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:

So today,

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.

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?

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.

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.

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).

doctor is out

I'm in New York City for the next four days—eating, shopping, sightseeing. Wish me luck!

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.

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.

round here

At work and at home, the high-stress level continues apace. On a daily basis, I’ve been anxious, angry, depressed, and overwhelmed—not myself (happy, organized, invested). I fear that the boys have suffered as a result but I hope to ameliorate their pain with lots of fun-sized chocolate bars. October has been an extraordinarily long, busy month. But some nice things happened, including turning 40 without incident. Here are the highlights:

~awesome birthday trip to San Francisco and Napa Valley

~a long-overdue visit from my brother Jeff (we last saw him four years ago)
Jeff and our younger brother Nik spent the night with us before driving to South Dakota for the pheasant opener. In a wonderful coincidence, they arrived on Simon’s birthday so we were able to have a little celebration with homemade pizzas and chocolate cupcakes that my mother made. Simon and Winston had a blast palling around with their uncles. Because their visit was way too brief, we all vowed to head south this coming winter and pick up where we left off. Uncle Jeff, a former golf pro who lives in the greater Phoenix area, would like to put golf clubs in the boys’ hands. Simon and Winston would be so lucky—I can’t think of better teacher.

~Simon turned eight
He deserves his own post celebrating the occasion, and I hope to give him one soon. We’re having a party for him on Saturday, hoping to keep it low key with just a few friends and a cake and (possibly) an outing to see The Bee Movie.

~I hosted a quiet cocktail party with a few friends
We ate polpetti (tiny meatballs), great cheese (a creamy, stinky taleggio-style cheese from Virginia and a goat-milk tomme), warm spicy-sweet cashews, and a tasty slab of country pate with vinegary-tart cornichons. And, we drank a ton of wine, including a 1999 Karl Lawrence cab and a 2004 Domaine Lafond lirac.

~We hired reinforcements
At the office, that is, we hired another editor to replace one who left almost three months ago. I hope we can quickly get her up to speed so that she may help us dig out from under (how many cliches can I use in one sentence? would you know that I'm a writer/editor?). She (Ginny) starts on November 7.

Since I am generally optimistic, I feel it's safe to safe that things will get better soon!

my next car

Just as soon as my little family can abandon booster seats, which in Minnesota is practically any day now, I want to buy another hybrid (we already own a Prius and hubby is getting close to 50 mpg). There is something really appealing about this aerodynamic car, such as the minimal nature of the "shell" and the cool cockpit feel of the interior. Plus, I'd park it wherever I could find a scrap of sidewalk, like drivers do in France and San Francisco.

Learn more about the VentureOne.

happy friday

The most stressful workweek of the year is coming to an end. Even though I have many more tall piles around me that need to be tackled, I'd just like a break.

Join me as I celebrate Friday with a dose of goodness from 1982.

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.

Here's a movie for the to watch list. Walter Matthau, Susan Sarandon, Jack Lemmon—what's not to like?

The Front Page is a 1974 comedy-drama film directed by Billy Wilder and starring Jack Lemmon and Walter Matthau as a reporter and editor at a 1920s Chicago newspaper. The film is the third adaptation of the 1928 Broadway comedy play by Ben Hecht and Charles MacArthur. Other feature films based on the play are The Front Page (1931), His Girl Friday (1940) and Switching Channels (1988).

Contents [hide] 1 Plot 2 Cast 3 See also 4 External links

[edit] Plot

It is the night a convicted murderer, Earl Williams, is to be hanged, and reporters in the press room of Chicago's Criminal Courts Building, overlooking the gallows behind the Cook County Jail, are getting ready to witness the event. Hildy Johnson, a star reporter for the Examiner, shows up late, and then only to say good-bye to his colleagues. He is going to leave to get married to his girlfriend, Peggy Grant, and to get a more respectable job. His editor, Walter Burns, doesn't want to see Hildy leave the paper, so he schemes ways to use the situation to his advantage and keep Hildy on.

[edit] Cast

• Jack Lemmon as Hildebrand "Hildy" Johnson
• Walter Matthau as Walter Burns
• Susan Sarandon as Peggy Grant
• Vincent Gardenia as "Honest Pete" Hartman
• David Wayne as Roy Bensinger of the Tribune
• Allen Garfield as Kruger
• Austin Pendleton as Earl Williams
• Carol Burnett as Molly Malloy
• Charles Durning as Murphy
• Herb Edelman as Schwartz
• Martin Gabel as Dr. Max J. Eggelhofer
• Harold Gould as The Mayor/Herbie/Green Hornet
• John Furlong as Duffy
• Jon Korkes as Rudy Keppler

checking in

Work has been a tad overwhelming since I returned from vacation two weeks ago. It’s been impossible to blog or read blogs. I hope that this will change after I ship my issue to the printer on Thursday or Friday. In the meantime, here’s a wrap on my birthday trip to Northern California.

The weather was amazing, bright blue skies and warm. I’ve posted my photos, which pretty much capture how pretty Napa is in October.

Food was one of the driving forces for choosing Northern California as our destination. Chez Panisse and The French Laundry, whose reputations are deserved, offered incredible multi-course meals we’ll not soon forget. Equally memorable, though, were other restaurants where we took meals.


John and I also stood in line for at least a half hour to order burgers at Taylor’s Refresher, a roadside institution for nearly sixty years. The burgers were solidly good and the sweet potato fries were stupendous. Besides, milkshakes and sodas, the beverage menu offers beer and wine, including the half bottle of Karl Lawrence cab for half the price we paid the night before at the French Laundry. Only in Napa.

Rounding out our meals, we ditched our reservations at Zuni Café and Piperade to eat sushi at an incredibly hip Japanese restaurant with a technobeat, Ozumo. We sat at the sushi bar and were served an amuse—a first when out for sushi—of a tuna “salad” on cucumber wafers. To start, we ordered hanabi (slices of hamachi and avocado with a warm ginger-jalapeno ponzu sauce. We ate the following nigiri—maguro, mushi ebi (tiger prawn), hamachi (as always), sake, kampachi (amber jack), and kaki (kumamoto oyster). We had rolls—yokozuna (grilled unagi, crab, tobiko, avocado and asparagus), spicy scallop (scallop, kaiware, cucumber).


For play, we drove. A lot. Our rental Sebring convertible was fun and we took advantage of top-down weather to see as much of the countryside as we could. We also took a hike in Robert Louis Stevenson State Park, which encompasses Mount St. Helena where RLS lived in an abandoned miner’s cabin in 1880 and wrote vignettes about Napa Valley. The two-mile hike took us to the monument marking the site where the cabin stood and from where we had great views.


Back in San Francisco, we had a nice stroll through Chinatown and brunch at a random restaurant in North Beach, which was gearing up for the culminating day of a weekend-long Columbus Day celebration. At the intersection of these two diverse neighborhoods, sits one of the country’s most famous bookstores, City Lights. We browsed. I could have purchased piles of books. Then we lifted a pint and spent an hour reading next door at Vesuvio. John and I had the entire second floor to ourselves—just us and the ghosts of Kerouac, Ginsberg, Ferlinghetti, Burroughs, and every other member of the Beat Generation.

I can’t wait for our next trip to No Cal!

ETA: photos

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!

Oooh, I got a good one today!

Pressure Drop is the name of a song by Toots & the Maytals. The first cover showed up by Robert Palmer on his second-solo album aptly titled “Pressure Drop.” The song was next covered by The Clash, and can be found on their B-Sides compilation album Super Black Market Clash.[1]

The Clash version is probably most well known and has recently been used in a Nissan TV commercial.

weekend report: October 13 and 14

Saturday
I’ve "somehow" [I think we all know how this has happened ;)] fallen desperately behind at work. I have an an issue that ships to the printer next week and I haven’t started the editorial yet. With each new issue planning session, I vow that this will not happen, and yet, here I am, dragging my ass into the office on a Saturday. Winston accompanied me in exchange for unfettered access to internet games.

First we rewarded ourselves with a trip to the St. Paul Farmers Market. The main weekend market is just a few blocks from my office so we moseyed over to see what sort of things were available on the second weekend of October. I was surprised to see that the market was hopping and that vendors had plenty of produce yet. We bought tomatoes, fresh sage, leeks, red onions, a beautiful head of cauliflower (which later this week will join ham and cheddar cheese in a casserole—I know, I can’t wait to see how this new recipe turns out), vivid-orange sweet carrots, and pinkie-sized fingerling potatoes. We visited with the Big Woods Bison lady and purchased a log of bison cotto salami and a few bison salami sticks. And, because Winston insisted, we picked up a bag of kettle corn, of which we made short work .

Later, we went to an early evening “surprise” 40th birthday party. I use the term surprise quite loosely as there was no hiding and/or jumping out yelling surprise, which is fine, it was just all sort of understated. The party was held at the birthday boy's sister-in-law's house so he was pleasantly surprised when friends began arriving . The invitation promised “family dinner,” which never materialized. Love these friends, but lord help them. Renee (the wife) bought frozen party food—egg rolls, meatballs, and more—from Sam’s Club and reheated them. The beer was good, however.

Sunday
John and I took the boys to Bread and Chocolate for pastries. I so wish I had a picture of Simon reading the comics. Some people are born to read the newspaper, and he’s one of them. Even though he's only almost-eight, it’s not hard to picture him wearing a bathrobe and slippers, sipping a steaming mug of Costa Rican and puffing on a pipe. It was a relaxing morning. I loved basking in the glow of My Guys.

After breakfast, we made a trip to Target for kid clothes as neither boys has jeans or shirts that fit. I’m not sure how that happened, either, since we had this foolproof method of hand-me-downs from Simon to Winston. Somehow the system is broken (one is grown, the other isn't or something), and they both need clothes at the exact same moment. We dropped a small fortune—which is possible at Target even when you're only buying what you need, damn Target—and returned home to watch football, fold laundry, and cook. The braised pheasant and polenta, with brussels sprouts on the side, was pretty delicious. I look forward to tackling another pheasant recipe soon. I already have at least four birds in the freezer and hunters in the family (brother Jeff alights later this week for the SoDak pheasant opener, which is a very big deal in my family). Must. Make. Room. For. More.

best. birthday.ever: day one

Thursday, October 4

My parents, who took care of the boys while we were away, arrived around noon so that we could have lunch together. Following a splendid meal of Punch wood-fire pizzas and a glass of chianti, our server delivered my tiramisu with a candle. The entire restaurant sang “Happy Birthday” to me, which was pretty touching.

After lunch, my parents gave us a ride to the airport for the Sun Country three o’clock to San Francisco. Once on aboard, I had the luxury of a three-hour flight where I could read uninterrupted and nearly finished the breezy mystery I’ve been carrying around for a few weeks.

Eventually, we landed and picked up our very heavy, but very attractive, duffle, then made our way to the rental-car counter. Since we were hoping for a top-down adventure, I rented a convertible. We were meant to drive a PT Cruiser. I had one on hold with a confirmation number, but when we arrived at the rental counter, we were offered a Sebring. Never mind, it’s still a convertible.

After a quick stop at our hotel to change clothes, we boogied to Berkeley for dinner at Chez Panisse. Finding the restaurant wasn’t easy. The building is located on a bustling commercial street and there is no obvious sign identifying the place. Even though I knew this, we still drove by restaurant a number of times before we parked and walked a few blocks.

It has long been a dream to eat at this seminal restaurant, and sharing a meal with my handsome husband on a special birthday was ideal. We ate in the main-floor restaurant where a four-course prix fixe meal is served nightly (there is also an upstairs café featuring an a la carte menu). A confluence of elements—walls clad in dark-wood paneling, brass wall sconces and ceiling lamps with Arts and Crafts styling, hand-tinted woodcuts of fruits and vegetables, and intimate seating arrangements—all make for an elegant and comfortable dining room.

The kitchen sent out a bowl of olives with fresh thyme. For some reason, Chez Panisse olives tasted better than almost any other olives I ever eaten. We nibbled on these and sipped $18 a glass champagne, toasting the best birthday ever (so far). That evening’s menu was both a farewell to summer and a preview of the wonderful fall produce trickling into California markets. Soon, the first course arrived—a composed salmon salad with perfectly sweet, tiny cherry tomatoes, tender-crisp baby fennel, and more. Next, mushroom soup. Then, the main course of spit-roasted pork loin with a dab of fig chutney—the tiny hole left by the spit was encrusted with rosemary—and a side of corn, which was my favorite item of the entire meal. I could have eaten three courses of the corn. Dessert was an apple-quince tart with burnt-honey ice cream providing an interesting counterpoint to the sweet fruit. We drank a local wine, which is to say a wine from Napa or Sonoma.

It was all simply amazing. Local, seasonal, fresh—the restaurant’s mission is accomplished.

back from Cali

Wow, what I wouldn’t give to be back on vacation. Handsome husband and I have been home now for four days, but my head, heart, and stomach are still in Northern California. The week has been a blur of deadlines, faces (I’m interviewing candidates for an entry-level editor’s position), and other obligations. I’m just getting caught up on mail, email, phone calls, and blog reading, so soon the highlights from a long, wonderful weekend will follow.

happy birthday—to me!

Today I am 40. I've had a year to prepare for the occasion, and I must say that I am both excited with the prospects of a new year and terrified. Quite frankly, I don't have many gray hairs or crows' feet. I have an awesome husband and two amazing sons. There is a nice roof over my head. I have all the friends I need. And, I have a fun, creative job, which sustains me. I have few complaints!

I do have a few resolutions or wishes for the coming year, which I may post next week. Later today, John and I are flying to San Francisco where we'll spend four days dining, imbibing, strolling, reading, and generally basking in the glow of each other's company. Dinner tonight is at the legendary Chez Panisse in Berkeley. I feel like a kid on her birthday!

Back Monday...

110 pounds of soul excitement

Run, don’t walk, to your local music store today and pick up Sharon Jones’ new album, 100 Days, 100 Nights.

While you’re at it, check out Daptone Records. This label’s website should give you a taste for their retro, yet fresh, takes on serious funk and soul. Daptone’s stable of recording artists is pretty selective. In addition to Sharon Jones, I can vouch for the awesomeness of The Sugarman Three and the Budos Band—each of which have killer brass and percussion. Plus, you can buy a lot of the music on vinyl—LPs and 12” singles. I hear turntables are making a comeback.

I’m secretly counting the days until November 16 when Binky Griptite introduces the hardest working woman in showbiz at First Ave.

Until then, here’s a dose of the funky and dynamic sister:

weekend report: September 28 and 29

The Shepards just wallowed in a lazy weekend. Most weekends we’re overbooked with kid stuff and parent stuff, so every once in a while we put Nothing on the calendar. Nada, no plans. Well, Soccer was on the calendar because it’s always on the calendar. But, this Saturday, we gave Simon and Winston a pass so that we could spend some good family-time together.*

This is how quality our “together” time was: I watched Saturday morning cartoons with the boys, and I discovered that Ben 10 isn’t half bad. After cartoons, Winston helped me make Bittman’s crazy-easy waffles. Then, we all headed out to run errands for important things such as Pokemon booster packs at Uncle Sven’s Comic Shoppe and bike parts at Grand Performance.

Later, we headed out again. This time, John hopped on his bike and pulled Winston on his Piccolo.** Win was clad in performance gear (kid-size cycling jersey and padded shorts), shouting “Tour de France.” They earned their ice-cream stop at Izzy’s (hot brown sugar). Then, they further shamed the sluggos who chose to burn fossil fuel rather than conspicuous calories by pedaling over to Micawbers in St. Anthony Village where we visited our friends Karen and Tom. We also bought some cool books: Adventures in the Rockies by Isabella Bird (part of Penguin's exceptionally cool Great Journeys series) and 2007 Best American Travel Essays for me and a remaindered copy of Four Colors Suffice: How the Map Problem Was Solved (by Robin Wilson) for John.

On Sunday, John and I took the boys to Keys Cafe on Raymond, the flagship of a small local chain. It hasn’t changed a lick since we were last there—oh, ten years ago, when we used to regularly brunch with the Cohen-Murphys. Winston was really crabby because we had to wait for a table, which is exactly why we stopped coming here for brunch. That and the restaurant is always crowded. The food’s not great. The portions are enormous and you roll out the door feeling as if you never want to eat again, but it’s fun.

I spent much of the afternoon washing and drying—but not folding—all of the laundry. My favorite part of the day was the time I spent in the kitchen. Since the weather is turning cold and the weekend was rainy, I turned to fall favorites, such as chicken pot pie. I made the very old-school filling (bacon, onion, carrots, celery, corn, thyme, and chicken napped by a sherry-enriched sauce). Tomorrow I’ll heat the filling on the stove as I’m making the biscuit topping, then bake it for Monday dinner. I also made an apple crisp, thus putting a small dent in the 14 pounds of Sweet 16s we picked at the apple orchard last weekend.

I wish for more weekends like this.

*Okay, true confession: we gave the boys a pass on soccer so their mom and dad could sleep in until 8 a.m. Yes, John and I are totally selfish this way. But well-rested parents make better parents. It’s a universal truth you’ll find most parents won’t admit. And, since we tend to go to bed at an ungodly late hour (typically, two a.m. on Friday and Saturday nights), you’ve got to find your sleep somewhere.

**Even though John drives a (red) Prius and milks 50 mpg out of it, he still wants to save the world by riding his bike everywhere. It only took him about 10 minutes longer on bike to get where I did by car, and I think he made a fine point. Let’s park our cars.

wiki wednesday on thursday

It's time for Wiki Wednesday:

1. Go to wikipedia.
2. Click on "random article" on the left-hand sidebar.
3. Post it!

Yesterday got away from me, and I didn't have the wherewithal to post my wiki wednesday entry, which was actually a good one. Which is to say a random entry that I recognize. Although I've never been a Van Halen fan, ever, the musical pop culture is right up my alley.

OU812 is the eighth album by American hard rock band Van Halen, released in 1988. The album title is allegedly a joke on former band member David Lee Roth's 1986 album Eat 'Em and Smile (OU812 translates phonetically to "Oh, you ate one too?"). However, "OU812" was also seen in the 70s sitcom "Taxi" written on a wall. [1]

The original European release (as shipped in France, Germany, Italy and the UK) is missing track 10, as are all vinyl pressings of the album. The CD and cassette versions have Track 10. (Note: some U.S. cassette versions of "OU812" did not contain Track 10.) The track listing on the back cover is arranged in alphabetical order, instead of chronological.

Many people found the production on this album weak. Eddie's guitar sits even lower in the mix, and its sound, as on 5150 does not resemble the loud, bright sound on the Roth era albums. However, the crisp acoustic western sound and style on Finish What Ya Started was well received as a first for the band [2].

One song, "Cabo Wabo" was a reference to the band's, particuarly Sammy Hagar's, love of the Mexican port town of Cabo San Lucas. The band later opened a Cabo Wabo restaurant and cantina in the city, as well as other American locations. However, the venture was soon bought out to be owned by Hagar in its entirety. Hagar later parlayed this into a premium tequila brand sold around the world, Cabo Wabo[3]

The album is dedicated to Eddie's and Alex's father, Jan, who died that year at the age of 66. The inner linings of the album include the words, "This one's for you, pop." Jan Van Halen had previously appeared playing clarinet on one track, "Big Bad Bill (Is Sweet William Now)," on Van Halen's 1982 album, Diver Down[4].

Read more and see the album play list here.

C

I’m always looking for new ways to listen to songs in my itunes library, especially if it’s been a while since I’ve added new music. Currently, my music is organized alpha by song. “C” is an especially good mix with a healthy dose of soul, alt, Frank, 80s, 90s, and now. Herewith:

1. "Camel Walk" (Southern Culture on the Skids)
2. "Can’t Set Rules About Love" (Adam Ant)
3. "Canary in a Coalmine" (The Police)
4. "Candy" (Iggy Pop and Kate Pierson)
5. "Cartoon" (Soul Asylum)
6. "Catch Hell Blues" (White Stripes)
7. "Cattle and Cane" (Go-Betweens)
8. "Cha Cha Cha" (Jimmy Luxury)
9. "Chicken Payback" (A Band of Bees)
10. "City of Blinding Light" (U2)
11. "Come Dance with Me" (Frank Sinatra)
12. "Concrete Jungle" (The Specials)
13. "Country Girl" (Sugarman Three)
14. "Crater Lake" (Liz Phair)
15. "Cut That Line" (Sharon Jones)
16. "Cutter" (Echo and the Bunnymen)

addition to the blogroll

Earlier today, I was tipped off to a new-to-me blog. Places I Have Never Been features graphic designer Jennifer Hill's drawings and musings of imaginary travels to real places. I dig her illustrations and have made a point to check out the note cards and prints in her online store.

Excuse me now, while I lose myself in her archives.

honkin' huge TV

How does one go from wanting to get rid of the television—bane of my existence, bane of my children’s existences—to becoming the proud owner of a 46-inch flat screen TV*?

I’m not really sure either. But when I saw the vivid green playing field on Monday Night Football, players leaping out of the screen into the den, I wondered how we’d ever lived as long as we did without an enormous TV.

Yes, I understand the absurdity of the big TV, which didn’t even fit into my station wagon’s way-back. Not to mention that the TV was stupidly expensive—we were a little embarrassed to tell our closest friends. But, I won’t mind it at all when the fall line-up starts tonight.

*Perhaps the point would be illustrated better if the jpeg I borrowed from Sony was a little larger. Anyway, we purchased a Bravia.

house of chairs

I have a fetish for chairs. The more dramatic, the better.

William Haines, 1920s actor-turned-designer, designed this stunning modern chair in a just-so yellow leather.I love the low-slung profile and the lack of armrests.

Learn more about Haines here. Font-hounds will appreciate the typeface.

rainy day

St. Paul is in the throes of a rainy day—sometimes drizzling, other times positively monsoonal. By all rights, it’s a good day to wallow in it. The overcast gray sky precisely matches my mild depression, which has been provoked by a lousy night of sleep, not to mention a persistent sore throat, congestion, and skin sensitivity. I’m on the verge of a sneeze with no relief in sight. Cold-and-flu season is knocking, and I forgot to look out the peephole before I opened.

I’d like to decamp to the sofa in our den. Curl up with a good book. Turn on the Food Network for background noise. John would bring me soup and wake-up tea. The boys would play quietly or cuddle with me. My fantasy life is simple.

Instead, I’m at the office where the lights are too bright and coworkers voices are too loud. Work is super stressful right now. The pub team is swimming in projects; we’re feeling the affects of being short an editor; and we’re getting up to speed with a new designer.

Still, I love what I do and, as always, I work best under immense amounts of pressure. I’m currently juggling two issues that need to be paginated and two issues that need new editorial written (including editor’s letters, contents, captions, a testimonial, and a new feature article). I’ve been asked to rewrite nearly all the text on a cover, not to mention editing coworkers’ stuff. And, well, I could go on, but what would be the point.

Some days are like that—even in Australia.

Reading: United States of Arugula, David Kamp’s lively and appetite-piquing account of the American Food Revolution

Listening (audio book): Jane Austen’s brilliant Pride and Prejudice—a 39 for 39 title that I’m trying to finish by the end of the month.

Listening (music): Big Country’s “Where the Rose Is Sewn”—big shout-out to another Jen S for reminding me of a favorite band and song from the early 80s. Hard not to get choked up over timeless lyrics such as: “If I die in a combat zone, box me up and ship me home.”

A tale of two Carolines, part 1

Caroline Yang

Way back in July, I mentioned here that John hung the Caroline Yang photograph we had purchased, but I feel like I'd just sort of dropped her name as if everyone knows who she is. Caroline takes amazing photos and counts Sports Illustrated, cyclingnews.com, Cycle Sport, and the (St. Paul) Pioneer Press as some of her clients. She also does outrageously cool shots of speed skaters. To wit:



We first became familiar with Caroline last year when One on One Bike Gallery in Minneapolis put up a show of the photos that Caroline took at the 2005 Tour de France. My first impression was that she took wonderful candid photos of individual riders who often are swallowed by the peloton. We missed that show, but vowed that if Gene O. did another for the 2006 TdF, we'd make it over to the shop. Well, he did and so we went.

I've got to say, all the dopers featured in Caroline's photos raised my blood pressure—which is absolutely NOT a reflection on her work, merely commentary on the sad state of pro cycling. Imagine my delight, then, when John showed me this beaut, which embodies everything we hold dear about European stage races: peloton, fans, mountains. The photo had already been purchased so Caroline agreed to make another for us and have it framed before her baby was born (about a three week window).


The framed photo is enormous (at least 3 feet wide) and hangs in our studio—the room many would call the living room, but where John and I do most of our creative work. Since the wall is about 18 feet high, and because I took this photo at a crazy angle, the picture looks puny.

Here's another view of the Col du Tourmelet from Caroline's website. You know John Shepard dreams of climbing this mountain, dancing on the pedals all the way. The peloton beckons under a scene that is lucid and bright.

Doin' the ipod shuffle

Ten random songs from my ipod library:

1. Bed's Too Big without You (The Police)—a long live version with complex reggae riffs
2. Mountain Song (Jane's Addiction)
3. Chorus (Erasure)
4. Jew Blues (New Orleans Klezmer All-Stars)
5. Bosco's Blues (The Sugarman Trio)
6. All That Money Wants (Psychelic Furs)
7. Waste It On (Silversun Pickups)
8. Sunday Bloody Sunday (U2)
9. Credit in the Straight World (Hole)
10. Basket Case (Green Day)

All together, these songs make a surprisingly good mix.

What are you listening to?

Not malignant

Yay!!! My lab report says NOT MALIGNANT in all caps.

A few weeks ago I was at the dermatologist for a skin issue, clearly, and he happened to notice the largish mole on my lower back. The very largish mole I cannot see but I know exists because countless massage therapists have told me it's there. Mostly I forget it's there. Sometimes I make a note to have it checked.

So, I had an appointment to see Dr. Stansbury about something else and planned to tell him about the mole in an "oh, by the way" manner, but he beat me to it. As a matter of business, he asked to see my back, and the next thing I hear is, "I need to get some film on this."

After magnifying the mole and photographing it, I could see that it very closely resembled the scary posters that hang on the back of doors at the dermatologist's office. Surgery was prescribed, which sounds more serious than necessary. Dr Stansbury also handed me a brochure and said, "Memorize this." The brochure was jam-packed with info about skin cancer and about how to do monthly spot checks. He also advised me, "Never get another sun burn."

Last week I had the mole removed, which is a slightly invasive procedure requiring stitches. The stitches were pretty cool, if very itchy. But, they're out now. I'm mending nicely and the biopsy came out okay and I'm never going to neglect a mole again.

And, one last thing, although I don't usually like to preach, I'm saying: Check. Your. Moles.

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!

I have my fingers crossed for a really good entry today. And, it's the IBM Future Systems project, which, since I hate to clog up bandwidth, you should read more about at the source.

The Future Systems project was a research project at IBM aiming to develop new software models which would simplify software development by exploiting modern powerful hardware.

"You've never seen so much air-drumming"

On Monday morning, I had to read music critic Chris Riemenschneider's review of the Rush concert in the Star Tribune, not so much because I care what he thinks but because I fell asleep at the concert and I was dying to find out how it ended.

Now that I have your attention—for the record, I did not fall asleep, but I may as well have for the concert was l-o-n-g, and I didn't recognize enough of the songs to stay invested. Sorry, but it's true.

The show wasn't boring by any means. In fact, this may have been the most electrically charged concert I have ever attended, with over 12,000 fans ON THEIR FEET for the better part of three hours. The Police, whom I saw in concert in July, and their fans, were comatose by comparison. I know it's not fair to compare Rush to the Police—there is a certain blasphemy to that—but let's just say every member of Rush was "on" and seemed happy to playing together. And their fans rewarded them for that.

Here is a true confession—John and I left during intermission. Yes, intermission. There was no opening band. Rush went on stage at about 7:45 and played until about 9:15, then took a break. During the intermission, John and I started listing all the things we needed to do before we went to bed, stuff like signing a bunch of school forms for the boys, picking up milk at the grocery store, and so on. At some point, John said, "Why don't we go?" Really, we can do that? Just leave in the middle of a rock concert? Won't we lose our credibility among our friends who would never go to a rock concert let alone go to a rock concert on a school night? John said, "Yes, really it would be alright if we left now." So, after assuring security that we were leaving for the evening, not just going outside to smoke pot, we left the building.

What if we had stayed?

Of the twelve songs Rush played in the first set, I knew two. Admittedly, those two songs—"Limelight" and "Free Will"—rocked hard even if Geddy Lee did not hit the high notes. John and I knew we both ran the risk of missing a classic-laden second set. Imagine my relief when I learned in Riemenschneider's review that the twenty-seven songs played left out many of the "radio-familiar" hits.

Another true confession: I'm not much of a Rush fan but I do love disc one of Retrospective, which covers the bands greatest hits from, oh, 1974-1980. If we had stayed, we would have heard an "insanely elaborate" drum solo on "Tom Sawyer," which I would have loved to have seen and heard. But, to be honest, we likely wouldn't have made it that far into the show.

Here's what I liked about the show: exceptionally tight band, spectacular lighting (even the circa 1980s laser show), dedicated fans (especially the Wayne and Garth-ish duo a few rows down who wer out-of-their-minds excited), air-drumming (Neal Peart is a god, what can I say?), and the music from the band's new album.

I still have a few burning questions.

1. Can someone explain to me the large ovens and the rotisserie chickens that roadies would occasionally baste? Was it an inside joke? Did the chickens feed the hungry crew after the show? Were the chickens raffled to audience members after the concert?

2. How can you not play "Xanadu"?

3. What kind of a name is Geddy?

Weekend report: September 8 and 9

A staggeringly busy, but fun, weekend was had by all. We kicked it off with Friday cocktails—Rob Roys (scotch, red vermouth, and bitters) and a nice piece of Brie de Meaux, which was slathered on Lesley Stowe's Rainforest Crisps (the hazelnut and cranberry variety).

The boys had their first fall soccer game on Saturday morning. Since we'd all had such a great time doing Blackhawks this summer—and by all, I do mean kids and parents—I talked the Warches and the Hamiltons into signing up for Groveland Rec soccer. It's a great location for us as we can mosy up the hill, and I love seeing other families spill out of our neighborhood. Needless to say, our united requests for soccer buddies were denied. Theo is a little stressed out about not knowing anyone on his team, and Sydney's pretty bummed out. Simon is somewhat indifferent and made two new friends on his team by INTRODUCING HIMSELF. I am so very proud of him. I made the rounds, watching a little soccer and chatting with parents. Despite the situation with the kids being on separate teams—which may be a bigger drag for the parents—the boys had a great time. And so did I. Winston made all the goals on his team. One of the kid's from Win's team last fall is on his team again, as are Sheila F's daughters (Sheila, a high school friend of my sister, lives in my neighborhood).

After soccer, we stopped by Regina's Candies. The boys didn't know this place existed, even after three years of living down the hill from the shop. We have to drive by it every day—I would have to be completely insane to have let them know any sooner. Simon figured it out when we walked by on Thursday, following their soccer meetings. He doesn't seem to be angry at the lie of omission—though I'm sure he's keeping it buried for his therapist to discover later in life—and plans to rot all his beautiful new permanent teeth on purchases made here. Just wait until I tip off Dr. O'Kane.

Then, I drove to Osseo, in the northwest corner of the metro, to visit my childhood friend Ann. She and her husband, Ken, were hosting a yard party, taking advantage of Osseo's annual carnival. They're on the parade route. The boys had a blast scooping up candy tossed from parade participants. Friend Jen S. (formerly Jenny E.—I think we were all Jennys at some point), also a friend from my hometown, was there with her husband and two beautiful children.

It was so good to see these two old friends—it had been way too long. Really criminally too long. Both are doing very well. We've made plans to see more of each other, which I hope we do. I'm the first to admit that life has a way of getting out of control. Or maybe we get into these grooves that are hard to get out of. I'm not talking about ruts either, because if I've learned anything with a career, a husband, and children, it's that routine works.

On Sunday, John and I took the boys to the Farmers Market where we hit Golden's for breakfast bagels—and, oh, the garden-ripe tomatoes and red onions were amazing on this. We picked up more tomatoes (I'd be surprised if we see any next week), broccoli, green beans (the last batch was fantastic), corn, and otherworldly brussel sprouts on the stalk. Then we made the rounds so the boys could say hello to the Bison guy.

We dropped Winston at Anders' house, then had a shopping spree with Simon. First stop: Target for a few essentials and a trip down the Ben 10 aisle. I'm proud of Simon. He didn't see the alien he wanted to buy, and allowance be damned, he walked out of the store without purchasing anything. He's really getting very mature at window shopping. Maybe he can teach his mother a lesson. Next stop: Patagonia, where John bought a corduroy blazer (very Paper Chase with suede elbow patches) and a kick-ass pair of shoes. He is so ready for NoCal. Final stop: The Comic Shoppe where Simon picked up a Pokeman booster pack and I bought a Nancy Drew graphic novel, which I can't wait to read, but will have to wait until I find the issue that precedes it. Naturally I didn't notice before I made my purchase that the book was part two of three.

Later in the day we hit the library and went visiting the Cohen-Murphys. And, John and I skipped yet another annual Alley Cat party to see Rush at the Xcel. More on that later—Blogger is about to boot me. And I'm rambling. I hate rambling.

wiki wednesday

It's time for Wiki Wednesday.

1. Go to wikipedia.
2. Click on "random article" on the left-hand sidebar box.
3. Post it!

Oh. Dear. Lord. This entry begs for references and citations.

Casual gamer is a term used to describe a type of video game player whose time or interest in playing games is limited compared with a hardcore gamer. They can be found playing games across all genres and of varying levels of complexity and difficulty. However, they do not devote the amount of time or practice to video games spent by hardcore gamers. Whereas a hardcore gamer may approach gaming with the mindset of a professional, a casual gamer would think more like a hobbyist.

Casual gamers can conceivably consist of any people who show more than a passing interest in video games, therefore it is difficult to categorize them as a group. For this reason games which attempt to appeal to the casual player tend to strive for simple rules and ease of game play, the goal being to present a pick-up-and-play experience that people from any age group or skill level could enjoy.

Not all gamers who play casual games are themselves casual gamers.

Usage of the term

The term casual is often misleadingly used to describe a class of hardcore gamers who play massively multiplayer online games, a type of game which is generally not casual by definition. In that case the term is used with various meanings, most often to differentiate players between 2 or more specific gameplay preferences. For example, the term casual is sometimes used to identify a player who spends significantly less time playing than other players. Alternatively the term is used to identify a player who spends a significant amount of time playing but prefers less competitive or time intensive activities to productivity maximization (rapid character development, rapid income production, acquiring the best possible equipment etc.).

What I did on my summer vacation

Finally, summer break is over and done for another year. Am I busted up? No. As a rule, I'm not a huge fan of summer. Yes, I was one of those rare, freakish kids who couldn't wait to be back in school because she didn't know what to do with herself in the summer. Be that as it may, I do appreciate the improved weather and enjoy summer activities, such as shopping at the Farmers Market, swimming at outdoor pools and in lakes, and golfing, to name a few. And, I am a little dismayed by how fast summer seems to pass. Maybe it's an adult perspective.

Even though fall is several weeks away, not to mention that we're in the midst of a short heat wave, leaves are starting to change colors. My time of year is coming and I feel fine.

This summer was pretty jam-packed with activity. Although we didn't manage to get in a family vacation, we did plenty. Okay, maybe it was the boys who did plenty as part of their summer program (trip to Valleyfair, a Lynx game). Simon took a ten-day vacation in Montana with Gpa and Gma. We had house guests for a week—Will, Helena, Bjorn, and Sophia visited from Stockholm, Sweden. We took a trip to Princeton, NJ, to visit Dorothy and David, and took a side trip to Philadelphia to see the King Tut exhibit. In late July, John rode RAGBRAI with Steve. It felt like the summer was full.

Yesterday was the first day of public school in St. Paul. Simon, who started second grade, was positively vibrating with excitement over being reunited with many friends he hadn't seen over the summer, as well as with his teacher, Mrs. Cochran. Kindergarteners don't start until tomorrow so I've had the pleasure of Winston's company, though we did have a "goal-setting" meeting yesterday with his teacher, Ms. Maura.

Winston has come to work with me the past few mornings. Today we met John at his new office, which has some really excellent cubicles (with ergonomic desks that you can raise) and lovely amenities (including an especially nice, large, loungy breakroom). Then we all ate pizza at Cossetta's.

After lunch, Winston and I headed for the MOA to shoe shop at Nordstrom's—and I must say we both made out rather well. Winston found a great pair of Saucony running shoes with yellow trim ("yellow is a symbol for 'fast'"), while I picked up a pair of dark red patent ballet flats and a very comfortable black pump with plaid piping. Red, plaid, ballet flats and skimmers, and pumps with a high heel in a contrasting color were the predominant styles and colors at Nordstrom's. Oh, and I scored a free tube of Laura Mercier lipstick in a color/formula that's about to be discontinued. I love Nordstrom's!

So, now it's time to gear up for fall. John and I have concert tickets to Rush at the Xcel Center (this weekend) and to Sharon Jones at First Avenue (in November). I'm looking forward to a turning a new leaf with a milestone birthday. In October, John and I travel to San Francisco to celebrate said birthday, partaking in fine food and in the pleasure of our own company. Then in November, I'm going to spend a long weekend in New York City with Tracy, Jill Y, and Jill S, as the former and latter are also celebrating the same milestone birthday as I am. Shopping and siteseeing for all my friends. We'll likely be in Princeton for Christmas, and I'm hoping my friend Krista will visit for Thanksgiving. And, publishing starts its fall season of books, which is always a happy time!