blaugra

Coffee-mate

Have I mentioned lately how much I love Coffeemate?  The international flavoured coffeemates especially Italian Sweet Creme.  I think I might like that more than I like coffee.  I think this is why I am probably prediabetic although my glucose levels are incredibly fine then again I don't trust that as an accurate indicator.

I have to go out and replenish my stock of Coffeemate anyway.

So I am back to the mundane after dealing with the sacred.  The "sacred and full of dread" day of Yom Kippur where I prayed that I would live another year despite my ingestion of gross Coffeemate. Where I cried one last time about my Grandma's passing during the mourner's kaddish. Where I vowed to be a better person and really make the changes I want to make to be better, which includes saying no to doing things that are too much unpleasant effort and saying yes to things that make the mundane annoyances in life go away.

During one week I drove all over the place, from the source of the Susquehanna River to the bottom of it, across the Delaware a few times - I felt like a truck driver. I drank lots of bad road coffee (that includes Charbucks Anniversary Blend...ew...and no Coffeemate!) I even stopped for donuts at a truck stop. I didn't stay there long lest they think I was a lot lizard. 

I'm not good with all that being-away-from-home, but I'm better now.

p.s. audio book recommendation:  David Sedaris' When You Are Engulfed In Flames.

Pickle Juice

I'm not exaggerating when I say I am going to North Bumfuck New York for my grandmother's funeral.  She and my family got the hell outta there 20-some years ago but that's where her cemetary is. 

This formerly cute industrial hamlet is dead in the water. It's beyond depressed.  It's a freaking ghost town. The old theatre, the one that went porno in the 1970s, is in condemned ruin.  My mother's high school graduating class had like 35 people and now I think they're in a one-room schoolhouse.  The biggest business in town is the funeral home. I haven't been there in a decade.

So I was confirming directions, and just wrote down the following notes from my mom for the final 20 miles of the journey:

"After you pass the lake, turn left onto Pickle Hill Road (unmarked.) Go up and down hills. Turn right at the river. You'll recognize it." 

I'm sure that Gabby-too, my Garmin GPS, knows the way.  And I can't wait to hear her say "pickle hill road."

Chi-cow-go

I was trying to remember the last time I visited Chicago, and it was exactly 10 years ago, summer of '99. I suck. I love Chicago, why don't I go there more often?

This visit was with my girl traveler who had a bright idea to go see the cows. I was all stupid. "What cows? Huh?" but as usual I came around to loving them.  We saw almost every one and took photos of almost every one. It took a few days.  Found the photo album last night and it really is a love letter to Chicago. 

Typical touristas: 

 

It's the bomb....pop!   Also da bomb (hey, it's 1999!) those big Candies sneaks. Wow.

 

Welcome to Miami / bienvenidos a Miami!

 

Mmmmm....Garretts Mix!

 

I believe I said, "It's like a cow-ride! Let's go!"  Note Marshall Fields bags.

 

And then, our girl Beth! came down from Milwaukee and apparently we posed with a Chicago business man of the city.

 

Was this near the Art Institute?  Near the Guernica-cow?  I can't remember.

 

"I love butterflies!"

Note how my nail polish matches my sweater which matches the cow. Totally planned.

  

This is my favorite shot, and not just cuz of the pretty dusk lighting the lake and the aquarium or museum back there. That's a great cow. And who knew then that in just a few years, girlfriend would be focused on la leche with her baby boys.

The little trip down pre-Y2K history got me all stoked for next week's trip!

The List.

Whenever I hang out with my girlie friend, we have some kind of fun agenda. 

Fun to us is, like, museums, eating, looking at cool buildings and people and stuff, shoe shopping, napping in the sun, and giggling for no apparent reason.

But we always have some kind of list of big things and small things that strike our fancy wherever we are - in the Berkshires, in the Big Apple, in Boston.  So, this was our list for last weekend. 

Girlie friend's husband said, "The List is TYPED?"  Yah, The List is typed, how else do I cut and paste from websites to The List? 

One of the rules of The List is that it can change at any time, as there are always more and better options.  I will elaborate on some of The List items, with visual aids, in the very near future.

 

Love letter

Dear New Orleans,

I think I love you.  You are so beautiful.  To me. 

I thought the place where I live was spirited, but the spirit of place in N.O. is so strong, so great, it hit me in the face as soon as I deplaned.

Much of the land and buildings ripped up by "the" hurricane are still woefully neglected by major government overhauling, but I've never seen such pride in gettin-r-done.  The media didn't tell this story quite right, they didn't - couldn't - tell us of the extent of the destruction nor the palpable feeling of rebirth and human kindness.  Brad Pitt has it right.

Til next time, 

LYMIB

N'awlins

I'm going to New Orleans next week.  Yeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!!!!

It's been on the calendar for so long, it seems, and I didn't realize how quickly it was coming up!!

I'll be there on Halloween. 

We have reservations at Antoine's and Commander's Palace. 

I have a short list of other eating establishments and things to do, but as of now, I'm kinda wingin' it.  We'll be there for 3 whole days.

I will hopefully run into Angelina and her brood here in the French Quarter. 

Any advice or recommendations for N.O. fun?  Bring 'em on!

taking leave

Of course I'm excited to return to bike week in Wildwood. I mean, duh.  It's only like one of my favorite happy places, full of skeeball and pancakes and an endless parade of interesting people. 

But today we're going to Atlantic City.  I haven't been in Atlantic City since visiting the Taj Mahal in 1990ish.  We're going to Caesar's which is dead center Boardwalk and has become all fancy like the Borgata.  We'll do some low-end gambling and some high-end eating.

One of our relatives is a regular whale at some of the AC casinos.  So we got a call from them that said, "Don't eat at any of the Caesar's restaurants, they're way too expensive.  Go to Buddakhan, and give them the whale's name." 

OK, first of all, Buddakhan is like one of the top 3 most expensive restaurants there, and secondly, what are we gonna do?  Say that we're "Abe Froman, Sausage King of Chicago," and see if we can con a comp?  I'm crafty but not that crafty.

Following that escapade we'll be right here.  $80 per night for oceanfront, shuffleboard and ping-pong (as if) and a penis-shaped pool!  We'll just have to avoid the syringes that could be washing up on the beach.  Nah, that's only happening in the preppier locales like Avalon. At least, in Wildwood, the beaches are free.

Toodles! or, how I did not get a new tattoo.

I really wanted another tattoo.  I got my first little bitty inkspot in San Diego so I thought, how cool would it be to get another one during my return to the city that caters to many a sailor.  Plus, my California comrades wanted some ink, so it would be a group effort.

Salty D. is firmly opposed to his ol' lady getting tattooed.  It's OK for other people, but not for his spouse.  So knowing that... I still wanted one.

We had a meet-up time at Nothing Sacred.  What's the big deal?  Well.  I'll tell ya.  Carly Smithson, "the tattooed Irish rocker" in American Idol's 2008 Top 10 is married to Todd, who runs this shop.  So we were excited to see Tattoed-Face-Guy from TV.  Also, my comrades thought he was cute.  Me, not so much.

During this time, Comic Con was going on downtown, near the shop. 

I thought this was just some weirdo convention, involving people who like to dress up as Buck Rogers, but apparently Dakota Fanning was also there, along with super-famous people in the world of entertainment. 

A sweaty guy was getting this tattoo:

While we were waiting for a tattooist to pay attention to us, we watched the artist at work.  Sweaty Guy was accompanied by two women, and all of them were taking photos of the work in progress. 

These women looked to me like they also enjoyed Renaissance Faires.  I asked one of them what the hell was going on. 

She said the tat was a logo representin the Legion of the Superheroes, and that there was this big international group who worshipped the Legion which is celebrating its 50th anniversary.  That sounds so impressive, right?  I said, is that like, Superman and Aquaman?  I watched that show in the 70s.

She looked at ME like I was the freak.  I'd just totally belittled their greatest passion.  Oops.  What a clueless bitch I am.

Sweaty Guy was obviously so committed to his job of being a Legion superfan (and a webmaster for a fansite - I think this is the one - I don't understand a word) he was scarring himself for life.  Cool.  I'll get one just like that.

So then I became more interested.  Tell me more about this convention - is it like, a Trekkie Tradeshow or what? That's when she told me all about the X-Files and Lost and basically any tv show or film or artist or author of any fantasy or sci-fi, there to meet fans and peddle their products.

And then, there are these furries - if I had kids, I wouldn't let them anywhere near the Furries.  Renaissance Woman said Furries come to the Con to, like, meet other Furries and, I guess, get their fur on. 

To this I would say, "The world is sick!"

And Mrs. Becker would respond, "It's not the world that's sick, it's the people in it!"

I didn't ask if Betty and Veronica and Archie showed up at these things. That's as far as I've gone into the world of comics. 

Back to American Idol - a much more reasonable obsession.  I don't think Renaissance Woman had any idea that this was the shop co-owned by the woman who got kicked off the show after singing Jesus Christ Superstar.   Jeeeeezus!

I expected Todd the Tattooed Love Boy to have photos of his wife around, but he did not.  She is on tour, and, rumor has it, the marriage is on the rocks. He didn't tell me that, I read it in that free STAR magazine I get at work. D-list fame is fleeting,  so she'd better hang on to that boy.

My comrades wanted to get their fingers tattooed, and were advised that not only is it one of the most painful spots, it also causes the ink to fade rather quickly - unless you wear gloves all the time and never wash dishes.

Then I talked to Todd.  I told him generally what I wanted, but that I didn't see anything in his books that resembled what I had in my head.  So he told me to go home, do research, come back with EXACTLY what I wanted because he didn't have the time to draw anything original, what with X-files fanatics wandering into the shop and all.  I had a hard time looking at his face, partly because of the dots on his head but also because he had something on his teeth too, and it wasn't taboulleh.

I did the research, slept on it, woke up to another gorgeous sunny San Diego day and proclaimed,  "I'm not getting the tattoo." 

I wasn't totally feelin' Todd.  I didn't have the confidence he could pull off exactly what I wanted.  Plus, I looked at his card.  He also goes by the name of Toodles. 

My first tattooist's name was Crash.  There's no way I could go from a Crash to a Toodles.  Forget it.

I had thought through it so much that in my mind, I already had it.  It's my fantasy tattoo, without the hassle and cost.

So, toodles!

Two Hours in Mexico

My cousin in San Diego reminded me to pack my passport, in case we decided to cross into Mexico.  We did not take the Tijuana trolley, too chaotic.  He suggested Tecate.

Oooh! I said, I love drinking the Tecate!

We turned on Gabby the GPS and told her to take us to the border.  Through the desert mountains and fascinating little places like Jamul and Dulzura, on windy roads we drove directly to Tecate, CA.  Crossing into Mexico is common for lots of you but not for me, and with all the talk about borders, I'm especially intrigued. 

Walking into Mexico is like walking into a party.  A really hot party where you think you're on someone else's turf and you need to remember not to drink the tap water.  Nobody hassles you like in Tijuana, Tecate is clean and laid back.  Great pics on this blog!

We walked to the brewery where a guard sat on a little white chair behind a white gate.  The sign said there would be a tour in 20 minutes.  Yesssss!  Then the guard said, no, only one tour today, in four hours.  Ugh.  And besides, we were wearing sandals which aren't allowed in the plant.  Oh well. Esta la tienda abierta? I aksed in broken Spanish.  Claro que si.  He unlocked the gate and let us in to go shopping.  I was looking for children's t-shirts and couldn't understand why there weren't any toddler-size Tecate souvenirs.  Hmm.

Tecate is my favorite beer to drink from a can. It just tastes better that way. And yet, I didn't drink any cerveza there.  I don't know why. It was like going to Hershey and not eating chocolate!   Estupida!

Well, this semi-interesting article shows the inside of the plant that we didn't see. 

It was so hot, I got a coconut popsicle which melted almost too fast for me to eat, but it was rico. 

We shuffled up the hill to the border.  Whereas the Mexican entrance involved simply walking through a really loud turnstile, the U.S. entrance was very orderly and intimidating.  An entry patio (not pictured here) was landscaped with flowers and a welcome to the USA sign, which we decided would make a great photo, but we were quickly told by an officer that seemed to pop up from nowhere that photos of "the operations" were prohibited.  I guess the non-native flowers that require extra watering are considered ops.  The inside was kool-conditioned, cold and official.  The guard didn't even look at my passport, just machine-scanned it.  I could have handed him a passport stolen from Gloria Matulevich in Joliet and not been noticed.

Border patrols were stationed on hilltops and roadsides. A few miles out of Tecate we were asked to stop and the U.S. guards looked into our car and waved us on.  If one of us weren't Euromix looking, what type of questions would they have asked us?   Despite the beauty of the drive and the mix of communities, the gorgeous farm produce stands, this border control bullshit left me unsettled.   

And, how weird is it for Tecate, Baja California residents to be on one side of the gate looking at Tecate, California but not be able to go there unless you have special papers?  And does the U.S. make it difficult for Mexicans to get papers?  And....why is that? 

Parting shot.  That's me and Steverino, because Timmy was, of course, buying a Fanta.  Flower in hair is fake, otherwise it would have been wilted.

stay classy

Had to say it.  I'm headed to sunny San Diego today!  I'm ready to shake off the negativity and have some more fun! 

So here is the last of my gray skies:

• I have a window seat in steerage, all the way in the back of the plane (where the seats are one inch narrower than most of the coach seats, I discovered) YESSSSSSS!  That will be great for my critical ass.
• I've overpacked clothing, which is better than underpacking, in my opinion. 
• When I pack, I always realize how crappy my shoes are.  How can a person who loves shoes have such uncomfortable or unstylish shoes?  I don't get it. 
• But I love my new Crocs.

The road in Newark on which my airport parking lot is on is flooded this morning.

But the Newark airport isn't the Philly airport, that's the good thing.  Maybe I'll have enough time to get a manicure at the Departure Spa.

Adios!