Top left: roasted bone marrow with garlic toast and sauteed mushrooms
Top right: "steak fries," these were creamy inside
Middle: empty bone
Bottom: elk stroganoff, with amazingly sweet toasted garlic
Tuesday, April 01, 2008
dinner at red stag
Top left: roasted bone marrow with garlic toast and sauteed mushrooms
Top right: "steak fries," these were creamy inside
Middle: empty bone
Bottom: elk stroganoff, with amazingly sweet toasted garlic
Monday, March 31, 2008
weekend report: march 29-30
Friday night—John and I rarely, if ever, go out on Friday nights, mostly because we're too exhausted by our work week, but also because we've developed a great ritual that we hate to miss. But it was our pleasure to spend the evening with Tracy and Bill, who had invited us to see Greil Marcus and the Mekons with them.
We started with dinner at Red Stag Supperclub*, Kim Bartmann's ultra cool restaurant with a great menu and spectacular dining environment. It's the first Minnesota restaurant to have LEED certification, meaning that they've taken extra steps to ensure green building—that is to say environmentally friendly, energy conscious, and, most important, sustainable. The food was fantastic, especially any menu item with meat. I had elk, something I haven't eaten since I was a kid, when my dad hunted elk in Colorado with my Uncle Bill. It was very good and tender, unlike when I ate it as a child and made me instantly suspicious that it might not be elk. John's beef filet and Bill's duck were also outstanding. Anyhow, I'd like to go on record as saying that the red stag over the restaurant's front door would look great on my fireplace. Just saying.**
Over in St. Paul, at the Fitzgerald Theater, we saw Greil Marcus interviewed by The Current's Mary Lucia. I've long been a fan of Mary Lucia. I could recognize her voice anywhere, but I had no idea what she looked like. Tracy and I both thought it was a little trippy to now have a face to pair with her voice. The interview was great. The Mekons were pretty awesome, too. Sally Timm knocked my socks off. They played for almost an hour. Folksy tunes with edge, a totally natural progression from their alt country vibe of the early 90s, which, quite frankly, was evident even in their "punk" music from the mid 80s. Great Friday night out!
Saturday—Took Winston to the first stop on the March-May birthday party circuit, and caught up with the SPCC parents. After the party, so as not to waste a drive all the way out to Woodbury, I dragged Winston with me to Trader Joe's where he took control of the shopping cart so that he could find Tiki Sven, which was hidden in the store. Trader Joe's is such a weird place. Many of their food items look intriguing, but ultimately I'm grossed out that it's processed food—albeit without a lot of junk, such as HFCS. I spent a lot of time putting things into my cart, then returning them to the shelf. Later, John and I took the boys out for dinner to celebrate Winston’s birthday. He’s turning six at Gpa and Gma house later this week and he’s milking it, which seems so innocent and is yet so Machiavellian. Still we had dinner at Saji-Ya. Simon, who won’t touch sushi (which is okay, he’s 8.5) devoured two bowls of edamame and a plate of tempura shrimp. Winston ate a bowl of rice saturated with soy sauce, as well as a number of rolls and the eyes off a fried shrimp head. Both were mesmerized by sounds and flames of the teppanyaki chefs upstairs, so we vowed to return and try it ourselves.
Sunday—I love our weekend mornings. This one started with the family Shepard making a pancake breakfast together. Everyone got in on the action. We lifted our juice glasses and toasted the measurers and mixers, egg crackers and pancake flippers. Then I took a pile of Nancy Drew graphic novels—so much fun—and a very large, very heavy duffel bag packed with dirty clothes and headed for the laundromat. I don’t want to dwell on broken appliances so let’s just say I stepped in a very large puddle while washing clothes on Saturday. After the laundry was done, we drove to Montevideo to meet my parents. On the way we ate PB&Js that Simon had made. I read aloud from Winston's library book—The Secret in the Old Mill, a Hardy Boys mystery—as well as listened to Bill Cosby's 1964 recording I Started Out As a Child. In Montevideo, a halfway point (ish) between us and my parents, we handed the boys over to Gpa and Gma, who are kindly entertaining the boys on their spring break. On the return drive, I read aloud to John from Tony Bourdain’s Kitchen Confidential, his hilarious and revolutionary behind-the-scenes look at the restaurant industry. The first/last time I read this book, I read the manuscript, prepublication. And, though it was funny and well written, I would have laughed in your face if you had told me it would be a bestseller. John and I kicked off our third annual Hambone and Spice Restaurant Week at La Cucharacha, then returned home and plopped in front of the telly. In a very quiet house.
*I won't link to Red Stag's site as some redneck idiot has hacked it, and three days (or more) later, it still isn't fixed.
**Ostensibly, we went to Red Stag for bone marrow. The roasted marrow was beautifully presented. How could you not want to brag about how you love bone marrow—except it's about the most disgusting thing I have ever eaten. Mind you, I have eaten blood sausage, tripe, foie gras, sweetbreads, shrimp heads—all good. The marrow was oozy, like pure fat, but some of it was bloody. Okay, the less said about this the better. Needless to say, I'm feeling a little traumatized by roasted bone marrow.
We started with dinner at Red Stag Supperclub*, Kim Bartmann's ultra cool restaurant with a great menu and spectacular dining environment. It's the first Minnesota restaurant to have LEED certification, meaning that they've taken extra steps to ensure green building—that is to say environmentally friendly, energy conscious, and, most important, sustainable. The food was fantastic, especially any menu item with meat. I had elk, something I haven't eaten since I was a kid, when my dad hunted elk in Colorado with my Uncle Bill. It was very good and tender, unlike when I ate it as a child and made me instantly suspicious that it might not be elk. John's beef filet and Bill's duck were also outstanding. Anyhow, I'd like to go on record as saying that the red stag over the restaurant's front door would look great on my fireplace. Just saying.**
Over in St. Paul, at the Fitzgerald Theater, we saw Greil Marcus interviewed by The Current's Mary Lucia. I've long been a fan of Mary Lucia. I could recognize her voice anywhere, but I had no idea what she looked like. Tracy and I both thought it was a little trippy to now have a face to pair with her voice. The interview was great. The Mekons were pretty awesome, too. Sally Timm knocked my socks off. They played for almost an hour. Folksy tunes with edge, a totally natural progression from their alt country vibe of the early 90s, which, quite frankly, was evident even in their "punk" music from the mid 80s. Great Friday night out!
Saturday—Took Winston to the first stop on the March-May birthday party circuit, and caught up with the SPCC parents. After the party, so as not to waste a drive all the way out to Woodbury, I dragged Winston with me to Trader Joe's where he took control of the shopping cart so that he could find Tiki Sven, which was hidden in the store. Trader Joe's is such a weird place. Many of their food items look intriguing, but ultimately I'm grossed out that it's processed food—albeit without a lot of junk, such as HFCS. I spent a lot of time putting things into my cart, then returning them to the shelf. Later, John and I took the boys out for dinner to celebrate Winston’s birthday. He’s turning six at Gpa and Gma house later this week and he’s milking it, which seems so innocent and is yet so Machiavellian. Still we had dinner at Saji-Ya. Simon, who won’t touch sushi (which is okay, he’s 8.5) devoured two bowls of edamame and a plate of tempura shrimp. Winston ate a bowl of rice saturated with soy sauce, as well as a number of rolls and the eyes off a fried shrimp head. Both were mesmerized by sounds and flames of the teppanyaki chefs upstairs, so we vowed to return and try it ourselves.
Sunday—I love our weekend mornings. This one started with the family Shepard making a pancake breakfast together. Everyone got in on the action. We lifted our juice glasses and toasted the measurers and mixers, egg crackers and pancake flippers. Then I took a pile of Nancy Drew graphic novels—so much fun—and a very large, very heavy duffel bag packed with dirty clothes and headed for the laundromat. I don’t want to dwell on broken appliances so let’s just say I stepped in a very large puddle while washing clothes on Saturday. After the laundry was done, we drove to Montevideo to meet my parents. On the way we ate PB&Js that Simon had made. I read aloud from Winston's library book—The Secret in the Old Mill, a Hardy Boys mystery—as well as listened to Bill Cosby's 1964 recording I Started Out As a Child. In Montevideo, a halfway point (ish) between us and my parents, we handed the boys over to Gpa and Gma, who are kindly entertaining the boys on their spring break. On the return drive, I read aloud to John from Tony Bourdain’s Kitchen Confidential, his hilarious and revolutionary behind-the-scenes look at the restaurant industry. The first/last time I read this book, I read the manuscript, prepublication. And, though it was funny and well written, I would have laughed in your face if you had told me it would be a bestseller. John and I kicked off our third annual Hambone and Spice Restaurant Week at La Cucharacha, then returned home and plopped in front of the telly. In a very quiet house.
*I won't link to Red Stag's site as some redneck idiot has hacked it, and three days (or more) later, it still isn't fixed.
**Ostensibly, we went to Red Stag for bone marrow. The roasted marrow was beautifully presented. How could you not want to brag about how you love bone marrow—except it's about the most disgusting thing I have ever eaten. Mind you, I have eaten blood sausage, tripe, foie gras, sweetbreads, shrimp heads—all good. The marrow was oozy, like pure fat, but some of it was bloody. Okay, the less said about this the better. Needless to say, I'm feeling a little traumatized by roasted bone marrow.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
spring in the Midwest
A view of our home from the alley, March 21 (St. Paul)
Entering Memorial Park from the lake side, Easter (Watertown, SD)
Running on frozen Lake Kampeska, Easter (Watertown, SD)
doing
watching
A few weeks ago when I read in the NYT that Amy Sherman-Palladino had a follow up (score!) to The Gilmore Girls—The Return of Jezebel James, starring Parker Posey (score!)—there was no question I would add the show to my DVR queue. Unfortunately I missed the first couple episodes, but last night I watched what might have been the third episode. My first impression is that it’s not the instant success that Gilmore Girls was. The story is unfolding slowly in a way that doesn’t really fit a sitcom format, but the show had potential. I say had because Fox announced this morning that Jezebel James has been cancelled after only three episodes. I liked Posey’s daffy character—Sarah, a successful editor (score!) at Harper Collins. The petit annoyances hardly seem worth bringing up now so it’s back to Grounded for Life reruns.
reading
Over the weekend, I finished The Omnivore’s Dilemma, which was very, very good. It’s eye-opening, to be sure. But more, I loved Michael Pollan’s writing style, with its logically composed arguments and richly detailed prose. As a writer, I marveled at the way the prose effortlessly flowed from factual information (statistics, science, history) to personal (Pollan’s experience visiting the corn farmer and the grass farmer, as well as hunting and gathering). My book group met last Thursday to talk about the book. We were each suitably impressed by Pollan, yet horrified by the omnivore’s dilemma of too many food choices, many of which are killing us. I’ve got a little bit of ruminating to do before I write more; then I'll pick up one of the next three food books in the queue—Barbara Kingsolver’s Animal, Vegetable, Miracle, Judith Jones’ The Tenth Muse, or John Thorne’s Mouth Wide Open.
eatingFish tacos. For the past few Fridays I have been eating fish tacos for lunch at Golden’s. Made with tilapia fillets and topped with shredded lettuce and pico de gallo with loads of lime and cilantro, these are my fish taco ideal. I tried my hand at making my own tonight. Lunds had tilapia but Simon encouraged me to also buy red snapper so we could compare. I used flour tortillas, which I prefer to corn, and a store-bought but serviceable pico de gallo. The family was split over which fish was better, though my preference was the soft and buttery tilapia. Next time, we’ll make fish tacos on a weekend so we can eat them with this awesome tropical fruit salsa (avocado, pineapple, kiwi, mango, lime juice, red onions, serranos, cilantro).
listening
Carbon/Silicon, Mick Jones' new gig.
A few weeks ago when I read in the NYT that Amy Sherman-Palladino had a follow up (score!) to The Gilmore Girls—The Return of Jezebel James, starring Parker Posey (score!)—there was no question I would add the show to my DVR queue. Unfortunately I missed the first couple episodes, but last night I watched what might have been the third episode. My first impression is that it’s not the instant success that Gilmore Girls was. The story is unfolding slowly in a way that doesn’t really fit a sitcom format, but the show had potential. I say had because Fox announced this morning that Jezebel James has been cancelled after only three episodes. I liked Posey’s daffy character—Sarah, a successful editor (score!) at Harper Collins. The petit annoyances hardly seem worth bringing up now so it’s back to Grounded for Life reruns.
reading
Over the weekend, I finished The Omnivore’s Dilemma, which was very, very good. It’s eye-opening, to be sure. But more, I loved Michael Pollan’s writing style, with its logically composed arguments and richly detailed prose. As a writer, I marveled at the way the prose effortlessly flowed from factual information (statistics, science, history) to personal (Pollan’s experience visiting the corn farmer and the grass farmer, as well as hunting and gathering). My book group met last Thursday to talk about the book. We were each suitably impressed by Pollan, yet horrified by the omnivore’s dilemma of too many food choices, many of which are killing us. I’ve got a little bit of ruminating to do before I write more; then I'll pick up one of the next three food books in the queue—Barbara Kingsolver’s Animal, Vegetable, Miracle, Judith Jones’ The Tenth Muse, or John Thorne’s Mouth Wide Open.
eatingFish tacos. For the past few Fridays I have been eating fish tacos for lunch at Golden’s. Made with tilapia fillets and topped with shredded lettuce and pico de gallo with loads of lime and cilantro, these are my fish taco ideal. I tried my hand at making my own tonight. Lunds had tilapia but Simon encouraged me to also buy red snapper so we could compare. I used flour tortillas, which I prefer to corn, and a store-bought but serviceable pico de gallo. The family was split over which fish was better, though my preference was the soft and buttery tilapia. Next time, we’ll make fish tacos on a weekend so we can eat them with this awesome tropical fruit salsa (avocado, pineapple, kiwi, mango, lime juice, red onions, serranos, cilantro).
listening
Carbon/Silicon, Mick Jones' new gig.
Monday, March 24, 2008
weekend report: march 22-23
The family Shepard is back in the Twin Cities following a slow weekend in Watertown, SD. We brought fewer toys and projects with us this time, so the car felt less loaded, which was okay since we drove the Prius. Still, we didn’t manage to use most of the things we brought. For example, I never cracked open my laptop.
The roads on Friday evening were in better shape than I had feared, which was a pleasant relief. In fact, there was very little traffic, coming or going, from the Twin Cities, so we flew. I read aloud to the boys for a bit from The Fire Within, which showed promise.
While John took his evening nap, I drove and listened to disc one—remixes—of the Scion Daptone compilation, and to the Kitchen Sisters's audiobook Hidden Kitchens, narrated by Frances McDormand. Both were pretty awesome. I had some great ideas while listening to the Kitchen Sisters and look forward to exploring them further.
As I mentioned in an earlier post, there isn’t much to do in Watertown. The highlight of the weekend was taking a hike through the park next to my parents’ home. We saw robins, their fat red breasts providing pops of color throughout the naked tree branches. My naturalist father helped us identify tracks in the snow—robins, pheasants, and canine of some sort (dog, we hope).
Also, my mother and I filled plastic Easter eggs with candy and hid them for the boys, who then conducted their own hunt WITHOUT WAKING ANY ADULTS. This was so against the rules when I was a kid. I was a little stunned to see the boys’ baskets half empty by the time I rolled downstairs at, oh, 8 a.m. Simon said, "But Mom, I could see three eggs without even looking for them." Translated: if you can see it, hunt it.
After a gut-busting, albeit delicious, ham and potato midday meal on Sunday, we packed up and drove home. Apparently the snow continued to fall in St. Paul on Friday and Saturday and the temperature has remained low. The streets are still snow packed, the sidewalks are icy.
Even so, we’re glad to be home!
The roads on Friday evening were in better shape than I had feared, which was a pleasant relief. In fact, there was very little traffic, coming or going, from the Twin Cities, so we flew. I read aloud to the boys for a bit from The Fire Within, which showed promise.
While John took his evening nap, I drove and listened to disc one—remixes—of the Scion Daptone compilation, and to the Kitchen Sisters's audiobook Hidden Kitchens, narrated by Frances McDormand. Both were pretty awesome. I had some great ideas while listening to the Kitchen Sisters and look forward to exploring them further.
As I mentioned in an earlier post, there isn’t much to do in Watertown. The highlight of the weekend was taking a hike through the park next to my parents’ home. We saw robins, their fat red breasts providing pops of color throughout the naked tree branches. My naturalist father helped us identify tracks in the snow—robins, pheasants, and canine of some sort (dog, we hope).
Also, my mother and I filled plastic Easter eggs with candy and hid them for the boys, who then conducted their own hunt WITHOUT WAKING ANY ADULTS. This was so against the rules when I was a kid. I was a little stunned to see the boys’ baskets half empty by the time I rolled downstairs at, oh, 8 a.m. Simon said, "But Mom, I could see three eggs without even looking for them." Translated: if you can see it, hunt it.
After a gut-busting, albeit delicious, ham and potato midday meal on Sunday, we packed up and drove home. Apparently the snow continued to fall in St. Paul on Friday and Saturday and the temperature has remained low. The streets are still snow packed, the sidewalks are icy.
Even so, we’re glad to be home!
Friday, March 21, 2008
LISTENING: itunes shuffle
1. My Weakness (Moby)
This is what angels must sound like
2. Ways to Be Wicked (Lone Justice)
I had no idea I had a copy of this
3. Vertigo (U2)
A little commercial, but likeable
4. Love Pipe (The Red Elvises)
Russian surf guitar
5. Black Star (Soul Asylum)
From the live album recorded at the Grand Forks (ND) senior prom, awesome
6. See How We Are (X)
A demo version; nothing says summer of 1989 louder than X; they're playing the Cabooze tomorrow night and I'm bummed to miss them
7. Don't Leave Me This Way (Communards)*
Wins award for the day's most blatantly 80s tune; some might say this is a dance song, but, as personal experience is my witness, it would argue for its potential as a great makeout song (see Christmas break 1985, initials NM)
8. Colossus (Walt Mink)
One for the "where are they now" files
9. A Wot (Orgone)
Just got this CD from Krista; funk from Ubiquity Records, a West Coast version—if I dare say so—of Daptone, whatever that means
10. Deathwish (The Police)
Not much to say
* Here, see for yourself:
This is what angels must sound like
2. Ways to Be Wicked (Lone Justice)
I had no idea I had a copy of this
3. Vertigo (U2)
A little commercial, but likeable
4. Love Pipe (The Red Elvises)
Russian surf guitar
5. Black Star (Soul Asylum)
From the live album recorded at the Grand Forks (ND) senior prom, awesome
6. See How We Are (X)
A demo version; nothing says summer of 1989 louder than X; they're playing the Cabooze tomorrow night and I'm bummed to miss them
7. Don't Leave Me This Way (Communards)*
Wins award for the day's most blatantly 80s tune; some might say this is a dance song, but, as personal experience is my witness, it would argue for its potential as a great makeout song (see Christmas break 1985, initials NM)
8. Colossus (Walt Mink)
One for the "where are they now" files
9. A Wot (Orgone)
Just got this CD from Krista; funk from Ubiquity Records, a West Coast version—if I dare say so—of Daptone, whatever that means
10. Deathwish (The Police)
Not much to say
* Here, see for yourself:
welcome to spring
Today marks the first full day of spring. I should feel more cheerful, and I would except for the snow that's falling. The lead-gray skies have provoked a bought of SAD, which was suspended temporarily when I went to book group last night. The snow is inevitable—it is, after all, mid March in Minnesota.
John, the boys, and I are meant to drive to So Dak to celebrate Easter with my parents. I have already told John that I'm not keen to drive in the current sloppy, slushy turning to icy driving conditions but he has yet to take me seriously. My life is in his hands, and I completely trust him—until he hits his 7 p.m. slump and drives us into a ditch. I also mentioned to the boys that I'd like to wait until tomorrow morning to make our drive, but they view this idea as a betrayal of the grand plan in which John drives and I read to the family.
Am I being a big baby? I don't think so...I just don't feel like putting my life, and the lives of the people I most cherish, at risk.
Regardless of when we leave town, we are spending the weekend in Watertown, SD, which means packing as if we were going to be stranded on an island in the middle of the ocean. Actually, this analogy isn't far from the truth. There is not a gosh darn thing to do in Watertown. To be fair, the best things to do in Watertown—such as golfing and swimming in the lake or at the new, awesome water park— involve warmer, drier weather. Since my parents don't believe in providing us with activities or entertainment and sort of treat our visits as an afterthought, we like to bring our own amusement.
For this trip I'm packing the following:
~ a few books I've already started and would like to finish (From the Mixed-up Files ... and the second book in Donna Leon's series)
~ magazines, small stack I've been hording, yikes, including the Vogue from two months ago
~ a puzzle to assemble with the kids
~ cool Dover coloring books we got for xmas, this is mine
~ mommy's box of 64 crayolas
~ laptop, even though there's no wi-fi
~ external hard drive
~ camera
~ boots, hat, mittens for a hike in the park
~ knitting, for when I can no longer concentrate on reading over my mother's yammering
And, of course there's the food:
~ cheese (you cannot get a decent, non-processed chunk of cheese in Watertown; Laguiole, which we're trying for the first time, a truffled pecorino-type cheese, and a few others that I picked up at Whole Foods earlier this week)
~ wine (there's serviceable wine to be found in Watertown, but my dad, who claims to love wine and who has drunk from some exquisite bottles in France, refuses to spend more than $3.99 on bottle so we bring a few good but not expensive selections)
~ crackers, to eat with the cheese
~ Easter candy for the kids' baskets, because I couldn't resist
~ B.T. McElrath truffles for the adults' "baskets, because I shopped at the Golden Fig yesterday and couldn't resist
We'll drive slow and treat ourselves well. By the time we return to the Twin Cities, the latest snowfall will have melted. Soon, we'll be back to the business of spring.
Happy, happy weekend!
John, the boys, and I are meant to drive to So Dak to celebrate Easter with my parents. I have already told John that I'm not keen to drive in the current sloppy, slushy turning to icy driving conditions but he has yet to take me seriously. My life is in his hands, and I completely trust him—until he hits his 7 p.m. slump and drives us into a ditch. I also mentioned to the boys that I'd like to wait until tomorrow morning to make our drive, but they view this idea as a betrayal of the grand plan in which John drives and I read to the family.
Am I being a big baby? I don't think so...I just don't feel like putting my life, and the lives of the people I most cherish, at risk.
Regardless of when we leave town, we are spending the weekend in Watertown, SD, which means packing as if we were going to be stranded on an island in the middle of the ocean. Actually, this analogy isn't far from the truth. There is not a gosh darn thing to do in Watertown. To be fair, the best things to do in Watertown—such as golfing and swimming in the lake or at the new, awesome water park— involve warmer, drier weather. Since my parents don't believe in providing us with activities or entertainment and sort of treat our visits as an afterthought, we like to bring our own amusement.
For this trip I'm packing the following:
~ a few books I've already started and would like to finish (From the Mixed-up Files ... and the second book in Donna Leon's series)
~ magazines, small stack I've been hording, yikes, including the Vogue from two months ago
~ a puzzle to assemble with the kids
~ cool Dover coloring books we got for xmas, this is mine
~ mommy's box of 64 crayolas
~ laptop, even though there's no wi-fi
~ external hard drive
~ camera
~ boots, hat, mittens for a hike in the park
~ knitting, for when I can no longer concentrate on reading over my mother's yammering
And, of course there's the food:
~ cheese (you cannot get a decent, non-processed chunk of cheese in Watertown; Laguiole, which we're trying for the first time, a truffled pecorino-type cheese, and a few others that I picked up at Whole Foods earlier this week)
~ wine (there's serviceable wine to be found in Watertown, but my dad, who claims to love wine and who has drunk from some exquisite bottles in France, refuses to spend more than $3.99 on bottle so we bring a few good but not expensive selections)
~ crackers, to eat with the cheese
~ Easter candy for the kids' baskets, because I couldn't resist
~ B.T. McElrath truffles for the adults' "baskets, because I shopped at the Golden Fig yesterday and couldn't resist
We'll drive slow and treat ourselves well. By the time we return to the Twin Cities, the latest snowfall will have melted. Soon, we'll be back to the business of spring.
Happy, happy weekend!
Thursday, March 20, 2008
is it time for lunch yet?
Since the announcement was made three weeks ago that the company employing me would be sold, as soon as humanly possible, all productivity, mine included, has come to a screeching halt. Naturally we’ve all assumed that we’re going to be out on our asses, jobless, rather than reaping the benefits offered by new owners.
Here’s my exit strategy:
1. polish resume (but it’s more fun to blog)
2. beef up my LinkedIn profile, starting here
3. let every friend and acquaintance know I’m on the market (consider yourself notified)
4. pull together a portfolio of clips (the articles I have had published in Homeplans publications)
5. start thinking about options outside of publishing
Sounds easy doesn’t it?
Here’s my exit strategy:
1. polish resume (but it’s more fun to blog)
2. beef up my LinkedIn profile, starting here
3. let every friend and acquaintance know I’m on the market (consider yourself notified)
4. pull together a portfolio of clips (the articles I have had published in Homeplans publications)
5. start thinking about options outside of publishing
Sounds easy doesn’t it?
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
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.
Another geography entry—this one in the continental U.S.—Walsenburg, Colorado. Go here to read about local attractions, history, and demographics (median age at the 2000 Census: 38).
1. Go to wikipedia.
2. Click on "random article" on the left-hand sidebar.
3. Post it.
Another geography entry—this one in the continental U.S.—Walsenburg, Colorado. Go here to read about local attractions, history, and demographics (median age at the 2000 Census: 38).
The historic City of Walsenburg is a Statutory City that is the county seat and the most populous city of Huerfano County, Colorado, United States.[6][2] The city population was 4,182 at the 2000 census.
Robert Ford, the assassin of outlaw Jesse James, operated a saloon/gambling house in Walsenburg, and his home at 320 West 7th Street still stands.
Monday, March 17, 2008
erin go bragh*
The luck of the Irish to you. I’m not Irish in the very least, but every March 17, I'm Irish for the day. It's kind of the law if you live in St. Paul, Minnesota.
Twenty years ago, while spending my JYA in London, I accompanied my flatmate, Julie, to Ireland for spring break. We flew then-fledgling Virgin Atlantic from Luton (outside of London) to Dublin. We rented a car and drove around Ireland for a week.
For the record, I have never met a bigger U2 fan than Julie. Ever. This trip to Ireland didn't just signal a heritage visit for her, either (she's 110% Irish). This trip to Ireland was meant to trace every single step that each member of U2 had ever taken. I'm no longer sure how each place we visited is connected to the band, but I can assure you that at times our trip had a life of its own.
We saw some amazing sites—most of which an not U2 related—and an incredible landscape.
Our itinerary took us from Dublin to Galway on the west coast. We followed the coast, stopping to crawl on hands and knees to lean over the very windy and stunning Cliffs of Moher (county Clare). The Cliffs, pictured above, was a site for a promotional video that U2 shot prior to Unforgettable Fire. We drove along the breathtaking Ring of Kerry (county Kerry). At Kenmare we cut east to the small market town of Macroom, which has a cool gate to the city. On our way to Cork, we kissed the Blarney stone. On our way back to Dublin, we visited Youghal, a quiet fishing village, and the Waterford factory.
Before we reached the Dublin city limits, we made one last very special stop in Bray (county Wicklow)—to knock on the door of a man known locally as Paul Hewson. We had Hewson's address from a reliable source**, but still had to do some asking around to find his unusual home, a Martello tower. Jules had read a Rolling Stone interview in which Bono stated that he would invite in for tea anyone who could find his home. We found his home and knocked on the door, to no avail. Bono was busy in Dublin doing a press junket for what would be U2's breakout album.
Finally, we celebrated St. Patrick's Day 1988, in Dublin, during what I believe—though wikipedia begs to differ—was the city's 1,000th anniversary. St. Paddy's Day was crazy with a big parade and drunk people—lots of drunk people—hanging off statues and streetlights. Not exactly the solemn, religious holiday I had been told the Irish practice. Later that week we hit every Dublin club in which U2 ever played and saw Van Morrison, the Chieftains, and U2 play live. Free.
St. Patrick's Days since then—even those spent with the Scanlan's gang—have paled.
*Long live Ireland
**Jules had a boyfriend who worked for Island Records
Twenty years ago, while spending my JYA in London, I accompanied my flatmate, Julie, to Ireland for spring break. We flew then-fledgling Virgin Atlantic from Luton (outside of London) to Dublin. We rented a car and drove around Ireland for a week.
For the record, I have never met a bigger U2 fan than Julie. Ever. This trip to Ireland didn't just signal a heritage visit for her, either (she's 110% Irish). This trip to Ireland was meant to trace every single step that each member of U2 had ever taken. I'm no longer sure how each place we visited is connected to the band, but I can assure you that at times our trip had a life of its own.
We saw some amazing sites—most of which an not U2 related—and an incredible landscape.
Our itinerary took us from Dublin to Galway on the west coast. We followed the coast, stopping to crawl on hands and knees to lean over the very windy and stunning Cliffs of Moher (county Clare). The Cliffs, pictured above, was a site for a promotional video that U2 shot prior to Unforgettable Fire. We drove along the breathtaking Ring of Kerry (county Kerry). At Kenmare we cut east to the small market town of Macroom, which has a cool gate to the city. On our way to Cork, we kissed the Blarney stone. On our way back to Dublin, we visited Youghal, a quiet fishing village, and the Waterford factory.
Before we reached the Dublin city limits, we made one last very special stop in Bray (county Wicklow)—to knock on the door of a man known locally as Paul Hewson. We had Hewson's address from a reliable source**, but still had to do some asking around to find his unusual home, a Martello tower. Jules had read a Rolling Stone interview in which Bono stated that he would invite in for tea anyone who could find his home. We found his home and knocked on the door, to no avail. Bono was busy in Dublin doing a press junket for what would be U2's breakout album.
Finally, we celebrated St. Patrick's Day 1988, in Dublin, during what I believe—though wikipedia begs to differ—was the city's 1,000th anniversary. St. Paddy's Day was crazy with a big parade and drunk people—lots of drunk people—hanging off statues and streetlights. Not exactly the solemn, religious holiday I had been told the Irish practice. Later that week we hit every Dublin club in which U2 ever played and saw Van Morrison, the Chieftains, and U2 play live. Free.
St. Patrick's Days since then—even those spent with the Scanlan's gang—have paled.
*Long live Ireland
**Jules had a boyfriend who worked for Island Records
Sunday, March 16, 2008
weekend report: march 15-16
Friday: My weekend started early on Friday, when the pub team cut out of the office for lunch and the Parade of Homes. We tour Parade homes semi-annually for inspiration and to see a more three-dimensional rendering of the blueprints with which we spend our days. Plus it’s a fun and easy way to do some team building. In past years we have visited homes in the northeast, southeast, and southern parts of the Twin Cities, so it was fitting that we would travel west to Plymouth and Wayzata for the spring Parade.
The first two homes we toured were part of a large development, built by Lennar, the Twin Cities’ largest builder. These homes had standard layouts with square footage ranging from 2,845 to 3,233 s.f., placing them firmly in the “move-up” category. Some of the nice details included cherry cabinetry, granite countertops in the kitchen, and a two-way fireplace shared by the family room and the living room. Homes in this category start at $600,000, which seemed to be incredibly overpriced.
The last two homes on our trip were massive, gorgeous luxury homes built by Hickory Fine Homes. I must say that while each of these homes was beautiful, they were a bit over the top, starting at $1.5 million. One home was a basically a large “barn,” with a series of gambrel roofs. Continuing the barn-theme inside, the Great Room had an incredible vaulted ceiling with massive support beams. The kitchen’s was vast. Both rooms open onto each other and shared a view of a small lake. The laundry room, five bathrooms, kitchen, and lower-level bar each had countertops from a unique slab of granite. The lower level also sported a basketball half-court and a climate-controlled wine cellar. Oooolala.
In general, the homes were really well staged, which always inspires me to conquer clutter and pay attention to the details in my own home, which, if I do say so, has very nice bones.
John and I took the boys to see Horton Hears a Who, which I found to be a near-perfect adaptation. I’m always amazed at how a fifty-page children’s book can be stretched to fill eighty minutes onscreen. In between the computer-animated jungle and Whoville scenes, there was a neat homage to the hand-drawn art of Dr. Seuss that will satisfy the Seussian among us.
Saturday: Made Bittman’s quick and easy waffles (How to Cook Everything has the best, uncomplicated breakfast recipes). John and I worked in our bedroom, folding the mountains of clothes and sorting through the detritus the ends up there on a daily basis. John took the boys to Minnehaha Falls for a hike with friends while I enjoyed some time for myself. First I hauled a couple buckets of paint and cement sealer to the county household hazardous waste site. The cement sealer, which had been stacked between two other containers for at least three and a half years, started leaking last week. So I bagged them as best I could without actually touching the ooziness, and with thoughts of Pa Ingalls and Mr. Edwards treacherously hauling nitroglycerin to Mankato in their horse-drawn wagon, I transported the containers very, very carefully to the dump. Then treated myself to a cafe mocha at Dunn Brothers while I read Omnivore’s Dilemma in anticipation of book group this coming Thursday.
Finally, the evening of our dinner reservation at one of Minneapolis’ hottest new restaurants, Heidi’s, had arrived. John and I shared our four-top with Tracy and Bill, who had just returned from a month in Mexico. We started at Tracy’s for aperitifs (a chateauneuf du pape and a tempranillo accompanied salumi from Salumi and some treats from Premier Cheese Shop—lomo, roquefort, and an Irish cow’s milk soft-ripened cheese).
Heidi’s is a tiny space that looks posher online than in real life, but it’s still a lovely space. Even though we arrived late, we were still greeted by a slight backup, which gave us time to chat with Frank, the zany front-of-house guy. Chef Stewart Woodman’s food was phenomenal. I started with the fingerling potatoes enrobed in a grainy mustard and cornichon-studded raclette sauce and topped with frizzled leek strips—an elegantly reconstructed take on the French apres-ski treat. We drank a Gruner Veltliner Gmork with our starter. My main was off the menu: lobster in pureed parsnips and a ginger reduction of some sort. Sublime. We drank a French pinot noir with our main courses. I’m still thinking about Tracy’s beet ravioli with a whisper-thin wrapper surrounding a beet slice (rather than a puree), nestled into a truffle foam. John’s Australian sea bass was crispy on the outside and soft inside in the way we’re never able to cook fish at home. The table split a chocolate cake with espresso ice cream that was, hands down, the best dessert I’ve had since 112’s tres leche cake. I cannot wait to go back to Heidi’s, and you should march there as soon as you can.
Sunday: Yoga was cancelled so what better alternate than a pastry breakfast at Bread & Chocolate with the guys, who, afterward, very politely indulged me in a trip to Garden of Eden. Later, Simon and I snuck out for ice cream at Izzy’s (Irish moxie [coffee base with Jameson whiskey, oreos, and heath bars] and a Guiness izzy); then stops at Cheapo’s (looking for Carbon Silicone, Mick Jones’s latest project) and the library. We spent a lazy afternoon around the TV. I got to read for an hour or so while John watched Tiger Woods win the Arnold Palmer Invitational. We met friends at the St. Paul Curling Club for dinner and watched our friends Colin and Dave curl. Their four-person curling team advanced out of the semifinals for their league’s championship. John and I stayed up late, hanging out in the studio and working on our computers. Such an awesome way to end a good weekend.
The first two homes we toured were part of a large development, built by Lennar, the Twin Cities’ largest builder. These homes had standard layouts with square footage ranging from 2,845 to 3,233 s.f., placing them firmly in the “move-up” category. Some of the nice details included cherry cabinetry, granite countertops in the kitchen, and a two-way fireplace shared by the family room and the living room. Homes in this category start at $600,000, which seemed to be incredibly overpriced.
The last two homes on our trip were massive, gorgeous luxury homes built by Hickory Fine Homes. I must say that while each of these homes was beautiful, they were a bit over the top, starting at $1.5 million. One home was a basically a large “barn,” with a series of gambrel roofs. Continuing the barn-theme inside, the Great Room had an incredible vaulted ceiling with massive support beams. The kitchen’s was vast. Both rooms open onto each other and shared a view of a small lake. The laundry room, five bathrooms, kitchen, and lower-level bar each had countertops from a unique slab of granite. The lower level also sported a basketball half-court and a climate-controlled wine cellar. Oooolala.
In general, the homes were really well staged, which always inspires me to conquer clutter and pay attention to the details in my own home, which, if I do say so, has very nice bones.
John and I took the boys to see Horton Hears a Who, which I found to be a near-perfect adaptation. I’m always amazed at how a fifty-page children’s book can be stretched to fill eighty minutes onscreen. In between the computer-animated jungle and Whoville scenes, there was a neat homage to the hand-drawn art of Dr. Seuss that will satisfy the Seussian among us.
Saturday: Made Bittman’s quick and easy waffles (How to Cook Everything has the best, uncomplicated breakfast recipes). John and I worked in our bedroom, folding the mountains of clothes and sorting through the detritus the ends up there on a daily basis. John took the boys to Minnehaha Falls for a hike with friends while I enjoyed some time for myself. First I hauled a couple buckets of paint and cement sealer to the county household hazardous waste site. The cement sealer, which had been stacked between two other containers for at least three and a half years, started leaking last week. So I bagged them as best I could without actually touching the ooziness, and with thoughts of Pa Ingalls and Mr. Edwards treacherously hauling nitroglycerin to Mankato in their horse-drawn wagon, I transported the containers very, very carefully to the dump. Then treated myself to a cafe mocha at Dunn Brothers while I read Omnivore’s Dilemma in anticipation of book group this coming Thursday.
Finally, the evening of our dinner reservation at one of Minneapolis’ hottest new restaurants, Heidi’s, had arrived. John and I shared our four-top with Tracy and Bill, who had just returned from a month in Mexico. We started at Tracy’s for aperitifs (a chateauneuf du pape and a tempranillo accompanied salumi from Salumi and some treats from Premier Cheese Shop—lomo, roquefort, and an Irish cow’s milk soft-ripened cheese).
Heidi’s is a tiny space that looks posher online than in real life, but it’s still a lovely space. Even though we arrived late, we were still greeted by a slight backup, which gave us time to chat with Frank, the zany front-of-house guy. Chef Stewart Woodman’s food was phenomenal. I started with the fingerling potatoes enrobed in a grainy mustard and cornichon-studded raclette sauce and topped with frizzled leek strips—an elegantly reconstructed take on the French apres-ski treat. We drank a Gruner Veltliner Gmork with our starter. My main was off the menu: lobster in pureed parsnips and a ginger reduction of some sort. Sublime. We drank a French pinot noir with our main courses. I’m still thinking about Tracy’s beet ravioli with a whisper-thin wrapper surrounding a beet slice (rather than a puree), nestled into a truffle foam. John’s Australian sea bass was crispy on the outside and soft inside in the way we’re never able to cook fish at home. The table split a chocolate cake with espresso ice cream that was, hands down, the best dessert I’ve had since 112’s tres leche cake. I cannot wait to go back to Heidi’s, and you should march there as soon as you can.
Sunday: Yoga was cancelled so what better alternate than a pastry breakfast at Bread & Chocolate with the guys, who, afterward, very politely indulged me in a trip to Garden of Eden. Later, Simon and I snuck out for ice cream at Izzy’s (Irish moxie [coffee base with Jameson whiskey, oreos, and heath bars] and a Guiness izzy); then stops at Cheapo’s (looking for Carbon Silicone, Mick Jones’s latest project) and the library. We spent a lazy afternoon around the TV. I got to read for an hour or so while John watched Tiger Woods win the Arnold Palmer Invitational. We met friends at the St. Paul Curling Club for dinner and watched our friends Colin and Dave curl. Their four-person curling team advanced out of the semifinals for their league’s championship. John and I stayed up late, hanging out in the studio and working on our computers. Such an awesome way to end a good weekend.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
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.
Today I got Southend Cliff Railway—sounds like fun(icular)! Groan. Photo by David Carson.
The Southend Cliff Railway is a funicular in Southend-on-Sea, Essex, constructed in 1912.It is 130 feet (40 m) long and climbs 57 feet (17 m). The single car runs on 4 feet 6 inches (1,400 mm) gauge track with a 1 foot 9 inches (530 mm) gauge counterbalance beneath the main track.[1]
doing
chaperoning
Today I met Winston’s kindergarten class—make that all five kindergarten classes, each with at least twenty learners—at the Children’s Museum where they spent a few hours exploring. I kept an eye on my own child, plus Sam and Keishon. Going into this, I was a little nervous that I might lose a kid not my own. Mostly I spent my time hanging out with Win’s teacher, Ms Maura. She’s a trip, and I really like her. Well, really, how could I not when she spent so much time telling me how entertaining and wonderful my kid is. Two little boys in Win’s class were each wearing khaki-ish cargo pants and baggy jeans jackets with satchels (appeared to be purses) slung across their bodies. When I commented to Elijah's mother that I liked his bag, she said, “Oh, you mean, Indiana Jones?” I felt sort of dense for not noticing. Win's excited about Indiana Jones, but until movie number four is released, he's all about Star Wars. The best part of the outing—the twenty minutes walk in each direction from my office. Today’s high temperature was 50 degrees. With a warm sun and blue skies, it was a glorious day.
reading to myself
Michael Pollan’s The Omnivore’s Dilemma has me rapt. He’s a fantastic writer, which makes the eye-opening nature of this book easy to take. I have resisted reading this book for a long time. I’ve read enough articles and reviews to know Pollan’s argument, and I’m in his camp so I’ve never felt like I needed to be further converted. Also, I’m a little afraid of some of the details that might force me out of my comfort zone. But, I’m reading this for a worthy cause—book group. In fact, I chose the book based on the strong encouragement of a friend who also had it on her TBR list. A little hand-holding is a good thing. I’m trying to write daily notes here.
reading to kids
In eager anticipation of the new Horton Hears a Who movie, the kids are on a serious Seuss tear. Not a horrible thing, in my opinion. I’ve read Horton to each of them, as well as Seuss’s first book, And to Think That I Saw It on MulberryStreet (1937), and I Wish That I Had Duck Feet. Simon has checked out Yertle the Turtle from the school library, and I hope to get to it tomorrow night. Yertle was one of the Seuss books I had as a kid (If I Ran the Circus and The Grinch Who Stole Christmas were the others). Seuss is near perfect (illustrations, complex but accessible stories, terrific rhyme scheme), and I’m really enjoying myself.
eating
Hot Cross Buns. I can feel the carbophobes recoiling in horrow now. But, ‘tis the season, and it's a very short season at that. Whole Foods had samples fresh out of the oven last week, and I couldn’t resist. Made with whole wheat flour, WF’s version is flecked with raisins and citron, spiced with cardamom and cinnamon, and drizzled with a healthy amount of icing. They are best served warm. Wuollet’s rendition is, at best, a dinner roll with raisins and a cross of fondant or marzipan. I’ve sampled both, but didn’t find them to be as good as in previous years. Breadsmith, so far, has my favorite HCB. Their version also sports a whole wheat dough, on the sweet side but not too yeasty, and raisins and citron. The icing drizzle is deftly applied. I know I shouldn’t be gorging on bread, especially as the first thing I eat in the morning, but it can’t be helped.
listening
Grooving to the lo-fi sounds of the Black Keys’ 2004 album Rubber Factory. Krista included this in the big box of music she sent me for my birthday. Thanks Krista! I love the blues-inspired rock these boys from Akron—yes, O-HI-O, kick out. Also in heavy rotation—Queen’s Greatest Hits and, taking me back twenty years, R.E.M’s Life’s Rich Pageant. Up next: a couple of new EPs, the Yeah Yeah Yeahs’ Is Is and The Rascals Out of Dreams.
Today I met Winston’s kindergarten class—make that all five kindergarten classes, each with at least twenty learners—at the Children’s Museum where they spent a few hours exploring. I kept an eye on my own child, plus Sam and Keishon. Going into this, I was a little nervous that I might lose a kid not my own. Mostly I spent my time hanging out with Win’s teacher, Ms Maura. She’s a trip, and I really like her. Well, really, how could I not when she spent so much time telling me how entertaining and wonderful my kid is. Two little boys in Win’s class were each wearing khaki-ish cargo pants and baggy jeans jackets with satchels (appeared to be purses) slung across their bodies. When I commented to Elijah's mother that I liked his bag, she said, “Oh, you mean, Indiana Jones?” I felt sort of dense for not noticing. Win's excited about Indiana Jones, but until movie number four is released, he's all about Star Wars. The best part of the outing—the twenty minutes walk in each direction from my office. Today’s high temperature was 50 degrees. With a warm sun and blue skies, it was a glorious day.
reading to myself
Michael Pollan’s The Omnivore’s Dilemma has me rapt. He’s a fantastic writer, which makes the eye-opening nature of this book easy to take. I have resisted reading this book for a long time. I’ve read enough articles and reviews to know Pollan’s argument, and I’m in his camp so I’ve never felt like I needed to be further converted. Also, I’m a little afraid of some of the details that might force me out of my comfort zone. But, I’m reading this for a worthy cause—book group. In fact, I chose the book based on the strong encouragement of a friend who also had it on her TBR list. A little hand-holding is a good thing. I’m trying to write daily notes here.
reading to kids
In eager anticipation of the new Horton Hears a Who movie, the kids are on a serious Seuss tear. Not a horrible thing, in my opinion. I’ve read Horton to each of them, as well as Seuss’s first book, And to Think That I Saw It on MulberryStreet (1937), and I Wish That I Had Duck Feet. Simon has checked out Yertle the Turtle from the school library, and I hope to get to it tomorrow night. Yertle was one of the Seuss books I had as a kid (If I Ran the Circus and The Grinch Who Stole Christmas were the others). Seuss is near perfect (illustrations, complex but accessible stories, terrific rhyme scheme), and I’m really enjoying myself.
eating
Hot Cross Buns. I can feel the carbophobes recoiling in horrow now. But, ‘tis the season, and it's a very short season at that. Whole Foods had samples fresh out of the oven last week, and I couldn’t resist. Made with whole wheat flour, WF’s version is flecked with raisins and citron, spiced with cardamom and cinnamon, and drizzled with a healthy amount of icing. They are best served warm. Wuollet’s rendition is, at best, a dinner roll with raisins and a cross of fondant or marzipan. I’ve sampled both, but didn’t find them to be as good as in previous years. Breadsmith, so far, has my favorite HCB. Their version also sports a whole wheat dough, on the sweet side but not too yeasty, and raisins and citron. The icing drizzle is deftly applied. I know I shouldn’t be gorging on bread, especially as the first thing I eat in the morning, but it can’t be helped.
listening
Grooving to the lo-fi sounds of the Black Keys’ 2004 album Rubber Factory. Krista included this in the big box of music she sent me for my birthday. Thanks Krista! I love the blues-inspired rock these boys from Akron—yes, O-HI-O, kick out. Also in heavy rotation—Queen’s Greatest Hits and, taking me back twenty years, R.E.M’s Life’s Rich Pageant. Up next: a couple of new EPs, the Yeah Yeah Yeahs’ Is Is and The Rascals Out of Dreams.
Monday, March 10, 2008
weekend report: march 8-9
Springing forward kicked my ass, as well as the asses of all those with whom I live. For not being able to get out of bed this morning, we did alright, getting ready for school/work. As expected, the atomic clock in our kitchen did not reset itself, contributing even further to the my sense of discombobulation.
Friday night: started reading the second book in Donna Leon's Commissario Brunetti series, Death in a Strange Country. Immediately engaging, I felt like I was being reacquainted with old friends. Also, I absolutely marveled at how quickly I was able to read sixty pages (a little over an hour), where it has taken me a week to read as many pages in The Omnivore's Dilemma.
Saturday: Woke up to a barfing child (Simon) so spent most of the day housebound, but I got to do some puttering. John and I had a date on Saturday night, which started at Cheapo, where I picked up the Daktaris' Soul Explosion. The Daktaris are on the Daptone label and are self-described as “a well-disciplined army of two hundred African Bull Elephants marching relentlessly up your business to the beat from Funky Drummer. With an arsenal ranging from barking baritone sax and clarinet, to eerily winding flute and melodica, the Daktaris’ notion of horns pumps out an encyclopedia of dark, enormous African melodies over an ocean of pounding funk syncopations, reminiscent of the great Fela Kuti” from the liner notes. I also picked up the Yeah, Yeah, Yeahs' ep, Is Is. John selected the Pretenders first album (a nostalgic pick), some Allman Brothers, Alice in Chains, I know, his musical tastes are even more all-over-the-place than mine. Just one of the many reasons why I love him.
Then we had dinner at The Strip Club, a new St. Paul restaurant from the Town Talk Diner guys. I think the restaurant has a lot of potential, but I’m worried that all the rave reviews it’s getting will allow them to rest on their laurels. The Strip Club is fun and hip and has an uncomplicated menu with solid food (just a few execution problems is all), but their wine list needs some attention. You can read more about our experience and meal here. For the unexpectedly lovely view of downtown St. Paul and the small plates, it’s worth the trip.
Sunday: We had friends over for brunch, bagels and mimosas mostly, and then had a thoroughly enjoyable, restful afternoon. I blogged and read blogs and played a card game (There’s a Moose in the House) with Simon and tinkered in the kitchen (big pot of very spicy chili). Because the day had such a restorative effect, I was able to stay awake reading until an absolutely unreasonable hour (1 a.m.) on a school night. John went out with friends last night, further enabling me to stay up late. They lifted a glass in Gary Gygax’s memory. I’m not joking. I love my (former) D&D geek.
Friday night: started reading the second book in Donna Leon's Commissario Brunetti series, Death in a Strange Country. Immediately engaging, I felt like I was being reacquainted with old friends. Also, I absolutely marveled at how quickly I was able to read sixty pages (a little over an hour), where it has taken me a week to read as many pages in The Omnivore's Dilemma.
Saturday: Woke up to a barfing child (Simon) so spent most of the day housebound, but I got to do some puttering. John and I had a date on Saturday night, which started at Cheapo, where I picked up the Daktaris' Soul Explosion. The Daktaris are on the Daptone label and are self-described as “a well-disciplined army of two hundred African Bull Elephants marching relentlessly up your business to the beat from Funky Drummer. With an arsenal ranging from barking baritone sax and clarinet, to eerily winding flute and melodica, the Daktaris’ notion of horns pumps out an encyclopedia of dark, enormous African melodies over an ocean of pounding funk syncopations, reminiscent of the great Fela Kuti” from the liner notes. I also picked up the Yeah, Yeah, Yeahs' ep, Is Is. John selected the Pretenders first album (a nostalgic pick), some Allman Brothers, Alice in Chains, I know, his musical tastes are even more all-over-the-place than mine. Just one of the many reasons why I love him.
Then we had dinner at The Strip Club, a new St. Paul restaurant from the Town Talk Diner guys. I think the restaurant has a lot of potential, but I’m worried that all the rave reviews it’s getting will allow them to rest on their laurels. The Strip Club is fun and hip and has an uncomplicated menu with solid food (just a few execution problems is all), but their wine list needs some attention. You can read more about our experience and meal here. For the unexpectedly lovely view of downtown St. Paul and the small plates, it’s worth the trip.
Sunday: We had friends over for brunch, bagels and mimosas mostly, and then had a thoroughly enjoyable, restful afternoon. I blogged and read blogs and played a card game (There’s a Moose in the House) with Simon and tinkered in the kitchen (big pot of very spicy chili). Because the day had such a restorative effect, I was able to stay awake reading until an absolutely unreasonable hour (1 a.m.) on a school night. John went out with friends last night, further enabling me to stay up late. They lifted a glass in Gary Gygax’s memory. I’m not joking. I love my (former) D&D geek.
Thursday, March 06, 2008
Wednesday, March 05, 2008
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.
A truly random selection—Christiane Scrivener.
Christiane Scrivener (born September 1st, 1925, in Mulhouse, France) is a French politician, a member of Valéry Giscard d'Estaing's Parti républicain (now replaced by Alain Madelin's Démocratie libérale).She was Secretary of State of Trade for Consumers' protection between 1976 and 1978, first in Jacques Chirac's and then in Raymond Barre's cabinet. In this capacity she spearheaded several legislative changes, including an Act to protect the information of consumers on products and services (loi sur la protection et l'information des consommateurs de produits et de services, 1978), well-known under the name of loi Scrivener.
She was then elected a Member of the European Parliament (1979-1984).
In 1989 she became the European Communities Commissioner for Taxes, Revenue Harmonization and Consumer Policies in the Delors Commission, a position she retained until 1995.
Tuesday, March 04, 2008
bicycle painting
It has become quite the tradition for me to give John a bike-related Christmas gift, such as books, DVDs of races and documentaries of riders, cycling jerseys, socks, and gadgets. This past year, I was somewhat at a loss for a unique cycling-themed present, especially as he's come to anticipate the usual. So it was with pleasure that I decided to indulge in another piece of bike art.
I've long admired Taliah Lempert's bicycle paintings, portraits in which the subject is the bike. Technically proficient, she has a remarkable ability to capture the spirit of the bike's owner, through their bike. Many of her subjects are part of the New York City bike culture.
Every time I think I'll bite the bullet and purchase one of her paintings, I resist, for a few reasons. One, I'm indecisive about exactly which painting to choose. Two, I get sticker shock. Three—and this is the most important—I'd rather have a portrait of John's Rambouillet, which was custom built for him and comes from a boutique frame designer, rather than a stranger's bike. I've even contacted Taliah about doing this and she's game. We only have to get his bike to Brooklyn so she can see John interact with it. Some day...
In the meantime, I did choose one of Taliah's bike paintings to have reproduced as a print, at a fraction of the price of an original painting. Again, not an easy task to choose just one, but since I planned to give it to John as a gift, I chose a print that would speak to him. It's a study of a bike with a Brooks saddle—his favorite (he rides a Brooks saddle on three different bikes). When he opened the poster tube and unrolled the print, he was thrilled to see the Hetchins brazing just below the seat post. Sigh.
The print recently came back from the framer and now has a spot of distinction in our dining room. (Yes, we have knotty pine walls in our dining room.)
Monday, March 03, 2008
weekend report: march 1-2
The weekend was pretty awesome in that way weekends should be. I think it helped to have had my car detailed on Friday, which I did on my way to work. Getting all the sand and kid detritus vacuumed off the floor and seats did wonders for improving my outlook.
Friday night: John’s coworker Jessica stayed with us. I tried making one of Bittman’s 10- minute meals—#97, so-called fettucine alfredo—and it was a disaster. Such a simple dish shouldn’t require a recipe. My friend Steve told me how to make alfredo sauce: heat in a saucepan butter in any amount, milk in any amount, and cheese in any amount. I should have listened to him instead of Bittman. These are basically Bittman’s instructions, too, but he suggests using a skillet rather than a sauce pan. With so much surface space, the sauce heated too quickly and started boiling. When I added the pasta to the skillet, the sauce separated. It was ugly and not very tasty. We saved face by ordering a pizza from Davanni's. I drank too much wine before I’d had any real food. Silly.
Saturday: John and Jessica left for the F1 overnight web challenge (described best by host Sierra Bravo—one part nerd Olympics, one part community service project and one part race-against-the-clock) in the neighborhood of 6:45 a.m. A few hours later, I woke to the sounds of cartoons drifting down to my bedroom from the den. The kids and I had a lovely breakfast together. Then I made chicken stock by putting a whole chicken in my huge stock pot (Christmas gift), adding carrots, celery, and onions that had been cut into large pieces; an herb bundle (Christmas stocking stuffer); and a handful of kosher salt and peppercorns. I covered the bird with water, brought to a boil, then simmered for nearly four hours.
Friend Caryl and her daughter Charon came over for lunch. We made pizzas from balls of dough and sauce that I had purchased at Cossetta's. Charon treated us to Thin Mint Girl Scout cookies. Yum! While the kids engaged themselves in play and a few episodes of Scooby Doo, Caryl and I made soup—caldo verde, a Portuguese kale and sausage soup, from The Soup Peddler's Slow and Difficult Soups. David Ansel is the Soup Peddler and he delivers soup—on his bike—to the eclectic folk who populate Bouldin Creek in Austin, Texas. Caryl sourced the sausage—linguiça—from Kramarczuk's, the Nordeast Minneapolis restaurant that specializes in sausage. And, she brought lacinato kale, which, as opposed to the extremely curly kale, is like a thick spinach leaf. Basically, we browned the sausage links, in their casings, in olive oil, and removed them when they were cooked (about 10 minutes). Then we sweated onion (1) slices and sliced garlic (6 cloves) in the remaining olive oil, densely permeated with the linguiça's salty, smoky juices. After 5 minutes we added the homemade chicken stock and diced potatoes (enough small red potatoes to equal four normal sized potatoes) and simmered for 20 minutes. The sausages, which had since been cut into coins, were returned to the soup with a bunch of finely chopped kale and simmered for another 5 minutes. Caryl took her soup home.
Handsome husband aside, I have only ever cooked with one other friend (Thanksgiving 01 or 02 with Steve C.), but it's something I've always wanted to do. I'm so glad that Caryl suggested it. We had a wonderful time chatting as we sliced and diced our ingredients, comparing notes as we tended to the soup, and documenting the process (thanks Caryl!!). And, I had a great time anticipating future kitchen sessions. I hope that one of these will culminate with a meal we can share with our families.
At some point during the afternoon, my parents arrived for a quick visit. We took the little boys out for dinner at Brasa's, where we had the 12-hour roasted pork and the chicken, collard greens, garnet yams with chorizo, barley-chickpea salad, and fried plantains, all washed down with Negro Modelo's.
Around 10:30 p.m., I checked in on John. He informed me that his team was working hard and well together, but that they wouldn't win the web challenge because they lacked the sizzle that other teams had.
Sunday: My parents left by 10 a.m. so they could have breakfast with Nik. Boy, is it ever nice to have a sibling in the same city so as to share the parental love. The boys and I were a little at loose ends. I desparately needed to get out of the house, but neither wanted to get dressed and leave. I even promised a Target run, but they preferred to play a board game. Two hours of Dragonology ensued, which isn't a horrible way to spend time when you can't think of anything better to do. I won, then soothed disappointed kids with a trip to Target where the boys bought crappy plastic stuff (to be fair, Winston selected a LEGO Indiana Jones something or other—go Indy!). Later we called John to learn that IB had won the F1 web challenge. Yay!! I'm married to a gold medalist from the nerd olympics!! By the time John got home, he had been awake for over 32 hours. So I left him to sleep while I helped Jeff H. celebrate his 40th birthday with drinks and nibbles at Dixie's, which was fun because I hadn't been there in ages.
I'm having my house professionally cleaned tomorrow, for the first time since I fired our last cleaner way back in October. Spot cleaning just isn't cutting it any more and I'm totally grossed out by cleaning bathrooms used by three boys. Let's just leave it at that.
Friday night: John’s coworker Jessica stayed with us. I tried making one of Bittman’s 10- minute meals—#97, so-called fettucine alfredo—and it was a disaster. Such a simple dish shouldn’t require a recipe. My friend Steve told me how to make alfredo sauce: heat in a saucepan butter in any amount, milk in any amount, and cheese in any amount. I should have listened to him instead of Bittman. These are basically Bittman’s instructions, too, but he suggests using a skillet rather than a sauce pan. With so much surface space, the sauce heated too quickly and started boiling. When I added the pasta to the skillet, the sauce separated. It was ugly and not very tasty. We saved face by ordering a pizza from Davanni's. I drank too much wine before I’d had any real food. Silly.
Saturday: John and Jessica left for the F1 overnight web challenge (described best by host Sierra Bravo—one part nerd Olympics, one part community service project and one part race-against-the-clock) in the neighborhood of 6:45 a.m. A few hours later, I woke to the sounds of cartoons drifting down to my bedroom from the den. The kids and I had a lovely breakfast together. Then I made chicken stock by putting a whole chicken in my huge stock pot (Christmas gift), adding carrots, celery, and onions that had been cut into large pieces; an herb bundle (Christmas stocking stuffer); and a handful of kosher salt and peppercorns. I covered the bird with water, brought to a boil, then simmered for nearly four hours.
Friend Caryl and her daughter Charon came over for lunch. We made pizzas from balls of dough and sauce that I had purchased at Cossetta's. Charon treated us to Thin Mint Girl Scout cookies. Yum! While the kids engaged themselves in play and a few episodes of Scooby Doo, Caryl and I made soup—caldo verde, a Portuguese kale and sausage soup, from The Soup Peddler's Slow and Difficult Soups. David Ansel is the Soup Peddler and he delivers soup—on his bike—to the eclectic folk who populate Bouldin Creek in Austin, Texas. Caryl sourced the sausage—linguiça—from Kramarczuk's, the Nordeast Minneapolis restaurant that specializes in sausage. And, she brought lacinato kale, which, as opposed to the extremely curly kale, is like a thick spinach leaf. Basically, we browned the sausage links, in their casings, in olive oil, and removed them when they were cooked (about 10 minutes). Then we sweated onion (1) slices and sliced garlic (6 cloves) in the remaining olive oil, densely permeated with the linguiça's salty, smoky juices. After 5 minutes we added the homemade chicken stock and diced potatoes (enough small red potatoes to equal four normal sized potatoes) and simmered for 20 minutes. The sausages, which had since been cut into coins, were returned to the soup with a bunch of finely chopped kale and simmered for another 5 minutes. Caryl took her soup home.
Handsome husband aside, I have only ever cooked with one other friend (Thanksgiving 01 or 02 with Steve C.), but it's something I've always wanted to do. I'm so glad that Caryl suggested it. We had a wonderful time chatting as we sliced and diced our ingredients, comparing notes as we tended to the soup, and documenting the process (thanks Caryl!!). And, I had a great time anticipating future kitchen sessions. I hope that one of these will culminate with a meal we can share with our families.
At some point during the afternoon, my parents arrived for a quick visit. We took the little boys out for dinner at Brasa's, where we had the 12-hour roasted pork and the chicken, collard greens, garnet yams with chorizo, barley-chickpea salad, and fried plantains, all washed down with Negro Modelo's.
Around 10:30 p.m., I checked in on John. He informed me that his team was working hard and well together, but that they wouldn't win the web challenge because they lacked the sizzle that other teams had.
Sunday: My parents left by 10 a.m. so they could have breakfast with Nik. Boy, is it ever nice to have a sibling in the same city so as to share the parental love. The boys and I were a little at loose ends. I desparately needed to get out of the house, but neither wanted to get dressed and leave. I even promised a Target run, but they preferred to play a board game. Two hours of Dragonology ensued, which isn't a horrible way to spend time when you can't think of anything better to do. I won, then soothed disappointed kids with a trip to Target where the boys bought crappy plastic stuff (to be fair, Winston selected a LEGO Indiana Jones something or other—go Indy!). Later we called John to learn that IB had won the F1 web challenge. Yay!! I'm married to a gold medalist from the nerd olympics!! By the time John got home, he had been awake for over 32 hours. So I left him to sleep while I helped Jeff H. celebrate his 40th birthday with drinks and nibbles at Dixie's, which was fun because I hadn't been there in ages.
I'm having my house professionally cleaned tomorrow, for the first time since I fired our last cleaner way back in October. Spot cleaning just isn't cutting it any more and I'm totally grossed out by cleaning bathrooms used by three boys. Let's just leave it at that.
Friday, February 29, 2008
TGIF
I made it! I worked an entire five-day week, and I feel pretty good. One really gets spoiled with those Monday holidays, and I’ve had two over the past six weeks, plus a mental health day, which means that I’ve worked four days for most weeks of the new year. Yikes. Or Yay, depending on how one looks at these things.
The Job was feeling fairly relaxed and manageable this week. Eric left town on Thursday to fulfill obligations as the president of the LeTroy Hawkins Fan Club. He’s in FL where The Man has spring training with his new team, the Yankees. All of which is to say that suddenly the office is very quiet without Eric stomping on the hardwood floors, taking personal calls (or ignoring his cells, which treats the innocent bystander to the initial ring and the missed-call ring), announcing aloud who just called or e-mailed, passing off his work to other people, clapping the Twins rally, and more. Imagine bringing your five-year-old to work. Every. Day.
With Eric out of the office, it’s almost like being on vacation while at work. It’s crazy, I know. Then, at the all-company lunch, our general manager announced that we’re for sale. Just like that. He said, “Blah, blah, blah, Homeplans for sale, blah, blah, blah.” Each person at the meeting looked around desperately, trying to confirm with coworkers that we had heard correctly.
Our parent company no longer wants us. They’ve never been able to make us fit in their mix, even though the synergy is obvious. Move's fault, not ours. Since before calendar year 2007 ended, the Home Office has planned to sell us. A deal was nearly completed, too, and was meant to have been announced at our company lunch. Done deal. Here's your new owner. Instead we have a long lead time in which to fret about who might buy us, will we all have jobs, what if no one wants to buy us, and so on. The Home Office's goal is to have us spun off by the end of second quarter, which is a little over three month from now.
A new owner could be good. We could have a budget for a new database as we move toward database publishing. We could have a budget for freelancers so I could assign someone else to write articles. We could fire unproductive employees (no names necessary).
Even before this announcement, I had decided to put myself back on the market. I’d like to be better compensated for my work and have a little more authority. It’s time. I’ll be exploring this move further here in weeks to come as I’m thinking it may finally be time to work in a different industry. Yes, publishing is and will always be my first love but I do have other interests.
So, the weekend is close at hand. Here are a few things I have lined up. Yes, it’s an all-me (and the little boys) weekend. John will be away, participating in a twenty-four hour extravaganza building websites for nonprofits. It runs from 7 a.m. Saturday to 7 a.m. Sunday. Tonight, we’re hosting John’s coworker Jessica, who would otherwise need to leave her home in Northfield at a ridiculous hour for the 7 a.m. start. Tomorrow, Caryl and Charon are coming over to keep me company. My parents will arrive later in the day for a quick visit. And hopefully I will have a sitter lined up for Sunday night so John and I can both help Jeff H. celebrate his 40th.
In between, I hope to find time to read, write, knit, clean, nap, cuddle my boys.
Here's a parting gift. First, the background. Earlier today I listened to my favorite local band from the 90s, Walt Mink. I listened to them loud because they always make me feel good, transporting me back to the days right after I graduated college. I was running around with John and hanging out at Dunn Brothers, working at Odegard's, successfully avoiding law school. If John and I weren't perched at the Monte Carlo's bar like a modern-day Nick and Nora or (more accurately) F. Scott and Zelda, then you could find us at the 400 Bar or The Cabooze or First Ave or The Uptown Bar listening to whomever was playing. Often, it was John's Macalester classmates who made up Walt Mink, a band that broke out of the local scene only to be screwed over by the major record labels. Recently I found a few Walt Mink videos on You Tube and want to share "Miss Happiness" from a show with Joey—who left WM for Beck and played for REM after that—on drums. I would kill or die to hear WM's show-closing cover of "Free to Be You and Me."
The Job was feeling fairly relaxed and manageable this week. Eric left town on Thursday to fulfill obligations as the president of the LeTroy Hawkins Fan Club. He’s in FL where The Man has spring training with his new team, the Yankees. All of which is to say that suddenly the office is very quiet without Eric stomping on the hardwood floors, taking personal calls (or ignoring his cells, which treats the innocent bystander to the initial ring and the missed-call ring), announcing aloud who just called or e-mailed, passing off his work to other people, clapping the Twins rally, and more. Imagine bringing your five-year-old to work. Every. Day.
With Eric out of the office, it’s almost like being on vacation while at work. It’s crazy, I know. Then, at the all-company lunch, our general manager announced that we’re for sale. Just like that. He said, “Blah, blah, blah, Homeplans for sale, blah, blah, blah.” Each person at the meeting looked around desperately, trying to confirm with coworkers that we had heard correctly.
Our parent company no longer wants us. They’ve never been able to make us fit in their mix, even though the synergy is obvious. Move's fault, not ours. Since before calendar year 2007 ended, the Home Office has planned to sell us. A deal was nearly completed, too, and was meant to have been announced at our company lunch. Done deal. Here's your new owner. Instead we have a long lead time in which to fret about who might buy us, will we all have jobs, what if no one wants to buy us, and so on. The Home Office's goal is to have us spun off by the end of second quarter, which is a little over three month from now.
A new owner could be good. We could have a budget for a new database as we move toward database publishing. We could have a budget for freelancers so I could assign someone else to write articles. We could fire unproductive employees (no names necessary).
Even before this announcement, I had decided to put myself back on the market. I’d like to be better compensated for my work and have a little more authority. It’s time. I’ll be exploring this move further here in weeks to come as I’m thinking it may finally be time to work in a different industry. Yes, publishing is and will always be my first love but I do have other interests.
So, the weekend is close at hand. Here are a few things I have lined up. Yes, it’s an all-me (and the little boys) weekend. John will be away, participating in a twenty-four hour extravaganza building websites for nonprofits. It runs from 7 a.m. Saturday to 7 a.m. Sunday. Tonight, we’re hosting John’s coworker Jessica, who would otherwise need to leave her home in Northfield at a ridiculous hour for the 7 a.m. start. Tomorrow, Caryl and Charon are coming over to keep me company. My parents will arrive later in the day for a quick visit. And hopefully I will have a sitter lined up for Sunday night so John and I can both help Jeff H. celebrate his 40th.
In between, I hope to find time to read, write, knit, clean, nap, cuddle my boys.
Here's a parting gift. First, the background. Earlier today I listened to my favorite local band from the 90s, Walt Mink. I listened to them loud because they always make me feel good, transporting me back to the days right after I graduated college. I was running around with John and hanging out at Dunn Brothers, working at Odegard's, successfully avoiding law school. If John and I weren't perched at the Monte Carlo's bar like a modern-day Nick and Nora or (more accurately) F. Scott and Zelda, then you could find us at the 400 Bar or The Cabooze or First Ave or The Uptown Bar listening to whomever was playing. Often, it was John's Macalester classmates who made up Walt Mink, a band that broke out of the local scene only to be screwed over by the major record labels. Recently I found a few Walt Mink videos on You Tube and want to share "Miss Happiness" from a show with Joey—who left WM for Beck and played for REM after that—on drums. I would kill or die to hear WM's show-closing cover of "Free to Be You and Me."
11:44
The time displayed on the cable box when Simon entered the den last night. John and I were minding our own business, having a life after the boys went to bed, when we were interrupted. Now, the child is prone to insomnia, so we were looking for the signs. Clearly the child had not been sleeping as he didn't have that sleep-grogginess about him. Neither was he attempting to adjust his eyes to the blinding light in the den, which can only mean that he'd been up since the last parent turned out his light, at 8:30 p.m.
Simon confessed, then, that he'd been up all this time since we'd said good-night—listening to his Henry Huggins audiobook. For nearly three hours.
John and I exchanged knowing looks over Simon's head. As a night owl and a bookworm, this apple does not fall far from the tree.
Simon gave each of us a kiss and went straight to bed. I love son #1!
Simon confessed, then, that he'd been up all this time since we'd said good-night—listening to his Henry Huggins audiobook. For nearly three hours.
John and I exchanged knowing looks over Simon's head. As a night owl and a bookworm, this apple does not fall far from the tree.
Simon gave each of us a kiss and went straight to bed. I love son #1!
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
LISTENING: itunes shuffle
1. Demolition Man (The Police)
No explanation needed.
2. Give Me Flowers While I’m Living (The Knitters)
X gone country. Simon loves this song and requests it often on our morning commute.
3. Born to Be Wild (The Knitters)
Wait for the refrain before you call this cover a blasphemy.
4. Hava Nagila (Dick Dale)
When we played this surf guitar version for the chair dance at Steve C.’s wedding, the look on his very Jewish (LongIsland) mother’s face was priceless.
5. Punk Rock Girl (The Dead Milkmen)
Catchy, yes. Punky, no.
6. Who Wants to Be a Millionaire (The Thompson Twins)
Pitch-perfect cover on the Cole Porter tribute album, Red Hot + Blue.
7. We Can Work It Out (Stevie Wonder)
Beatles cover, replete with harmonica and R&B guitar.
8. The Cutter (Echo and the Bunnymen)
What’s not to love about Ian McCulloch, though chances are good Julian Cope wrote this.
9. Save It for Later (The English Beat)
This would be the lead title on the 80s portion of my personal soundtrack.
10. You Know I’m No Good (Amy Winehouse)
She’s the real deal but sweet jeezus she needs to go to rehab. Again. I’ll be highly suspicious if she manages a third album. And, yes, the whole release-the-second-album-as-her-first-album in the States, which qualifies her for a best new artist Grammy, is crap.
11. Can’t Stand It (Velvet Underground)
Again, no explanation needed.
12. Love Train (Wolfmother)
Led Zepplin junior. Quite frankly, there aren’t any clunkers on their really tight debut album, and this is one of my favs.
Bonus video
No explanation needed.
2. Give Me Flowers While I’m Living (The Knitters)
X gone country. Simon loves this song and requests it often on our morning commute.
3. Born to Be Wild (The Knitters)
Wait for the refrain before you call this cover a blasphemy.
4. Hava Nagila (Dick Dale)
When we played this surf guitar version for the chair dance at Steve C.’s wedding, the look on his very Jewish (LongIsland) mother’s face was priceless.
5. Punk Rock Girl (The Dead Milkmen)
Catchy, yes. Punky, no.
6. Who Wants to Be a Millionaire (The Thompson Twins)
Pitch-perfect cover on the Cole Porter tribute album, Red Hot + Blue.
7. We Can Work It Out (Stevie Wonder)
Beatles cover, replete with harmonica and R&B guitar.
8. The Cutter (Echo and the Bunnymen)
What’s not to love about Ian McCulloch, though chances are good Julian Cope wrote this.
9. Save It for Later (The English Beat)
This would be the lead title on the 80s portion of my personal soundtrack.
10. You Know I’m No Good (Amy Winehouse)
She’s the real deal but sweet jeezus she needs to go to rehab. Again. I’ll be highly suspicious if she manages a third album. And, yes, the whole release-the-second-album-as-her-first-album in the States, which qualifies her for a best new artist Grammy, is crap.
11. Can’t Stand It (Velvet Underground)
Again, no explanation needed.
12. Love Train (Wolfmother)
Led Zepplin junior. Quite frankly, there aren’t any clunkers on their really tight debut album, and this is one of my favs.
Bonus video
Friday, February 22, 2008
TGIF
Last night I attended the boys’ school dance with them. The music was loud and awful, and I didn’t recognize any of it.
The night before the dance, Winston decided that he was going to wear “my shiny black pants [chinos], my Christmas shirt [striped oxford cloth], and my bowtie.” Simon, who was dressed in his uniform of cargo pants, black hooded Princeton sweatshirt, and stocking cap, said, “You’re looking at what I’m wearing.” They’re so funny—and different, those two. But, that’s really what they each wore to school and, hence, to the dance last night.
I arrived at DC after work, as close to 6 p.m. as possible without being late, and ran into Natalie, who was picking up her kids. Even though she just wanted to go home, I convinced her to keep me company since I was spouseless (John had an orientation for next week’s competition). I had a nice time chit-chatting with her before Anders and Annika each had enormous meltdowns and Natalie fled, leaving me to face the dance alone. Some of the fifth and sixth graders are pretty big.
I tried to find Simon and Winston in the dark gym. Win was running around, taking laps with his buddies. Simon was up by the stage dancing. He was so into it, and he’s got some moves. Watching him dance and marveling that he's my kid, was the highlight of the evening. And, when we got home, he tried doing the Worm in the den.
Even though the workweek was short, I am thorough exhausted. We have few plans for the weekend. One of John’s coworkers, who is on his competition team, is bring her son over to play with the boys while she and John have practice tomorrow. John and I are trying to get a sitter for Saturday night so we might have a date. We have an invitation to go skiing on Sunday but I feel some nesting coming on. A long walk on River Road (just me and my iPod), finishing a few books—and starting a few—and some baking are more my speed.
The night before the dance, Winston decided that he was going to wear “my shiny black pants [chinos], my Christmas shirt [striped oxford cloth], and my bowtie.” Simon, who was dressed in his uniform of cargo pants, black hooded Princeton sweatshirt, and stocking cap, said, “You’re looking at what I’m wearing.” They’re so funny—and different, those two. But, that’s really what they each wore to school and, hence, to the dance last night.
I arrived at DC after work, as close to 6 p.m. as possible without being late, and ran into Natalie, who was picking up her kids. Even though she just wanted to go home, I convinced her to keep me company since I was spouseless (John had an orientation for next week’s competition). I had a nice time chit-chatting with her before Anders and Annika each had enormous meltdowns and Natalie fled, leaving me to face the dance alone. Some of the fifth and sixth graders are pretty big.
I tried to find Simon and Winston in the dark gym. Win was running around, taking laps with his buddies. Simon was up by the stage dancing. He was so into it, and he’s got some moves. Watching him dance and marveling that he's my kid, was the highlight of the evening. And, when we got home, he tried doing the Worm in the den.
Even though the workweek was short, I am thorough exhausted. We have few plans for the weekend. One of John’s coworkers, who is on his competition team, is bring her son over to play with the boys while she and John have practice tomorrow. John and I are trying to get a sitter for Saturday night so we might have a date. We have an invitation to go skiing on Sunday but I feel some nesting coming on. A long walk on River Road (just me and my iPod), finishing a few books—and starting a few—and some baking are more my speed.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
correction
My handsome husband informs me that 1967 was the last year that Beetles had seats without headrests. Our Beetle has headrests, which were a later modification. Also, in 1967, the Beetle had a 12V battery, as opposed to what, I'm not really sure. I'm pretty hopeless beyond the exterior of the car.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
1967 VW Beetle
Here she is, our 1967 VW Beetle. Two words describe it best: Design. Icon.
I think it was no accident that John chose a '67, an auspicious year in so many ways—Summer of Love, Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, my birth year, the Doors' debut album was released, Elvis and Priscilla got hitched, Pink Floyd released their debut album, and these were just a few highlights. Did I mention that I was born in 1967? It was a fucked up year, too, with an Arab-Israeli war, the Shah of Iran coming to power, constant protests for civil rights and against the Vietnam War, and the Apollo I disaster. But, I digress. For Beetles, 1967 marked the year that head rests were added to the driver's and front passenger's seats. Neat, huh?
We bought this beaut from a nineteen-year-old kid whose parents gave it to him for his sixteenth birthday. They found it for sale while on vacation in Tennessee and drove it back to Minnesota. A fair amount of work has been done on it, including, I think, some engine reconditioning. The car runs well and is in pretty good shape for a forty-year-old, though there's still plenty of tinkering to be done.
On the drive back to St. Paul, John was ahead of us by a half mile so the boys and I would look for him whenever there was a curve in the road or a hill. At one point I told Simon he was looking at his first car, to which he shook his head fiercely and said, "I'm thinking about something medium, painted black with orange flames, yellow flames, blue flames, and white flames." Ah, to dream.
When we arrived home, John related how much fun he had driving the bug and about how he received a lot of waves, smiles, and thumbs up from people he passed. Heck, when we were on Mississippi River Blvd, even I saw the guy on the sexy Orbea nearly fall off as he twisted for a second look. John had to thaw himself before he could do anything else, such as clear out a garage stall to park the car. Apparently the bug has no heat. So it's not really a winter car. But, it also doesn't really run when the temperature is over 80 degrees. So it's not really a summer car either.
I'm jonesin' for a ride, but seat belts need to be installed first. For now, the bug seats one.
See more photos here.
shifting
Do you ever feel as if you need a vacation from your vacation? I didn't even travel, with hours in the car or on planes and in airports from which to recover. My vacation was merely a three-day weekend. We made no plans so that our three days at home would feel like a real break. Instead, our weekend became so jam-packed with friends and activities that I’m even further behind on "action items" (I hate this jargony word—let's be honest, it's “chores” that I'm needing to do). I’m feeling a little worn out and I’ve lost all desire to do anything. It's also really cold here and I've had enough.
We did do some fun things during our President's Day holiday. Simon’s friend Sydney played at our house on Saturday; when we returned her, we stayed for dinner and (drunken) wii. We drove to Mayer, MN, on Sunday and bought a 1967 VW Beetle. John drove it back to St. Paul and I followed, just in case. Nik had Sunday dinner with us. We’re glad Uncle Nik is back in town! The kids went wild when they saw him, and it gave me a good excuse to have a guest for dinner without cleaning the house. No apologies necessary, Nik doesn’t read this blog. We had a Monday morning mission to use bagels as a vehicle for clearing umpteen cream cheese tubs out of our fridge, which Steve C. helped us do because he was in the neighborhood looking for a wi-fi connection. Then John and I took the kids to the Spiderwick Chronicles, which we all enjoyed (the part about trying to destroy knowledge in order to tame evil still sticks in our craw, but has given us plenty to talk about with the little boys).
And, I got to cook a lot, though I may have overextended myself a bit. Friday night: big, fat wild brown Mexican shrimp sauteed in olive oil with cumin, pimenton, and garlic; Saturday afternoon: sausage-butternut squash-kale soup (Caryl, I'd love to cook this soup with you sometime); Sunday: a six-pound free-range organic chicken, Southern cornbread stuffing (John’s mother makes this at Christmas; the recipe comes from a Columbus [GA] Junior League cookbook), and homemade vanilla ice cream; Monday: red beans and rice (a Monday tradition in New Orleans; I'm dreaming about warmer places and listening to lots of roots music at the moment).
I want so badly to get back to our regularly scheduled program, where everything is picked up and in its place. The dishes are done. The laundry is washed, dried, folded, and put away in drawers. The last season’s clothes are in bins and out of sight. The bills are filed or shredded. The magazines are read, information tucked away. The projects we've started are finished and the detritus and tools cleared. The kids' toys are picked up and in their bins, the broken parts filed in the trash. The kids’ books are picked up and on their bookshelves. The kids’ artwork is stored or tossed. Do you see a pattern emerging here?
Every room in the house is a fucking disaster, and I feel like we're just getting further and further behind. It's a JanuFeb thing. But there also aren't enough hours in the day.
I know that I’ll have to adjust my thinking—about what’s important and about what really needs to get done—and, yet again, lower my expectations so that I can move forward. When the boys were little I was a big fan of the Louise Bates Ames child-development books (Your One-, Two-, Three-, Four-Year-Old and beyond). Although they're a tad bit dated, one of her theories, for which I offer up my children as empirical examples, finds that children have developmental shifts every six months. We often notice that one of our kids may be cranky and difficult for an extended period of time, but then turns sweet and helpful a few months later. Ames explains, and I'm super-simplifying here, that during the cranky bits, your child is experiencing a physical (e.g., learning to walk) or psychological development (e.g., learning how to deal with emotions or socialization with peers), rendering the child unable to cope with normal life.
I’m beginning to think that this is true even for adults. Consider: we're aging. I've just turned forty, and while the year leading up to my milestone birthday was very celebratory, I'm just starting to accept and adjust to changes, both physical and psychological, that I see in myself.
I may be deep in one of Ames's shifts—not a rut or a bad place, mind you, just a shift.
We did do some fun things during our President's Day holiday. Simon’s friend Sydney played at our house on Saturday; when we returned her, we stayed for dinner and (drunken) wii. We drove to Mayer, MN, on Sunday and bought a 1967 VW Beetle. John drove it back to St. Paul and I followed, just in case. Nik had Sunday dinner with us. We’re glad Uncle Nik is back in town! The kids went wild when they saw him, and it gave me a good excuse to have a guest for dinner without cleaning the house. No apologies necessary, Nik doesn’t read this blog. We had a Monday morning mission to use bagels as a vehicle for clearing umpteen cream cheese tubs out of our fridge, which Steve C. helped us do because he was in the neighborhood looking for a wi-fi connection. Then John and I took the kids to the Spiderwick Chronicles, which we all enjoyed (the part about trying to destroy knowledge in order to tame evil still sticks in our craw, but has given us plenty to talk about with the little boys).
And, I got to cook a lot, though I may have overextended myself a bit. Friday night: big, fat wild brown Mexican shrimp sauteed in olive oil with cumin, pimenton, and garlic; Saturday afternoon: sausage-butternut squash-kale soup (Caryl, I'd love to cook this soup with you sometime); Sunday: a six-pound free-range organic chicken, Southern cornbread stuffing (John’s mother makes this at Christmas; the recipe comes from a Columbus [GA] Junior League cookbook), and homemade vanilla ice cream; Monday: red beans and rice (a Monday tradition in New Orleans; I'm dreaming about warmer places and listening to lots of roots music at the moment).
I want so badly to get back to our regularly scheduled program, where everything is picked up and in its place. The dishes are done. The laundry is washed, dried, folded, and put away in drawers. The last season’s clothes are in bins and out of sight. The bills are filed or shredded. The magazines are read, information tucked away. The projects we've started are finished and the detritus and tools cleared. The kids' toys are picked up and in their bins, the broken parts filed in the trash. The kids’ books are picked up and on their bookshelves. The kids’ artwork is stored or tossed. Do you see a pattern emerging here?
Every room in the house is a fucking disaster, and I feel like we're just getting further and further behind. It's a JanuFeb thing. But there also aren't enough hours in the day.
I know that I’ll have to adjust my thinking—about what’s important and about what really needs to get done—and, yet again, lower my expectations so that I can move forward. When the boys were little I was a big fan of the Louise Bates Ames child-development books (Your One-, Two-, Three-, Four-Year-Old and beyond). Although they're a tad bit dated, one of her theories, for which I offer up my children as empirical examples, finds that children have developmental shifts every six months. We often notice that one of our kids may be cranky and difficult for an extended period of time, but then turns sweet and helpful a few months later. Ames explains, and I'm super-simplifying here, that during the cranky bits, your child is experiencing a physical (e.g., learning to walk) or psychological development (e.g., learning how to deal with emotions or socialization with peers), rendering the child unable to cope with normal life.
I’m beginning to think that this is true even for adults. Consider: we're aging. I've just turned forty, and while the year leading up to my milestone birthday was very celebratory, I'm just starting to accept and adjust to changes, both physical and psychological, that I see in myself.
I may be deep in one of Ames's shifts—not a rut or a bad place, mind you, just a shift.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
the great lopping of 2008
Yesterday will go down in the annals of my personal history as a lopping-off day.
During the Monday meeting, our pub director announced that January sales were down 48% over the previous year, which were down 36% over the previous year. Not good news. Sales figures and a combination of other factors have led to some drastic cost-saving measures, and I have been asked to trim the page count on the next five issues. Two of these issues have already been planned, and one has already been laid out. “Inconvenient” and “challenging” are two words that immediately sprang to mind. Fortunately, I kept my mouth shut. My editorial schedule had been a little light lately but lopping pages off work I’d already done was not what I had in mind for filling that time. When people ask what I do for a living I say, “I lop pages.”
The saving grace of my day was a pampering haircut with my gal Anna. She has been styling my hair for seventeen years. I know. Seventeen years is a long time and a lot of haircuts.
Anna has become a friend. John introduced us back in 1991 when he and Anna worked together for the late Kenneth Riley (John did a short gig as a receptionist). Way back before we had kids (she has this amazing three-year-old), we'd hang out and catch bands at the Uptown (her best friend Judy is married to Noah L. of the Picadors, which became the Honeydogs; Noah was a good friend of my friend Frank R. of the Sycamores). Anna is an avid reader and we have very similar tastes so I always look forward to these visits. You’d think I’d get my hairs cut more often. Sheesh.
I’ve been feeling really shaggy and frumpy lately. It’s a JanuFeb thing. As I was driving to the salon, I tried rehearsing my answer to Anna’s usual “what do you want done with your hair?” Usually I just want a trim and reshaping on my shoulder-length layered ‘do, but I’ve been toying with having a shorter cut. When I walked in the door and saw that Anna had cut a foot off her rocker-stylist hair, I was inspired and encouraged to lop off my locks. I’m now sporting a bob that is slightly longer than ear-length with layering in the back—and I love it.
To truly do myself justice, I'm looking for before and after pics. Stay tuned.
During the Monday meeting, our pub director announced that January sales were down 48% over the previous year, which were down 36% over the previous year. Not good news. Sales figures and a combination of other factors have led to some drastic cost-saving measures, and I have been asked to trim the page count on the next five issues. Two of these issues have already been planned, and one has already been laid out. “Inconvenient” and “challenging” are two words that immediately sprang to mind. Fortunately, I kept my mouth shut. My editorial schedule had been a little light lately but lopping pages off work I’d already done was not what I had in mind for filling that time. When people ask what I do for a living I say, “I lop pages.”
The saving grace of my day was a pampering haircut with my gal Anna. She has been styling my hair for seventeen years. I know. Seventeen years is a long time and a lot of haircuts.
Anna has become a friend. John introduced us back in 1991 when he and Anna worked together for the late Kenneth Riley (John did a short gig as a receptionist). Way back before we had kids (she has this amazing three-year-old), we'd hang out and catch bands at the Uptown (her best friend Judy is married to Noah L. of the Picadors, which became the Honeydogs; Noah was a good friend of my friend Frank R. of the Sycamores). Anna is an avid reader and we have very similar tastes so I always look forward to these visits. You’d think I’d get my hairs cut more often. Sheesh.
I’ve been feeling really shaggy and frumpy lately. It’s a JanuFeb thing. As I was driving to the salon, I tried rehearsing my answer to Anna’s usual “what do you want done with your hair?” Usually I just want a trim and reshaping on my shoulder-length layered ‘do, but I’ve been toying with having a shorter cut. When I walked in the door and saw that Anna had cut a foot off her rocker-stylist hair, I was inspired and encouraged to lop off my locks. I’m now sporting a bob that is slightly longer than ear-length with layering in the back—and I love it.
To truly do myself justice, I'm looking for before and after pics. Stay tuned.
Sunday, February 10, 2008
a week in review
Since I’ve been terrible about finding time to blog lately, but still am committed to using this format as a journal, albeit a very public one, I am going to jot some notes about my very good week.
Sunday, Feb 3
Watched the Super Bowl at the Harrison’s house. I secretly rooted for the Patriots, although, ultimately, I didn’t really give a fig who won the game. I contributed a seven-layer dip with homemade guacamole made from out-of-season, not-quite-ripe avocados. Ah well, we do the best we can in the dark days of winter.
Monday, Feb 4
Hauled Simon to Eagan for a 7:40 a.m. orthodontist appointment. This time, he had a full set of photos taken and a few more x-rays to complete his “before” records. He was a real trooper, even as the (very nice and pretty) tech had him hold his mouth open with some strange device while she took pics. We'll now visit every six months until such time as Simon is ready for a space maintainer.
Tuesday, Feb 5
John and I began our Super Tuesday by attending Simon’s second grade author tea, where he read aloud to us his personal narrative. Simon chose to write about himself through one of his favorite activities—visiting Uncle Sven’s Comic Shoppe and eating dinner at the Groveland Tap. We also had an opportunity to see what some of Si’s classmates had written. Their abilities ranged from a few simple sentences with no narrative structure whatsoever to complex stories with chapters and dialogue. I’m glad to see that Simon is somewhere in between, which is to say, he's exactly where he's supposed to be. We also heard wonderful reports from Mrs. Cochran and Liz, the class helper, that Simon worked very diligently on his project, putting a lot of personal pride in his work. Yay!!
After work, we went to the Groveland Tap to eat Juicy Lucys and kill time waiting to caucus. John and I had decided to do the quick ballot, thereby choosing a delegate to vote for our candidate at the national convention rather than caucusing for delegates, senatorial candidates, and platform issues. Our caucus site was Highland Junior/Senior High, and it was an absolute fucking zoo. Tons of people, most of whom were waiting in lines for some reason. It was difficult to tell who was an election official. When you could find an election official, they sent you a wild goose chase to find the room where your precinct was meeting. But, finally, we found our way and cast our “votes” on post-it notes, which were then thrust into the meaty hand of an official.
At work the next morning, I compared notes with coworkers who had attended caucuses in various parts of the city (Maplewood, New Brighton, and NE Minneapolis) to hear identical stories. The DFL does not have their shit together, running out of ballots, not having enough volunteers. For goodness sake, Minnesota has the highest voter turn-out of any state in the nation. Don’t you overestimate your expectations for something like this? Needless to say, John’s vote and my vote cancelled each other’s, but I am very proud to say that I joined an historical moment by voting for a woman presidential candidate, and it was a pretty amazing feeling.
Wednesday, Feb 6
In all the caucus excitement, it was easy to put out of my mind that I ran into Alison V., slumming at the Tap. I reported to Alison at MHSP. My time there was miserable, largely because of her and her incompetance and power-hunger. Although I’ve never committed my tale to paper or internets, I do replay the tapes a lot. Too much, in fact, for my own well-being. I'm surprised that I haven't run into more former coworkers from the blight on the hill, since many of them live in St. Paul.
Thursday, Feb 7
Finished reading Service Included, Phoebe Damrosch’s account of working as a captain in Thomas Keller’s Per Se, which is the East Coast version of The French Laundry. It was a thoroughly enjoyable and quick read, a perfect antidote to the heavier fare of What Is the What.
Friday, Feb 8
Knocked off work early to run errands. First stop, Solo Vino to buy wine for Saturday night’s dinner and stock up on my favorite inexpensive Spanish red, Pago del Vostal, only to discover the store had sold through its limited inventory of the latter. I could weep. This stuff—the crianza—was amazing. Lots of body and fruit and balance, which is rare for an $8 bottle. Next, Kowalski’s for a baguette and a few pieces of cheese—tangy drunken goat and nutty Fol Epi. Then, Coastal Seafoods for mussels (dinner) and shrimp (wild brown Mexican, for later). Finally, I picked up some prints that were being framed at Wet Paint, where everyone at the cashwrap marveled at the awesome job that had been done. I agreed.
Saturday, Feb 9
John has a new hobby brewing. He wants to restore an old VW Beetle and has a line on one about an hour outside of the Cities. So he and a friend drove through drifting snow to check it out. I hope to write more on this later because it's really exciting and may just be the motivation John needs to clear out the garage. 1967. Tan. While John was doing his thing, I took the boys to Target where I indulged them. Simon got a new DS cartridge, and both boys picked out Legos so they would have a good activity for another bleeping cold day. -15, thank you very much. Whoever controls the weather, I'd like you to know we've had enough of this nonsense. Later, we went to the Hamilton's house for dinner. C served halibut with a tomato sauce (olives, spinach, white beans) on Israeli couscous, which was very delicious and warming on a cold night. We also had disturbing amounts of red wine (four or five bottles for six adults, not our personal record, but not bad), including a '99 Medoc. Some of the adults were a little crabby, but overall a nice time.
Sunday, Feb 10
At the request of the Shepard junior set, we celebrated Chinese New Year with dim sum at Yummy (or whatever it's called now—Relax?—how 1983). We met the Fares and the Cohen-Murphys and gorged outselves silly on shumei and countless other shrimp and pork stuffed dumplings, Chinese broccoli (ridiculously good), turnip cake, manila clams in xo sauce (clams were pretty metallic, I didn't love), stuffed baby bell peppers, sticky rice in lotus leaf (my favorite), and basil chicken, among loads others. At one point this afternoon, all four of us (John, Simon, Winston, and I) were on the sofa, some of us gaming, others watching TV, and another reading her mystery. I love these moments—they have a very Sunday feeling, with no urgency to do anything other enjoy each other's nearness. I don't imagine we'll all fit on the sofa like this for long, as both boys are growing like weeds so I'll take what I can get.
In the week ahead: working lightly, getting a haircut, starting my New Year's goals, and a possible parental visit.
Sunday, Feb 3
Watched the Super Bowl at the Harrison’s house. I secretly rooted for the Patriots, although, ultimately, I didn’t really give a fig who won the game. I contributed a seven-layer dip with homemade guacamole made from out-of-season, not-quite-ripe avocados. Ah well, we do the best we can in the dark days of winter.
Monday, Feb 4
Hauled Simon to Eagan for a 7:40 a.m. orthodontist appointment. This time, he had a full set of photos taken and a few more x-rays to complete his “before” records. He was a real trooper, even as the (very nice and pretty) tech had him hold his mouth open with some strange device while she took pics. We'll now visit every six months until such time as Simon is ready for a space maintainer.
Tuesday, Feb 5
John and I began our Super Tuesday by attending Simon’s second grade author tea, where he read aloud to us his personal narrative. Simon chose to write about himself through one of his favorite activities—visiting Uncle Sven’s Comic Shoppe and eating dinner at the Groveland Tap. We also had an opportunity to see what some of Si’s classmates had written. Their abilities ranged from a few simple sentences with no narrative structure whatsoever to complex stories with chapters and dialogue. I’m glad to see that Simon is somewhere in between, which is to say, he's exactly where he's supposed to be. We also heard wonderful reports from Mrs. Cochran and Liz, the class helper, that Simon worked very diligently on his project, putting a lot of personal pride in his work. Yay!!
After work, we went to the Groveland Tap to eat Juicy Lucys and kill time waiting to caucus. John and I had decided to do the quick ballot, thereby choosing a delegate to vote for our candidate at the national convention rather than caucusing for delegates, senatorial candidates, and platform issues. Our caucus site was Highland Junior/Senior High, and it was an absolute fucking zoo. Tons of people, most of whom were waiting in lines for some reason. It was difficult to tell who was an election official. When you could find an election official, they sent you a wild goose chase to find the room where your precinct was meeting. But, finally, we found our way and cast our “votes” on post-it notes, which were then thrust into the meaty hand of an official.
At work the next morning, I compared notes with coworkers who had attended caucuses in various parts of the city (Maplewood, New Brighton, and NE Minneapolis) to hear identical stories. The DFL does not have their shit together, running out of ballots, not having enough volunteers. For goodness sake, Minnesota has the highest voter turn-out of any state in the nation. Don’t you overestimate your expectations for something like this? Needless to say, John’s vote and my vote cancelled each other’s, but I am very proud to say that I joined an historical moment by voting for a woman presidential candidate, and it was a pretty amazing feeling.
Wednesday, Feb 6
In all the caucus excitement, it was easy to put out of my mind that I ran into Alison V., slumming at the Tap. I reported to Alison at MHSP. My time there was miserable, largely because of her and her incompetance and power-hunger. Although I’ve never committed my tale to paper or internets, I do replay the tapes a lot. Too much, in fact, for my own well-being. I'm surprised that I haven't run into more former coworkers from the blight on the hill, since many of them live in St. Paul.
Thursday, Feb 7
Finished reading Service Included, Phoebe Damrosch’s account of working as a captain in Thomas Keller’s Per Se, which is the East Coast version of The French Laundry. It was a thoroughly enjoyable and quick read, a perfect antidote to the heavier fare of What Is the What.
Friday, Feb 8
Knocked off work early to run errands. First stop, Solo Vino to buy wine for Saturday night’s dinner and stock up on my favorite inexpensive Spanish red, Pago del Vostal, only to discover the store had sold through its limited inventory of the latter. I could weep. This stuff—the crianza—was amazing. Lots of body and fruit and balance, which is rare for an $8 bottle. Next, Kowalski’s for a baguette and a few pieces of cheese—tangy drunken goat and nutty Fol Epi. Then, Coastal Seafoods for mussels (dinner) and shrimp (wild brown Mexican, for later). Finally, I picked up some prints that were being framed at Wet Paint, where everyone at the cashwrap marveled at the awesome job that had been done. I agreed.
Saturday, Feb 9
John has a new hobby brewing. He wants to restore an old VW Beetle and has a line on one about an hour outside of the Cities. So he and a friend drove through drifting snow to check it out. I hope to write more on this later because it's really exciting and may just be the motivation John needs to clear out the garage. 1967. Tan. While John was doing his thing, I took the boys to Target where I indulged them. Simon got a new DS cartridge, and both boys picked out Legos so they would have a good activity for another bleeping cold day. -15, thank you very much. Whoever controls the weather, I'd like you to know we've had enough of this nonsense. Later, we went to the Hamilton's house for dinner. C served halibut with a tomato sauce (olives, spinach, white beans) on Israeli couscous, which was very delicious and warming on a cold night. We also had disturbing amounts of red wine (four or five bottles for six adults, not our personal record, but not bad), including a '99 Medoc. Some of the adults were a little crabby, but overall a nice time.
Sunday, Feb 10
At the request of the Shepard junior set, we celebrated Chinese New Year with dim sum at Yummy (or whatever it's called now—Relax?—how 1983). We met the Fares and the Cohen-Murphys and gorged outselves silly on shumei and countless other shrimp and pork stuffed dumplings, Chinese broccoli (ridiculously good), turnip cake, manila clams in xo sauce (clams were pretty metallic, I didn't love), stuffed baby bell peppers, sticky rice in lotus leaf (my favorite), and basil chicken, among loads others. At one point this afternoon, all four of us (John, Simon, Winston, and I) were on the sofa, some of us gaming, others watching TV, and another reading her mystery. I love these moments—they have a very Sunday feeling, with no urgency to do anything other enjoy each other's nearness. I don't imagine we'll all fit on the sofa like this for long, as both boys are growing like weeds so I'll take what I can get.
In the week ahead: working lightly, getting a haircut, starting my New Year's goals, and a possible parental visit.
Tuesday, February 05, 2008
picking up where I left off
When I last checked in, I was preparing to host my book group. You can read about the food here. Attendance was pretty lame. Just four people came, and I was the only person who had finished reading the book. Even though we’d had two months to finish it, judging by the bookmarks, most had just begun.
Suzanne chose What is the What by Dave Eggers, a novel about Valentino Achak Deng, a Lost Boy of the Sudan. This book has been on my shelf ever since Suzanne recommended it earlier in '07, at which point I bought the very cool McSweeney's edition, which has an unusual trim size (if I had to guess, it's 7 x 9 rather than 6 x 9) and paper over boards. I love what McSweeney's is doing with book design and graphics and fonts.
About the novel: Deng, with thousands of other young boys, was forced from his village during Sudan’s protracted civil war. As part of a large group, he marched to Ethiopia and, eventually, to Kenya, where he lived in a refugee camp. The story alternates between the present day, when Deng is living in Atlanta, studying and working odd jobs so that he may go to college, and his life as a refugee in Africa, where he has witnessed war, famine, disease, and lion attacks. In the States, Deng is held up in his own home at gunpoint and burgled. He also experiences indifference and is put off by bureaucracy. And, the larger question becomes Was Deng better off in Africa. Is the U.S. really the “land of opportunity”? And, if so, for whom?
Eggers does a remarkable job of telling Deng’s story. It’s deep and provocative yet handled with a great sensitivity and leavened with humor. Eggers, who came to attention with his first book, A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, pretty much proves he’s a staggering genius. I would write more on this point and why this book is so important but I’m still mulling, but I do recommend that everyone read it, if for no other reason than it’s really well written.
So, if even one other person in my book group had finished the book, we could have discussed the ending and the what in "what is the what". Instead, I'll try to engage in some e-mail conversations in a few weeks.
The host gets to pick the group's next read. Way back in early December, Suzanne and I were talking about books on our TBR lists. While we had many in common, one stood out as an obvious choice for safety in numbers and for discussability: Michael Pollan's The Omnivore's Dilemma.
I'm currently cleansing my palate of heavy-duty themes by reading some breezy nonfiction (Phoebe Damrosch's account of working as a captain at Per Se, Service Included) and a compelling literary mystery (the first in Donna Leon's Commissario Brunetti series, Death at La Fenice). And I'm nearly ready to have my thinking/habits challenged to a point where I'm faced with changing them.
Suzanne chose What is the What by Dave Eggers, a novel about Valentino Achak Deng, a Lost Boy of the Sudan. This book has been on my shelf ever since Suzanne recommended it earlier in '07, at which point I bought the very cool McSweeney's edition, which has an unusual trim size (if I had to guess, it's 7 x 9 rather than 6 x 9) and paper over boards. I love what McSweeney's is doing with book design and graphics and fonts.
About the novel: Deng, with thousands of other young boys, was forced from his village during Sudan’s protracted civil war. As part of a large group, he marched to Ethiopia and, eventually, to Kenya, where he lived in a refugee camp. The story alternates between the present day, when Deng is living in Atlanta, studying and working odd jobs so that he may go to college, and his life as a refugee in Africa, where he has witnessed war, famine, disease, and lion attacks. In the States, Deng is held up in his own home at gunpoint and burgled. He also experiences indifference and is put off by bureaucracy. And, the larger question becomes Was Deng better off in Africa. Is the U.S. really the “land of opportunity”? And, if so, for whom?
Eggers does a remarkable job of telling Deng’s story. It’s deep and provocative yet handled with a great sensitivity and leavened with humor. Eggers, who came to attention with his first book, A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, pretty much proves he’s a staggering genius. I would write more on this point and why this book is so important but I’m still mulling, but I do recommend that everyone read it, if for no other reason than it’s really well written.
So, if even one other person in my book group had finished the book, we could have discussed the ending and the what in "what is the what". Instead, I'll try to engage in some e-mail conversations in a few weeks.
The host gets to pick the group's next read. Way back in early December, Suzanne and I were talking about books on our TBR lists. While we had many in common, one stood out as an obvious choice for safety in numbers and for discussability: Michael Pollan's The Omnivore's Dilemma.
I'm currently cleansing my palate of heavy-duty themes by reading some breezy nonfiction (Phoebe Damrosch's account of working as a captain at Per Se, Service Included) and a compelling literary mystery (the first in Donna Leon's Commissario Brunetti series, Death at La Fenice). And I'm nearly ready to have my thinking/habits challenged to a point where I'm faced with changing them.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Good riddance January!
With thanks to Klark Kent—January, you can suck my socks!
I am thrilled—and relieved—that January 2008 is nearly over, done, never to be repeated. Between appliance meltdowns, "health" issues, and cold weather, the first month of the year certainly has left a lot to be desired.*
The current temperature, at 1:39 p.m., is 9 degrees F (feels like -2 degrees F). Quite frankly, I think the weather feels positively balmy, compared to the excruciatingly bitter cold we endured for a few days this week and a few days last week and a few days the week before that. Today, we have sunny, bright blue skies, and it's warmer-ish, making the day absolutely beautiful.
The year can only get better from here.
Tonight, my book group is meeting at my house, and I am hopeful that we will have a good turnout. Many people RSVPed a few weeks ago, but since then a number have reconsidered. No one wants to go out on a dangerously cold night. People, I'll have the fireplace going. Our current book is Dave Eggers' What Is the What, which I’m about ten pages shy of finishing. The book was nothing short of brilliant. There's plenty to talk about, and I'm looking forward to a good discussion, followed by ample amounts of gossip and conjecture. Since I still need to pull together the final food details and do a little housecleaning, I'm cutting out of work early today.
Ssssh, don't tell anyone!
*Admittedly, there were a few well-timed (i.e., each event happened right when I needed relief from the drama at hand) and memorable highlights this month. Caryl and I got to have two conversations about books, including one at our alma mater. Tracy and I had a fantastic lunch at Ngon Bistro, a charming Vietnamese-French fusion restaurant in St. Paul. John and I had a few date nights, including a delicious (and romantic) dinner at Mission. Despite delaying our resolution to exercise daily, we curled with friends at the St. Paul Curling Club and took a killer hike in Lilydale. And, we eradicated head lice, one nit at a time.
I am thrilled—and relieved—that January 2008 is nearly over, done, never to be repeated. Between appliance meltdowns, "health" issues, and cold weather, the first month of the year certainly has left a lot to be desired.*
The current temperature, at 1:39 p.m., is 9 degrees F (feels like -2 degrees F). Quite frankly, I think the weather feels positively balmy, compared to the excruciatingly bitter cold we endured for a few days this week and a few days last week and a few days the week before that. Today, we have sunny, bright blue skies, and it's warmer-ish, making the day absolutely beautiful.
The year can only get better from here.
Tonight, my book group is meeting at my house, and I am hopeful that we will have a good turnout. Many people RSVPed a few weeks ago, but since then a number have reconsidered. No one wants to go out on a dangerously cold night. People, I'll have the fireplace going. Our current book is Dave Eggers' What Is the What, which I’m about ten pages shy of finishing. The book was nothing short of brilliant. There's plenty to talk about, and I'm looking forward to a good discussion, followed by ample amounts of gossip and conjecture. Since I still need to pull together the final food details and do a little housecleaning, I'm cutting out of work early today.
Ssssh, don't tell anyone!
*Admittedly, there were a few well-timed (i.e., each event happened right when I needed relief from the drama at hand) and memorable highlights this month. Caryl and I got to have two conversations about books, including one at our alma mater. Tracy and I had a fantastic lunch at Ngon Bistro, a charming Vietnamese-French fusion restaurant in St. Paul. John and I had a few date nights, including a delicious (and romantic) dinner at Mission. Despite delaying our resolution to exercise daily, we curled with friends at the St. Paul Curling Club and took a killer hike in Lilydale. And, we eradicated head lice, one nit at a time.
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