Spends 2 Much

Kansas GOP House Speaker ‘Prays’ That Obama’s ‘Children Be Fatherless And His Wife A Widow’

2012-01-18T18:55:00.002-05:00

Kansas GOP House Speaker ‘Prays’ That Obama’s ‘Children Be Fatherless And His Wife A Widow’: pThinkProgress reported last week that Kansas House Speaker Mike O’Neal (R) was forced to apologize to First Lady Michelle Obama after forwarding an email to fellow lawmakers that called her “Mrs. YoMama” and compared her to the Grinch. Earlier that same week, the Lawrence Journal-World was sent another email that O’Neal had forwarded to House [...]/p

Seriously.

Christianity, you are going to need some better representation if you want anyone to respect you or take you seriously. Even in my most atheist moments, I have never wished for the death of an elected official. And frankly, beyond some minor differences in tax policy, what the hell is the difference between President Obama and a Republican? He's kept the wars going, kept Gitmo and the surveillance state thriving, hasn't touched anyone's guns or bibles. So I guess that means that Mike O'Neal wants him dead for wanting the tax bracket for the country's highest income earners to be what it was during the Clinton (and Reagan) administrations.

Stay classy, Mike, and all your fellow "Christians."

Fake!

2012-01-01T17:09:00.004-05:00

My Furla on vacation on Harbour Island

Purses are like orgasms: a good one can knock your socks off, but when you bust out a fake, trust me, you’re not fooling anyone.

I don’t get the appeal of fakes. Are you trying to convince people you’re rich? Because when I see you sitting on the subway wearing an Old Navy hoodie and running shoes, I really don’t think you spent $3500 on that “Vuitton” bag you’re carrying. But you know what’s even sadder? When the person I’ve just described actually does have a real bag! Seriously, if you got rich selling credit default swaps to suckers, or your dignity to reality TV, go to town, and spend all you want on your accessories. Get all the Speedys and Birkins and whatever else you need to advertise your money and justify your facelift. Whatever. But if you’re middle class (or lower), and you scrimp and save, maybe blow those hard-earned dollars on an RRSP or something. Don’t hand it over to a super rich designer to try to convince everyone else on the bus that you’re wealthy.

I say this as someone who loves to shop (see blog name), and loves purses and shoes, but there are considerations of proportion and appropriateness. My every day bag is a $200 Fossil, bought at Sears! I get compliments all the time. It fits my needs, it’s good looking, durable, and it’s not meant to be “saying” much about me. It’s meant to be big enough to take a pair of nice shoes to the office for the day. The most I have ever spent is maybe $400, on a Marc by Marc Jacobs bag, or a Furla bought in Italy for much cheaper than they are sold in North America. The Furla (and tiny Longchamp bought in Paris) came out of the vacation budget, not the clothing budget. Where others pay for rides at Disney, or stake themselves gambling money, I build the shopping money into the vacation cost. I suppose I could use a burlap sack, but remember, I am arguing for proportion, not against fashion. I can afford the bags I buy.

For $250, you can get a nice leather purse, made in Canada, from Roots. For $650, you can get a nylon piece of crap from Prada, the sole advantage, for those who see it that way, is that it has their logo on it. Please.

For $50 you can get a knock-off, but it’s well documented that when you buy a fake, you are supporting a shady underground economy. Think about it: the people making the real bags barely make enough to get by; what sort of pay and conditions do you think apply to the poor souls making knock-offs and sold on the street? And the money you spend isn’t going to shareholders or into the company pension fund; it’s going to gangsters and drug lords.

Remember that for everything we buy, there are people attached. Someone sewed your clothes, made your shoes, constructed your ipod. We should think of these people when we decide how we spend- think of who gets the money. In these mean times, with pressure to roll back labour laws, or worse (see Newt Gingrich’s Scrooge-like solutions below), and the rich telling the rest of us “be happy you even have a job” the only power we have left is how we disburse the money we do have. Vote with your money. Vote by shopping at stores that pay decent wages, don’t import everything, and don’t lobby to cut back workers’ rights. Vote by not giving your money to criminals so you can try to convince people with your “Chloe” bag that you’re in the 1%. You worked hard for your money- spend it wisely.

Bonus:

Some simple equations and stereotypes to determine reality of merchandise:

Chanel bag+Good Facelift+Rich Husband =100% Real

Chanel bag + Good Facelift= 90% Real

Chanel bag + Bad Facelift= 70% Real

Chanel bag+Job With Hourly Wage + Live in Parents’ Basement=40% Real

Chanel bag +Job With Hourly Wage + Mortgage=0% Real (Or you’re just nuts.)

Party All The Time

2012-01-01T16:38:00.001-05:00

In the 80s in the town I lived in, the high school parties were epic. Someone’s parents were away every weekend, so the moveable feast of underage drinking and embarrassing attempts at sex had plenty of stops. The possibility of looting, police raids, or even total house destruction added to the fun.

One house stood out as the best and most frequently abused, thanks to trusting parents and a cottage several hours away. This guy, let’s call him Jim B, had the perfect storm for parties- absent parents, tight-lipped neighbours, and a huge house. Friday after work, Jim’s parents would pack up and head North, and by early evening there would be 100 kids crammed into the house and spilling out on the lawn and in the backyard ravine.

This place had everything a bunch of teenagers could possibly want. The house was a massive, 70s style side-split. The living room, with its old-fashioned cabinet stereo, became the dance floor. The dining room was perfect for poker games. The well-stocked kitchen satisfied the inevitable and severe munchies that would kick in by midnight. The ravine out back was a great place to smoke whatever it was you were smoking, in privacy.

Upstairs, there were 4 bedrooms and a few bathrooms, for the obvious activities- bad teenage sex, sleeping it off, throwing up, or crying with your girlfriends if you got dumped. Upstairs was like a club, hotel, mental institution and rehab facility rolled into one.

The next level down had a cosy den with a TV, where horror movies (or, occasionally, porn) would be playing. Hidden behind the den was a secret room where you did things you really didn’t want anyone to find out about. The largest room on this level was the family room- Big TV, stereo, and a piano, which got played believe it or not. One more level below was the best- it had a games room with a pool table, dart board, built in bar, and yet another stereo, but with the best speakers in the house. This was where the bone shattering bass would come from. Whenever I hear certain songs, I think of that basement. It could be Duran Duran, or the Clash, depending on who was running the stereo at the time, but it was loud.

Mr B worked for a large conglomerate with a famous corporate logo. The logo could be found on different things all over the house. One of our best drinking games was sort of a scavenger hunt to find the most unusual piece of swag with the logo on it. We tore the house apart, and found neckties, shot glasses, measuring tapes, playing cards, key chains, dog dishes, and aprons. I won once with a pair of Jim’s dad’s boxer shorts.

We used every inch of the place, but still it ended up clean enough for inspection by Sunday afternoon, when Jim’s parents would return. We were party animals, but we were also suburbanites, and we were raised to tidy up after ourselves. This could mean emptying ashtrays, or it could mean collecting enough beer bottles to build another house. Amazingly, after years of this, Jim never got busted by his parents.

Near the end of high school, I went to Jim’s house on a weeknight with a girlfriend, to drop off some books. We rang the doorbell, though we were used to just barging in, and his mom answered. She was a terribly sweet lady. Introductions were made, then she said “You’ve never been here, would you like a tour of the house?” My friend and I glanced at each other, then at Jim, and we saw his pleading eyes. “Sure, that would be great!” we squeaked. Mrs. B proceeded to lead us, with pride, around her home, and we struggled mightily to seem surprised. Here’s how it went, out loud, and in my head:

Mrs B: “This is the living room”

Me Out Loud: “Oh, how lovely!” Me In My Head: I have scrubbed barf off that carpet.

Mrs B: “… and our kitchen”

Me Out Loud: “What a great view!” Me In My Head: I made a Snackin Cake at about 2 AM last Saturday. Oh, and you’re out of Triscuits.

Mrs B: “This is the master bedroom and master bath”

Me Out Loud: “What a big room…” Me in My Head: …where I have slept, and held a girl’s hair while she barfed fortified beer into your toilet.

On and on it went, with Mrs B showing us rooms, while we oohed and aahed like we’d never seen a la-z-boy chair in our lives, and Jim rolled his eyes at our over the top performances.

On our way home, I wondered, was she playing us? Maybe that was how Old People had a good time. Maybe she really knew how many kids had gone all the way, or gotten drunk in her house, but she figured, better at home than somewhere more dangerous.

I look back with fondness and embarrassment. We were reckless, but at least we had a comfortable base in which to make our mistakes. Everyone got out alive, and most of the people at those parties now have kids approaching the ages we were at the time.

I’ll bet every one of them has video surveillance and their neighbours on speed dial.

Newt Gingrich To America’s 15.7 Million Poor Kids: Get a Job

2011-11-23T17:37:00.001-05:00

Newt Gingrich is as loathsome as a human being can be. He's so bad that I don't have the time now to type it all, but the highlights are well known. He's one of those assholes who want to deny gay people the right to marry, though he's on his third (increasingly younger and blonder) wife; he voted to impeach President Clinton at the very time that he himself was screwing around on wife #2 with the intern he's married to now; and, of course, this:

Newt Gingrich To America’s 15.7 Million Poor Kids: Get a Job

There is also the matter of his $500k+ account at Tiffany that he uses to keep his gross wife happy. I hate him for so many things, but for causing me to question my love of Tiffany- for this, I'll never forgive him.

We Were Assholes Once, and Young

2011-11-08T20:56:00.006-05:00

(All names have been changed)

I don’t know anyone who teaches middle school (grades 6-8). I know people who did, but they are now working for hedge funds or in mental hospitals, places where the people are less psychotic than the average 11-13 year old. The reason these particular years lose teachers so quickly is, I am told, because these are the ages when the bad kids get really bad, and even the good kids push the envelope. I know from experience that this is true.

Grade 8 was the last completely carefree year of my life. When the school year started, we didn’t know who our classmates or teachers would be. All the kids in my year gathered outside, and we were called, like pickup softball teams, and went where we were assigned. As the names were called, my friends and I got more and more excited as our group stayed mostly intact. Mrs, Copperfield’s class that year had the bright kids and the troublemakers (and some of us who could be both). The idea was, I assume, that mixing gifted kids with struggling kids would help everyone succeed. The mix didn’t help anyone’s schooling, but the smart kids had a weed connection once we got to high school, since we now knew some future burnouts.

Mrs Copperfield was old school, literally. She was an older English lady with a high voice, and a penchant for red lipstick. She also had a bell- the kind you ring for service at a store. She’d ding that thing relentlessly, as though a bell can shut up a group of rowdy 13 year olds. It became our collective mission to destroy the bell. (I’m sure this was true every year- she must have bought those things by the case.) We were too nice to think of stealing it, but we were not above sabotage. We stuck paper in it so when she smashed it, no sound came out. We hid it. We took it to the science room and melted it. We filled it with glue. We covered it in salad dressing. But she kept on ringing that bell.

She had some fairly unusual sayings, as well. When my friend Ellie and I back-talked, which was frequently, she’d say, “You two think you’re the bees knees, don’t you!” or “Oh, you girls think butter won’t melt in your mouths!” Ellie and I would look at each other with a puzzled expression- what the hell does that mean? Then she’d flick her Bic pen at our heads. Mrs Copperfield hit me with that Bic so often, I had a sore spot on the top of my head until I got to high school.

I was a bit of a smart mouth, but I got good grades, and I knew when to stop. I stood in real admiration of the kids who knew when to stop, but didn’t. One boy in our class, we’ll call him Kirk, was clearly smart, or he wouldn’t have been so funny. But he was definitely an asshole. He’d come in with his ghetto blaster, set it up under his chair, and let it rip. I’m not sure if Mrs Copperfield didn’t care, or if her hearing wasn’t great, but she’d be writing proverbs on the blackboard, and we’d be listening to Kirk’s favourite song, Cars by Gary Numan, on a loop. I hear that song maybe once a decade, but it always makes me think of Kirk.

The reason Mrs Copperfield was so busy writing proverbs on the blackboard was because we spent the year learning them instead of learning basic grammar principles like the other grade 8 classes. I kid you not. We learned dozens, if not hundreds, of proverbs. We’d write them out, memorize them, then talk about what they meant. “A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush- discuss.”

There was an older kid in the class, let’s call him Butch. He was serious trouble. He’d failed grade 8 at least once, and this was back when I guess they just kept you there until you either passed or left to get a job in a factory. He was fascinating. An actual tall boy! With the beginnings of facial hair! We preppie girls were both intrigued and repelled. Butch knew things. He had seen Supertramp in concert, and he was able to share some aspects of adulthood that were frankly horrifying. One day in class he had a group of innocent girls enraptured and revolted as he described some aspects of sex that we had truly never heard of. We leaned in a huddle, mouths gaping, while Butch talked. We ignored Mrs. Copperfield until she yelled, “What are you talking about that is so important?” and Butch yelled back “Bum-fucking!”

To be fair, though we were sort of shits, I don’t think Mrs Copperfield was supposed to hit us with pens, or call the kids who got bad grades “thick”. In that year, I honed my ability to come up with a sarcastic remark, which I guess was the genesis of my adult personality. I suppose I owe Mrs Copperfield a thank you for that. Yes, grade 8 rocked. I still don’t know what the pluperfect tense is, but I know that a penny saved is a penny earned, and that Butch gave better information than Health class in high school.

Who Wears the Pants Around Here?

2011-10-18T20:31:00.008-04:00

When I was in the 7th grade, my grandmother moved in with us. I’m not sure she even asked my mother, she just sort of showed up for a visit and stayed for 8 long months. And man, did she cramp my style. I was already developing an imperious attitude, and my mom had started calling me Little Gloria, after my supposed real mother, Gloria Vanderbilt, who she said left me on the front porch as a baby. (This sounded great to me, and I waited impatiently for Mama Gloria to come for me, and set me up on the Upper East Side, as was my birthright). In keeping with my regal bearing, I enjoyed a good sleep in. Since I was a kid, and since the late 70s were notoriously low maintenance, getting ready for school was a quick process. My mom would leave for work, assuming I was up, but really I didn’t get out of bed until I heard my friends pull up out front on their bikes, and yell “We’re here!” under my bedroom window. At that point, the routine would begin: I would leap out of bed, get my favourite blue Levi cords off my bedroom floor, find my favourite Levi plaid shirt, wash my face with Neutrogena, clean my teeth, put the elastics in my braces, run a brush through my devastating Toni home perm, and run downstairs. A mouthful of toast and OJ, then I was gone. Total time: 10 minutes. I needed to sleep in because I had most likely been up half the night with my huge headphones on under my covers, listening to the Bee Gees and planning my wedding to their younger brother, Andy. Sure, I was 12, but I had some vague notion of love and marriage- I figured for propriety’s sake we would have to wait until I started high school. I neglected to mention this- the last thing I did before leaving my room was kiss my Andy Gibb poster.

And what a poster. Andy slouching sexily in a pink satin suit with pants so tight it explained how he hit those high notes. I can’t believe my mom let me hang that poster in my bedroom. But she did, so Andy and I continued our relationship happily, until Grandma came.

Turns out the reason she had showed up so suddenly was that she had found Jesus. Part of being Born Again apparently involved leaving your husband and coming to annoy your only, pre-pubescent granddaughter. She had grown up on a farm, and she was still an insanely early riser. Now, instead of dozing until I heard a ten-speed outside, I was shocked awake at dawn by my grandma’s high-pitched shriek from the bottom of the stairs: “Loooooriiiiiiiii”. It would have been less hard on my nerves if someone had stood over my bed with cymbals. I’d ignore her, but like any good snooze alarm, she’d get louder and more persistent as time went on. Her voice would get so loud and high, in retrospect I wonder if her pants weren’t too tight as well. She’d attempt to feed me a real breakfast, and worse, she’d invite my friends in and talk to them. No 12 year old wants to hear her grandma ask her friends if they have found Jesus Christ, so I had to start getting up on time to pre-empt these morning conversations. As this meant less time at night listening to the Saturday Night Fever soundtrack, I was furious.

In time, we settled into a routine, where she would try to save our souls, and I would push my luck. Presents that had once been games or money were now bibles, or “inspirational” stories written by worshipful cripples, or repentant sinners who had seen the light. Sometimes she’d give me records by her favourite Christian singers. The album art was generally a bland woman with a bowl cut staring off into space, backlit by angelic light.

Music had become especially troubling in our house. As you may recall, the late 70s produced rock bands with screaming, drug-addicted lead singers, and sex-crazed disco was clinging to life. Grandma had a shorthand term for all popular music, regardless of genre. I would turn on the radio and she’d mutter “devil music” and leave the room. The first few times, I relented, but I got bolder, and instead starting cranking the volume. I even started to listen to hard rock, just because I could tell it alarmed her. It was a war between Debby Boone and Led Zeppelin, and the bad guys were winning. (I’m still not sure why electric guitars are the work of the devil, but apparently once you plug in your instrument, you go straight to the dark side. To be fair, I do see how Robert Plant could be very distressing to a repressed old lady, though.)

My boldest act with the turntable didn’t involve music, but comedy. I was a little young for it, but this was before parental advisory stickers, so I bought a copy of Steve Martin’s album A Wild And Crazy Guy. Grandma almost lost her shit. Especially during the part where Steve spoke to God. I got a quick laugh, but Grandma upped the ante in her efforts to save me from pop culture.

Among the many pamphlets scattered around the house were now some for a Christian summer camp. Oh, hell no. I had already mapped out my summer- sleeping in, tennis lessons, and pool-hopping was the plan Little Gloria here had envisioned, but now there was actually talk about sending me to some re-education camp! Let me be clear- I was not a wild child. I got good grades, had never touched a cigarette or anything, didn’t talk back (much). My only sin seemed to be listening to loud music sung by guys in tight pants. This was all it took?! I was young, but it didn’t take advanced logic to understand that people who get bent out of shape and want to control what you listen to are eventually going to want to control a lot more. I was not OK with that.

I put my foot down. I remember it as a serious, adult conversation where I insisted to my mother that I was not going, I was too big to be pushed around, and I was old enough to decide for myself. In reality, there was probably screaming, crying, and possibly even a foot-stamping tantrum, but whatever, I got my way. Mom stood up to her mother. I don’t know what was said, but the issue was never broached again. Grandma left before my summer of decadence started. I had a marvelous time doing whatever I wanted to do. It was the last such year. By the next summer, I was worried about my weight, zits, and, you know, becoming a woman. The Andy Gibb poster didn’t survive the summer either. Even then, I knew that I was not destined for life as a big fan of religion or of men who wear tight pink satin pants.

Healthier Spaghetti- Sideways, for Some Reason

2011-10-11T19:02:00.006-04:00

In my Ten Dollar Dinner post, I shared a recipe for a tomato-based sauce that I think is just delicious. Unfortunately, it's also full of oil and butter. Come to think of it, there may be a connection... Anyway, here is the sauce I made tonight. I usually make a simpler sauce, but the vegetables add texture and vitamins. Thanks to this wonderfully warm October, I still had some fresh herbs kicking around on the terrace, but dried will do when the weather finally turns crappy.

1 carrot, minced

1 stalk celery, minced

1/2 white onion,minced

2 cloves garlic, minced

2 tsp. olive oil

750 ml tomato passata, sodium free, if possible (Pomi is a good brand)

Red pepper flakes to taste

1/2 tsp. black Pepper

1/2 tsp. fennel seeds

Chopped fresh herbs- basil, oregano, Italian parsley

tiny splash honey

Heat oil in a saucepan, and saute the vegetables and garlic until soft. Add everything but the fresh herbs, and cook 15 minutes. Right before serving, add most of the fresh herbs. Serve on top of cooked whole wheat spaghetti, and sprinkle with remaining herbs and freshly grated parmesan.

Vogue Meat Loaf

2011-10-10T16:06:00.004-04:00

I was craving comfort food recently, so I whipped out my old, food-stained collection of recipes and made something I haven’t had in years- Vogue Meat Loaf.

As the name implies, I got this recipe out of a Vogue magazine in the early 90s, but it originated at a restaurant in Los Angeles called 72 Market St. (Fun fact: by the late 90s, I was a publicist for the company that published the 72 Market St Cookbook, which did contain a version of this recipe. Never got to eat there, though.)

It’s some work, but it’s worth it. You get 8 cute little loaves, moist, and full of vegetables. Make some mashed potatoes, steam some broccoli (oops, didn’t do that part this time) and you have a delicious meal that plates well and leaves plenty of leftovers. Meat loaf sandwiches… how very Vogue…

¾ c. minced white onion 1 tsp. salt

¾ c. minced green onion ¼ tsp. cayenne pepper

½ c. minced celery 1 tsp. black pepper

½ c. minced carrot ½ tsp. white pepper

¼ c. minced green pepper ½ tsp. cumin

½ c. minced red pepper ½ tsp. nutmeg

2 tsp. minced garlic ½ c. half and half (or evaporated milk)

3 Tablespoons unsalted butter ½ c. ketchup

1½ lbs lean ground beef

½ lb. lean ground pork

3 eggs, beaten

¾ c. dry toasted bread crumbs

Preheat oven to 350°

Sauté vegetables and garlic in butter until softened. Cool to room temperature. Combine spices, and stir into cooled veggies. Add cream, ketchup, and everything else. Lightly form into 8 loaves on a foil-lined cookie sheet (with sides). Bake 40-45 minutes.

Meanwhile, make gravy (though I have to say, I have never made this gravy!)

1 Tablespoon minced shallot

2 Tablespoons unsalted butter

pinch thyme

1 bay leaf

pinch black pepper

1 c. dry white wine

1 c. each chicken and beef stock

Sauté shallot in 1T butter until soft, with thyme, bay leaf, and pepper. Add wine. Cook over high heat until reduced to a glaze. Add the stocks, and boil to reduce by half, then swirl in remaining butter. (You can use this to deglaze the meatloaf pan, but I prefer the easy clean up of using foil, but it’s an option.)

Let the loaves sit for 5 minutes, then slice and serve.

It's ON

2011-10-09T15:10:00.009-04:00

I am a competitive person, but not in a good way. In school, I wanted to beat my friends to the best grades, and I was always the first person to answer a question. It was the Trivial Pursuit years, and I would play solo against a team of 6 friends, and still win. I’m not shy about my brains, so I would celebrate a win with the kind of end zone showboating that would get you a penalty in football. My celebrations resulted in more than one game board being kicked in my direction, those little pie pieces scattering under furniture and down heating vents.

At work, when we had training for our new telephone system, I flew through the manual, answered all the questions, and offered to do a demonstration for the stragglers who weren’t keeping up. Needless to say, with my focus on showing off rather than figuring out the details, it’s all I can do to retrieve my messages now, and I couldn’t forward a phone call if my job depended on it.

It’s getting so I can turn any interaction with another person into a competition, if not a fight. On a European vacation recently, I had a few run-ins with the locals. In Paris, at an upscale department store, I was trying to choose a pair of ballet flats out of the approximately 300 on offer. After reminding myself that Euros are not dollars, I picked a style that was only shockingly expensive, not achingly so. I approached the nearest sales woman, and before I could say anything, she said “là-bas!” and pointed to where I had picked up the shoe. I gathered from her gesture that my shoe did not come from “her” section, so she was not going to help me. No matter that she was the only one around. I slinked back to where I had been standing, and waited for someone else to appear. I was not five feet away from her. She continued to arrange ballet flats into a large daisy shape, with the shoes as petals, and I stood there, holding one, and fuming.

Another sales woman appeared, and as she seemed to be in the proper area, I approached her, and in French, asked “avez vous trente sept?” Before I could finish, another lady cut me off with the skill of a veteran hockey goon, shoved her shoe at the sales woman, and demanded service.

Now, this happens everywhere, I know. In Toronto, the sales woman would at the least give me a look that said “Sorry, I know you were here first, but let me get this cow out of our hair”, and at best would actually tell the pushy customer to wait her turn. This is not the Parisian reaction. In Paris, this behaviour is rewarded. I looked to the sales woman for some commiseration, and I got none. She happily served the hockey goon, who took a seat while waiting for her obviously hideous shoes. I don’t take things like this well, so I looked at her and said "Rude!”, which she didn’t get, so I then muttered one more word. I hoped that "Bitch!" was universally understood.

Her lack of reaction made me even angrier. If I can’t even have a good throw-down with the person bothering me, how do I come out on top? I saw another sales person, a cute young guy, and took a bolder tactic- I shoved the shoe in his face and repeated my French request. He hesitated; I might not have been in his section, but I held my gaze, and my shoe like a gun pointed at his heart. He eventually took it from me, repeated my size, and went to get my shoes. Triumph! I sat down next to the hockey goon, at least happy that I was catching up to her. Things got even better when, a few minutes later, my guy came out with my shoes first! I tried on my flats, walked back and forth in front of my nemesis, said “Oui, je vais les acheter” and smiled smugly. So now I have a pair of cute Parisian ballet flats. I’m not going to lie, at that moment, if he had brought out a pair of corrective podiatry shoes 3 sizes too small, I would have taken them, just to beat my nemesis to the cash register. That’s normal, right?

In Italy, the fight wasn’t for shoes, but for a seat on a train. After 5 of us spent a day in Florence, we made it back to the station just minutes before our train to Chiusi was to depart. We got to the track just in time, and found ourselves on a packed commuter train. We walked through several cars, but it didn’t get any better. At the second last car, we stopped near one of the air-conditioned cabins. It was a grossly humid day, and even the tiny bit of A/C leeching out from the cabin felt wonderful. People kept filing past us, and during a break in the stream, we noticed that a woman in the cabin had a suitcase on a seat. After I shot her a lengthy death stare, it occurred to her to move it to the luggage rack, and I leaned forward to open the door and take the seat. As I stepped forward, a dumpy lady went low, ducked under my arm, and swooshed in and took the seat. As she was in motion, my friend tapped her on the shoulder and said, “Excuse me!” but she didn’t react at all, just sat down, and looked straight ahead.

It was, most definitely, on. She wasn’t the most feminine woman we’d ever seen, so we started calling her Chazz. Here was Chazz, seated in air conditioned comfort while we stood there, soaked in sweat, with a constant stream of people pressing past us, looking for non-existent empty seats. We took all our frustration out on her. Clearly she didn’t speak any English, because if she had understood any of the horrible things we were saying to her, she would have got up and punched us. It was a great stress relief, though. When Chazz got out her phone to text someone, we pretended to dictate to her while she typed- “I am a loser with a 70s porn star shag haircut and nobody likes me.” The sweaty people kept coming. Then sweaty changed to greasy, and to take our minds off the completely gross people rubbing against us, we kept taunting the seat stealer. It was obvious no one could understand us, so we continued to spew nasty comments until we were laughing as much as we were sweating. “Right here, sister, come on, let’s fight- or don’t you have the balls?” or “OK, you can have the seat, your back boobs appear to be weighing you down”. The lack of comprehension from the crowd around us was freeing, and for once we could say all the mean things you think when someone cuts you off, or is otherwise drops the ball when it comes to behaving in a society.

Cursing out an ugly Italian lady was an unexpected way to end our day in sophisticated Florence. We had just come from the Santa Maria Novella pharmacy, a stunning old perfumery that sells expensive, luxurious products, and we’d spent a ton of money there. Now here we were, sweating and swearing and cackling like mental patients on what felt like the Calcutta Express. If I couldn’t win the battle, I was at least determined to go down swinging.

It's obvious that I am a rookie competitor compared to the Europeans. I'll need more time there if I am going to be able to get to the next level. My already amped-up, at least for North America, attitude simply will not suffice when it comes to getting shoes or a seat on a train.

A Few More Pictures

2011-09-19T18:48:00.003-04:00

Not great images from the Blackberry, but still...

Pretty loo :)

One gorgeous Sidecar glass.

This Ain't the Ritz. Oh Wait, it is!

2011-09-19T17:08:00.013-04:00

I love a good cocktail- I especially love a good Sidecar. They are the House Drink around here, as they are dead simple to make, and so many people love them. Knowing I’d be back in Paris, I decided I wanted to pay tribute to my House Drink by visiting two bars that made them famous- Bar Hemingway at the Ritz, and the bar that invented them, Harry’s New York Bar.

We started our night at the Ritz. We’ve been there before, to the bar on the Place Vendome side, and to l’Espadon for one of the best meals I’ve ever had, but we didn’t get a chance to try Hemingway’s. I knew the bar requested “smart casual”, so I insisted the BF wear a jacket and no jeans. Upon arrival, it became apparent that tourists think “smart casual” means ill-fitting jeans and t-shirts (I shudder to think what these people wear on Casual Friday). I wore a simple black satin dress with a sweater, since it was quite chilly that night. Unfortunately all of the bar seating was taken, so we sat at a cute little table that was free. Within a half hour, the place was full, and we felt badly for some well-dressed people who were turned away while the ones dressed for a baseball game continued to hog the bar.

Hemingway’s is a small, intimate place, with room for maybe 30 people. The walls are honey coloured wood panelling, and there are, of course, Papa-themed items all around. The big draw, however, is the bartender. Colin Field has been named the Best Bartender in the World, and it’s easy to see why. I had a French 75 to start, which was light and a good first drink, while the BF had a Sidecar. This was the smoothest, best Sidecar either of us had ever tasted. It was also perfectly composed, which is something I struggle with. It was 30 Euros, so I am guessing it wasn’t made with the $19 Cognac I get at the liquor store in Buffalo. The BF declared it a perfect drink to sip and savour.

For my next drink, I had a glass of Ritz Champagne, as I love it, and was on a mission to try as many kinds as I could in 2 ½ days. Around then, Mr. Field came over to chat with us. I told him about a friend who made his own liqueurs, and asked him for an autograph for said friend. We spoke for some time about the skill of mixing drinks, the best bars in New York, and what it means to translate a vision into something that is both artistic and ephemeral. Then he gave me a pile of Bar Hemingway coasters so I would “never drink alone."

After the Champagne, I had a Robertino, which tasted of mint and berries. The BF had a drink that Mr. Field described while talking with us, which had pear liqueur and other yummy things in it.

The vibe of the bar encourages talking among patrons, so we chatted with some other folks about the décor, and just leaned back and enjoyed the evening. The bill was astonishing, but we won’t be back for quite some time, so it was definitely worth it.

(Also worth it is the fact that I now know where another bathroom is tucked away in the Ritz. When you want not to just avoid squatters, but to have gold-plated fixtures, this is the place to “go.”)

Then we were off to Harry’s New York Bar, where the Sidecar was invented. After the Ritz, it was a bit of a come-down, but I was there for historical purposes. Our waiter, who resembled Uncle Fester in looks and temperament, finally brought us our Sidecars, and I was able to celebrate “my” drink. This one tasted like I made it, to be honest. It was good, but not in the class of the Hemingway offering. Not in that price range, either, to be fair. Anyway, it was enough for me, and we left the bar for a stroll down the Champs-Elysees.

I was a wee bit tipsy by then, as we had eaten a late lunch, and dinner ended up being the delicious munchies that came with drinks at Hemingway’s. Cashews and home made potato chips are not enough to keep this girl standing up after 4 cocktails, so I began to stagger ever so slightly. No dinner also meant that I would have to pee a lot. I used the Ritzy bathrooms, on the Cambon and Vendome sides, then Harry’s, but I needed another stop on this walk, so I stood up tall, grabbed the BF by the arm, and strutted towards the Crillon. I gave a firm “bon soir” to the doorman, who greeted me back, and opened the door. As long as you look like there is the slightest possibility that you belong, you can go anywhere!

After my high class pit stop, we walked for a while, reveled in the lights, then headed back to our hotel. After I popped that Advil at 4 in the morning, I felt just great. A night I will always cherish.

Lori's Sidecar:

1 part Cognac (as good as you can afford, which is not so good if you are me)

1 part Cointreau (not Triple Sec, not Grand Marnier. Cointreau!)

1 part freshly squeezed lemon juice, strained (not from a bottle, not from concentrate!)

Dump into an ice-filled shaker, and shake! Pour into a nice coupe glass, or a Martini glass if that's all you have available. Sip, though you will be tempted to chug. If you chug, your sentences will soon be missing verbs.

Depth and Breadth

2011-09-19T16:49:00.008-04:00

I have been to Paris before. I have been to Rome, Florence, and Tuscany before. So no, this trip didn’t allow me to check new locations off the map, to impress people with the breadth of my travels. What it did allow me to do was to share an amazing week with a group of true friends, and to go deeper in exploring places I have only scratched the surface of in past trips.

When you don’t have to think about the Coliseum or the Eiffel Tower, you can instead focus on people and real life. Side streets. Food. Oh yes, food. And little villages that no one writes about, like Piegaro, in Umbria, where I spent that glorious week with friends.

I must give a shout-out to the BF for all the planning he did regarding the drive to the villa. The owner, Colleen, provided great instructions, but the BF Google-Earthed the route, so he knew every twist and turn on the way there. This isn’t a village you find easily, unless you happen to be on a back road and interested in some hairpin driving, but it's worth it when you get there.

Not a lot of English is spoken, but we all got along just fine. One friend on the trip is Italian, so when needed, we’d defer to her to communicate, but most of the time, we all just muddled through. (One funny misstep- one morning a friend lapsed into Starbucks-speak at the bar, and ordered a latte. She was given a glass of hot milk. It’s caffe latte in Italy!)

We met the locals, ate at their restaurants, shopped at their stores, sat with them, and didn’t see a single tour group lead by someone with a megaphone and an umbrella. We were only there for a week, but we were able to get closer to Italian life than we would have if we had just run in for a photo-op then left town. It may be a cliché to travel to Tuscany and Umbria, but only if you scratch the surface. If you are willing to go deeper, you will be rewarded.

How You Do It

2011-08-29T19:38:00.007-04:00

I have many not-so-secret shames derived from my occasionally questionable taste: The Eagles, Anderson Cooper, and Kraft Dinner, to name just a few. My love of old TV sitcoms is also strong, and the top of the list is definitely the Mary Tyler Moore show from the 70s. Yes, the first season is fairly painful, what with the non-stop barrage of "Oh no, we're single gals and we're 30!" jokes, but as the show wore on, it found a groove that few sitcoms ever do.

A working woman in her 30s who didn't obsess about her romantic life, and who created a family for herself at the office was, and still is, a refreshing change from the usual sitcom premise of a perfect wife, fat slob husband, and faux-precocious kids.

On an episode that aired recently, Mary felt like she was in a rut, and Ted, the idiot anchorman (that may be redundant) tried to commiserate. He described Mary's typical day in low, depressing monotony: "You wake up, eat your breakfast, drive to work, say Hello to your friends, do your job, eat lunch, work some more, say Goodbye to your friends, drive home, have dinner, watch TV, read a magazine, and go to bed, right?" Mary nodded despairingly, then Ted told her what she needs to do: With gusto, force, and energy, he leapt to his feet and told her to Wake up! Eat your breakfast! Drive to work! Say Hello to your friends! Do your job! Eat lunch! Work some more! Say Goodbye to your friends! Drive home! Have dinner! Watch TV! Read a magazine! and Go to bed!

Mary was struck by how profound this was. As she said, It's not what you do, it's how you do it. Words to live by, I think. We are not all able to be the Editor in Chief of Vogue, or an heiress, or, thankfully, a reality TV star, but we can all approach our lives with more passion.

I will try to remember this on the way to work tomorrow morning when I am cursing out a car for cutting me off.

Carry On Packing

2011-08-18T20:56:00.019-04:00

Well, I'm Europe bound in 2 weeks, and my dream is to travel light. Really light. Now, I have done this before; on my last trip to Italy, I was quite proud of myself for restricting my packing, and being frankly brutal about it. I packed a few T shirts, a frumpy skirt, and a pair of cargo Capri pants that I wore everywhere (even in Capri!). The result of this is that I looked, well, gross. I didn't look the way I imagined myself looking while wandering around some very sophisticated places- I looked like I do when I'm cleaning the tub and taking out the recycling. It didn't take long for me to regret my packing job. Especially considering that my travel buddy managed to get a bunch of skirts, a straightening iron, and what seemed like 50 lbs of coordinating jewelry into her carry-on. I vowed to do better next time.

Well, it's next time. Rather than packing the clothes I took last time, most of which have olive oil stains on them anyway, I am planning to look more put together. This is the plan: I'm packing 5 dresses, a denim skirt, 4 tops, (nice) cargo pants, and a bathing suit.

For the flight, I'll wear jeans, slip on shoes, a t shirt, sweater, and jacket. Easier to wear the bigger things, and I am always freezing on planes, so this works fine for me.

Here are all the clothes laid out; we have a washing machine at the villa in Umbria we're renting for the first week, so I'll be able to clean things before heading off to France (I'm sure this year's olive oil stains will be a challenge, however.)

Everything rolled up looks pretty packable, right?

I'm taking 3 pairs of shoes- all comfortable, and the sandals are cute enough to wear in Rome or Paris. I'm very into comfort, but I wouldn't be caught dead walking around Europe in running shoes.

The espadrilles are toe to toe along the long end of the suitcase. The sandals will be wrapped together and shoved down the right side.

Enter the packing cube, meant to hold things together and to maximize space. I'm addicted to organizing products.

About half of the rolled up dresses, shirts, and skirts fit nicely into the packing cube.

Stick the packing cube into the suitcase, with shoes on 2 sides.

Everything else fits on top, with the bathing suit shoved into some empty space by the shoes.

Yes, I am bringing a hat. As much as I wanted a really nice Panama, this linen hat is super-packable, and that's what it's all about on this journey. (Intimates are rolled and stuck in the inside zippered section of the suitcase top, for those who care).

Toiletries- small sizes, including some Tide for washing clothes, and everything else I should need, for the first week, anyway.

The non-liquid toiletries- makeup includes stick foundation, mascara, and a Nars palette. I'm also bringing floss, bandages, a small sewing kit, in case I have to go full MacGyver for some reason.

Ta da! Everything is in the carry-on, waiting to go. Actually, it's all back in the closet. Rolling supposedly helps avoid wrinkles, but even I'm not anal enough to pack 2 weeks before departure.

Next up- packing my Travel Mate purse. Stay tuned!

Possibly a Very Short Affair...

2011-06-20T19:15:00.004-04:00

... as Tumbr helpfully rotates all the photos you upload from your phone, and doesn't give you an option to put them back. As this is causing an unwelcome spike in my blood pressure, and possibly endangering the life of my computer (I pound the keyboard when I get techno-angry), I may abandon this foolishness sooner rather than later.

Here, good people, is the photo in question:

Just 153 kb of pretty flowers. Took an hour, 2 web sites, and countless little spinning pinwheels to get this picture right side up and on a blog. What does a stroke feel like?

Taking a Tumble

2011-06-20T18:54:00.002-04:00

I'm going to try some posts over at Tumblr, so feel free to follow this link, and we'll see if I can get my act together over there. If not, I'll just come home to my blogspot.

http://spends2much.tumblr.com/

No Comment

2011-06-15T20:48:00.004-04:00

I don't know why, but I am sort of addicted to reading comments on blogs and on-line newspapers. Do the comments (and the commenters) represent a cross section of (mostly American) society and culture? I'm not sure, but I am sure that plenty of the people who share their opinions in the comment section seem too stupid to have figured out how to turn on a computer, and that's the most disheartening thing.

What I have learned from commenters just this week (quotations around actual quotes):

1) Edie Falco is an "ugly old bat" for not recognizing that "The Kardashians are loved by billions around the world"

2) "Marriage is between a woman & a man. Now how would you multiple any other way!"

3) Disliking Netanyahu means you'd "cheer for the president of Iran."

Not a lot of deep thought or gray area for these folks, is there?

We're doomed...

Ten Dollar Dinners

2011-02-18T15:06:00.009-05:00

I find myself, shockingly, to be a big fan of the Food Network show Ten Dollar Dinners! The reason I'm shocked is this- I am often quite a food snob, especially where cooking shows are concerned. (Also, when it comes to food, I often Spend Too Much! Get it? Ha...) When I first tuned in and saw a perky blonde American woman, I thought, "Oh, here we go, another Sandra Lee, here to tell me to dump cans of soup into everything." I was ready to mock, but instead I was intrigued by Melissa's recipes. Not at all unsophisticated, pretty frugal, and the ones I've made have been just delicious!

Now, some of the recipes aren't at all complicated, but, like many of Nigella Lawson's, gentle reminders that you only need a few things to make a cheap, tasty, and healthy dinner. Garlic Oil Sauteed Pasta with Broccoli was one of those recipes. Sauteed Cannellini Beans was another. Both were really good. This weekend I'll be making Lentil Quinoa salad with Pesto shrimp, (Google it yourself, I'm tired of adding links!) but the recipe I want to rave about today is Garlic Spaghetti.

Just a few simple ingredients, no time at all, and I had 6 portions that got me through the week. Yes, there's butter in it, but what you get is a richness and smooth taste that plain spaghetti sauce often misses. Melissa's recipe is a little rich, so I made some adjustments. Below is my version, and, damn, is it good.

Also, I ate this so fast I didn't get around to taking photos, but, really, it looks like you'd think it would.

I box whole wheat spaghetti

5 tablespoons olive oil

8 cloves garlic, minced

1 jar tomato passatta

3 tablespoons butter

salt and pepper

grated parmesan to taste

fresh basil leaves

1. Cook pasta according to directions on box

2. Meanwhile, heat olive oil gently and add the garlic. Cook over low heat 20-30 minutes

3. In another pan, heat the passatta and butter. Cook over low heat until the butter is melted

4. Dump in the olive oil with garlic, salt and pepper, and simmer 10 minutes

5. Toss with the spaghetti, and add torn basil leaves and parmesan when serving.

Supposed to be 4 servings, but make it 6, trust me.

Humanity

2011-02-18T09:14:00.018-05:00

Some really shocking news out of Egypt this week. CBS reporter Lara Logan was attacked in Tahrir Square. She was separated from her crew, and according to the statement CBS released, she experienced a "brutal and sustained" sexual assault. That description is chilling to me, but hardly more so than the reactions to this crime that I've been reading since the incident was reported.

Now, I'm not at all a fan of Ms. Logan's reporting. Scroll down a few posts and you'll see why. That being said, I am still amazed at the vitriol I'm reading about this woman and this crime. The nastiness tends to fall into one of three categories:

1. "Whatever- she sucks and is a terrible reporter"

Like I said, I can't stand Lara Logan's reporting, but aside from sociopaths and this douche, who can't see that this doesn't matter now? Is the world so shockingly Black and White, Us and Them, that average people don't mind when their ideological opposites are tortured? Wow.

2. "What did she expect? That's what happens to pretty blondes in dangerous places."

This one has many angles, and they're all vile. First is the implication that CBS should have sent either a man or an ugly girl to get the story. Never mind the fact that most TV reporters are hired in part because they're "telegenic", we end up confirming the old nonsense that women can be divided into 2 categories- Ugly/Serious and Pretty/Vapid. Shockingly, there are unattractive idiots and beauties with brains, but who am I to take issue with a stereotype that makes judging women easier? Secondly, since attractiveness is something that women often enhance with makeup or nice clothes, yes, pretty lady, you brought this on yourself. Wash off that lip gloss and put on some overalls, because if you don't, well, you're just asking for trouble.

3. "Just shows you what a bunch of animals Muslim men are."

How lucky we are in the Western world, to live in a culture where rape never happens... oh wait, unless you count these women, and these women, and what this Mormon dad just confessed to doing to his own fucking daughters... But still, it's so much easier to blame this on the lack of respect for women in the Middle East. It's entirely true that there is systematic oppression of women all over the world, and Arab nations are some of the worst. Still, it takes a true simpleton to lump all Arab men together as rapists because of this crime, while naturally not applying the same standard to Western men. Our men are individuals, but Foreigners are all the same. Citizens of the Idiocracy are losing the ability so see shades of grey and to appreciate complexity. And the gall required for right-wing assholes who are doing their best to roll back reproductive rights in the US to get all Feminist when bashing Muslim men is off the charts.

Blame and justification are fear-based reactions. This is the time to reject these emotions. A terrible thing has happened to a fellow human being. She deserves compassion, respect, and privacy. Let's be better people, and give them to her.

Come On, Come Through, New York, New York!

2010-08-17T19:52:00.018-04:00

I love New York. I have since I was about 8 years old, and saw the movie The Thin Man for the first time. Even at that age, I could see that New York was the place for (adult) me: witty banter, cocktails, and fur coats. (For some reason, New York and fur coats are fused in my mind because of old movies. See also All About Eve, and another childhood favourite, The World of Henry Orient , despite the presence of the eventually loathesome Merrie Spaeth. )

The New York of movies sucked me in, but the real thing exceeded all expectations. Over the years, I've seen Broadway shows and Mets games, eaten at great restaurants and diners. I've bought incredible bargains and $30 grilled cheeses . I've seen everyone from Joan Rivers to Bill Clinton, stayed at the Edison as a teenager and the New York Palace last summer. But I don't know if I will be going back.

This "Ground Zero Mosque" controversy has got me down. The rest of America is hurtling to the right, becoming insular and knowledge-averse, a Banana Republic with Nukes . I know this, but I thought New York was better than that. Now, despite a stirring, heartfelt defense of the project from Mayor Bloomberg, it looks like the city might cave in and not allow the Islamic cultural centre to be built near Ground Zero. Not on so-called hallowed ground, but a few blocks away, a site that was most recently a Burlington Coat Factory. Come on, New Yorkers, what the hell??

Sarah Palin, who just has to tweet about everything, suggested she's got no problem with the project, just "not there". So-- where?

What is the exact neighbourhood where we're not allowing Muslims (except for food cart guys and cabbies, of course)? A 2 block radius of the WTC? 20? 200? And is there a cutesy New York name for this neighbourhood,like TriBeCa or SoHo? How about NoMuLoMa- No Muslims in Lower Manhattan?

New York, you are better than this. Tell Sarah Palin and that coward Harry Reid to shove it, and go about your business multiculturally, like you always have. Or you won't be seeing me for a while. It's up to you, New York, New York.

Goodbye, Cupcake!

2010-07-06T22:48:00.013-04:00

Ok, like a drunk after a lost weekend, I have returned from a vacation in the American South (well, Virginia and Washington DC). Anyone think I stuck to a diet of "rabbit food", as a colleague calls it? I did-- if rabbits eat pulled pork and potato salad, and wash it down with plenty of booze and a cupcake chaser. Like the aforementioned drunk, I now need to get with the program. No Twelve Steps for me, just two: eat healthy and exercise. I'm cutting back, and as I do, let me share some fond memories of delicious southern meals before I am forced to erase these thoughts from my mind, and replace them with visions of carrots and treadmills.

Five Guys Burgers and Fries. We don't seem to have them in Canada yet, but there are a ton in the US. They started in Virginia, so it seemed appropriate to check it out. (Note- during the 2008 election, the Obamas mentioned liking Five Guys, but I had already had it and loved it. So there.) As befits American-sized portions these days, if you order a regular burger, it comes with 2 patties. To get just one, you have to order the mini. The mini is like 800 calories. Not so mini, don't you think? Anyway, the burgers are really yummy, and the french fries are fantastic. There is a sign in the restaurant that is updated daily to tell you the name of the farm in Idaho that grew the potatoes. One order of fries is enough for 3 to 4 people, so if you're alone, watch yourself! They also have refillable fountain Diet Coke, which is the greatest beverage on earth aside from Champagne. All in all, I love my annual Five Guys visit, but I really don't think anyone should be eating there on a regular basis.

One night, we went to a CFA event on the grounds of a "farm" called Seven Oaks. The place was spectacular, as was the food. There were buffet stations with food from around the world. I had a plate of hummus, asparagus, and salad. But before that, I had this: Buttermilk fried chicken, truffle mac and cheese, potato salad, and pulled pork with barbecue sauce. Kind of a wonder they don't keep a defibrillator on that buffet table.

And now, cupcakes. I returned to 2 of my favourites, Georgetown Cupcake in DC and Capellino's Crazy Cakes in Charlottesville. Georgetown Cupcake makes the best cake of any cupcake bakery I've tried. These are from Capellino's- the New Yorker, and the Red Velvet. Very good, but not the best.

That award this year goes to a place in Dupont Circle (DC) called Hello Cupcake. The dulce de leche cupcake was sublime. The icing had a wonderful caramel taste, and the cake itself echoed that flavour really well. If it hadn't been so hot, I would have tried to bring home a half dozen, so I guess I should be grateful for the heat. It's time for me to get back to eating well, so instead of Hello Cupcake, for now, it's goodbye :(

I've Got Some Bad News For You

2010-06-30T15:44:00.004-04:00

Ok, I have become obsessed with Lara Logan . And not in the way her fans are. Google her, and two of the top three suggestions are Lara Logan Affair and Lara Logan Swimsuit. This is the CBS News chief foreign affairs correspondent, folks.

Last Sunday she appeared on the appalling Reliable Sources, a CNN show I actually used to watch, which purports to be a “watchdog” regarding the Main Stream Media. The topic was the now-famous Michael Hastings Rolling Stone article, which effectively got General Stanley McChrystal fired for bad-mouthing his boss. You can read the article here . Anyway, over on CNN, lovely Lara blasted the reporter for, uh, reporting. She made several jaw-dropping statements in succession, mostly about how it was awful for a journalist to embarrass his subject and report factual quotes. Lady, what the hell? See her full, mind-blowing segment here .

American Network TV news is terrible, and it has been for a long time. It was kind of Lara to explain to us exactly why it’s so terrible, but I came to that conclusion myself 10 years ago.

In 2000, the Daily Show with Jon Stewart started the now-legendary Indecision 2000, about the presidential campaign. There was a segment where they showed some footage of Cheney that I had seen earlier on ABC news, but the Daily Show then played a clip of the VP candidate completely contradicting himself, or doing exactly what he had just excoriated a Democrat for doing; I can’t remember exactly, but I distinctly remember thinking Why didn’t ABC show that? Why am I getting more real information from a comedy program?

And we all know it just got worse after 9/11. Any and all criticism levelled at the government was considered un-American, if not downright treacherous. Reporters started morphing into what they are now- stenographers who party with the people they cover, and who censor themselves to maintain access (which they usually use to acquire a book contract, giving the public the privilege of paying $25 to be lied to). They tell stories that are Patriotic, not full of sad, depressing facts, or dead soldiers. They pretend to be “embedded” when they are really “in bed with”.

A side note- Does anyone ever watch CNN, except during a hurricane? They haven’t been able to fuck up that coverage, but I’m sure they’re working on it. Like having a pro-hurricane guest on to represent the positive side of catastrophic storms. You know, to stay balanced.

And now this McChrystal bullshit.

For some reason, this all makes me think of Arthur Kent. Remember him? He was a reporter for NBC during the first Gulf War. I initially assumed he was some vapid hottie (which I didn’t totally mind, as I was quite young at the time) until I heard him pronounce the word missile the Canadian way. That made me think maybe he wasn’t necessarily stupid (I’m Canadian, what can I say?). As I recall, he did really good work there, as he had quietly done for many years before People magazine heard of him. Unfortunately for him, NBC thought they’d found another good-looking newsreader who would draw female viewers by being charming and affable. I think they may have shoved him into a suit and made him guest host the Today show. No doubt he got to report on celebrity gossip and the latest diet. He probably wanted to hang himself with his tie. Then, by the mid-90s, he was gone.

I hadn’t thought about this in ages, but after a quick check on the interwebs, he looks to be doing independent journalism, and covering Afghanistan. He also seems to have run for office here in Canada as a Conservative (say wha??) I’m not sure what to make of that… Anyhow, his fate at the hands of the TV News Profit Monster/Corporatism illustrates the larger debacle. I mean, if the networks don’t even have room for the good-looking Real Journalists, you know we’re all screwed.

Let's Do This!!

2010-05-20T20:55:00.008-04:00

I am a Liberal, and a liberal. I vote Liberal here in Canada, and if I were American, I am quite sure I'd be voting Democratic. I believe the government should stay out of people's private lives, church and state should be distinctly separate, and we need to regulate business. That all seems like basic common sense to me, but my views are apparently the polar opposite of a lot of Americans, particularly.

Let's look at each point briefly. The government has no business, as Pierre Trudeau once famously said, in the nation's bedrooms. I just don't see how that can be argued with. Actually, the only way to argue it is to oppose my second point about separating church and state. The people who want to tell you what to do in your bedroom want to make sure you're not doing anything that their religion doesn't want you to do. Again, common sense tells me that my life is my own business, and that someone else's religion shouldn't affect my personal life.

Ronald Reagan tried to make regulation a dirty word, and the people who oppose it confuse me. I mean, do you want your kid's toys covered in lead paint? Do you want your credit card interest rate to change every month? Do you want the plane you're flying in to have the proper parts? Anti-regulationists say that the market will take care of itself, but only after a few kids die from lead poisoning and a few planes plummet from the sky. If that's worth it to you, I am scared.

I get really wrapped up in American politics. I want the Democrats to do the right thing, but lately it seems that they're too afraid to make the changes they promised. The opposition is uglier than it's ever been before. No one is talking about ideas, and how to do the best thing for the average American; it's all name-calling and absurd rumours. A real hatred has been exposed. Tea Party members throw around terms like Socialist, Death Panel, and Re-education Camps. What I don't understand is this- the Republicans controlled the White House From 1980 to 1992, and from 2000 to 2008. They controlled both houses of Congress in the 90s. Wasn't that enough time to "fix" everything that they say Democrats ruined? For God's sake, Democrats have been in power for 16 months, and the opposition acts like the world is going to end. Seems hopeless, but I've found the solution!

Palin/Bachmann 2012! Let's get Sarah Palin the job she feels eminently qualified for, and back her up with Representative Michelle Bachmann, a woman who sees socialist conspiracies around every corner. Let's get Rand Paul and a host of other Tea Partiers in congress. Give 'em everything they want. All the power. Let's just see what they'd get done. Would they end Social Security and Medicaid? Of course not. Make Christianity the law of the land? I doubt it. Eradicate all business regulations? Nope. But maybe they'd shut up about it if they were in charge. You know, like they were for 20 of the past 30 years.

The Original Spends2Much!

2010-05-03T21:46:00.008-04:00

Last week, the Boy Friend's Aunt Peggy died. She was 93. In the 40s she had been a researcher and reporter for the Chicago Daily News Washington bureau. Later in life she married some big shot at the World Bank, and ended up a widow living in Delaware, not too far from the ocean. I never met her, but she sounded like a cool old broad.

The BF drove his mom to Delaware for the funeral, so he got to spend about 16 hours, round trip, in a car with a woman who talks more than I do. He got some good stories out of her, though. Apparently his mom, let's call her Bunny, back when she was a single gal in the 50s, would travel from Cornwall, Ontario to New York City to buy her clothes. And that's not the best part- her biggest purchase was a coat, for $500, when she was earning $20 a week. WOW. The lady spent 6 months wages on a coat! To wear around a hick town in Canada! I have barely managed to spend $500 on a coat, and it was 55 years after Bunny did it. I am impressed.

I have seen old home movies of Bunny, from the 50s and 60s, and she was a Mad Men dream. Red hair, slender, perfectly tailored. She'd wear a cinched-waisted suit and pearls to run errands, where now, we wear yoga pants and a t-shirt. Bunny's style hasn't changed much. This is not an old lady who buys stretchy pants from Wal-Mart. Still looks impeccable when she hangs out at the golf club drinking gin and tonics. No wonder she thinks I'm a peasant- to her, I must look like I've dropped by to clean the gutters.

Well, Eff Me!

2010-04-30T21:47:00.006-04:00

Went to Holt Renfrew Last Call in Vaughan Mills a while ago, on a hunt for shoes. A specific pair of shoes. Brown suede Manolo Blahniks that I had seen months earlier. They had been marked down drastically, but for some strange reason, I didn't buy them. Didn't think about them again until recently, when I was overcome by a desire for brown suede shoes. I held out hope that they'd still be there on the shelf, which was of course ridiculous.

What the hell is with the height of heels these days? Are women supposed to be able to walk in their shoes? Almost every pair in the store were 4, 5, even 6 inch heels. Some platform, some not. It was like I was in the Rich Hooker section of Holt's. Who wears these? Where does one wear these?

I'm not one for high heels. Well, not anymore. In my 20s, I refused to wear my glasses out at night. Put a nearsighted, klutzy girl in a pair of F*ck Me shoes, stick her in a dark club, and you'll see some spectacular spills. Luckily for me, I did all my falling in the Pre Camera Phone era. I can still pull off the standard 3-inch heel, but even they are not great for work. In the mornings, before I have been suitably caffeinated, I would be in constant danger of tripping and landing on my face.

I rummaged around Holt's for a bit and managed to find a lovely pair of Manolo flats- black, pointy, and quite elegant. Somehow, out of the hundreds of pairs of shoes on the rack, I seemed to have found the most expensive pair. They had started out as $850, and were now $359 ... still too freaking expensive for flats. Well, flats that aren't Chanel. Thank God for Tory Burch and Michael Kors.

I came away shoeless, but managed to find some great skirts for work. Super cheap Tory Burch and Teenflo. Could have thrown a YSL and Valentino onto the pile, but I restrained myself, which is not something I do very often :)

Islands and Barns

2010-04-20T18:38:00.007-04:00

When I returned from the Bahamas in February, I had fallen completely in love with the easy Colonial Island style we saw around Eleuthera and Harbour Island. I'm an Anglophile at heart, but overstuffed chintz, huge paintings, and crazy patterns would look a little weird in my itty bitty downtown condo. Island style combines some elements of traditional British design, but softens the look with, obviously, island touches. It's also much more spare than the Country House look. Just adding a few candles in hurricanes filled with pink sand I brought back (like an idiot), spreading some shells and a starfish on a dark wood shelf, and buying more vibrant flowers have helped bring the look home with me.

This afternoon I was browsing in a popular home store that isn't a Barn and doesn't sell much Pottery. Apparently the style they are pushing this season is Coastal Style. Oh, great. They were selling bags of shells, pieces of (fake?) coral, and sand-filled hurricanes at fairly exorbitant prices. Now I look as though I bought a bunch of stuff at this store. Please. Islands are far more inspiring than Barns.

In the Daytime

2010-04-19T21:29:00.004-04:00

I've been lying in bed for about 48 hours now, struck down with flu, it seems. I am exhausted and bored to sobs. My eyes are very tired, so I haven't been able to read much. I have an old TV in the bedroom, and I have discovered that daytime TV is the saddest place on the planet. I tried to find entertainment first with the Food Network, but you can only watch so much food preparation when you are nauseous and periodically projectile vomiting. At one point I seem to have drifted to sleep. I awoke to a Baby Daddy fight on Maury Povich. I have to assume I rolled onto the remote, because even high on Benylin I would never watch Maury Povich. My solace has been, oddly, the Military Channel. I watched most of a documentary series about the First World War. It was truly fascinating. In 1919, the victors re-drew the maps of Europe and the Middle East, and I think we can all agree they did a bang-up job with that!

Believe me, I channel-surfed. Even doped up, I can't enjoy The Facts of Life or Fantasy Island. Dr. Phil is a show of such epic train-wreck proportions that I believe I would emerge from a coma to change the channel if that blithering fool were on my TV. After a while, I just gave up, and dragged myself out of bed to do laundry. Maybe this is all a corporate conspiracy- in order to ensure people don't take too many sick days, Big Business got together to make sure that even with mountains of channels, daytime TV would still be awful. I'm planning to go back to work tomorrow, not because I feel all that great, but because I am so thoroughly bored I can't bear another day in this room. The daytime TV landscape, even with hundreds of channels, is a barren as one of those WWI battlefields.

Don't Put That Hammer Down!

2010-03-28T10:04:00.012-04:00

I was born in Hamilton, Ontario. Yes, The Hammer. The Canadian Pittsburgh. We moved to Burlington when I was 8, so I don't remember it well, but I know that it has had it's ups and downs. When I was little, it was still sort of vibrant; the downtown area had lots of old department stores, cool architecture, and parks. The steel companies employed thousands of people, and paid them well. The 80s and 90s were not good to Hamilton. A one-industry town suffers most when the economy isn't good, and the Steel Town of my birth did not weather change well.The downtown area still needs a lot of work, but I must say I was pleasantly surprised to discover some real revitalization going on. The area where my mom now lives, just over the bridge from Burlington (and my old high school, Aldershot), has lots of large brick single family homes, the sort that anyone in a cramped Toronto condo looks at with envy. It's no wonder so many people from the city are moving out there. Parks, large lots, and big, solid houses, the sort which would cost you at least 900k here, are about 400k in Hamilton, from what we saw in the window of a realtor. You will, however have to live a large chunk of your life on the QEW. Yikes.

One thing you won't go without is a cute stretch of shopping. Locke St, a few minutes from Chateau Mom, is amazing! We had lunch at a cute Italian cafe, Il Fiasco, then wandered up the street and discovered a homey little bakery called Schilling's, a chocolatier, several antique stores, a few organic markets, and a recently opened store called The Cheese Shop on Locke. This place was amazing! Massive selection of interesting cheeses and meats, all sorts of accompaniments, and a great atmosphere. There was an old piano being played. The decor was Country Store Chic. The sell funky pottery, good knives, and interesting foods. Heaven! Mom got some honey mustard and a good cheese knife, I got some honey, Le Blackburn cheese, and asparagus pasta, and Peter got asparagus soup and corn tortillas. Everything was local. You could taste things, and meet reps from the area businesses featured at the store.

A few doors down was a serene store called Pure Home Couture, where I got a very cool Jessica Kagan Cushman bangle for 1/2 price! It's the awesome "Ripped off by Chanel" bangle she made a few years ago when Chanel started showing bangles that looked suspiciously like her work. Who'da thought I'd find it in The Hammer??

So people, the next time you're cruising down the QEW on your way to Niagara or Buffalo, consider taking that Hamilton exit, and you may be pleasantly surprised.

Bahamian Food

2010-02-28T16:03:00.008-05:00

There are two types of people: those who take pictures of food, and those who don't. Guess which kind I am? I do have my limits, though. I didn't take pictures of dinner at the Ritz in Paris, and I didn't photograph my incredible dinner at The Landing in The Bahamas. The Ritz was too intimidating, and The Landing was too dark. Seriously, they give you a mini flashlight with which to view the menu. The only lighting is a hurricane lantern with a single candle on each table. I don't think the crowd in there would have appreciated my flash going off during dinner, either. That being said, our dinner at The Landing was really special. I had the local lobster. There was more lobster on my plate than I could finish! It was succulent and well prepared, with simple accompaniments of fingerling potatoes and French green beans. And butter :) Boyfriend had mahi mahi, which he also enjoyed. We shared a bottle of good Chianti, and a classic molten chocolate cake for dessert. New York prices, but I don't mind paying if I feel I have gotten something special as I feel we did there. The landing is one of the old colonial buildings on Harbour Island, dating from 1800. Amazing that is has survived- there are hardly any buildings that old in Canada.

My second favourite meal was at a place called Dunmore Deli, also on Harbour Island. We just happened by on the way to the beach, and I had an incredible sandwich called The Islander- medium rare flank steak marinated in jerk sauce, caramelized onions, avocado, and spicy citrus aioli, served on a baguette. So good! Washed it down with 2 Bahamian beers called Kaliks, and watched island life go by. This is how I want to spend all my afternoons.

On Eleuthera, we stayed in an area called Rainbow Bay. The nearest restaurant was a place called the Rainbow Inn, owned by Canadians, as it happens. We both had grouper, which had been out of the water for 6 hours, served with zucchini from the garden. Doesn't get much fresher than that! We ate on the back patio, and watched the sun set over the Caribbean.

Our last Bahamian meal was the most special, in some ways. We had driven past a place called Lee's Cafe, in James Cistern. (You drive past the same places frequently, since there is essentially one road that runs through Eleuthera, the Queen's Highway). It had a rudimentary hand-painted sign, but I had heard good things about their fried chicken. We showed up on our way to the airport, heading home. We were greeted by two very sweet ladies, who seemed concerned that we had been on Eleuthera for a week and they hadn't met us yet! We told them we had come by the previous Sunday, but they were closed, despite the sign saying they were open Sundays. They told us that they close for 2 1/2 hours to go to church! After promising to come back to their island, we got our chicken take-away (mine fried, BFs grilled). They were also cooking beans and rice, macaroni, and some barbecued ribs that smelled fantastic. OK, this chicken was NOT healthy, but it was the best piece of fried chicken I have ever had. I could not stop myself from devouring every bit of the skin. My mouth is watering right now thinking about it. If you're ever on Eleuthera, and you really should go, you must stop by and spend time with the ladies at Lee's Cafe. Then you should probably go jogging and do a juice fast.

I'm just saying.

My Financial Decade

2010-01-02T19:33:00.003-05:00

It’s 2010 and the start of a new decade. Yes, I know, sticklers say the new decade starts in 2011, but who are we kidding, we started counting this century in 2000, so 10 years have passed. Quickly! And what a decade it was. The world changed in great and terrifying ways, and my life changed far more subtly. That’s the way I like it.

2000 was a transitional year for me. Well, the end of the year was. What I remember most is the 3 week period where the Mets lost the World Series to the Yankees, the US election happened (over and over again), and I was laid off. That last bit had never happened to me before, and I was terrified! I remember leaving that publishing company holding a big box of the junk that I kept in my office. My boss gave me a twenty so I could take a cab home, but I wanted to save the money, so I stood out on King Street West, in front of newly-opened Susur, sobbing and waiting for a streetcar.

Unemployment turned out to be less scary that I thought. I was earning so little in publishing that the slide down to EI from my meagre salary wasn’t all that painful. I spent months and months looking for a decent job, bumming around the city, and exercising. Then September 11 happened. I took the next job I was offered, which was at Williams-Sonoma. I had applied for a part-time job there, but was offered a management position, and since it paid more than my publishing job did, I figured I’d give it a try (oh, and my EI was running out).

Ultimately, it wasn't the right job, but (most of) the people I met there made the whole experience worth it. I cherish the friends I made at WS; they have brought so much to my life that I could never regret that job. And I guess I should thank Williams-Sonoma for the 40% discount that enabled me to have a kitchen tricked out like a label-whore chef.

This decade took me to, among other places, New York multiple times, Paris, San Francisco, San Diego, Memphis, Washington D.C., Quebec City and all over Italy. I travelled with friends, my Mom, and Peter. I took trips for business and for pleasure. And I spent money like a drunken sailor either way. (Surprisingly, all the people I travelled with are still speaking to me.)

As the decade ends, I’m wondering if things have changed much for me financially from when it started. Yes, I earn a lot more, but my expenses are truly ridiculous. If you had told me 10 years ago that my monthly Rogers bill would be what it is now, I would have laughed. I lived, I think, perfectly well on my former salary, but in my case, the more I earn, the more I spend. Ultimately, I think I now have too much stuff. Too many sweaters, too many frying pans, too many kinds of shampoo.

I’m going to try (yet again) to make this new year and decade about less. I’ll still strive for quality, but not quantity. To that end, I am conducting a purge on behalf of Goodwill. No longer will I have 4(!) rolling pins, 20 pillow cases, and 100 cookbooks. I’m keeping the best and the useful, and everything else must go.

I wish a happy and prosperous New Year to the 4 people who occasionally read this blog. If you want a rolling pin, let me know :)

More Christmas Cookies

2009-12-31T17:28:00.004-05:00

Well, my holiday baking idea was sort of a bust. I was not much of a self-promoter, so I didn't get too many orders. Here is a box of 3 dozen assorted decorated sugar cookies made for a good friend and customer. Damn, I forgot how much work it is to pipe a load of these! I did some fairly easy sprinkles decorating as well. Much easier, and just as delicious.

Since I need to take a break from desserts to prepare for a trip to the Bahamas, I think I will give up baking until Valentine's Day. Unless someone really wants some :)

Some snowflakes

Sugary sugar cookies :)

Cookies for Sale!

2009-11-29T13:08:00.018-05:00

At the request of several friends, I have decided to offer homemade cookies for sale this holiday season.

Here's the deal:

$10/dozen for regular-sized cookies, or $18 for 2 dozen; for smaller spritz cookies, $10 gets you 2 dozen, and $18 gets you 4 dozen. All cookies come in plastic gift bags, but for a small extra charge, you can upgrade to a fancier box. I don't know, let's say $3 for the boxes.

I'm offering standard fare, all things I've made many times and had raves for. The list:

Decorated Sugar Cookies

Decorated Gingerbread Cookies

Chewy Milk Chocolate Chip Cookies

Classic Bittersweet Chocolate Chip Cookies

Melt In Your Mouth Lime Shortbread

Toffee Shortbread

Thumbprint Cookies- Raspberry or Apricot filling, with Coconut Coating

Chocolate Crackle Cookies

Classic Shortbread

Green Tea Shortbread

Decorated Spritz Cookies- Chocolate or Vanilla

Rugelach- Apricot or Chocolate Chip Filling

I am a pretty good seasonal decorator; I don't have too many pictures, but you can get the idea from these pictures of decorated sugar cookies and madeleines (Madeleines don't travel well, but I'll make them if you want them). You can also search this blog's baking posts:

Leave a comment, email me, or message me on Facebook. This offer is for people who know me and people who know people who know me, so tell your friends! The dream is that one day I will be come an unrelentingly driven perfectionist cookie billionaire. Hey, Martha Stewart can't last forever:)

The Cookie, BCC (Before Chocolate Chips!)

2009-11-16T20:08:00.007-05:00

I have a small collection of old cookbooks, some about 100 years old, but my favourite is probably Ruth Wakefield's Toll House Tried and True Recipes, published in 1936. The name may give away what makes it special- it contains the original Toll House Cookie recipe, which is the very first chocolate chip cookie!

The tale of the cookie may be slightly disputed, but it's origin is definitely at the Toll House Inn in Whitman, Massachusetts. The original recipe, called Toll House Chocolate Crunch Cookies, asks bakers to add to the dough 2 bars of Nestle chocolate "which have been cut in pieces the size of a pea".

I made them tonight, using Mrs. Wakefield's original recipe. Unfortunately I didn't have any bars of Nestle Yellow Label chocolate lying around the house, so I used some Callebeaut bittersweet chocolate chips.

They turned out perfectly. Crispy on the outside and melty on the inside. Just what a chocolate chip cookie should be. I'm saving some dough, since as Jacques Torres proved, dough gets better with time, so I'll see if cookies baked in a few days are even better.

As great and classic as these cookies are, this is not my go-to recipe. My standard chocolate chip cookie recipe (for now) is the Hershey's Milk Chocolate Chip Cookie recipe found here. It produces really chewy cookies, which is my preferred texture. Enjoy!

Steppin' Out in Manhattan

2009-11-06T21:30:00.011-05:00

It has been brought to my attention, by my mother, no less, that my blog entry about the trip to Capri did not read as amusingly as I had thought. "Why didn't you make it funny?", she asked. I actually thought it was; I guess the only way I have been able to live with myself for so long was to convince myself that my, uh, quirks , were funny, and not tragic. Apparently I have been deluding myself. More props to Ally for not murdering me in my sleep when we were in Italy.

And on to New York...

The week before the trip to Italy, I took my mom to New York for the US Open. She loves tennis, and loves Roger Federer, so it was a dream of hers to see him play at the Open. She had that dream fulfilled on opening day; we saw eventual winner Kim Klijsters, then Roger, then Serena Williams that day. Got a wicked sunburn, but all in all a great day. Then came Day 2.

With so many great trips happening that summer, I knew I needed some great sandals. I searched high and low, for months, for a pair that were both good-looking and supremely comfortable, and that wouldn't need to be broken in. I found the perfect pair in a store called Richey and Co. in Charlottesville, Virginia. The shoes were made by Gentle Souls, which is a Kenneth Cole division. They weren't cheap (surprise!). The shoes are notable because the insole is covered in super-soft kid leather, and the inside is partly flax seeds, which conform to the shape of your foot, for maximum comfort. And they were so comfortable! I wore the shoes a few times before my trip, to be sure they'd be up for the task of walking from one end of Manhattan to the other.

On our way to Day 2 of the tennis, Mom and I were wandering down Madison Avenue, and I thought to myself, wow, these shoes are great. We turned the corner onto 42nd street, and went into Grand Central. As I turned to head down into the subway, I took a step and, thwack, off came my left shoe! The back strap, which was elastic, had snapped off and acted like a slingshot, flinging the shoe off my foot and into the door 10 feet in front of me! As the shoes were little more than awesome soles and a few straps, there was literally nothing left to keep the it on my foot. I hopped over to my shoe, and stuck my foot into the one skinny strap that was still sort of attached. And that's when the cursing started. There was no way I could go to Queens with only one shoe, so we had to go back to the hotel. Although I had planned to wear these awesome sandals for my whole trip, my pessimistic nature forced me to pack a spare pair. I limp/shuffled, still cursing like a sailor, while my poor mom commiserated, and we walked back out to the street. People stared.

The New York Palace, where we were staying, was a full 8 blocks uptown; a nice walk when both of your feet work, but not so easy in my condition. We took a cab back, and as I watched the meter tick away another 10 bucks out of my pocket, I planned. I planned the speech I was going to give some poor sap at the Kenneth Cole store in Rockefeller Center later that day. I planned the excoriating letter I'd send to Richey and Co. I would demand a full refund. I would demand to be reimbursed for the cab. I'd do all of this...tomorrow. Because right then I had to make my way through the very fancy lobby of the Palace wearing only one shoe, then change footwear and run back to Grand Central. We had to get out to Queens immediately, to see some more tennis, and so my sunburn could go from pink to fuchsia.

One thing you should know about me is that I am not a steady coal fire, I'm a firecracker. I burn white hot, then cool off quickly. All those nasty comments I was going to unload on Kenneth Cole and the shoe store stayed in my head. I never went to the store. I never wrote the letter. I am still out a considerable pile of dough for a pair of shoes I wore maybe 6 times, and the cab that took me back to the Palace, but I couldn't keep the rage intact long enough to yell at anybody about it. I kept the shoes. I'll probably end up paying some shoe repair guy to put on a decent strap so I can wear them again next summer. Seriously, they were that comfortable.

Things I'd Rather Do Than Pay $3 to Ride the TTC

2009-11-04T19:44:00.007-05:00

1. Find out I'm related to Stephen Harper.

2. Have explosive diarrhea for a week.

3. Buy shoes at Payless.

4. Fly coach to Hong Kong seated next to a fat Jehovah's Witness.

5. Vacation in Pittsburgh.

6. Get a job scrubbing the kill floor at a slaughterhouse.

7. Read Sarah Palin's book.

8. Find myself trapped at an Ashton Kutcher film festival.

9. Sit through an auditing session at the Scientology Centre.

10. Fucking WALK!!

Two Tuesdays in November

2009-11-02T22:00:00.008-05:00

Tomorrow, Tuesday, November 3, is the first anniversary of a very important event. My Election party. (Oh, and the election was sort of important too...). Those of you who attended may remember what a Ball of Crazy I had been leading up to the first Tuesday of November, 2008. I was desperate for Barack Obama to win. For John McCain to lose. For Sarah Palin to just go away. It was all I talked about for months. As you may have heard, Mr. Obama did indeed win the election. He's got a hell of a lot to do, and I'll talk about that in future posts.

Two more Tuesdays from now is another important date in politics. Going Rogue, "by" Sarah Palin, hits bookstores.

For a while now I have been sort of apolitical on this blog and on Facebook. I have reconnected with some old friends who seem to be quite conservative, and I didn't want to offend them with my lefty political views. But enough is enough. I can't stand it anymore. If Sarah Palin won't go away, neither will I.

About Going Rogue: First off, Sarah Palin didn't write the book. Lynn Vincent did. She's a crackpot in her own right, but we'll address that on another day. Why am I supposed to care what Sarah Palin thinks about anything?? I gather she's gearing up for a 2012 presidential campaign and she figured hawking a book she "wrote" would be better prep than governing Alaska. This woman is the most narcissistic politician I have ever seen, and since all politicians are a bit narcissistic, that's really saying something! She responds to all criticism with moral outrage, but will happily sling mud at her opponents. Her politics are divisive. She's both anti- and un-intellectual. And she still wears too much makeup.

Wow, that felt good. So there you have it- a quick reminder that I am indeed an Elitist Liberal Feminist. All those terms are positive, by the way, and I'll address that in a future post. To my Conservative friends and acquaintances: look at it this way- if you are offended by my politics, I am probably offended by yours. Doesn't mean we can't be friends. We Liberals are a tolerant bunch, but we're also profane, so if you don't like it, #@^%&*##!!!

"-free " is Just Another Word...

2009-11-01T20:26:00.012-05:00

Well, Hallowe'en's been over for hours, so that makes it Christmas Season, or, more accurately for me, Baking Season. Yesterday I was wondering if there was a way for me to consume mass quantities this year without compromising my health or eating my way out of my clothes. When I think about impractical health and nutrition, naturally I think of Gwyneth Paltrow, so I checked out a recent GOOP newsletter and found some recipes from Babycakes Bakery in NYC. Everything's sugar-free! Gluten-free! Dairy-free! Jackpot! I was on my way to Whole Foods to drop a wad on expensive, Gwyneth-approved ingredients, when I thought, am I crazy?

I visited the Interwebs and made a useful discovery. One of the ingredients I was looking to buy was agave nectar, since I want to reduce my sugar consumption. Turns out this stuff is mostly fructose, you know, like in the work-of-the-devil High Fructose Corn Syrup. It has the same caloric count as sugar, and is simply lower in glucose. Too bad fructose'll kill ya too. I was almost taken in by clever marketing and buzzwords like Organic, Natural, blah blah.

It seems the only way to reduce sugar intake is not to eat sugar. Any kind of sugar. That is such a massive bummer that I am not even going to think about it again until next year.

I will say, some of the other ingredients that Babycakes uses are interesting- coconut oil, garbanzo flour- I may try these some day, but for now, I'm just going to enjoy the holidays and take yet another stab at moderation.

That being said, I present to you below a wicked chocolate cake recipe, and it's vegan! No eggs, no butter (just a bit of canola oil), but yes, there's sugar and flour. It doesn't need icing, but if you add some buttercream, remember the cake will no longer make Stella McCartney happy :)

Vegan Chocolate Cake

In a glass 8 or 9 " square pan, mix together

1 1/4 cup flour

1 cup sugar

1/3 cup good cocoa

1/2 tsp salt

3/4 tsp baking soda

Make 4 dents in the mixture- 2 big, and 2 small.

Pour into the dents

1 cup water

1/3 cup canola oil

1 tsp vanilla extract

1 tsp white vinegar

Mix until it's all smooth and combined.

Lick batter off of spatula shaped like a finger (optional).

Bake 30 minutes, cool in pan, and sprinkle with icing sugar. Mmmmm.

The Road to Heaven

2009-11-01T19:09:00.014-05:00

When I got into bed Wednesday, September 9, I knew that the next time my head would hit a pillow I'd be in Capri, Italy. I struggled to sleep, since I was so eager for my trip to begin. The trip from Toronto to Capri has many legs, and many vehicles. We'd be going by car, plane, train, train, taxi, boat, funicular, and foot before we touched down in our beautiful hotel room.
Most of you have not traveled with me. Most of you are lucky. When it comes to traveling, I am the human equivalent of a silk dress you pack in your luggage- seems like a good idea before you leave, but once you get to your destination you realize you shouldn't have brought something that so easily becomes rumpled and useless.

We got to the airport in plenty of time. The flight was uneventful, but for me filled with crappy movies rather than sleep. After some confusion and the least attentive customs officer I have ever encountered, we made our way to the Leonardo Express train that would take us to Roma Termini Station. There we'd catch a swift Eurostar to Naples, hop the hydrofoil to Capri, and watch the sun set over the Mediterranean. Sounds Easy.

Except the Eurostar was fully booked by the time we found a ticket agent at Termini. She sold us tickets on the slower local train. It didn't leave right away, so we wandered the station. Ally was trying to buy holy water when I saw the time. "Oh my God, our train leaves in 4 minutes!!", I shrieked. We started to run, but to where? We checked our tickets for a track number (binario is the Italian word, and I suggest you memorize it now if you plan ever to go to Italy. It's infinitely useful.)- NOTHING! Nor did our tickets have the word NAPOLI anywhere on them. We didn't know where the hell we were going, but we had to be there in 4 minutes!

By this time, I had been awake for more than 24 hours, looked like something out of a sweaty zombie movie, and was getting stupider by the minute. I started shouting at Ally: " I don't know what to do! I don't know where to go!!". She managed to find a maintenance worker who flashed his fingers at us to total 13, so off we ran to binario 13.

We got to the train just as it was scheduled to leave. This is where I forgot we were in Italy. Though our seats were on car 9, and we were at car 1, I insisted we get on the train, sure it would depart any second. Yeah, right. Ally (you may call her The Voice of Reason) suggested we get off the train to walk to car 9, but I, sure the doors would slam and the rickety old train would bolt out of the station without us, would have none of it. Instead we fought our way through the standing-room-only, un-air-conditioned train, all the way to car 9. After shooing the squatters from our seats, and having our bags stowed by a hot Neapolitan businessman, we finally sat down. Then I noticed that the train still wasn't moving. We could have stopped for espressos and strolled to car 9. Oops.

Ally fell asleep, or pretended to, and I tried to relax. The train eventually departed, and made and made a stop or two, then, in the middle of nowhere, it stopped again. For 30 minutes. Ally kept pretending to sleep, so I muttered to myself like a crazy person, until the Welsh guy sitting next to me started responding. What was the problem??

Ally woke up, and I finally, fully lost it. I started quietly sobbing that we'd miss the last hydrofoil and be stuck in Naples that night, that we'd lose the money for our not inexpensive Capri hotel, that all was lost. We checked the guidebook and found that we'd still have an option for a slower boat to Capri, so I was able to calm down a bit. The train started chugging along, and I felt my blood pressure drop to a less dangerous level.

After an expensive taxi ride to the Molo Beverello port, we indeed caught the last hydrofoil, rode the funicular, and after a bit of aimless wandering, found our lovely hotel, Minerva, in Capri. We cleaned up, took a stroll through the town, and spent our first night in Capri on our large, lovely terrace with Prosecco and Caprilu cookies. The road to hell may be paved with good intentions, but the road to heaven is clogged with too many forms of transportation.

Julie & Julia & Me

2009-08-23T16:00:00.005-04:00

Saw Julie & Julia last night. A movie about a cubicle worker who strikes it rich by blogging about cooking. Yes, it struck a nerve. Yes, I sat there thinking "why didn't I do that!", and "I would have done that so much better!", but the point is, I didn't do it. Following an idea through to completion has always been a huge problem for me. Witness this blog, started with promise, and all but abandoned when my life got too busy. My 40 Buck Experiment has gone undocumented. Sure, it was an utter failure, but I at least should have written about it.
So that is the commitment- I will update this blog more frequently, and continue to document my ongoing struggles to find a way to save money. I'm going to New York for the US Open tennis tournament in 6 days, and the week after I get back, I'm off to Italy for 2 weeks. How's that for fiscal responsibility?
Rants and Baking will continue to be featured, since ranting and baking account for about 90% of my time.
Before I go, I will share the results of The 40 Buck Experiment and some other opinions, in the hopes that writing a bit more will help me to write a bit more.
To the 4 people who read this, thanks, and please keep checking in. Once I have added some content, tell your friends to drop by! And, as always, I love comments, so again, when the posts start flowing, I'd love to hear what you think.
Ciao for now, and see you soon.

Nice Article About Toronto

2009-05-09T16:49:00.002-04:00

Who knew we were so much fun? Glad the Rebel House got a shout out, but now I am craving those spinach cheese pennies they make. Mmmmm!

Cookies

2009-05-07T19:25:00.006-04:00

Made some cookies for a wedding shower we had for a friend at work. I was inspired by Mango and I thank her for the pictures she posted on her blog. Got the same cookie cutter at St. Lawrence Market- wedding cake with a heart on top.

Used thick royal icing to outline the cake shape.

Flooded the cookies with thinner icing- used a squeeze bottle, which made it really easy.

Here's where the student could not equal the teacher- the icing I made for the decorative piping was too thin, but I did what I could. At this point, I'm not even sure they look like wedding cakes. The BF said they looked like the Capitol Building in Washington but with a heart on top. I called him an idiot, and got back to piping :)

The final cookies. Actually, I think this cookie cutter could be used to make some pretty nice Stanley Cup cookies!

French Dressing

2009-04-06T17:20:00.002-04:00

Yes, I have an opinion about Michelle Obama's and Carla Bruni's wardrobes.
Now, I love Michelle Obama- she is an excellent role model for young women (and men!). She is so much more than her sartorial choices that I have a hard time getting excited one way or another over her clothes.
Michelle Obama grew up in a lower middle class home, worked hard, and graduated from Princeton and Harvard. Her brother is a Princeton-alum former bond trader who gave up banking to follow his passion and become a basketball coach at Oregon State. Her husband you may have heard of as well. What I'm saying is that Michelle Obama is clearly not a woman who spends hours perusing Vogue and sitting at the front row at Fashion Week, and that's more than fine.
Carla Bruni, on the other hand, has led a very fashionable life. Born an heiress, modeled for years, and had all the rock stars she wanted. She's actually a talented musician as well. As the First Lady of France, we can all enjoy her towering over Nicolas Sarkozy (even in flats.)

The G 20 fashion face-off between these two extraordinary women was highly anticipated, for whatever reason. I guess we all need a distraction from the imploding of the world, or something. Anyway, Carla wins. There's no way around the fact that Parisian couture looks a whole lot better than Isabel Toledo and J Crew. Sorry, America.
I don't like Michelle Obama one iota less, obviously, but I must say, it's enough already with the black cardigan. You don't throw on a black cardigan to meet the Queen. And she had it on again yesterday! Is there a 2 checked bag policy on Air Force One?

The Forty Buck Experiment

2009-03-27T16:56:00.003-04:00

This blog is called Spends 2 Much for a reason, and I think that has been amply demonstrated in these posts. But here's the thing: I have decided to see if I can live on only $40 for an entire week. This is for groceries, incidentals, lunches, and anything else that pops up during the week.
I know I should be able to do it, because I have done it. When I moved to the city in the 90s, I worked as a publicist for a small publishing company. It was my dream to work in publishing. It was not my dream to earn 28 grand a year. After rent, my Metropass, and other bills, I had much less to spend on food than I do now, but I ate perfectly well.

I have to remember how to shop as though I only have $40 on me, so I will be leaving my debit card at home this week.

I have plenty of stuff in the cupboards and freezer, so I should only need veggies and beverages. One of my problems has been that I "start again" every time I shop, rather than buy things that complement what I already have. I have a feeling that spending less will result in healthier dinners, so I'll post what I come up with.

Off to make the shopping list!

Worth It- Cole Haan Boots

2009-03-27T13:34:00.005-04:00

These boots rock. I got them last August at Cole Haan in the Time Warner Center. Paid a bit more than I normally would for boots, but I love the Nike Air soles, so I went for it.

Vacations are the best test of soles, and a 4 day walk around New York confirmed that these boots are indeed made for walkin'. For once I didn't need to hop in a cab or on the subway because my feet were killing me. They're gorgeous, too! I will be wearing the hell out of these, with pants and skirts, until it finally warms up around here and I can whip out the ballet flats for the summer.

Thank you!

2009-03-25T18:45:00.002-04:00

To the visitor who told me about the song Sorry Lori !- Yes, someone did finally write one. It's by Jason Collett, and I should probably have heard of him, but hey, I'm old.

This Can Only Help

2009-03-25T17:56:00.004-04:00

Great Idea , thanks Little Bridge.

One of Those Days

2009-03-25T17:37:00.004-04:00

One of my favourite episodes of the old Mary Tyler Moore show was the one where Mary had a really bad day. Bad hair day, spilled coffee on her shirt, screwed up at work, tripped and sprained her ankle... when she finally got home, she had this exchange with Rhoda:
Mary: Have you ever had one of those days?"
Rhoda: "Mostly."

That's how I'm feeling lately. Today was a banner day- I was going to stay home, since I'm not feeling well, but at 8:00 I remembered I had a few meetings with some vendors who were flying in from Montreal, so I picked up the first clothes I could find, did a lousy makeup job, and bolted out the door. On the way to work, a crazy man yelled at me" Hey you fucking smart cookie- LOOK AT ME! I know it was you!", then he SPAT on me. Fantastic.

Sat at my desk, and opened a vanilla yogurt. Must have been vacuum-sealed, since it exploded all over my sweater.

My boss came by and told me that another project was due today, and we were having a team meeting. I raced between projects, skipped lunch, and worked like a madwoman to be ready for my 1:30 meeting. Tick, tick, tick. Where are they? Oh, they declined the meeting last week, but no one bothered to tell us. Great.

Finally, I had time for lunch. I spilled Ginger Carrot soup on my sweater.

Amazingly, nothing went wrong between the hours of 2 and 5 PM.

And as soon as my boots hit the pavement at 5, it started to rain.

Hey There, Anti-Regulationists!

2009-03-24T16:27:00.002-04:00

I'm just curious- if you are one of the many who think that the American banking system should continue along with very little regulation or oversight, what do you think of the bail-out?

I mean, if you agree that a business should be able to chop up derivatives, sell them, and insure them, then shouldn't those institutions, no matter how large, be free to go down in flames?

I am not being entirely sarcastic here- I want to know if it is philosophically possible to be anti-regulation and pro-bail-out, and if it is, I really want to hear the argument.

That's all.

New York, Then and Now

2009-03-22T09:29:00.008-04:00

Let me start by asserting that I am not getting sick of New York. Not at all. I may have lost count of how many times I've been there, but I'll always remember the first time. I was in high school, and went for 4 days with a friend and a bunch of Swiss and Italian exchange students she had met. My dad thought I was spending the weekend at my friend's house. What an experience! I bought my first underage beer at a 7-11 and ordered my first cocktail in a bar in Times Square. We're talking about the mid-80s here, before the Disneyfication of the area. The lot of us stayed in 2 rooms at the Edison Hotel, which was quite a shithole at the time. The Edison was connected to a Broadway theatre, and the show playing was Oh! Calcutta! Ha!
What I remember most is how much we managed to do in 4 days. Climbed the Statue of Liberty; toured the South Street Seaport; went to the Feast of San Gennaro in Little Italy; plaid volleyball with strangers in Central Park; Toured the Met and the Guggenheim; bought food at Zabar's on the Upper West Side; saw A Chorus Line on Broadway; went dancing at Area ; walked around Chinatown; went to the top of the World Trade Center; browsed Sak's and Bloomingdale's; went to The Bottom Line to hear jazz... seriously, how the hell did we do all of that in 4 days?

I just recently got back from 4 days in New York. A very different 4 days, but still filled with new experiences and discoveries. This trip was about discovering how little I could pay for a designer dress, and how much I could pay for a grilled cheese sandwich ($30, if you're wondering, but it came with soup!). I especially enjoyed being in New York with someone on her second visit. She had prepared detailed itineraries, and had done so much research she could have written her own book. I felt sometimes that I was getting complacent; content to see the same places I always see when I'm there. My friend reminded me that New York will always have something new to show me, and that I can keep coming back for more.

Rant!

2009-03-17T21:07:00.003-04:00

I think we all knew it was just a matter of time until my blog devolved into nothing more than a place where I can rant about anything that's bugging me, so let the descent into madness commence...

I HATE the CP24.com web site! Before CTV bought CITY, the site was fairly useful; now it is nothing but a steaming pile of crap. Seriously, the first thing you see (well, after the giant banner ad for whatever crappy TV show CTV is pushing) is the "Daily Poll", some inane question with even more stupid possible answers. There are just as many entertainment headlines as there are "news" headlines. Total crap.

And while I'm at it, does anyone know how much crack Dina Pugliese does each morning before Breakfast Television starts? Seriously, she couldn't be that jumpy, spaced, and annoying unless she hits the pipe while getting her hair blown out. I could go on about how every moment she is on TV is a waste of precious airtime, and how as soon as I hear her voice I run into the living room and switch the TV to the Weather Network, but it wouldn't be polite to mock an addict. I hope she gets help. I don't think she has too many brain cells left, so she should protect the lonely, frightened ones that remain.

OK, I'm done. Back to (sort of) witty posts.

Where's My Song?

2009-03-14T11:36:00.008-04:00

This morning I blasted music and finally cleaned my apartment. I had my ipod on shuffle, and these two songs plaid back to back- Layla, by Derek and the Dominos, a.k.a. Eric Clapton and his drug buddies, and Something, which George Harrison gave to the Beatles. The odd thing is that these songs were both written about the same woman- Pattie Boyd. She was married to each of them for a while, and caused a decades long rift between Clapton and Harrison, but how incredible to have inspired these classic songs. Sure, neither song is actually called Pattie, and neither relationship worked out, but she will always have her songs.

Since high school I have been waiting for my song. I'm not talking about inspiring the emotion that Pattie Boyd did, I just want someone to use my name in a song. How hard could it be? My name rhymes with sorry, for Christ's sake- the song practically writes itself. Springsteen has used Mary, Sherry, and Wendy. Would it have killed him to use Lori??

If anyone knows a Lori song that I have missed, please let me know. Alison found two B-team contenders: one was smooth jazz and the other sounded like it was lifted from a Bollywood soundtrack. That's fine, but I want a hit. I want a classsic!

"Not Our Fault"

2009-03-10T18:11:00.004-04:00

On the news tonight, a GM Canada worker was interviewed after the vote regarding the new contract offer that will lower their perks a bit. A few people interviewed sounded understandably peeved, but were realistic. Then there was the chick who said "It's absolutely not our fault that there's this economic downturn, but we're having to pay the price." Uh, whatnow?

She works for a company that is hemorrhaging money because no one buys it's product, but she thinks not only that the government should bail out her company, but that she shouldn't have to make any sacrifices.

I've said it before and I'll say it again: If the very large company I work for loses all it's money, it will close and I will be unemployed. Same thing should apply to every other company.

My Dinner With Bill and Hillary

2009-03-03T21:15:00.004-05:00

On the left, Hillary's blonde head. On the right, Bill's grey head. Yeah, you can't tell, I know. It's a bit more obvious when you see the picture blown up on my computer, but I guess you'll just have to trust me.

Wal Mart Prices at Bendel's

2009-03-01T19:19:00.003-05:00

Back from a long weekend in New York. I was of two minds about the trip even before I went, thinking this is a time when I should be saving, not spending, but the deal was so good I decided to just enjoy myself in a city I love and shop if I could find any good deals.

I held to that, since everything I bought was indeed marked down. Too bad the best restaurants didn't follow suit and offer some recession deals. I think I spent more on food and drink than I did on clothes and shoes!

Some highlights of the shopping: a Rag and Bone blue silk dress, originally $500, for $150, at the Barney's warehouse sale; Tory Burch loafers 50% off at SoHo Bloomingdales; a sweater from Henri Bendel that had been $158, marked down repeatedly, with 30% off the last marked down price. The sales assistant initially charged me the wrong marked down price (understandable, since there were at least 3 red, handwritten prices on the tiny tag), and when I pointed this out, she reversed the wrong price, and put too much money back on my credit card. It looks at this point like I paid $26 for the sweater.

I'm really happy with the shopping deals. The food and drink experiences were more hit and miss, and I'll write about those over the next day or so. Look for Bill, Hillary, and Chelsea Clinton in cameo appearances!

Petty Fores

2009-02-15T20:01:00.005-05:00

Spent all day Saturday at McCall's learning how to make petit fours. I didn't think to bring my own apron, and I cleverly wore a black sweater and brown cords, so I was covered in flour and sugar quite a bit of the time.

It was a hands-on class, but the sort where everyone does a bit of everything; you don't just make your own batch. We made a lemon sponge roulade, tons of little tarts with a sweet almond paste, almond cream, and variations of buttercream, fondant icing, and vanilla custard.

Also made the standard pound cake with marzipan and raspberry jam. The fun part was the melted fondant. We learned the proportions and temperature that guarantee a smooth, glossy finish.

I will definitely do these again. Just not for a long while. There was some sampling, and I will be spending tomorrow on a treadmill because of it.

A New Gallup Poll in the US

2009-02-15T09:42:00.002-05:00

Theory of Evolution:

Believe 39%

Do Not Believe 25%

No Opinion 36%

Margin of error +/- 3 pts.

Oh, Help Me Rhonda! There you have it, folks, the world is about to end.

25, OK, Only 20, Food Things About Me

2009-02-15T08:22:00.007-05:00

Thanks, Kelvin, for this tag. What a fun way to talk about food! A warning, though: I have been lucky enough to visit some really nice restaurants, and I want to share the experiences, but I may sound like a name-dropping douchebag. Just remember that I am one of the masses who has to call for reservations 2 months in advance. And I'm only going to go with 20, since I'm so very sesquipedalian. In no particular order:

1. Breakfast at a friend's cottage, in my twenties. Always the same routine. 8 or 10 of us would wake up around noon, hung over, but before we'd start another day of hanging out at the beach and drinking beer, we'd have a big communal breakfast. Jane would scramble a dozen eggs; Becky would toast up a loaf of bread; Dave would fry up a pound of bacon; I would slice potatoes and fry them. Someone else would pour the OJ, and another would set the table. We'd serve all the greasy goodness to each other straight out of the frying pan, sit around the table, and start mythologizing the fun of the previous night. We left the table grateful for the fine job grease does at soaking up liquor and ready for the first beer of the new day.

2. Dim Sum at some place in Scarborough maybe called Perfect Restaurant. Everything you could ask for- crispy, doughy, good fillings, great tea, and 3 of us ate like kings for $20. Nice to be able to look at the bill and say "This one's on me!"

3. The Vendome restaurant at the Ritz, Paris. More for the theatre of it, but the food was incredible as well. We ordered from a very attentive waiter, who left the table. A few minutes later, the Sommelier came by, aware of what we had ordered, to make wine selections that matched our meals. (It drives Peter batshit when we're at restaurants and they want you to order a bottle of wine before you've had a chance to look at the menu.) Then a rolling Champagne cart came by, stocked with bottles of Ritz Champagne on ice in a large silver tub, and a glass was offered.

When each course is served, 2 waiters bring your dishes to the table, covered with silver domes, which they simultaneously remove with dramatic flair. Seconds later, a "sauce" waiter comes by, ready to offer a delectable complement to your dish. The food was almost beside the point by then.

At some point during the meal, a cheese cart was rolled by. I loved the fact that this cart was clearly a piece of antique French furniture, with a marble top, that had been refitted with wheels. We were offered all the cheese we wanted. At one point, I asked for something strong. The Fromage Guy lifted a glass dome from over a piece of cheese, and cut me a slice. The odour was overpowering. I barely had a tiny piece to my mouth when I could feel my nose hairs tingling. It was all I could do to swallow that little piece. Peter wouldn't try it, and he loves cheese. Moral of that story- strong cheese in France is stronger than strong cheese in Canada.

This is getting awfully long, so let me just wrap up by saying that the decor, the history, and the incredible Frenchness of everything made this meal paramount. (Oh, and when you have to go to the bathroom, a staff member walks you back into the hotel where the discreet but flamboyant bathrooms are, and waits for you by the restaurant door to walk you back to your seat!)

4. 9 course tasting menu at Babbo. Word of caution- if you order the accompanying wine tasting, you will receive a full glass of each. 9 glasses. Ouch.

5. My great Aunt Elsie's roast beef with Yorkshire pudding. Sunday supper was always a production when I was growing up, with lots of family. No one made this particular meal like my Aunt Elsie and Uncle Jim. Great roast, riced potatoes, lots of veggies, (ok, they were overcooked, but it's my heritage!), and crispy, light, Yorkshire pudding to soak up the incredible gravy. Uncle Jim's shortbread for dessert was a yummy treat.

6. Lobsters in the dark. Again, at a cottage, we were all sitting around a bonfire eating chips and drinking, when one friend wandered over a few cottages and struck up a conversation. He was there most of the night. Our fire was almost out when he returned with a bunch of foil parcels. His charm had won him the leftovers at the party he crashed. I ran into the cottage,nuked a pound of butter, and ran back out with it. We all sat there in the dark, working our way through succulent whole lobsters, pulling at the meat and shell with nothing but our fingers. It was such an unexpected treat.

7. Wendy's Junior Bacon Cheeseburger and Fries. I'm just sayin'.

8. My dad's lasagna. So much cheese and meat you could barely lift the pan onto the table.

9. Any meal with the Williams-Sonoma people. We all love the best, and we talk about the food as much as we eat it.

10. Mini truffle panini and Prosecco at Procacci in Florence. We'd never heard of it, but we managed to find an extremely cute place with the most incredible truffle everything, all served up with some fruity Prosecco. Cute green marble tables, and the endless variety of the teeny weeny panini made you want to stay all day.

11. The dinners served by surly Anna at our inn in Montalcino. Actually, she wasn't surly at all, but had been labeled as such by plenty of American tourists who took her lack of English skills as a personal affront. But the meals she made us 2 nights in a row were spectacular, as were the wine pairings offered by her lovely husband. Oh, and the view...

12. The White Trash dinner party at Daphne's. Spushi (that's Spam sushi) made by Kelvin was a standout. I believe we were required to use a can of Campbell's soup in all our recipes. I think I contributed my Auntie Marg's Green Bean Casserole, the mother of all White Trash dishes. All served with a nice box of wine!

13. Mom's Christmas turkey. Not too much of mom on this list, since cooking was not her strong suit, but she would make a Herculean effort at Christmas to get this meal right, and came up with some far-out (for Burlington in the 80s) side dishes like Squash Souffle.

14. Annual birthday dinners for Alison and Sarah. I love how they indulge. As Sarah says, "It's just not a dinner at Lori's unless I leave feeling uncomfortable, and with my top button undone."

15. The first dinner party I hosted where I didn't burst into tears before the guests arrived. It was not as long ago as I wish.

16. Steve's cooking is a class all it's own. Always done with love, and usually with saturated fat. He can make anything special, like homemade potato chips.

17. Tapas at Coca. Better than Cava.

18. Cupcake hunting in New York. Magnolia, Buttercup, Cupcake Cafe, Amy's Bread, Joe's Bakery, Crumbs...

19. Kelvin inspires me to add this- when I was a kid, my mom was making a stew of some kind, and the pan had a lid on it. My dad always considered himself the better cook, so he kept checking what she was doing, opening the oven, taking the lid off the pan, etc. At some point he set the lid on the counter, unknowingly on top of a bar of soap that had been next to the sink. The soap stuck to the lid, and went into the stew when he put the lid back on. Next time someone checked, the pan was full of bubbles and sludge, and there was a bar of Ivory floating in the middle of the stew. Pizza was ordered.

20. Any time I eat with friends and/or family, I consider it a special meal.

What's In Store?

2009-02-08T21:23:00.004-05:00

It has been established that I like to shop. A few weeks ago I felt it necessary to add a new sweater to the collection, so after work I headed over to Banana Republic. It was mid-January in Canada, and positively freezing outside, yet I was met with "The Spring Collection". Short-sleeved silk blouses, thin cotton skirts, and sleeveless dresses. I searched high and low and found exactly one sweater on the sale rack. Fortunately it was my size. As I paid, I said to the cashier, "Do you find it strange that it's minus 20 outside and this is the only sweater in the store?"

"Oh yeah, it's cold!", she replied, missing my point entirely. I didn't pursue the issue, since I have learned not to take out my frustration with a corporate decision on a minimum wage-earning employee. I did want her to commiserate, though. I didn't ask for the manager, either. I have sort of a short fuse, and sometimes when I intend to sound reasonable, my voice raises slightly and I develop what my mother would call "tone", as in "Don't take that tone with me, missy." I am an email complainer, which I find satisfying since I have time to construct my argument, and no one can watch me fume while I type.

My point is this: retailers are struggling mightily in the current economic climate, but still expect consumers to shop for a season six months away. I understand that it's important to get the new merchandise out quickly, but aren't we shooting ourselves in the foot when we are sold out of boots while the snow is still falling, and trying to move linen pants when the temperature is way below zero?

I don't expect much of a response from the store; I'll probably get a stock "Thank you for making us aware of the issue" sort of thing. There were maybe three people in BR that night, and I was the only one buying. A vacant cash line is the only way they'll learn.

The 25 things...

2009-02-05T20:43:00.004-05:00

Sandy was right- too much information for Facebook, and this whole idea is being mocked in the New York Times, so I think it has officially jumped the shark. Nevertheless, herewith 25 random things about me:

1. I am annoyed by people who say they have no regrets. I have tons, and everybody should!

2. Speaking of regrets, I regret losing touch with old friends who were really important to me.

3. I would rather laugh than anything. I'd even rather laugh than shop.

4. I change my mind so often I can't keep up with my own opinions.

5. I have an inferiority complex, but also think I'm better than everybody. Gives you a general idea what I think of most people.

6. What, dear God in heaven, has happened to our abilities to spell and to form coherent sentences?

7. "Instant gratification takes too long." Carrie Fisher.

8. My fear of failure is mammoth.

9. It takes me forever to fall asleep. Always has, always will.

10. My taste in literature is highbrow; my taste in movies is middlebrow; my taste in music can be surprisingly lowbrow.

11. Growing up, my mother called me, alternately, Diana (as in the princess), or Gloria (as in Vanderbilt). A glimpse at my teenage personality.

12. I am a worrier.

13. I wish I were rich. Really, unbelievably, Bill Gates rich. Sometimes.

14. Television is a bad drug, and I am paying my pusher, Rogers, way too much for this junk.

15. I am sort of funny, but not as funny as I wish I were.

16. I rarely get all the way home from work without flipping off or yelling at some bad-driving idiot.

17. I write so slowly, I could write in my own blood without doing myself any harm.

18. My attention span isn't what it once was.

19. Tina Fey is my hero.

20. I love cooking for people.

21. I wish I were brave.

22. When I fly, I always wear an outfit in which I could run for my life.

23. I was a Brownie, and a Girl Guide, and my mom was a Brown Owl.

24. My grandmother had 4 sisters, and the 5 of them talked so much they sucked all the oxygen from the room. Seems to be genetic.

25. Lying is under-rated.

Surprise! Spends 2 Much Spent 2 Much!!

2009-01-02T22:44:00.008-05:00

But it was so worth it.

Sandy was the driving force behind my "recession shopping" after Christmas. She got great deals in Dallas, so I thought I'd see what Michigan had to offer. And really, who wouldn't want to drive to Michigan in the middle of winter?

Tony picked me up at 7 AM, and we picked up Shopaholic shortly after that. Took us 2 1/2 hours to get to Port Huron, on the other side of Sarnia. The "bleak factor" really picks up once you cross the border. Boarded up buildings, sad houses, and the standard crappy roads that you find in all but the nicest parts of the US. You have to feel sorry for Flint; the auto industry has treated that town terribly. At least they have an outlet mall.

We made it to Birch Run a bit after noon, and headed straight for the Pottery Barn outlet. There was a big sign just inside the doors that said "Take 50% off Last Ticket Price"! That, combined with another discount, made the stuff practically free. We spent several hours at Birch Run, and I picked up things here and there, then it was back on the road to Troy.

Now, Troy, and specifically The Somerset Collection, made us wonder if there really is a recession. The stores were packed, as were the restaurants. The only signs of economic turmoil were the sales. Deep discounts everywhere you looked. At Cole Haan, the boots I bought in August, before anyone knew the sky was falling, were now less than half what I paid for them. Karma made up for that in Barney's, however. On the shoe rack was a pair of peacock blue Christian Louboutin pumps that had been $565, marked down to what you'd pay for shoes at the Rockport store in the Eaton Centre. Oh yeah, I bought them!

Flush from my purchase, we went for dinner at a very nice Italian restaurant nearby. Tony ordered the 1/2 size of the spaghetti and meatballs. A few minutes later the waiter brought what looked like a serving bowl full of spaghetti and sat it in front of him. "Excuse me, but how big is the regular size?", he asked the waiter. "Twice the size of that", the waiter said. Welcome to America. Luckily, we had all ordered the small size of our dinners, which turned out to be very large indeed.

We took the Detroit/Windsor tunnel back to Canada, and ended up in a snow storm from London to Toronto. A complete lack of visibility was made tolerable by the fact that there were so few cars on the road. About 5 cars drove in a line, with the bravest as our leader. We did have some comical moments, though:

Shopaholic- Tony, turn on your high beams.

Tony- Uh, don't know how.

It was a fun drive. Got home 19 hours after we left. I hope the recession ends soon, though. As much as I like discounts, I'd rather live in boom times, so my shoes and I will have somewhere to go in 2009.

What Project Runway and the Bush Administration Have in Common

2008-12-14T14:53:00.004-05:00

I am a huge fan of Project Runway. Not because I want to see 14 variations of cocktail dresses made from recycled car parts. The draw for me is the contestants themselves. I don't care about the group dynamics, or anyone's sappy back story. What keeps me tuning in week after week is the chance to hear the contestants critiquing their own work. Nothing on this earth impresses these people more than themselves, and it is utterly fascinating to watch. These people are blown away by their own awesomeness, and say so out loud. In fact, "blown away" is one of the most frequently used terms when the contestants watch their creations come down the runway. No matter what sort of disaster they have draped on some poor stick-figured model, they tear up when they see the girl sashay down the runway draped in the hideous mess of their design. Each contestant is happy to say that his or her own work towers above anyone else in the competition, and if the judges disagree, the judges are wrong. Really, what would Michael Kors know about fashion? Listening to people so confident in their own abilities despite ample evidence to the contrary actually evokes some wistfulness from me. I do not have the ability to heap praise, warranted or not, upon myself, and mostly I think that's the way it should be. There is self confidence, and there is delusional self confidence.

Which brings me to the Bush administration. These men and women are the political equivalent of Project Runway contestants. They believe in themselves and their choices despite the fact that most of the world believes they are wrong. They don't learn from mistakes, because they don't think they've made any. They consider themselves to be divinely inspired.

Problem is, the consequences from George Bush's delusional self confidence will be around a lot longer than those fugly Project Runway dresses will be.

UGH!

2008-12-08T18:55:00.004-05:00

I love snow this time of year. And only this time of year. From now until Christmas, I'm all for a light dusting of snow every few days. After all, I am a born and bred cold-weather Canadian, so I know how to walk like a duck to keep from falling in snow. This year, I thought I was being extra clever by getting a pair of new boots, both warm and functional. I thought...

Yes, I got myself some shearling boots called Emus. Uggs are too damned expensive, and I really was going for practicality more than style (if I had wanted to look like a fashion victim, I'd have bought a pair of Uggs 5 years ago and worn them in the summer). That being said, these boots were a big mistake! Ok, they are warm, and the inside is soft, but the treads on the soles are useless. I know this because this morning I slid off the sidewalk at the corner of Jarvis and Carlton, did a sort of demented pirouette, and landed on my butt in a pile of filthy slush. I got to work wet, dirty, and more pissed off than usual, and I'm always pretty pissed off on Monday mornings.

Sartorially, as well, these are not the boots for me. I look like I was built at the Muppet Workshop at FAO Schwarz . I'm not that freaking old, but I think I am too old for these boots. This was confirmed for me on the way home from work, when a 4 year old pointed at my feet and shrieked to her mother: "those are the boots I want!"

It's not enough that I look like a fool in these boots, I am also endangering my life. My old boots are already at the Goodwill store, so tomorrow I have to go to the mall to drop more money and get some boots that will keep me from ending up underneath a streetcar on a slippery day. That, or I can go to Goodwill and buy my old boots back for a Loonie.

Stained Glass Cookies

2008-12-03T20:33:00.008-05:00

OK, I had to make the stained glass cookies last week, because I had made the dough a few days earlier, and it probably wouldn't have kept much longer. NBC provided me with an appropriate background of Christmas music and the lighting of the tree at Rockefeller Center. Miley Cyrus's version of Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree is an instant classic. No, not really.

Although bashing lolly-pops with a rolling pin on the balcony was great, I'm not sure I crushed them small enough. I haven't made these cookies in 15 years, give me a break! How the hell did I crush the candies last time? Can't remember...

Here are the un-Christmassy cutout shapes (the only ones I had that had littler versions). Filled with crushed red lolly-pops.

Finished cookies. The "stained glass" doesn't exactly remind me of Chartres, but I'll try to disguise the mistakes with icing. There may be a second attempt, stay tuned!

Attack of the Giant Cookie Press

2008-12-02T20:15:00.010-05:00

Finally used my massive "ergonomic" Williams-Sonoma Cookie Press. My old, regular-sized one broke, and when I tried to exchange it, the WS at Yorkdale only had this model. In the spirit of testing new cooks' tools, I decided to give it a try.

In some ways it's nice that you can fit an entire bowl of dough in at one time, but it makes it more difficult to change the die, and no one wants to make all their cookies the same! Problem is, it's a total bitch to squeeze it! The whole design is just foreign to me; I was an expert marksman with my old cookie press.

The final batch- only 36 cookies, where I used to get about 80 smaller ones, which was better for packaging and giving away. Took them all to work, and they were much appreciated. Cookie press is going to be exchanged for the smaller model, however.

Stand Back, I Have A Glue Gun!!

2008-11-29T13:41:00.005-05:00

The early 90s were fun, weren't they? Well, they were for me, but I wasn't paying a mortgage, or even rent, back then. I know that the lousy economy at the time is what helped elect Bill Clinton in the US, and that certain trends always seem to accompany lean economic times. Nesting, cocooning, or whatever the currently fashionable term might be, comes back in style when we all pretend that the thing that got us to the point of worldwide financial meltdown was the fact that we go out to dinner on occasion.

Whatever, I have decided to wholly embrace this "recession" (it isn't real if you use quotation marks, right?) by digging out old Martha Stewart Living magazines and getting insanely crafty. I will be baking a lot, but that's not unusual for me at Christmas, but this year marks a return to home made ornaments, decorations, gift wrap, and whatever other silly things my friends and I come up with.

I'm off to Michael's Craft Store to buy some provisions, and will update once some of the disastrous but fun results are in. It's a Good Thing!

Spends 2 Little

2008-11-27T19:46:00.005-05:00

OK, I get it. We're in a recession. Stocks are down, credit is tight, and shopping is considered as unseemly a habit as clipping your nails on the subway. Problem is, we need some shopping to get us out of this mess! Sure, if you make minimum wage selling shoes at Foot Locker, you shouldn't go into credit card debt for a 65" television, but extreme belt-tightening by everyone will only prolong the situation.

Tom Friedman says you should be home eating tuna fish , and no one should buy anything. This is supposedly the intelligent, and moral, choice. Oh, it's cool if you buy a 10 kg bag of lentils from No Frills, but buying anything "frivolous" is practically sinful. If you tell people you're going to the mall, they look at you like you said you were off to join the Manson family. But how will this help? An economy requires the exchange of goods and services, and if we all want jobs, we'd better start exchanging some cash for some goods.

Yesterday, Oprah told viewers that a great gift for a friend is a note card telling her how you feel about her. If Oprah were my friend and she gave me that for Christmas, it better have been pinned to a sable coat. Jesus, if the billionaires stop shopping, we are truly screwed.

So all of you gainfully employed people out there should get your asses to the mall, and do your North American duty: SHOP! Don't buy more than you can afford, but remember, if you choose to stick all your money in your mattress, you'll be able to lie on it all day, because your job will evaporate eventually.

"Worth" It?

2008-11-20T19:47:00.001-05:00

I needed some high heels to go with the black silk dress I'm wearing to the Look Good Feel Better Ball this Saturday. (Probably the last extravagant thing I'll be doing for a while. Free for us, but $650 a ticket, normally.) Of course I wanted the Jimmy Choo's I saw at Holt's, but really, $695 for black pumps? I wish I were in the financial bracket where that was considered, well, not insane, but alas I am not. My next dream was for a pair of Cole Haan Carma pumps, but I tried them on a few months ago and I can barely walk in them, beautiful though they are. They're also $298 in the US, so probably over $350 here. S2M is all about saving money these days, so I tried on a dozen pairs of pumps before finally scoring at, of all places, Town Shoes.

These Calvin Klein pumps have gel insoles, and the bottoms are cushiony rubber. They're not just classics, they're actually comfortable! at $140, still more than I should have spent, but they will be in style forever, so I'll recoup the money, I figure.

In the same vein, this article in the Times is really relevant and pretty funny. I will continue my efforts to try to save money. I know most of my attempts will be abject failures, of course, but let's see how I fare.

I Need A New Excuse!

2008-11-17T18:05:00.001-05:00

I always thought that being left-handed was great, but I also thought that it was why I was, and continue to be, a klutz. According to the Washington Post, being left-handed accounts for some of my verbal "skill", but it's not the reason I have permanent bruises on my shins from repeatedly walking into my own coffee table.

Take last night. First, I poured some couscous into a measuring cup, then I opened the cupboard above the counter. A bag of dried cranberries fell out and hit the cup of couscous, sending the little granules all over my kitchen. Then I attempted to put the carton of milk back in the fridge without taking my eyes off of Family Guy, so I missed the shelf and the carton hit the floor. As I struggled to clean up this sticky, pebbly mess, I let loose with a barrage of expletives that would have made John McCain cringe. Anyone who happened to be in the hallway of my apartment probably thinks I have Tourette's. Hell, sometimes I think I have it...

My point is, I had always thought that I was destined for a premature, if humourous, death because I'm left-handed. Turns out, I'm just clumsy. That's just so ordinary...

Mildred Pierce, R.I.P.

2008-11-16T17:24:00.001-05:00

Went to Oasi last night, for a preview of the restaurant opening in the space that used to be Mildred Pierce and The Cookworks. Made me want to barf to see the part that had been The Cookworks turned in to such a generic club space, with all the obvious design tricks- white-painted brick walls, pointless videos projected on the walls, and the same music you hear everywhere.

The restaurant part was nice, though. My main aesthetic concern with restaurants is the lighting, and this place had cool fixtures and subdued, flattering lighting. (I hate feeling like I'm in a giant tanning booth when I'm eating an expensive dinner.) The banquettes were upholstered in a subtle neutral stripe, and there was a mix of dark and light wood.

The menu was intriguing, and no more expensive than any other new restaurant in town. (That's another trend I hate: exorbitant pricing as a marketing gimmick.) There's an extensive wine list, with a bafflingly large selection of both reds and whites from Greece. I'll definitely go back for dinner, but I'll mourn the passing of Mildred Pierce, and look forward to Mildred's Temple Kitchen!

SPAM, A LOT!

2008-11-16T12:58:00.000-05:00

Oh Dear God...

Positively Annoying

2008-11-15T10:49:00.001-05:00

Most people these days appear to have vocabularies more limited than that of Koko, the gorilla who knows sign language. There are, according to some estimates, 171,476 words in the english language. If a gorilla knows 1000, I think we need to dig a little deeper when conversing among our fellow homo sapiens. The problem comes when we discover a deposit of superlatives, and start to stick them into every other sentence we utter.

Here are four words that make me cringe:

Amazing

Fantastic

Surreal

Awesome

These words are used interchangeably (and incorrectly), to mean good, fine, or acceptable. The problem is our overarching need for superlatives. Good no longer means good; it means merely average.

When someone asks you "How was your weekend?" and all you did was sit on the couch eating Pillsbury Cookie Dough, you say "It was amazing!" No, it wasn't.

If, on the weekend, you won the lottery or had a one-night stand with George Clooney, you may describe your weekend as amazing.

So I say save the superlatives for those moments in life that truly deserve them, like the aforementioned tapping of Mr. Clooney, savouring a fine Bordeaux, or when your friend who can't stand kids decides to have a baby. Now that's AMAZING!

Le Cordon Bleu

2008-11-08T20:34:00.000-05:00

I am dying to go back to Paris. I want to take more courses at Le Cordon Bleu. In 2006, we took one demonstration class- The Market Tour. A chef and interpreter haul you around Paris, to farmer's markets, and other highlights like Poilane bakery, Le Bon Marche, and other stores I can't remember right now.

We bought lots of delicious local produce, meats, and cheeses, and the chef served it all to us for lunch, while telling us the provenance of what we were eating. The fresh, local butter pictured below was so unbelievably flavourful I can't even describe it. When you come home and have butter from Loblaw's, your taste buds want to cry.

Then, the class began. We took notes and asked questions, and the chef made something simple- cod with a butter sauce of some kind, potatoes, and a dessert that was flambéed, (naturellement), and of course made it all look Tres Français. It's only November and I've got Cabin Fever here in boring Toronto. It's gonna be a long winter...

Another Picture of the Cupcakes

2008-11-08T20:10:00.000-05:00

Sandy helped me with the little Obama logos. Cupcakes are vanilla Barefoot Contessa flower cupcakes recipe, and the chocolate frosting is a recipe I haven't given to anyone, though it's out there in a very fine celebrity cookbook. Of course it is made with real 70% cocoa solids chocolate, not cocoa powder. Cocoa powder is for amateurs.

Obama-Rama

2008-11-08T19:52:00.000-05:00

America had a great night on Tuesday, and so did I. Had about 15 people over to watch the election returns. Happy that we had a result at 11PM, though I was prepared to stay awake all night if I had to. What the hell, I did it in 2000...

Served some good food. Made pulled pork in the crock pot. I'm sure my neighbours appreciated my searing the pork shoulder at 7AM, but it adds so much flavour. Made the standard Barefoot Contessa dips that I have been doing forever, and the prosciutto and cheese palmiers. I'm thinking it's time to retire those options, and come up with some new things to impress my guests next time. So I'll be trolling cookbooks and trying some new things.

Less Shopping, More Blogging

2008-10-02T17:50:00.000-04:00

I can't believe I just used "blog" as a verb. Surely I am too old for that. In any case, since the economy is in the crapper, I might as well write instead of run up my credit cards. I have been living like a junior Rockefeller on my vacations, and it's time to pay the piper. If the piper is Visa.