Time for another true confession: I've got a weakness for rock opera. You know, sort of epic lyrics and layered arrangements and intricate piano parts—and a band member who could hit an unnaturally high note. Think Styx' "Come Sail Away" and Queen's "Bohemian Rhapsody."
Queen ruled supreme when it comes to rock opera. I spent a delightful afternoon at office, making short work of interpreting spreadsheets by gorging myself on Queen. Since The Pit was at full occupency, so I sat on my hands and put a proverbial piece of tape over my mouth, but it was really hard to sit still. Queen is meant to be sung aloud. Imagine my good luck to hear "Somebody to Love" on my drive home—I cranked the volume to 11 and belted with Bryan May—and gawd did it feel good.
One more time—all together now:
Friday, November 30, 2007
Thursday, November 29, 2007
very productive week (so far)
I finally managed to cancel my Skyway Y membership. In theory, having a gym within walking distance that featured noon or late afternoon classes (spinning and yoga and strength training, oh my) was just too good to be true. Last October, I enrolled—while still a member of another club—when the Y was waiving initiation fees. With no excuse but my own abject lameness, I was going to get in shape over the winter, train for RAGBRAI, avoid SAD.
October '07 rolls around and I realize I've never gone to the gym. Not. Even. Once.
So I revised my workout scheme, deciding that early morning exercise is the ticket, and bought a spinning bike. It cost less than my Milano and less than a year's membership at the Y. And, I already own a few Spinerval DVDs intended for kick-ass, off-season competitive training.
The bike is yellow, as pictured, which instantly makes it better than any ol' gym spinner. Winston said, "I've tried it [the bike] out, and it's really cool, mom." Funny, I had hoped that one of the benefits of spinning at home would be never needing to readjust settings. As I would be the only one using it.
Effectively, we've just turned our enormous den—bigger than our first apartment—into a home gym. Expect progress reports. If I can't be accountable to myself, I'll try answering to the internets. Can't hurt.
Evan, our Orkin rep, visited us this morning. Part of the regular service we have to minimize bugs and carry away dead mice—or catch them with his bare hands, which he did once. He's a good guy, though he can't figure out where the mice are getting into the house. Dude, that's what we pay you the big bucks to do. Anyhow, we think that John solved the problem by putting mesh over the "ventilation"—the big hole from removing hose on the air-exchange unit—on the side of the house. Evan found a mouse on a glueboard in the mechanical room; the mouse was six weeks-ish decomposed. He also found—avert your eyes if you find killing vermin reprehensible—a glueboard with a pile of rocks, a piece of duct tape, and a squidge (my word) of fur stuck to it. Evan's theory: the mouse, who was likely exploring the crawlspace, got stuck to the duct tape, which it wore, then got stuck on the glueboard, but managed to pull itself off. I've got to stop—the thought of it is making me nauseous. Anyhoo, his theory is just crazy enough to be true.
I've piggybacked another service call with the Evan's visit. Any minute, a handyman/roofer is coming to look at a portion of our roof that has sprung several leaks (right over John's side of the bed), replace the doorknob on the side entry (our primary door, which we haven't been able to use for weeks), and change the lightbulbs in the studio's recessed lights, which are set into an 18-foot ceiling. Dramatic, I know. Here's the long-way-down view. The can lights are still a foot overhead from where I shot this photo.
Oh, he just drove by, looking for the house. Gotta go but just wanted to say: it feels good to cross things off the (large) to-do list.
October '07 rolls around and I realize I've never gone to the gym. Not. Even. Once.
So I revised my workout scheme, deciding that early morning exercise is the ticket, and bought a spinning bike. It cost less than my Milano and less than a year's membership at the Y. And, I already own a few Spinerval DVDs intended for kick-ass, off-season competitive training.
The bike is yellow, as pictured, which instantly makes it better than any ol' gym spinner. Winston said, "I've tried it [the bike] out, and it's really cool, mom." Funny, I had hoped that one of the benefits of spinning at home would be never needing to readjust settings. As I would be the only one using it.Effectively, we've just turned our enormous den—bigger than our first apartment—into a home gym. Expect progress reports. If I can't be accountable to myself, I'll try answering to the internets. Can't hurt.
Evan, our Orkin rep, visited us this morning. Part of the regular service we have to minimize bugs and carry away dead mice—or catch them with his bare hands, which he did once. He's a good guy, though he can't figure out where the mice are getting into the house. Dude, that's what we pay you the big bucks to do. Anyhow, we think that John solved the problem by putting mesh over the "ventilation"—the big hole from removing hose on the air-exchange unit—on the side of the house. Evan found a mouse on a glueboard in the mechanical room; the mouse was six weeks-ish decomposed. He also found—avert your eyes if you find killing vermin reprehensible—a glueboard with a pile of rocks, a piece of duct tape, and a squidge (my word) of fur stuck to it. Evan's theory: the mouse, who was likely exploring the crawlspace, got stuck to the duct tape, which it wore, then got stuck on the glueboard, but managed to pull itself off. I've got to stop—the thought of it is making me nauseous. Anyhoo, his theory is just crazy enough to be true.
I've piggybacked another service call with the Evan's visit. Any minute, a handyman/roofer is coming to look at a portion of our roof that has sprung several leaks (right over John's side of the bed), replace the doorknob on the side entry (our primary door, which we haven't been able to use for weeks), and change the lightbulbs in the studio's recessed lights, which are set into an 18-foot ceiling. Dramatic, I know. Here's the long-way-down view. The can lights are still a foot overhead from where I shot this photo.
Oh, he just drove by, looking for the house. Gotta go but just wanted to say: it feels good to cross things off the (large) to-do list.
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
wiki wednesday
It's time for Wiki Wednesday!
1. Go to wikipedia.
2. Click on "random article" on the left-hand sidebar.
3. Post it.
It just goes to show that you can learn something new every day! Go here to read more about the rapper Killer Mike.
1. Go to wikipedia.
2. Click on "random article" on the left-hand sidebar.
3. Post it.
It just goes to show that you can learn something new every day! Go here to read more about the rapper Killer Mike.
Michael Render, better known by his stage name Killer Mike (born April 20, 1975) is an American rapper, signed to Grind Time Official through the KOCH imprint. He made his debut appearance on "Snappin' and Trappin'" on OutKast's 2000 LP Stankonia, and also appeared on the Grammy-winning song, "The Whole World", the single from OutKast's greatest hits album Big Boi and Dre Present...OutKast. He was featured in the movies 20 Funerals, Idlewild, and ATL.
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Thanksgiving post mortem
Really, the less said about our trip to South Dakota, the better. But, you know me, I can't leave well enough alone. Allow me to enumerate:
1. We drove, round trip, for fifteen hours
That's a lot of time in the car for any reason. John and I managed nicely. When he drove, I read a book—Bagman, Jay MacLarty's second installment featuring courier Simon Leonidovich—aloud. When he napped, I drove and cranked tunes he can't stand—pop-y, bridge-rich numbers that you feel in your core and make you glad to be alive. Meanwhile, the leetle boys gorged themselves on Nintendo DS games and M&Ms, for the duration. As far as spending time in the car with an eight- and five point five-year-old go, best trip ever.
2. Both kids got sick
It's been a long time since the stress of travel has manifested itself as illness in either son so I don't think it was that. Winston, who confidently ordered a bison burger at Al's Oasis in Chamberlain, So Dak, was rewarded, around midnight, by food poisoning. I have no proof it was the burger, but Al's is pretty scary and the time frame between eating and his barfing episode fit. The next morning, Simon had diarrhea and didn't quite make it to the bathroom. All of which was really just a prelude to spending "quality" time with my family.
3. We were unceremoniously deserted each day
Each morning , my father and brother Nik would take off and spend the day hunting. My mother would dutifully make them lunch and drive it out the fields. No one ever asked John, who had specifically requested coming to Winner so that he could see the "gorgeous" grasslands about which my brothers rave, if he'd like to accompany them. Fortunately, John asked if he could go with them, even though he didn't intend to hunt. Some provision was made. Granted, my family stands on no ceremony whatsoever, still I think it was colossally rude, especially given the distance we'd traveled to see my family.
4. My mother never ceases to trample
My mother who is sixty-five, has the emotional maturity and mental acuity of a teenager. Don't bother to tell her the insensitive comment she has just made about your weight or being a working mother or about indigenous peoples anywhere has hurt your feelings because she doesn't care. She's a fiercely disturbing lock-step conservative. I'm talking beyond party identification as a Republican to a certifiable, lunatic-fringe neocon. Goddess, help us. Spending any amount of time with her is a challenge and a trial. How I wish that wasn't so, but there you have it. She's like a bull, plowing her way through life, horns down. If I had any last wish, it would be to improve my relationship with her, but she, unbelievably, doesn't see any problem. Always makes me wonder what her relationship with her mother was like, if she even had one.
5. The town of Winner is depressing
Simon, who is only eight years old and a sharp observer, calls it an "elderly town. " He elaborates by saying only old people live there, i.e., his grandparents, but by which he means, it's a town that time forgot. It looks and feels old, rundown, sad.
6. Rehashing hurts
I had the privilege of listening to John detail every stinking moment of our trip as we pulled out of Winner, by now a ritual with us whenever we visit my parents. It's all true, but stings to hear nonetheless.
Sadly, there is no point in telling them what a disaster I found this whole trip to be since they'd just see it as further evidence that I'm an angry, raging lunatic when it comes to my family. They really push that unconditional-love bit too far.
Lesson: next year when we receive that beautiful invitation to give thanks with our friends, we accept.
There were a few highlights:
We ate well. Nik sliced up some smoked pheasants he'd made and whipped up a snack of South Dakota rumaki (pheasant hearts and water chestnuts wrapped in bacon, fried, and floated in maple syrup). The twice-baked sweet potatoes and the cornbread stuffing that accompanied our Thanksgiving turkeys (deep-fried, pictured above, and smoked) were outstanding and may find their ways back onto a future holiday menu. And, I astonished even myself by whipping up a shepherd's pie with leftover turkey and mashed potatoes on Friday night.
My father did eventually give us a tour of his land—sort of a Great Plains safari. Pictured above is a view of nearly 400 acres—yes, about as far as the eye can see. You can't help but think about how vast this country is when you're out of a population center, standing on prairie lands, with nothing but blue skies ahead. At this point on the map, we're about 40 miles from the Badlands, and occasionally you'll see a butte, giving a taste of changing topography. Who sez the Midwest is flat? Also, on this piece of land, you'll see buffalo wallows, a depression created by buffalo herds using the earth as nature's scratching post. We saw a coyote, a pair of deer (buck and doe), countless pheasant, a turkey flock, and a fox—eat your heart out Jim Fowler.
I was able to do some reading and work on a knitting project I started last year. MOST IMPORTANT: I had the supreme luxury of time with my handsome husband and beautiful, funny boys—and you can't take that away from me. Here Jedi knights do battle with tumbleweeds.
1. We drove, round trip, for fifteen hours
That's a lot of time in the car for any reason. John and I managed nicely. When he drove, I read a book—Bagman, Jay MacLarty's second installment featuring courier Simon Leonidovich—aloud. When he napped, I drove and cranked tunes he can't stand—pop-y, bridge-rich numbers that you feel in your core and make you glad to be alive. Meanwhile, the leetle boys gorged themselves on Nintendo DS games and M&Ms, for the duration. As far as spending time in the car with an eight- and five point five-year-old go, best trip ever.
2. Both kids got sick
It's been a long time since the stress of travel has manifested itself as illness in either son so I don't think it was that. Winston, who confidently ordered a bison burger at Al's Oasis in Chamberlain, So Dak, was rewarded, around midnight, by food poisoning. I have no proof it was the burger, but Al's is pretty scary and the time frame between eating and his barfing episode fit. The next morning, Simon had diarrhea and didn't quite make it to the bathroom. All of which was really just a prelude to spending "quality" time with my family.
3. We were unceremoniously deserted each day
Each morning , my father and brother Nik would take off and spend the day hunting. My mother would dutifully make them lunch and drive it out the fields. No one ever asked John, who had specifically requested coming to Winner so that he could see the "gorgeous" grasslands about which my brothers rave, if he'd like to accompany them. Fortunately, John asked if he could go with them, even though he didn't intend to hunt. Some provision was made. Granted, my family stands on no ceremony whatsoever, still I think it was colossally rude, especially given the distance we'd traveled to see my family.
4. My mother never ceases to trample
My mother who is sixty-five, has the emotional maturity and mental acuity of a teenager. Don't bother to tell her the insensitive comment she has just made about your weight or being a working mother or about indigenous peoples anywhere has hurt your feelings because she doesn't care. She's a fiercely disturbing lock-step conservative. I'm talking beyond party identification as a Republican to a certifiable, lunatic-fringe neocon. Goddess, help us. Spending any amount of time with her is a challenge and a trial. How I wish that wasn't so, but there you have it. She's like a bull, plowing her way through life, horns down. If I had any last wish, it would be to improve my relationship with her, but she, unbelievably, doesn't see any problem. Always makes me wonder what her relationship with her mother was like, if she even had one.
5. The town of Winner is depressing
Simon, who is only eight years old and a sharp observer, calls it an "elderly town. " He elaborates by saying only old people live there, i.e., his grandparents, but by which he means, it's a town that time forgot. It looks and feels old, rundown, sad.
6. Rehashing hurts
I had the privilege of listening to John detail every stinking moment of our trip as we pulled out of Winner, by now a ritual with us whenever we visit my parents. It's all true, but stings to hear nonetheless.
Sadly, there is no point in telling them what a disaster I found this whole trip to be since they'd just see it as further evidence that I'm an angry, raging lunatic when it comes to my family. They really push that unconditional-love bit too far.
Lesson: next year when we receive that beautiful invitation to give thanks with our friends, we accept.
There were a few highlights:
We ate well. Nik sliced up some smoked pheasants he'd made and whipped up a snack of South Dakota rumaki (pheasant hearts and water chestnuts wrapped in bacon, fried, and floated in maple syrup). The twice-baked sweet potatoes and the cornbread stuffing that accompanied our Thanksgiving turkeys (deep-fried, pictured above, and smoked) were outstanding and may find their ways back onto a future holiday menu. And, I astonished even myself by whipping up a shepherd's pie with leftover turkey and mashed potatoes on Friday night.
My father did eventually give us a tour of his land—sort of a Great Plains safari. Pictured above is a view of nearly 400 acres—yes, about as far as the eye can see. You can't help but think about how vast this country is when you're out of a population center, standing on prairie lands, with nothing but blue skies ahead. At this point on the map, we're about 40 miles from the Badlands, and occasionally you'll see a butte, giving a taste of changing topography. Who sez the Midwest is flat? Also, on this piece of land, you'll see buffalo wallows, a depression created by buffalo herds using the earth as nature's scratching post. We saw a coyote, a pair of deer (buck and doe), countless pheasant, a turkey flock, and a fox—eat your heart out Jim Fowler.
I was able to do some reading and work on a knitting project I started last year. MOST IMPORTANT: I had the supreme luxury of time with my handsome husband and beautiful, funny boys—and you can't take that away from me. Here Jedi knights do battle with tumbleweeds.
Monday, November 19, 2007
over the river and through the woods
Without a doubt, Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. I love that the day is all about food, specifically a big meal that takes hours to prepare. This year we’re going to Winner, South Dakota, pheasant capital of the world and scene of nearly every Thanksgiving from my childhood.
My family would make the three-hour drive from Watertown to Winner, where we would meet my father’s sister Sharon, her husband Bill, and my cousin Tonya, who was six months younger than me and six months older than my sister Michele. My sister and I were also so excited to see Tonya. She lived on a mountain in Colorado and owned a horse and seemed so cool. As teenagers we’d compare hair products and swap copies of Seventeen magazine. While our parents were out pheasant hunting, the cousins would walk to downtown Winner, where we buy cheap cosmetics at the drugstore and pizzas and snack foods at The Outlaw, part grocery store/part hitching post.
Never mind that Tonya would spend her time befriending each us as she pitted my sister, brother, and me against each other. We looked forward to this manipulation every year.
My father inherited my grandparents’ home, but I haven’t been back for Thanksgiving since 1984. We were given an opportunity to spend Thanksgiving there this year, and though I was reluctant, John persuaded me to go. I’m really looking forward to the trip. The drive is eight hours, each way, so I will be reading at least one book aloud to John as well as a few books aloud to the boys. We’re bringing tons of music and snacks. Got to have snacks.
There’s a big yard so the boys can play football with Uncle Nik. I understand that the weather will be cooperative for outdoorsy stuff, which is good because there is a plan afoot to walk some of my father’s 2,000 acres of grasslands. I’m also bringing wine, cheese, books, magazines, movies, board games, card decks, knitting gear, computer, and the kitchen sink.
My mother and I have been planning the meal for a few weeks. The menu features a wild turkey courtesy of my hunter-gatherer father, garlic mashed potatoes, twice-baked sweet potatoes, cornbread stuffing with dried apples, sage, and pecans, green beans, and rolls with pumpkin and pecan pies for dessert. John and I are bringing a champagne and wine, and I’m really excited about the O’Reilly’s pinot noir from Oregon, a reprise of something we drank recently.
John and I should be packing right now—it’s 11:30 p.m.—but we’re watching Bones and House instead. In the case we don’t have wi-fi for the next five days, have a very happy Thanksgiving. Until then, check out some of the tunes on this mix CD I made earlier today.
Thanksgiving Monkey Mix, volume one
1. Ana NG (They Might Be Giants)
2. Give Me Flowers While I’m Living (The Knitters)
3. Ring of Fire (Johnny Cash)
4. The Dap Dip (Sharon Jones & The Dap-Kings)
5. Suzannah’s Still Alive (The Kinks)
6. Wilderness (Sleater Kinney)
7. Demolition Man (The Police)
8. Thanks for the Night (The Damned)
9. Wings of a Dove (Madness)
10. Apple Tree (Wolfmother)
11. Hollywood [Africa] (Red Hot Chili Peppers)
12. I Can’t Stand It (Velvet Underground)
13. Goin’ Out West (Tom Waits)
14. London’s Burning (The Clash)
15. Beautiful Day (U2)
16. Everybody Ona Move (Michael Franti)
17. Boyz (M.I.A.)
18. Magnolia (Apollo Sunshine)
My family would make the three-hour drive from Watertown to Winner, where we would meet my father’s sister Sharon, her husband Bill, and my cousin Tonya, who was six months younger than me and six months older than my sister Michele. My sister and I were also so excited to see Tonya. She lived on a mountain in Colorado and owned a horse and seemed so cool. As teenagers we’d compare hair products and swap copies of Seventeen magazine. While our parents were out pheasant hunting, the cousins would walk to downtown Winner, where we buy cheap cosmetics at the drugstore and pizzas and snack foods at The Outlaw, part grocery store/part hitching post.
Never mind that Tonya would spend her time befriending each us as she pitted my sister, brother, and me against each other. We looked forward to this manipulation every year.
My father inherited my grandparents’ home, but I haven’t been back for Thanksgiving since 1984. We were given an opportunity to spend Thanksgiving there this year, and though I was reluctant, John persuaded me to go. I’m really looking forward to the trip. The drive is eight hours, each way, so I will be reading at least one book aloud to John as well as a few books aloud to the boys. We’re bringing tons of music and snacks. Got to have snacks.
There’s a big yard so the boys can play football with Uncle Nik. I understand that the weather will be cooperative for outdoorsy stuff, which is good because there is a plan afoot to walk some of my father’s 2,000 acres of grasslands. I’m also bringing wine, cheese, books, magazines, movies, board games, card decks, knitting gear, computer, and the kitchen sink.
My mother and I have been planning the meal for a few weeks. The menu features a wild turkey courtesy of my hunter-gatherer father, garlic mashed potatoes, twice-baked sweet potatoes, cornbread stuffing with dried apples, sage, and pecans, green beans, and rolls with pumpkin and pecan pies for dessert. John and I are bringing a champagne and wine, and I’m really excited about the O’Reilly’s pinot noir from Oregon, a reprise of something we drank recently.
John and I should be packing right now—it’s 11:30 p.m.—but we’re watching Bones and House instead. In the case we don’t have wi-fi for the next five days, have a very happy Thanksgiving. Until then, check out some of the tunes on this mix CD I made earlier today.
Thanksgiving Monkey Mix, volume one
1. Ana NG (They Might Be Giants)
2. Give Me Flowers While I’m Living (The Knitters)
3. Ring of Fire (Johnny Cash)
4. The Dap Dip (Sharon Jones & The Dap-Kings)
5. Suzannah’s Still Alive (The Kinks)
6. Wilderness (Sleater Kinney)
7. Demolition Man (The Police)
8. Thanks for the Night (The Damned)
9. Wings of a Dove (Madness)
10. Apple Tree (Wolfmother)
11. Hollywood [Africa] (Red Hot Chili Peppers)
12. I Can’t Stand It (Velvet Underground)
13. Goin’ Out West (Tom Waits)
14. London’s Burning (The Clash)
15. Beautiful Day (U2)
16. Everybody Ona Move (Michael Franti)
17. Boyz (M.I.A.)
18. Magnolia (Apollo Sunshine)
weekend update: november 16-18
Here chez Shepard, we enjoyed a spectacular, stress-free weekend. Here are the highlights:
Friday night
John and I met my friend Tracy, her beau Bill, and her friends Heather and Rusty for dinner at Brasa, Alex Roberts’ other restaurant. The menu features locally grown chicken, cooked on a rotisserie, and Berkshire pork, which has been slow-roasted for twelve hours until there’s not a scrap of fat or connective tissue remaining. It was smoky and soft and amazingly good. And it had crispy bits. The chicken was moist and flavorful, too, but it didn’t hold a candle to the pork. In addition to the meat, Brasa serves up Southern sides, such as garnet yams with chorizo sausage, collard greens, cornbread, and fried plantains—all of which we ate—as well as cheesy grits, creamed spinach, fried yucca, and others which we’re saving for our next visit.
After dinner we saw Sharon Jones at First Ave. She wailed. Led by guitarist Binky Griptite, the Dap-Kings warmed up the sold-out show (Jones’ first) with a little soul revue. The Sharon Jones took the stage and rocked the house for an hour and a half. She did the cover of "What Have You Done for Me Lately" from her first album, Dap-Dippin’, which sounded nothing like Janet Jackson’s version from the 80s, and a mix of songs from her new and previous albums. We missed the encores because we needed to spell the sitter. Overall, a great date night.
Saturday
John and I let the boys gorge themselves on TV while we slept until 10. Yes, I know. It was totally decadent. Sleeping in usually doesn’t go past 8 a.m., but sometimes you’ve just got to get caught up on sleep. The kids certainly didn’t mind. After we dressed, we all headed out to run errands—fun errands.
First stop, our inaugural visit to the Midtown Global Market. This public market features shops and restaurants, spanning a variety of ethnic groups—East African, West Indies, Latino, Hmong, Scandinavian, and Middle Eastern, among others. It’s somewhat chaotic, but colorful, and occupies the former Chicago-Lake Sears, which is an enormous building and must have been something in its day. The boys ate burgers and fries at an outpost of Andy’s Garage, while I grabbed a sandwich from Manny’s Tortas—a cubana with everything (pork cutlet, ham, swiss cheese, lettuce, tomatoes, jalapenos, pickles, and chipotle mayo on a hero roll). I loved my sandwich. We visited our acquaintance (Ly Vang) who runs the Hmong Handicrafts booth at the St. Paul Farmer’s Market and also has a store here. And, we stocked up on shrimp chips and Pocky at a United Noodle outpost.
Then we crossed Chicago to Uncle Edgar/Uncle Hugo to stock up on books for our Thanksgiving trip. Uncle Edgar/Uncle Hugo is a treasure trove of new and used mystery and science fiction books with a smattering of the unexpected in between (games, puzzles, and general interest books). Owner Don Blyley and mystery buyer Jeff Hatfield were among the most knowledgeable and passionate booksellers I met with when I was a publisher’s rep, and it’s also a pleasure to shop in this incredibly well-stocked store.
I picked up Jay MacLarty’s follow up to The Courier, Bagman, which I plan to read aloud to John on our eight-hour drive to So Dak later this week. Also Modesty Blaise, a campy take on the British spy novel with a sexy female spy. John found a few medieval mysteries, and Simon picked up a great-looking junior mystery that promises adventure with sleuthing, a good combination for him.
Next, we took the long way around Minneapolis to get to Nordeast. Destination: Surdyk’s. The wine and fancy foods store was hosting yet another sale, and we thought we’d stock up on wine for Thanksgiving. Us and everyone else in Minneapolis. The store was unpleasantly crowded, which made for difficult navigating with a shopping cart. And kids. I know. What were we thinking? We bought the last bottle of L de Lyeth meritage-style cabernet, a bottle of Valpolicella, some Nicolas Feuillante (our favorite champagne), and a bottle of Highland Park scotch.
Last errand: Target. To buy the little one his very own Nintendo DS. Big brother has one, but Winston has been very cool about watching and waiting. He hasn’t asked for his own—in fact, he doesn’t even ask to play with Simon’s game. But, we thought we’d get him his own so the boys can keep themselves occupied during the eight-hour drive to and the mind-numbing boredom of our Thanksgiving destination.
We wrapped up our day with wine and nibbles (cheese, olives, saucisson sec, and a truly tasty leek tart) at Colin and Helena’s house.
Sunday
We tend to do our grocery shopping on Sunday mornings, when the faithers are in church. Simon accompanied me this morning—he’s a good helper so it was a pleasure. We also grabbed a bagel bundle and a small lox at Bruegger’s, then headed home to have breakfast with John and Winston. After breakfast, John and I set up our laptops (John’s setting up his sexy, small new number [Lenovo X61 Thinkpad] with a fake Mac interface—I don’t know how the tech geeks do these things) in the hope of getting some work done, but the little boys were having none of it. John took them up to Groveland to play football. Here’s his account:
As if the weekend couldn’t get better, I spent the later afternoon tinkering over a long-cooking dinner—beef goulash from Cooks Illustrated’s Best Recipe. I wanted to make something that would give us leftovers for lunch in the upcoming short week. This beef stew delivered with tender meat, carrots, and red peppers enlivened by paprika and cooked slowly, creating an incredibly rich broth, which we served over egg noodles. Can’t wait for lunch tomorrow.
I’m glad we had a chance to recharge and reconnect. My two-day workweek is going to be another absurdly busy one, and I’m determined not to get too stressed out over looming deadlines. On Wednesday, we’re all heading for Winner, South Dakota, the pheasant capital of the world, to celebrate Thanksgiving with my parents and brother Nik.
I’ll try to get a post or two off before we hit the road. I doubt we’ll have a wi-fi connection in remote So Dak, but I’m open to being surprised.
Friday night
John and I met my friend Tracy, her beau Bill, and her friends Heather and Rusty for dinner at Brasa, Alex Roberts’ other restaurant. The menu features locally grown chicken, cooked on a rotisserie, and Berkshire pork, which has been slow-roasted for twelve hours until there’s not a scrap of fat or connective tissue remaining. It was smoky and soft and amazingly good. And it had crispy bits. The chicken was moist and flavorful, too, but it didn’t hold a candle to the pork. In addition to the meat, Brasa serves up Southern sides, such as garnet yams with chorizo sausage, collard greens, cornbread, and fried plantains—all of which we ate—as well as cheesy grits, creamed spinach, fried yucca, and others which we’re saving for our next visit.
After dinner we saw Sharon Jones at First Ave. She wailed. Led by guitarist Binky Griptite, the Dap-Kings warmed up the sold-out show (Jones’ first) with a little soul revue. The Sharon Jones took the stage and rocked the house for an hour and a half. She did the cover of "What Have You Done for Me Lately" from her first album, Dap-Dippin’, which sounded nothing like Janet Jackson’s version from the 80s, and a mix of songs from her new and previous albums. We missed the encores because we needed to spell the sitter. Overall, a great date night.
Saturday
John and I let the boys gorge themselves on TV while we slept until 10. Yes, I know. It was totally decadent. Sleeping in usually doesn’t go past 8 a.m., but sometimes you’ve just got to get caught up on sleep. The kids certainly didn’t mind. After we dressed, we all headed out to run errands—fun errands.
First stop, our inaugural visit to the Midtown Global Market. This public market features shops and restaurants, spanning a variety of ethnic groups—East African, West Indies, Latino, Hmong, Scandinavian, and Middle Eastern, among others. It’s somewhat chaotic, but colorful, and occupies the former Chicago-Lake Sears, which is an enormous building and must have been something in its day. The boys ate burgers and fries at an outpost of Andy’s Garage, while I grabbed a sandwich from Manny’s Tortas—a cubana with everything (pork cutlet, ham, swiss cheese, lettuce, tomatoes, jalapenos, pickles, and chipotle mayo on a hero roll). I loved my sandwich. We visited our acquaintance (Ly Vang) who runs the Hmong Handicrafts booth at the St. Paul Farmer’s Market and also has a store here. And, we stocked up on shrimp chips and Pocky at a United Noodle outpost.
Then we crossed Chicago to Uncle Edgar/Uncle Hugo to stock up on books for our Thanksgiving trip. Uncle Edgar/Uncle Hugo is a treasure trove of new and used mystery and science fiction books with a smattering of the unexpected in between (games, puzzles, and general interest books). Owner Don Blyley and mystery buyer Jeff Hatfield were among the most knowledgeable and passionate booksellers I met with when I was a publisher’s rep, and it’s also a pleasure to shop in this incredibly well-stocked store.
I picked up Jay MacLarty’s follow up to The Courier, Bagman, which I plan to read aloud to John on our eight-hour drive to So Dak later this week. Also Modesty Blaise, a campy take on the British spy novel with a sexy female spy. John found a few medieval mysteries, and Simon picked up a great-looking junior mystery that promises adventure with sleuthing, a good combination for him.
Next, we took the long way around Minneapolis to get to Nordeast. Destination: Surdyk’s. The wine and fancy foods store was hosting yet another sale, and we thought we’d stock up on wine for Thanksgiving. Us and everyone else in Minneapolis. The store was unpleasantly crowded, which made for difficult navigating with a shopping cart. And kids. I know. What were we thinking? We bought the last bottle of L de Lyeth meritage-style cabernet, a bottle of Valpolicella, some Nicolas Feuillante (our favorite champagne), and a bottle of Highland Park scotch.
Last errand: Target. To buy the little one his very own Nintendo DS. Big brother has one, but Winston has been very cool about watching and waiting. He hasn’t asked for his own—in fact, he doesn’t even ask to play with Simon’s game. But, we thought we’d get him his own so the boys can keep themselves occupied during the eight-hour drive to and the mind-numbing boredom of our Thanksgiving destination.
We wrapped up our day with wine and nibbles (cheese, olives, saucisson sec, and a truly tasty leek tart) at Colin and Helena’s house.
Sunday
We tend to do our grocery shopping on Sunday mornings, when the faithers are in church. Simon accompanied me this morning—he’s a good helper so it was a pleasure. We also grabbed a bagel bundle and a small lox at Bruegger’s, then headed home to have breakfast with John and Winston. After breakfast, John and I set up our laptops (John’s setting up his sexy, small new number [Lenovo X61 Thinkpad] with a fake Mac interface—I don’t know how the tech geeks do these things) in the hope of getting some work done, but the little boys were having none of it. John took them up to Groveland to play football. Here’s his account:
So today,I checked out a bunch of great books from the library—Not a Girl Detective by Susan Kandel, Free Food for Millionaires by Min Jin Lee, Suffer the Little Children by Donna Leon (this is on the Conversation with Books list for January), Gentlemen of the Road by Michael Chabon (that’s two books from him this year—how does he do it?), and Italian Two Easy, a cookbook from London River Café’s Rose Gray and Ruth Rogers. I know. When am I going to read these?
Jen wanted an hour of peace, so I grabbed the nerf football and walked to the playground with Simon and Winston. Mostly Win wanted to play on the jungle gym (he's a regular primate on the monkey bars). Simon, on the other hand wanted to throw the football. He can't really catch it yet, but he can throw a good spiral.
After a while Win came over to play with Simon and me. We defined a field, and I teamed up with Winston. The score was 2 to 1 for Winston and me when Simon threw the ball to our end and Win picked it up to run back. I set up to block Simon and he came running towards us. He came right at me with his arms out, and I set up with my forearms in front of me to block him. Well, he was running a little too fast, and I was blocking a little to hard, and the next thing we knew Simon was on the ground with a bloody lip. The boy is only 8 years old, what was I doing? Of course Winston didn't notice at all and went on to score. After I picked Simon up (blood dripping from his mouth onto the ground) and calmed him down (getting the blood all over my sweat shirt), we made the unanimous decision to call it a day. Simon seemed O.K., but by now it was dawning on Winston that this was a big thing and he kept going over it, and over it. I was willing to talk Winston through it, but Simon just wanted to get home and move on.
Luckily by the time we got home and got Simon washed up, our local library had opened up and we were able to distract ourselves with a new activity. In the end, everyone was O.K., and I will be A LOT MORE careful when playing with the boys.
As if the weekend couldn’t get better, I spent the later afternoon tinkering over a long-cooking dinner—beef goulash from Cooks Illustrated’s Best Recipe. I wanted to make something that would give us leftovers for lunch in the upcoming short week. This beef stew delivered with tender meat, carrots, and red peppers enlivened by paprika and cooked slowly, creating an incredibly rich broth, which we served over egg noodles. Can’t wait for lunch tomorrow.
I’m glad we had a chance to recharge and reconnect. My two-day workweek is going to be another absurdly busy one, and I’m determined not to get too stressed out over looming deadlines. On Wednesday, we’re all heading for Winner, South Dakota, the pheasant capital of the world, to celebrate Thanksgiving with my parents and brother Nik.
I’ll try to get a post or two off before we hit the road. I doubt we’ll have a wi-fi connection in remote So Dak, but I’m open to being surprised.
Friday, November 16, 2007
sir linksalot
This morning I was browsing a print version of the Star Tribune—how many of you still do this?—and read a bunch of cool articles. Herewith:
~ Talk about hardest working woman in show biz—267 shows in 14 countries to promote her 2005 album "Naturally". Here is a great article about Sharon Jones, who I am going to see live, on stage at First Ave tonight. I. Cannot. Wait.
~ Metro Transit has rolled out a small fleet of hybrid buses. They cost a half mil each and get 4.71 mpg, an improvement over the 3.86 mpg of a standard bus.
~ For as much as global warming engenders in me great despair, I'm happy about having a warmer winter this year. I hate cold weather. Experts say average winter temperatures have been rising for 30 years, mostly driven by much warmer nighttime temperatures.
Elsewhere on the internets (thank you, Tracy!):
~ If you're not into news about global warming, check out this fun food blog. It's written by Homer Steinweiss, the Dap-Kings' drummer (the Dap-Kings is Sharon Jones' brass-driven backing band). Remember from the first nugget on this list that the Dap-Kings tour 14 countries on average to promote an album, which makes for plenty of food adventures.
~ Talk about hardest working woman in show biz—267 shows in 14 countries to promote her 2005 album "Naturally". Here is a great article about Sharon Jones, who I am going to see live, on stage at First Ave tonight. I. Cannot. Wait.
~ Metro Transit has rolled out a small fleet of hybrid buses. They cost a half mil each and get 4.71 mpg, an improvement over the 3.86 mpg of a standard bus.
~ For as much as global warming engenders in me great despair, I'm happy about having a warmer winter this year. I hate cold weather. Experts say average winter temperatures have been rising for 30 years, mostly driven by much warmer nighttime temperatures.
Elsewhere on the internets (thank you, Tracy!):
~ If you're not into news about global warming, check out this fun food blog. It's written by Homer Steinweiss, the Dap-Kings' drummer (the Dap-Kings is Sharon Jones' brass-driven backing band). Remember from the first nugget on this list that the Dap-Kings tour 14 countries on average to promote an album, which makes for plenty of food adventures.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
start spreadin' the news
I’m back from New York, where I had a fantastic time with a few girlfriends—Jill S., Jill Y., and Tracy, another group of friends I have made through the publishing industry. We’ve all known each other since the early 1990s we were the only young women working as reps in the upper midwest, in a very male-dominant segment of publishing.
In addition to enjoying each other's company, we have supported each other as professional contacts, and fourteen years later, we're still friends.
Three of us have milestone birthdays this year and decided to celebrate together by taking a trip. Someone suggested New York City in November (our birthdays are in October, November, and December). Everyone agreed it was a fantastic idea. And, who can say no to NYC?
I love NYC—the architecture (the Flatiron and Chrysler buildings, the Guggenheim, all of 5th Avenue), the steel and concrete tunnels formed by building and streets, the neighborhoods (Soho, East and West Villages, Upper East Side, Lower East Side) and boroughs (Brooklyn), the local businesses, the restaurants (fancy or quick, all good), street food (slices of pizza, pretzels, hot dogs), the subway, the crowds, bike messengers (lunatics), the precious green spaces, the traffic, Brooklyn and Queens accents. There is so much crammed into Manhattan and outlying areas. Everywhere you look, there's something worth looking at.
Here are some highlights of our trip:
The Jills and I were on the same flight (Tracy had arrived a day earlier). In a wonderful coincidence, Jill S. and I were seated across the aisle from each other—and I still managed to read half my novella. Upon landing, we shared a cab into the city, found our hotel, and met up with Tracy. Pete’s Tavern, a watering hole since 1864 (O. Henry drank here), was in our neighborhood so we walked over for a drink and a nibble before calling it a night. (Also in the neighborhood, Casa Mono—Mario Batali’s tapas restaurant and a Rosicrucian office).
Day One
South Street Seaport to buy reduced-price theater tickets at a TKTS booth. Tracy and Jill S. volunteered to appear on TLC’s 10 Years Younger, which is filming on the ped mall at SSS (stay tuned—shows start airing in January '08). Katz’s Deli for pastrami on rye, coleslaw, and a pickle platter (sours, half sours, and green tomatoes), washed down with a Dr. Brown’s black cherry soda. The Guggenheim for the architecture, the permanent collection, and the Richard Prince exhibit, Spiritual America. The Red Cat for dinner (cocktail: campari and soda; starter: pumpkin and cornbread panzanella with parmesan, arugula and pomegranate vinaigrette; main: grilled double cut pork chop with wilted romaine, dates, feta, gigantes [giant Greek butter beans] and pumpkin seed pesto; side: light tempura of green beans with sweet hot mustard; wine: Benegas 2005 malbec). Spring Awakening, the 2007 Tony award-winner for best musical—with music by Duncan Sheik—at the Eugene O’Neill.
Day Two
Sex and the City bus tour with stops at Magnolia Bakery for cupcakes with piles of amazingly sweet buttercream frosting; John’s for pizza; shopping in the West Village; Raoul’s in Soho for dinner (cocktail: negroni; starter: pate maison with baby spinach, walnuts, and olives; main: cassoulet with confit duck, garlic saucisson, lamb, and tarbais beans; dessert: warm chocolate cake with hazelnut ice cream and salted caramel, profiterole with ice cream and chocolate sauce, and a plate of little cookies).
Day Three
Brunch at Prune (starter: merveilles, a type of beignets; main: soft-scrambled eggs, smoked bacon, potatoes rosti, and English muffins; side: housemade lamb sausage). Shopping at ABC Home, Fishs Eddy, and the Strand. Airport and flight home, where I sat next to a chatty woman whose daughter just purchased the home on St. Clair and Woodlawn, two blocks from us (the daughter and her husband have little boys the same age as Simon and Winston).
In addition to enjoying each other's company, we have supported each other as professional contacts, and fourteen years later, we're still friends.
Three of us have milestone birthdays this year and decided to celebrate together by taking a trip. Someone suggested New York City in November (our birthdays are in October, November, and December). Everyone agreed it was a fantastic idea. And, who can say no to NYC?
I love NYC—the architecture (the Flatiron and Chrysler buildings, the Guggenheim, all of 5th Avenue), the steel and concrete tunnels formed by building and streets, the neighborhoods (Soho, East and West Villages, Upper East Side, Lower East Side) and boroughs (Brooklyn), the local businesses, the restaurants (fancy or quick, all good), street food (slices of pizza, pretzels, hot dogs), the subway, the crowds, bike messengers (lunatics), the precious green spaces, the traffic, Brooklyn and Queens accents. There is so much crammed into Manhattan and outlying areas. Everywhere you look, there's something worth looking at.
Here are some highlights of our trip:
The Jills and I were on the same flight (Tracy had arrived a day earlier). In a wonderful coincidence, Jill S. and I were seated across the aisle from each other—and I still managed to read half my novella. Upon landing, we shared a cab into the city, found our hotel, and met up with Tracy. Pete’s Tavern, a watering hole since 1864 (O. Henry drank here), was in our neighborhood so we walked over for a drink and a nibble before calling it a night. (Also in the neighborhood, Casa Mono—Mario Batali’s tapas restaurant and a Rosicrucian office).
Day One
South Street Seaport to buy reduced-price theater tickets at a TKTS booth. Tracy and Jill S. volunteered to appear on TLC’s 10 Years Younger, which is filming on the ped mall at SSS (stay tuned—shows start airing in January '08). Katz’s Deli for pastrami on rye, coleslaw, and a pickle platter (sours, half sours, and green tomatoes), washed down with a Dr. Brown’s black cherry soda. The Guggenheim for the architecture, the permanent collection, and the Richard Prince exhibit, Spiritual America. The Red Cat for dinner (cocktail: campari and soda; starter: pumpkin and cornbread panzanella with parmesan, arugula and pomegranate vinaigrette; main: grilled double cut pork chop with wilted romaine, dates, feta, gigantes [giant Greek butter beans] and pumpkin seed pesto; side: light tempura of green beans with sweet hot mustard; wine: Benegas 2005 malbec). Spring Awakening, the 2007 Tony award-winner for best musical—with music by Duncan Sheik—at the Eugene O’Neill.
Day Two
Sex and the City bus tour with stops at Magnolia Bakery for cupcakes with piles of amazingly sweet buttercream frosting; John’s for pizza; shopping in the West Village; Raoul’s in Soho for dinner (cocktail: negroni; starter: pate maison with baby spinach, walnuts, and olives; main: cassoulet with confit duck, garlic saucisson, lamb, and tarbais beans; dessert: warm chocolate cake with hazelnut ice cream and salted caramel, profiterole with ice cream and chocolate sauce, and a plate of little cookies).
Day Three
Brunch at Prune (starter: merveilles, a type of beignets; main: soft-scrambled eggs, smoked bacon, potatoes rosti, and English muffins; side: housemade lamb sausage). Shopping at ABC Home, Fishs Eddy, and the Strand. Airport and flight home, where I sat next to a chatty woman whose daughter just purchased the home on St. Clair and Woodlawn, two blocks from us (the daughter and her husband have little boys the same age as Simon and Winston).
Thursday, November 08, 2007
doctor is out
I'm in New York City for the next four days—eating, shopping, sightseeing. Wish me luck!
Tuesday, November 06, 2007
confessions of a sporadic blogger
As happens each and every year, the end of daylight savings has kicked me in the ass. To begin with, I am not a morning person. Natural light sends a visual cue so I know it's okay to get out of bed. When the alarm sounds at 6:20 a.m., and it's pitch dark outside, I burrow a little deeper under the down comforter, let John curl his body around mine, and snooze. This morning was extra hard because I had a cozy, blonde bedbug on my side of the bed who was blocking my path. Even if I'd wanted to get up, it would have involved disturbing him.
Then, I ran a few errands this morning before arriving at the office. While I was out and about, I noticed that it was snowing. Mind you, the snow was incredibly fine and evaporated on contact with pavement or cars. And then the snow stopped, amounting to nothing—except to taunt and say, "It's cold enough to snow."
I don't know how I'm going to make it through the winter. Snow is fine. In fact, some of my favorite activities require snow—downhill skiing, sledding, and building snow forts with my boys.
It's the extreme cold and the obscenely low windchill and the impenetrable flat light of a Minnesota winter that forces me to hibernate until April. Should give me plenty of time for blogging, eh?
Reading: The Silverado Squatters, Robert Louis Stevenson's vignettes about 1880s Napa "lifestyle," which is out of print, but available online, unabridged. I've just started Ken Follett's monster, The Pillars of the Earth, his epic novel about the building of a Gothic cathedral in England, which I finally bought in trade paper because the mass market I have owned for years is too awkward to hold and the print is too small for my forty-year-old eyes.
Listening: Right this minute, I'm listening to The Police's reggae-inflected third album, Zenyatta Mondatta.
Watching: Not much with the writers strike in effect. There are a number of series that John and I came to in the second or third season—Bones, for example—so this seems like a good time to watch TV on DVD.
Then, I ran a few errands this morning before arriving at the office. While I was out and about, I noticed that it was snowing. Mind you, the snow was incredibly fine and evaporated on contact with pavement or cars. And then the snow stopped, amounting to nothing—except to taunt and say, "It's cold enough to snow."
I don't know how I'm going to make it through the winter. Snow is fine. In fact, some of my favorite activities require snow—downhill skiing, sledding, and building snow forts with my boys.
It's the extreme cold and the obscenely low windchill and the impenetrable flat light of a Minnesota winter that forces me to hibernate until April. Should give me plenty of time for blogging, eh?
Reading: The Silverado Squatters, Robert Louis Stevenson's vignettes about 1880s Napa "lifestyle," which is out of print, but available online, unabridged. I've just started Ken Follett's monster, The Pillars of the Earth, his epic novel about the building of a Gothic cathedral in England, which I finally bought in trade paper because the mass market I have owned for years is too awkward to hold and the print is too small for my forty-year-old eyes.
Listening: Right this minute, I'm listening to The Police's reggae-inflected third album, Zenyatta Mondatta.
Watching: Not much with the writers strike in effect. There are a number of series that John and I came to in the second or third season—Bones, for example—so this seems like a good time to watch TV on DVD.
Thursday, November 01, 2007
hobgoblins
Halloween is over finally. Hooray! The boys—a NASA astronaut (Winston) and a shadow wearing a purple cloak (Simon)—had a blast trick-or-treating with friends this evening. John even dressed as a cyclist, after a ride. They collected ungodly amounts of candy.
I have many great Halloween memories, which I try to hang on to because I like the holiday less and less with each passing year. Not to mention that I have no sweet-tooth and candy—yeah, not even chocolate bars—holds no charm.
Back in my trick-or-treating days, I would hit the neighborhood with my sister and brother, and friends Ann D., Catie L., and the brothers John and David H. The neighborhood consisted of approximately twenty homes around a portion of the lake where we lived—basically from Catie’s house to just beyond John and David’s house.
One year, John H. dressed up as the Headless Horseman, which was the most creative costume any of us wore—it’s certainly the only one I remember. He rigged a large white button-down shirt and an oversized suit jacket over his head and carried under his arm a basketball “head” replete with a wig.
My favorite costume was a red bandana-print dress with bat-wing sleeves, which was spacious enough to fit a coat (underneath—never over the costume), on the occasion of a cold Halloween. The amazing thing about this costume was that it did double-duty, serving one year as a gypsy and another as a princess. Yes, a bit of a stretch, but there you have it.
After a night of trick-or-treating, I would dump my candy loot into a shoebox and store it under my bed, which allowed me to inventory and monitor it against the ravages of my siblings. First I would eat my least favorite candies—licorice snaps, Hershey bars. Then I would eat the candies comprised purely of sugar—Pixie Stix, Lik ’em Aid, and Sweetarts and Bottle Caps, two each in little paper packets. Next I would eat through the fun-sized candy bar triumvirate—Milky Way, Snickers, 3 Musketeers—saving Almond Joys, Reese’s peanut butter cups, York peppermint patties, Nut Goodies, and Crunch bars for last. Inevitably all that remained—to be dumped—were the loathsome peanut butter taffy, Hershey’s Kisses, and Tootsie Rolls in assorted sizes.
By comparison, my kids eat from their buckets any and all candy, indiscriminately. I'm thinking about putting them in therapy sooner rather than later.
Here are a few of the stand-out Halloweens:
The Halloween blizzard of 1991. My friend Jane and her then-fiance Michael hosted a costume party. When I arrived at her place in the early afternoon to help her decorate, snow was falling. When I left a few hours later, I noticed that all the snow that must have fallen during that time had stuck to the ground. By the time I returned to the party with John, dressed as F. Scott Fitzgerald to my Zelda, around 7 or 8 that evening, the snow was piling up. And so it went.
At some point John and I left the party to meet friends at the Monte Carlo. By this point, driving—even on the freeway—was pretty dangerous. The bartender promised us that if he couldn’t get the front door open against drifting snow, then we could spend the night. At. The. Bar. We remained foolishly optimistic as friends Ted and Paul placed projectiles (wads of paper, cork) at the rim of empty booze bottles and dropped matches into the bottle in the hope of capitalizing on the alcohol as fuel.
Needless to say, we drove home. John spent the night—and the next several days—snowbound at my apartment. The day after the blizzard, my roommate’s boyfriend and his two housemates and their girlfriends helped us dig out our cars. All the guys lifted my compact car and place it the tracks other cars had made on the unplowed street. No lie. I wish I had video because it was pretty amazing.
Our first Halloween as homeowners. John and I moved into our first house on Halloween 1996. After spending the day lifting boxes and making multiple trips between our apartment and our new place, we realized it was Halloween and now that we lived in a house we might actually have trick-or-treaters. Lacking candy to dole out, we turned off the porch light and fled for the bar.
For the past five years, we have trick-or-treated with the same set of families in the Merriam Park neighborhood of St. Paul. The streets are busy with packs of kids and parents, and most houses participate so we really only need to hit two blocks—one side of the street only—before the kids have a month’s supply of goodies. Currently we live in a neighborhood that is heavily wooded and dark. No one uses their front doors on our four-block-long street so to trick-or-treat at our neighbors' houses would mean ringing doorbells in the alley, which is just weird and wrong. Since we’ve got a good gig with our friends, we turn off the yard lights and flee our home on Halloween.
Now is the time for full disclosure: I have some serious issues with Halloween. They’re not what you think. No, the issues don’t revolve around creepy, ghoulish costumes and decorations. These are fairly garden-variety practices that most people accept but that really tick me off. You should stop reading here if you would prefer not to have your Halloween crapped on.
One: retail stores—I’m looking at you Target—set up their Halloween displays too early—lately it's the day after Labor Day. Hello, the day after Labor Day is still summer. For nearly two months you’re looking at this costumes and decorations and bags of candy. It's a given that by the time you need to buy the Halloween costumes mid-October, they’re sold-out.
Two: local businesses that offer candy for trick-or-treating on the Saturday before Halloween. Why is this necessary? A common falsehood runs rampant around this practice—that it’s good advertising/marketing for businesses. The parents who take their kids trick-or-treating at stores are already customers there. Riddle me this, what parents get sucked into this ruse? The ones whose kids aren’t getting enough sugar? The ones who are afraid to take their kids trick-or-treating after dark in their otherwise safe neighborhoods? The ones who like to get “free stuff”?
I find it vulgar. To whit: The boys and I were minding our own business, eating bagels at Bruegger’s on Saturday morning. A woman entered the shop, her kids not even in the door yet, and asked loudly, “Are you giving out candy?”
It's simple: Trick-or-treat on Halloween. Go out at 4:30 p.m. if you want to get the kiddies home by nightfall.
Three: Halloween parties at school. I know that teachers must face extraordinary challenges during Halloween day. Show me a kid that isn’t totally amped to trick-or-treat. I understand that no learning can happen on this day. But, a party with candy and cookies and juice boxes—doesn’t that just compound the problem????? Suggestion: a big play day. Play games—they’re fun and provide a distraction, never mind an educational or physical benefit.
Four: I find it tiring that a one-day holiday, which you can’t even call by its name in school for fear that anyone take religious/cultural offense, gets more stretched out every year.
I feel better. Time for another fun-sized Snickers with almonds—and a cape.
PS. On our way home from our friends’ house tonight, I noticed that one of our neighbors on St. Clair has a lighted Christmas tree in their front window. WTF? I had to remind the boys that we don’t say the word Christmas in our home until the day after Thanksgiving, but then you can say it every day, as often as you like. We’re all about Christmas, but all in good time.
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