product when it first comes out has to know they'll pay more than those who wait will. If you want to be one of the first kids on your block to have the new toy, it's going to cost you.
Consumers argued that they felt jilted because Apple cut the price so quickly after debuting the product, and I suppose if I had bought an iPhone during that time, I would feel slightly irked as well. I wouldn't want to buy a 4GB phone for $499 only to find out that I could get an 8GB model for $100 less. But I think in situations like this, a strongly-written letter to the company would do more good than a $1 million lawsuit.
Sometimes I'm not sure if people file these lawsuits because they truly believe they've been wronged or if they just want their 15 minutes of fame, even if it comes at the expense of their dignity.
I wasn't entirely surprised to see this story about a lawsuit filed by Dongmei Li of Queens, New York against Apple for slashing the price of the iPhone and discontinuing the less expensive of the two models of the phone. Li purchased one of the less expensive phones for $499 sometime between their debut and the announcement of the price cut and discontinuation.
Li, who is seeking $1 million, alleges in the suit that by cutting the price of the more expensive model from $599 to $399, Apple injured her and other early purchasers of the product because they are now not able to sell the phones they bought at the same price as those who bought them after the cut.
First of all, Apple doesn't make and sell products so that private citizens can buy them and make money off of them. People have a right to do so, I suppose, and if they can get a little cash, more power to them. But I don't think a corporation should be held responsible if it doesn't work out.
I also have to wonder how much Li thought she was going to get for her iPhone, as they aren't that difficult to find in stores, and people can order them right on Apple's Web site. Why would someone buy something a private citizen was selling for an inflated price when the company had the same product readily available for the retail price? I know that several people did resell the phones when the product first came out, but I have my doubts that Li could do the same for a profit at this point anyway, price cut aside.
But apparently, given the terms of the lawsuit, she thought the going resale price was $1,000,499. Yes, I know the award in a lawsuit covers legal fees and things like that, but as far as I can tell, this is not a class action suit at this point; once the piper is paid, Li would be the only beneficiary of the spoils.
Apple has issued an apology and made amends with people who bought the phone up to 14 days before the price cut, offering a $200 refund and, for those who bought the more expensive model, a $100 credit to be used at Apple stores. In my opinion, that was a pretty kind gesture; anyone who buys a product when it first comes out has to know they'll pay more than those who wait will. If you want to be one of the first kids on your block to have the new toy, it's going to cost you.
Consumers argued that they felt jilted because Apple cut the price so quickly after debuting the product, and I suppose if I had bought an iPhone during that time, I would feel slightly irked as well. I wouldn't want to buy a 4GB phone for $499 only to find out that I could get an 8GB model for $100 less. But I think in situations like this, a strongly-written letter to the company would do more good than a $1 million lawsuit.
Sometimes I'm not sure if people file these lawsuits because they truly believe they've been wronged or if they just want their 15 minutes of fame, even if it comes at the expense of their dignity.
Wednesday, October 03, 2007
It's Time For Saying Goodbye
A part of my history will soon be gone.
I was saddened to learn today that my former newspaper and its sister publication will merge next month. The news is not surprising -- it's been rumored to be coming since long before I began working there five years ago -- but it's disappointing nonetheless. And my disappointment is not diminished because I no longer work there. That place is like my alma-mater; I learned and experienced so much during my time there.
My job at that newspaper was my first as a reporter, and it was there that I really learned to write. In fact, it was there that I realized I even like to write. I had wonderful editors who encouraged me to be as creative as I liked, and I took every opportunity to pursue my own story ideas. Because of that, I learned about much more than the things I routinely covered; I learned about the world around me, about things I never would have given a second glance otherwise. I learned to be inquisitive, to be bold.
As my first job in Illinois, it was my true introduction to this state and has had an impact on every single aspect of my life here. I now live just a few miles from the office, in the very town I used to cover. I know the government leaders and business owners. I know my way around town. I know all the good places for lunch.
I made many friends while working there. We got to be a pretty close staff; every day was fun, even the bad days. We went to lunch together every week, went out for drinks at least as often and traded war stories about our beats. We had our issues, as every workplace does, but as long as the plastic Halloween pumpkin (kept out all year round and periodically re-decorated to be seasonally appropriate) was full of chocolate, no problem seemed unbeatable.
The newspaper was also my safe haven when I went through a rough patch of major and difficult life changes. During that time, it was the one constant in my life; no matter what chaos was happening elsewhere, I knew I could count on that place, and my friends there, to keep me from tearing my hair out.
And I can't forget the most important effect that job had on my life -- I met my husband there.
I know there are those who have much more to lose with the end of this era; some are bound to lose their jobs, including the editors who have given their entire professional lives to that place. I feel for them and for their counterparts at the soon-to-be-former sister paper. Even if the change has been a long time coming, I'm sure today has been no less of a sad one for them.
The whole thing is a shame. Necessary and inevitable, but still, a real shame.
I was saddened to learn today that my former newspaper and its sister publication will merge next month. The news is not surprising -- it's been rumored to be coming since long before I began working there five years ago -- but it's disappointing nonetheless. And my disappointment is not diminished because I no longer work there. That place is like my alma-mater; I learned and experienced so much during my time there.
My job at that newspaper was my first as a reporter, and it was there that I really learned to write. In fact, it was there that I realized I even like to write. I had wonderful editors who encouraged me to be as creative as I liked, and I took every opportunity to pursue my own story ideas. Because of that, I learned about much more than the things I routinely covered; I learned about the world around me, about things I never would have given a second glance otherwise. I learned to be inquisitive, to be bold.
As my first job in Illinois, it was my true introduction to this state and has had an impact on every single aspect of my life here. I now live just a few miles from the office, in the very town I used to cover. I know the government leaders and business owners. I know my way around town. I know all the good places for lunch.
I made many friends while working there. We got to be a pretty close staff; every day was fun, even the bad days. We went to lunch together every week, went out for drinks at least as often and traded war stories about our beats. We had our issues, as every workplace does, but as long as the plastic Halloween pumpkin (kept out all year round and periodically re-decorated to be seasonally appropriate) was full of chocolate, no problem seemed unbeatable.
The newspaper was also my safe haven when I went through a rough patch of major and difficult life changes. During that time, it was the one constant in my life; no matter what chaos was happening elsewhere, I knew I could count on that place, and my friends there, to keep me from tearing my hair out.
And I can't forget the most important effect that job had on my life -- I met my husband there.
I know there are those who have much more to lose with the end of this era; some are bound to lose their jobs, including the editors who have given their entire professional lives to that place. I feel for them and for their counterparts at the soon-to-be-former sister paper. Even if the change has been a long time coming, I'm sure today has been no less of a sad one for them.
The whole thing is a shame. Necessary and inevitable, but still, a real shame.
Tuesday, October 02, 2007
Closing In On 29, And The Quest For The Perfect Avocado
October is my birthday month, and I tend to celebrate all month long. But this month, I also have some work to do.
I tend to make my New Year's resolutions on my birthday, for two reasons -- first because it's a new year for me, and second, because if I slack for a few months, I can remake the same resolutions on January 1 and pretend the whole birthday resolution thing isn't true.
Well, I have to confess, I've been a slacker with the one and only goal I set for my 28th year, and it's not even a hard thing from what I hear. (I figured planning a wedding was hard enough that I didn't have to add a long to-do list and complicate things).
Now I am left with only 17 days in which to learn to make guacamole.
Everyone I know tells me it's easy, as long as the avocados are good. Exactly how to know an avocado is good, however, is something no one seems to want to divulge; all I've been told is, "they can't be too hard." But how hard is too hard? And once I somehow identify and acquire the perfect avocados, how do I actually smash them up to make the guacamole? Marla tells me that the Magic Bullet is not a good choice, but what is? A food processor? A potato ricer? Or should I stomp on them grape-style?
I suppose I could just do trial and error; it really can't be that hard to figure out. After all, my special area of cooking expertise is dips best served with tortilla chips. But every time I think about it, I am either not at the store or not in the mood.
So yesterday, to get myself in the mood (and because I was craving it), I went to the store and bought some ready-made guacamole. I still plan to learn how to make my own, sometime in the next 17 days, but I figure the Trader Joe's brand can serve as the "control guacamole," so I know if I'm making it right, or at least close to right.
But believe you me, I will reach that goal. I can't afford to get behind, because I've got some big plans for next year.
I tend to make my New Year's resolutions on my birthday, for two reasons -- first because it's a new year for me, and second, because if I slack for a few months, I can remake the same resolutions on January 1 and pretend the whole birthday resolution thing isn't true.
Well, I have to confess, I've been a slacker with the one and only goal I set for my 28th year, and it's not even a hard thing from what I hear. (I figured planning a wedding was hard enough that I didn't have to add a long to-do list and complicate things).
Now I am left with only 17 days in which to learn to make guacamole.
Everyone I know tells me it's easy, as long as the avocados are good. Exactly how to know an avocado is good, however, is something no one seems to want to divulge; all I've been told is, "they can't be too hard." But how hard is too hard? And once I somehow identify and acquire the perfect avocados, how do I actually smash them up to make the guacamole? Marla tells me that the Magic Bullet is not a good choice, but what is? A food processor? A potato ricer? Or should I stomp on them grape-style?
I suppose I could just do trial and error; it really can't be that hard to figure out. After all, my special area of cooking expertise is dips best served with tortilla chips. But every time I think about it, I am either not at the store or not in the mood.
So yesterday, to get myself in the mood (and because I was craving it), I went to the store and bought some ready-made guacamole. I still plan to learn how to make my own, sometime in the next 17 days, but I figure the Trader Joe's brand can serve as the "control guacamole," so I know if I'm making it right, or at least close to right.
But believe you me, I will reach that goal. I can't afford to get behind, because I've got some big plans for next year.
Monday, October 01, 2007
Apple Pecan Crumb Pie
In celebration of October's arrival, here is a must-have recipe for a fabulous fall treat. I made this last night -- I didn't eat any because of the butter, but I heard it turned out tasty.
Filling:
1/4 chopped pecans
6 cups apples, peeled and sliced
1 cup sugar
2 tsp. flour
1/4 tsp. nutmeg
1/2 tsp. cinnamon
2 tbl. butter
Crumb topping:
1/2 cup packed brown sugar
1/4 cup butter
1/4 tsp. cinnamon
1/3 cup flour
1/4 cup chopped pecans
Sprinkle pecans in an unbaked deep dish pie shell. Mix sugar, flour and spices and toss with apples. Heap apples in pie shell, dot with butter. Blend crumb topping with fork until the size of peas, then sprinkle over pie. Bake at 425 for 40-45 minutes.
Filling:
1/4 chopped pecans
6 cups apples, peeled and sliced
1 cup sugar
2 tsp. flour
1/4 tsp. nutmeg
1/2 tsp. cinnamon
2 tbl. butter
Crumb topping:
1/2 cup packed brown sugar
1/4 cup butter
1/4 tsp. cinnamon
1/3 cup flour
1/4 cup chopped pecans
Sprinkle pecans in an unbaked deep dish pie shell. Mix sugar, flour and spices and toss with apples. Heap apples in pie shell, dot with butter. Blend crumb topping with fork until the size of peas, then sprinkle over pie. Bake at 425 for 40-45 minutes.
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