No I did not get up at 4 am to watch the royal wedding. I didn't do it in 1981 and I didn't do it today.
First things first. The dress is pretty. It's really pretty. It flatters her. It's elegant. It's also a total knock off of Grace Kelly's dress. And if I read one more nasty comment about Pippa also wearing white I think I'll scream. She looked lovely. Thank God she's not wearing mauve. Or puce. Bridesmaids dresses are notoriously horrible (ask me how I know). I'm sort of glad that the future Queen of England broke with tradition and had her sister also wear white.
Next up, the commentators keep referring to how young they are. Let's do a reality check here kids. They're both 29 years old. As far as I'm concerned, that's full grown. Diana was 20 when she married. That's young.
And maybe that's why I'm underwhelmed. These two have been together for years. This wedding was no big surprise. They are every other couple who ever met, fell in love and married. Diana came out of nowhere. If you look back at some of the early photos and drew a thought bubble on her, it's very easy to imagine it saying "Oh shit, what have I gotten myself into." In many ways, she was Cinderella. Yes it was a beautiful story but there were major elements of fear in it.
But, then again, maybe that's why we were all so enchanted by Diana. It was so random that it could have been any one of us who became a princess. I was 16 in 1981. Don't think it didn't cross my mind. As we aged with her, she kept doing things that were cool and made us want to be like her. My generation were the first teenagers who had to consider HIV/AIDS in our sexual growth. That was a big deal! It was terrifying. And she dealt with it. We also didn't experience war in the way that the generation immediately before and the one immediately after us did. And yet, she brought our attention to land mines.
Yes, much of her early career as a princess was Disney-fied but at some point, she walked into Cinderella's castle and rather than finding a wicked step mother, she found Gloria Steinem in a mini skirt and a "Cunt Power" button and she became the woman that we all hope to be.
I wish Will and Kate the best. They seem like a lovely couple and it's a genuine delight to see a royal couple who seem truly in love without any of the messiness that Charles brought to the table. I'm happy for them. Yes my feelings are a little hurt that I wasn't invited but then again, I don't really look good in a hat.
And of course, I had this stuck in my head all day.
Friday, April 29, 2011
Monday, April 4, 2011
10 Things You May Not Know About Me
Or maybe you do! I tend to be a bit of an open book.
The other day I accidentally bared my soul (add overly dramatic hand gesture here) to a big group of people. I told some things about myself that I hadn't gotten into with anyone else. And you know what, it was fine. I think I may have felt some sort of shame about it all but no one called me a loser or a jerk. Both friends and strangers were loving and kind.
So I decided to tell you some more things about me that you may not know.
1. I don't leave home without perfume on. Ever. I actually keep perfume in the car in case I forget. If I don't have makeup on--no biggie. If I forget to put my earrings on--so what. No perfume--I faint. And I wear old fashioned perfume. Either Chanel #5 or Miss Dior. And I love them. My grandmother wore Miss Dior and when I was a kid, I went Christmas shopping at Wanamaker's. Honestly, what the hell was a 10-year-old supposed to know about "gift with purchase"? In this case, it was a purchase with purchase. Dior had a special gift package that you could buy for $15 if you bought a bottle of Miss Dior perfume. It had that great houndstooth check that is the signature of their brand and it had soap and lotion and little bottles of pretty things that smelled good. The 15 bucks might as well have been $100 when it came to my budget. There was no way I could afford a bottle of perfume and the "special gift" but I wanted it for my Nanny so badly. The saleslady was SOOOOOOOO nice to me and she waited until someone bought perfume and didn't want the gift and then let me buy the gift. Lesson learned--your little act of kindness may be remembered close to 40 years later.
2. I learned how to knit from a book. It was EZ's "Knitting Without Tears" and I still have it. I was home sick and I was bored so I decided it was time. I was nine years old and I've been doing it ever since. I even tried knitting with thread and straight pins the next time I was home sick but it was way too fiddly for me. When I was about 12 years old I pretended that I didn't know how to knit. We were visiting my grandparents in Florida and the neighbors daughter was a bit of a loon. I think she may have just gotten out of rehab or been rescued from a cult (I'm not being silly here--I remember there being some sort of big 70s issue with her) and she decided she was going to teach me how to knit. I didn't want to hurt her feelings and I sort of got the sense that she needed to make the connection with someone so I let her "teach" me how to knit. In college, I pretended that I couldn't play the piano but that was only for an easy A. I finally had to confess to the teacher that I had about six years of piano lessons under my belt because he was getting ready to send me to Julliard because he thought I was some kind of savant. I had to tell him the truth because, yes, I can read music, and yes, I can technically play the piano but I have no gift for it. He forgave me and actually ended up get me a lot of work turning pages at local classical music concerts. I went to college in the Hamptons so there were a lot of them. P.S. Remind me someday to tell you about my piano teacher and her son. Hello, Mr. Hitchcock, have I got a story for you.
3. I love cheese but I hate cubed cheese. It's like biting soap.
4. I can handle any kind of blood and guts unless it involves snot, puke or poop. In a nutshell, if you chop your head off by accident, I could easily pick it up and carry it to the hospital for you. If your head got a runny nose on the way, I would gag, then gag some more and eventually vomit. And for some reason, there are people who find this funny.
5. I thinks it's funny when people fall. I don't know why but I always laugh. The only thing funnier to me is when I fall. When my friend Kathleen and I went to Paris for our 40th birthdays, we were walking through the Marais and I was not paying attention to where I was going and disappeared off a side walk. One minute I was there, the next I was gone. We laughed for hours (actually days). When we finally got to dinner and I staunched the bleeding from my knee, we had to explain to the people next to us why we were laughing so uncontrollably. Apparently, the French don't find falling as funny as I do. And, a bonus note for you, I am always amazed at how much damage you can do your knees without ripping your pants.
6. I can whistle through an acorn cap (or in a pinch, a bottle cap). It took me the entire summer of 1976 to learn how to do it but it was worth it. Whenever conversation lags, I find that "what's your most useless talent" is a good question to get things going again. Whistling through an acorn cap accomplishes nothing more than annoying the shit out of everyone around you. (Actually, learning how to whistle through an acorn cap is worse--I left a lot of spitty acorn caps around the house that summer.)
7. I can sing the soundtrack of Evita and Les Mis from start to finish. Please note that I didn't say I sang it well but I do know all the words.
8. I met Colleen Dewhurst when I was 16 years old. She was one of my favorite actresses and I was so excited that I started laughing. Which made her laugh. Which made me laugh harder. Which made her laugh harder. And so on and so on until we were both in a puddle on the floor. My father, who knew her from his work, thought it was hysterical and my friend who was with me was so freaked out about it that she started to cry.
9. I prefer a rainy day to a sunny day. I hate having the sun on my face. It's hot and I can't see. I think there's a bit of the Irish poet in me (or potato farmer) that appreciates the drama of the weather. Ironically, I love a sunny day at the beach. Sunburn be damned, I just enjoy it so much. I have a weird thing about swimming alone so if I want to go in the ocean, someone has to come with me. I will occasionally swim in a lake but I have a wild fear of bony hands grabbing my ankles in a lake. I can trace that fear directly back to the movie "Let's Scare Jessica to Death" (or as my father calls it, "Let's Scare the Shit Out of Jessica". If I have to swim in a lake I will actually keep swimming until I am on the beach without ever putting my feet down. Not an attractive process so I try to avoid it on first dates.
10. At one point in my career, I was the highest paid commercial DJ on Long Island. Which really meant nothing because radio pays crapola but it was still a distinction that I relished. I don't have a pretty voice at all but I do have a very distinctive voice which apparently is valuable in radio. When I first started, I loved it because we put together our own playlists and had some control over the music (within format of course). Then computers took over and they told me what to play, in what order and what to say at every break. Bleh. It sucked. Especially when I had to play the Divinyls song "I Touch Myself" and the format said that I had to come out of the song and say "I'm Karen Tumelty and I Touch Myself". By the way, I still know all the words to that song too.
The other day I accidentally bared my soul (add overly dramatic hand gesture here) to a big group of people. I told some things about myself that I hadn't gotten into with anyone else. And you know what, it was fine. I think I may have felt some sort of shame about it all but no one called me a loser or a jerk. Both friends and strangers were loving and kind.
So I decided to tell you some more things about me that you may not know.
1. I don't leave home without perfume on. Ever. I actually keep perfume in the car in case I forget. If I don't have makeup on--no biggie. If I forget to put my earrings on--so what. No perfume--I faint. And I wear old fashioned perfume. Either Chanel #5 or Miss Dior. And I love them. My grandmother wore Miss Dior and when I was a kid, I went Christmas shopping at Wanamaker's. Honestly, what the hell was a 10-year-old supposed to know about "gift with purchase"? In this case, it was a purchase with purchase. Dior had a special gift package that you could buy for $15 if you bought a bottle of Miss Dior perfume. It had that great houndstooth check that is the signature of their brand and it had soap and lotion and little bottles of pretty things that smelled good. The 15 bucks might as well have been $100 when it came to my budget. There was no way I could afford a bottle of perfume and the "special gift" but I wanted it for my Nanny so badly. The saleslady was SOOOOOOOO nice to me and she waited until someone bought perfume and didn't want the gift and then let me buy the gift. Lesson learned--your little act of kindness may be remembered close to 40 years later.
2. I learned how to knit from a book. It was EZ's "Knitting Without Tears" and I still have it. I was home sick and I was bored so I decided it was time. I was nine years old and I've been doing it ever since. I even tried knitting with thread and straight pins the next time I was home sick but it was way too fiddly for me. When I was about 12 years old I pretended that I didn't know how to knit. We were visiting my grandparents in Florida and the neighbors daughter was a bit of a loon. I think she may have just gotten out of rehab or been rescued from a cult (I'm not being silly here--I remember there being some sort of big 70s issue with her) and she decided she was going to teach me how to knit. I didn't want to hurt her feelings and I sort of got the sense that she needed to make the connection with someone so I let her "teach" me how to knit. In college, I pretended that I couldn't play the piano but that was only for an easy A. I finally had to confess to the teacher that I had about six years of piano lessons under my belt because he was getting ready to send me to Julliard because he thought I was some kind of savant. I had to tell him the truth because, yes, I can read music, and yes, I can technically play the piano but I have no gift for it. He forgave me and actually ended up get me a lot of work turning pages at local classical music concerts. I went to college in the Hamptons so there were a lot of them. P.S. Remind me someday to tell you about my piano teacher and her son. Hello, Mr. Hitchcock, have I got a story for you.
3. I love cheese but I hate cubed cheese. It's like biting soap.
4. I can handle any kind of blood and guts unless it involves snot, puke or poop. In a nutshell, if you chop your head off by accident, I could easily pick it up and carry it to the hospital for you. If your head got a runny nose on the way, I would gag, then gag some more and eventually vomit. And for some reason, there are people who find this funny.
5. I thinks it's funny when people fall. I don't know why but I always laugh. The only thing funnier to me is when I fall. When my friend Kathleen and I went to Paris for our 40th birthdays, we were walking through the Marais and I was not paying attention to where I was going and disappeared off a side walk. One minute I was there, the next I was gone. We laughed for hours (actually days). When we finally got to dinner and I staunched the bleeding from my knee, we had to explain to the people next to us why we were laughing so uncontrollably. Apparently, the French don't find falling as funny as I do. And, a bonus note for you, I am always amazed at how much damage you can do your knees without ripping your pants.
6. I can whistle through an acorn cap (or in a pinch, a bottle cap). It took me the entire summer of 1976 to learn how to do it but it was worth it. Whenever conversation lags, I find that "what's your most useless talent" is a good question to get things going again. Whistling through an acorn cap accomplishes nothing more than annoying the shit out of everyone around you. (Actually, learning how to whistle through an acorn cap is worse--I left a lot of spitty acorn caps around the house that summer.)
7. I can sing the soundtrack of Evita and Les Mis from start to finish. Please note that I didn't say I sang it well but I do know all the words.
8. I met Colleen Dewhurst when I was 16 years old. She was one of my favorite actresses and I was so excited that I started laughing. Which made her laugh. Which made me laugh harder. Which made her laugh harder. And so on and so on until we were both in a puddle on the floor. My father, who knew her from his work, thought it was hysterical and my friend who was with me was so freaked out about it that she started to cry.
9. I prefer a rainy day to a sunny day. I hate having the sun on my face. It's hot and I can't see. I think there's a bit of the Irish poet in me (or potato farmer) that appreciates the drama of the weather. Ironically, I love a sunny day at the beach. Sunburn be damned, I just enjoy it so much. I have a weird thing about swimming alone so if I want to go in the ocean, someone has to come with me. I will occasionally swim in a lake but I have a wild fear of bony hands grabbing my ankles in a lake. I can trace that fear directly back to the movie "Let's Scare Jessica to Death" (or as my father calls it, "Let's Scare the Shit Out of Jessica". If I have to swim in a lake I will actually keep swimming until I am on the beach without ever putting my feet down. Not an attractive process so I try to avoid it on first dates.
10. At one point in my career, I was the highest paid commercial DJ on Long Island. Which really meant nothing because radio pays crapola but it was still a distinction that I relished. I don't have a pretty voice at all but I do have a very distinctive voice which apparently is valuable in radio. When I first started, I loved it because we put together our own playlists and had some control over the music (within format of course). Then computers took over and they told me what to play, in what order and what to say at every break. Bleh. It sucked. Especially when I had to play the Divinyls song "I Touch Myself" and the format said that I had to come out of the song and say "I'm Karen Tumelty and I Touch Myself". By the way, I still know all the words to that song too.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
I Can't Believe I Missed It
I love Top Chef. I think it may be the only show in the history of TV that I would race home for. For whatever reason, it grabbed me day one and I've been hooked ever since.
Last night was the finale and I missed it. I just can't believe it. I was so tired yesterday (not to mention hungry--I was starving all day long). The day just got away from me. Had to get new front brakes. Meetings. Family dinner (if you're local, the food at Guardalajara is great). I laughed out loud when I got up this morning because my clothes were in a heap right in front of my front door! I decided to spend some time catching up on some home stuff but all I managed to do was return one phone call before I completely crashed. I had to cut short a perfectly lovely conversation because I just wasn't going to make it. I crawled into bed and got myself all cozy and then realized that it was Wednesday. And the finale. And I just couldn't do it. I did check this morning and my guy won (I won't spoil it if you haven't seen it yet) which is a huge relief. If he had lost, I would have blamed myself for not being there to root for him.
There has actually been some knitting going on here. I knocked out a quick gift for my office mate today. She's been working out and doing great so I whipped up this little iPod cozy for her. She bought herself a pair of lime green and black sneakers to inspire her to go the gym on schedule and I had this great bias tape that Pat (of the tomatoes) had dyed. Perfect with a big black button.
It's perfect for her!
Time to head to work. The upside of working 8 minutes from home and is I can push my mornings pretty far. If I hit the lights right, the ride is only about 5 minutes so wish me good green light karma today.
Last night was the finale and I missed it. I just can't believe it. I was so tired yesterday (not to mention hungry--I was starving all day long). The day just got away from me. Had to get new front brakes. Meetings. Family dinner (if you're local, the food at Guardalajara is great). I laughed out loud when I got up this morning because my clothes were in a heap right in front of my front door! I decided to spend some time catching up on some home stuff but all I managed to do was return one phone call before I completely crashed. I had to cut short a perfectly lovely conversation because I just wasn't going to make it. I crawled into bed and got myself all cozy and then realized that it was Wednesday. And the finale. And I just couldn't do it. I did check this morning and my guy won (I won't spoil it if you haven't seen it yet) which is a huge relief. If he had lost, I would have blamed myself for not being there to root for him.
There has actually been some knitting going on here. I knocked out a quick gift for my office mate today. She's been working out and doing great so I whipped up this little iPod cozy for her. She bought herself a pair of lime green and black sneakers to inspire her to go the gym on schedule and I had this great bias tape that Pat (of the tomatoes) had dyed. Perfect with a big black button.
It's perfect for her!
Time to head to work. The upside of working 8 minutes from home and is I can push my mornings pretty far. If I hit the lights right, the ride is only about 5 minutes so wish me good green light karma today.
Sunday, March 13, 2011
All My Jazz
When I die, I want a big, Bob Fosse musical number just like the end of All That Jazz. But instead of Ben Vereeen, I want Will.i.am. And instead of Ann Reinking I want Lady Gaga.
But I do want both Ben and Ann (and John Lithgow) to make cameo appearances.
The last 20 minutes of All That Jazz may be some of the best cinema ever made. If nothing else, the love scene between Roy Scheider and the dying old woman in the hospital is probably the most romantic, erotic, loving kiss on film.
I was raised on Broadway shows. I saw Ben Vereen in Pippin when I was 8 years old. I was the only kid in my 5th grade class who could argue the pros and cons of Fosse vs. Bennett. The only show that my parents didn't take us to was Hair and I think that was not because they thought we would be shocked or damaged by the (deep breath) nudity but because they didn't want to have to deal with all of our questions in the car on the way home. What were they smoking Mommy? Why was that man naked Daddy? What's a hippie and can we tie dye my pajamas when we get home?
When I was a freshman in high school my aunt won a cruise in a raffle. And she took my sister with her. Surprisingly, I didn't really care. But it seems that everyone and their brother was worried that I might be upset by it so I was treated like a queen. Pop's station house was in the midst of the theater district so we knew a lot of theater folks growing up.
There was a wonderful wonderful named Bill Kahn who I fell truly, madly and deeply in love with when I was about 6 years old. We would often run into Bill at Gallagher's Steakhouse and he would sit me at the bar and we would have a cocktail together--a Shirley Temple (on the rocks please) for me and a martini (I think it was a martini) for him. We would nibble on cocktail peanuts and chat about things like school and learning how to read and how to add. He was a role model for me on how to be an adult with children.
And that fateful week when my sister was on a cruise, Bill took me to Broadway. He took me to MacBeth at the Circle in the Square. He took me dinner. And, be still me heart, he took me to the opening night party for Pirates of Penzance in the upstairs room at Gallagher's. With (hold your breath) that 1979 heartthrob, Rex Smith. Who took my breath away. And I met Barbara Feldon (yeah--dammit--Hello 99!). I still have the cocktail napkin with Rex's autograph on one side and Barbara's on the other.
They're both also invited to the big musical number when I die.
But I do want both Ben and Ann (and John Lithgow) to make cameo appearances.
The last 20 minutes of All That Jazz may be some of the best cinema ever made. If nothing else, the love scene between Roy Scheider and the dying old woman in the hospital is probably the most romantic, erotic, loving kiss on film.
I was raised on Broadway shows. I saw Ben Vereen in Pippin when I was 8 years old. I was the only kid in my 5th grade class who could argue the pros and cons of Fosse vs. Bennett. The only show that my parents didn't take us to was Hair and I think that was not because they thought we would be shocked or damaged by the (deep breath) nudity but because they didn't want to have to deal with all of our questions in the car on the way home. What were they smoking Mommy? Why was that man naked Daddy? What's a hippie and can we tie dye my pajamas when we get home?
When I was a freshman in high school my aunt won a cruise in a raffle. And she took my sister with her. Surprisingly, I didn't really care. But it seems that everyone and their brother was worried that I might be upset by it so I was treated like a queen. Pop's station house was in the midst of the theater district so we knew a lot of theater folks growing up.
There was a wonderful wonderful named Bill Kahn who I fell truly, madly and deeply in love with when I was about 6 years old. We would often run into Bill at Gallagher's Steakhouse and he would sit me at the bar and we would have a cocktail together--a Shirley Temple (on the rocks please) for me and a martini (I think it was a martini) for him. We would nibble on cocktail peanuts and chat about things like school and learning how to read and how to add. He was a role model for me on how to be an adult with children.
And that fateful week when my sister was on a cruise, Bill took me to Broadway. He took me to MacBeth at the Circle in the Square. He took me dinner. And, be still me heart, he took me to the opening night party for Pirates of Penzance in the upstairs room at Gallagher's. With (hold your breath) that 1979 heartthrob, Rex Smith. Who took my breath away. And I met Barbara Feldon (yeah--dammit--Hello 99!). I still have the cocktail napkin with Rex's autograph on one side and Barbara's on the other.
They're both also invited to the big musical number when I die.
Friday, March 11, 2011
A Biscuit A Muffin and A Scone Walk into a Bar....
There's a piece of my soul that will always exist only on the east end of Long Island. In 1987 when I graduated from college, a unique opportunity arose and I ended up staying in the Hamptons. And I loved it. I lived with three wonderful guys in beautiful homes (okay one was ugly but we still made it a beautiful home). When we split up (all for good reasons) I ended up in just about the cutest apartment in Sag Harbor that has ever existed.
When I left, I left abruptly. And that is one of the greatest regrets of my life. I left many friends behind and I left an extraordinary lifestyle behind. This was all pre-internet and pre-facebook so it wasn't as simple as it is now to stay connected. I had a wonderful way of life but I really struggled financially there. By the time I chose to leave, I was managing a very cool restaurant from 7 am to 5 pm, running home, changing clothes, working at a radio station from 7 pm to 1 am and then working (at the very least) Friday and Saturday nights waiting tables. On the side, I was producing (and occasionally performing in) some really interesting theater.
And it was impossible to make ends meet.
I had no cable. My air conditioner sucked. And, thank you LILCO, even though I was only home for 2 hours a day and it was during daylight, my electric bill was outrageous. I had my pride and I had my ocean but I also had really cheap cat food and jug wine.
I still go back and visit but it's not the same as living there. Especially since the Amagansett Farmers Market is gone.
It wasn't what you think of as a traditional farmers market. It was a real store with real departments but it was decades ahead of its time. The focus was on local food and local vendors and/or interesting food and interesting vendors. And you have to put this in context. It was the the 80s. Reagan was president. Everyone (except me) was making money. Sting was still weird. Charlie Sheen took our breath away in Platoon. The Twin Towers were still glittering on the NYC skyline. Bob Geldof was feeding the world and we really didn't have a lot to worry about.
If you got to the Amagansett Farmers Market at the right time on Sunday morning you could get cheddar scones. Oh the cheddar scones. They were wonderful. Herby. Cheesy. Flaky. Warm from the oven. And gone in a flash if you weren't there on time. And if you didn't get them, the week seemed so very long until you had the chance to get them again.
The years progressed.
I moved back to Westchester County. I have a nice life here.
The Amagansett Farmers Market closed (heartbreak) but a cultural movement toward local food and real farming arose (thank you Judy Wicks and Dan Barber). The internet and facebook allowed me to reconnect with some (although not all) of the people from my past who I cherished and missed. My local farmers market is amazing (thank you Pasquale).
But I couldn't find those damn scones.
I tried the Barefoot Contessa's but they just weren't the same. She's an east end girl (suddenly I'm humming Pet Shop Boys) as well and I worship her but they just didn't cut it.
The other day I found this.
It's as close to perfection as I have found. I made them with heavy cream because my milk was spoiled so I had to bake them longer and they were a little moister than they should have been but it was like taking a step back in time flavor-wise.
I could just about smell the ocean.
When I left, I left abruptly. And that is one of the greatest regrets of my life. I left many friends behind and I left an extraordinary lifestyle behind. This was all pre-internet and pre-facebook so it wasn't as simple as it is now to stay connected. I had a wonderful way of life but I really struggled financially there. By the time I chose to leave, I was managing a very cool restaurant from 7 am to 5 pm, running home, changing clothes, working at a radio station from 7 pm to 1 am and then working (at the very least) Friday and Saturday nights waiting tables. On the side, I was producing (and occasionally performing in) some really interesting theater.
And it was impossible to make ends meet.
I had no cable. My air conditioner sucked. And, thank you LILCO, even though I was only home for 2 hours a day and it was during daylight, my electric bill was outrageous. I had my pride and I had my ocean but I also had really cheap cat food and jug wine.
I still go back and visit but it's not the same as living there. Especially since the Amagansett Farmers Market is gone.
It wasn't what you think of as a traditional farmers market. It was a real store with real departments but it was decades ahead of its time. The focus was on local food and local vendors and/or interesting food and interesting vendors. And you have to put this in context. It was the the 80s. Reagan was president. Everyone (except me) was making money. Sting was still weird. Charlie Sheen took our breath away in Platoon. The Twin Towers were still glittering on the NYC skyline. Bob Geldof was feeding the world and we really didn't have a lot to worry about.
If you got to the Amagansett Farmers Market at the right time on Sunday morning you could get cheddar scones. Oh the cheddar scones. They were wonderful. Herby. Cheesy. Flaky. Warm from the oven. And gone in a flash if you weren't there on time. And if you didn't get them, the week seemed so very long until you had the chance to get them again.
The years progressed.
I moved back to Westchester County. I have a nice life here.
The Amagansett Farmers Market closed (heartbreak) but a cultural movement toward local food and real farming arose (thank you Judy Wicks and Dan Barber). The internet and facebook allowed me to reconnect with some (although not all) of the people from my past who I cherished and missed. My local farmers market is amazing (thank you Pasquale).
But I couldn't find those damn scones.
I tried the Barefoot Contessa's but they just weren't the same. She's an east end girl (suddenly I'm humming Pet Shop Boys) as well and I worship her but they just didn't cut it.
The other day I found this.
It's as close to perfection as I have found. I made them with heavy cream because my milk was spoiled so I had to bake them longer and they were a little moister than they should have been but it was like taking a step back in time flavor-wise.
I could just about smell the ocean.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Been too long!
Things have just gotten crazy (in a good way this time) and I am finally settling back into some sort of a normal schedule.
I've had a whole lot to tell you all but I'm on the run so I'm going to dump a load of random things into your lap for you to play with. Kind of like dumping out your mother's jewelry box or your father's tool box when you were a little kid.
1. My new job is very cool. Today I got to drop off a big box of brownies for some hero firefighters. Sweet!
2. I felt bad that I had gotten mad at the firefighters for being late for the parade on Sunday but I don't think they actually noticed I was mad so it's not that big a deal.
3. Dead battery. Pop. Live battery. Dead battery. Nice co-workers. Live battery. Dead battery. Pop's car. Pop. Live Battery. Sam. New battery (and oil change). That pretty much sums up yesterday and today.
4. I swear I'm going to start chart C on my Metamorphosis sweater when I get home. I swear.
5. I swear I'm not going to pick up the pretty little thing I started while I was waiting for the printer and play with that instead. It's knit from Cherry Tree Hill Possum Laceweight in Wild Cherry and it's beautiful.
6. It's fun to tell people that you are going home to play with your pink possum. Because it sounds like it's dirty but it's not.
7. It's also fun to tell them that your pink possum is really fluffy. Same reason.
8. Bunch of stressy people at work today. It's amazing to me how much good an old fashioned pizza lunch can do for the soul.
Back soon. With pictures. And more BadKitten songs.
xo
I've had a whole lot to tell you all but I'm on the run so I'm going to dump a load of random things into your lap for you to play with. Kind of like dumping out your mother's jewelry box or your father's tool box when you were a little kid.
1. My new job is very cool. Today I got to drop off a big box of brownies for some hero firefighters. Sweet!
2. I felt bad that I had gotten mad at the firefighters for being late for the parade on Sunday but I don't think they actually noticed I was mad so it's not that big a deal.
3. Dead battery. Pop. Live battery. Dead battery. Nice co-workers. Live battery. Dead battery. Pop's car. Pop. Live Battery. Sam. New battery (and oil change). That pretty much sums up yesterday and today.
4. I swear I'm going to start chart C on my Metamorphosis sweater when I get home. I swear.
5. I swear I'm not going to pick up the pretty little thing I started while I was waiting for the printer and play with that instead. It's knit from Cherry Tree Hill Possum Laceweight in Wild Cherry and it's beautiful.
6. It's fun to tell people that you are going home to play with your pink possum. Because it sounds like it's dirty but it's not.
7. It's also fun to tell them that your pink possum is really fluffy. Same reason.
8. Bunch of stressy people at work today. It's amazing to me how much good an old fashioned pizza lunch can do for the soul.
Back soon. With pictures. And more BadKitten songs.
xo
Sunday, February 6, 2011
The Billy Hickey Theory of Football
Let me preface this by saying that I love Super Bowl Sunday. I love the parties. I love the pageantry. I love the half-time show. I love the ads. I love the fans.
But I really don't understand football.
Now don't get me wrong. I get the basics. Take the ball to the endzone--you get points. Kick it through that big tuning fork--you get points. It's the nuances and all little tiny rules that totally evade me.
Thus the Billy Hickey Theory of Football. You may be asking yourself, "Who on earth is Billy Hickey?" Well Billy is that kid that every one of us had in our neighborhood growing up. Remember that kid who ran with your group who was sort of a nerd and everyone sort of picked on him but he was OUR nerd and WE could pick on him and God help the person outside our group who tried to start with him.
I call that kid Billy Hickey.
I believe that football was created solely to make sure that Billy Hickey could never win. Picture it, if you will. A bunch of boys have a ball that is not really round any more. One of their Dad's probably ran over it in the driveway. As the dad drove away, I'm imagining he yelled out the window "you're lucky it wasn't your damn foot!" But the ball still has air in it and you can still throw it. It just doesn't really bounce any more. So they make up a game and they decide to call it football.
The plan is they split into two teams--most likely shirts and skins--and declare each end of the parking lot the "end zone". The goal is for each team to get the ball down to the opposite end of the field and into the end zone. At this point, Billy Hickey points out that this is somewhat derivative of Dungeon Dodge.
The cute boy in the group (the one that all us girls sitting on the wall watching are secretly hoping is on the skins team) makes the first rule. No Billy he says, it's not like Dungeon Dodge at all. You can throw the ball and run with it but all the guys on the other team can try to knock you down. Frankly, I think the whole knocking each other down thing is a direct result of "Cute Boy" being annoyed at Billy for using the word derivative.
But I digress.
So the boys start knocking each other down and realize that this is going to be really hard so they make another rule. You only have to get ten yards without losing the ball completely and then you get to start over again and try for another ten yards. Since this is directly related to the whole knocking down thing, they calls these "downs".
So "Cute Boy" gets the ball and makes it 2 yards. "Funny Boy" gets the ball and makes it another 2 yards. "Dumb Boy" gets the ball and makes it another 2 yards. "Smart-ass Boy" gets the ball and, lo and behold, makes it 2 more yards.
Then Billy gets the ball and makes it 3 yards. Whoo Hoo! Billy is excited. He has made the 10 yards. And at that point, the other team calls a time out and makes another rule. You only have four "downs" so, sorry Billy, you're outaluck!
Of course Billy agrees to this. As he picks himself up off the ground, he realizes that his ice cream money has fallen out of his pocket. "Smart-ass Boy" tries to steal one of his quarters but "Cute Boy" gives him knuckle punches until he gives Billy his quarter back. The rest of the boys raz him and call him "Quarterback" for the rest of the day.
The afternoon progresses. The game progresses (with a lot of stopping and starting) and every time Billy Hickey succeeds, there's a time out while everyone decides that, no Billy, you didn't succeed. You see, there was another rule. But good try Buddy. Maybe next time.
Oh no Billy, you're thinking of a yellow flag. That move gets a red flag--it's different.
Oh no Billy, you can't stand over their off to the side waiting for the ball. You were offsides.
Oh no Billy, when you kicked the ball, even though it went over the sidewalk, it didn't go between those two trees. Sorry, no points for you.
And so on and so on until the streetlights come on and everyone has to go home. Rather than doing his homework that night, "Dumb Boy" spends the evening writing down all of the rules which he painstakingly copies out for everyone and hands them out at school the next day.
And that's how we got Football.
Happy Super Bowl Sunday everyone. And may the best team win.
P.S. Billy Hickey went on to make millions in the tech market and he has a private box at the stadium. He flew there on his private plane with his private chef and his super model wife.
"Cute Boy" went bald; "Funny Boy" is still telling the same jokes; "Smart-ass Boy" got arrested for stealing a car and then leaving his driver's license in the glove compartment; and "Dumb Boy" turned out to be a really, really good snow plow driver. They are all watching the game together in the basement of the Dad who ran over the ball in the first place.
But I really don't understand football.
Now don't get me wrong. I get the basics. Take the ball to the endzone--you get points. Kick it through that big tuning fork--you get points. It's the nuances and all little tiny rules that totally evade me.
Thus the Billy Hickey Theory of Football. You may be asking yourself, "Who on earth is Billy Hickey?" Well Billy is that kid that every one of us had in our neighborhood growing up. Remember that kid who ran with your group who was sort of a nerd and everyone sort of picked on him but he was OUR nerd and WE could pick on him and God help the person outside our group who tried to start with him.
I call that kid Billy Hickey.
I believe that football was created solely to make sure that Billy Hickey could never win. Picture it, if you will. A bunch of boys have a ball that is not really round any more. One of their Dad's probably ran over it in the driveway. As the dad drove away, I'm imagining he yelled out the window "you're lucky it wasn't your damn foot!" But the ball still has air in it and you can still throw it. It just doesn't really bounce any more. So they make up a game and they decide to call it football.
The plan is they split into two teams--most likely shirts and skins--and declare each end of the parking lot the "end zone". The goal is for each team to get the ball down to the opposite end of the field and into the end zone. At this point, Billy Hickey points out that this is somewhat derivative of Dungeon Dodge.
The cute boy in the group (the one that all us girls sitting on the wall watching are secretly hoping is on the skins team) makes the first rule. No Billy he says, it's not like Dungeon Dodge at all. You can throw the ball and run with it but all the guys on the other team can try to knock you down. Frankly, I think the whole knocking each other down thing is a direct result of "Cute Boy" being annoyed at Billy for using the word derivative.
But I digress.
So the boys start knocking each other down and realize that this is going to be really hard so they make another rule. You only have to get ten yards without losing the ball completely and then you get to start over again and try for another ten yards. Since this is directly related to the whole knocking down thing, they calls these "downs".
So "Cute Boy" gets the ball and makes it 2 yards. "Funny Boy" gets the ball and makes it another 2 yards. "Dumb Boy" gets the ball and makes it another 2 yards. "Smart-ass Boy" gets the ball and, lo and behold, makes it 2 more yards.
Then Billy gets the ball and makes it 3 yards. Whoo Hoo! Billy is excited. He has made the 10 yards. And at that point, the other team calls a time out and makes another rule. You only have four "downs" so, sorry Billy, you're outaluck!
Of course Billy agrees to this. As he picks himself up off the ground, he realizes that his ice cream money has fallen out of his pocket. "Smart-ass Boy" tries to steal one of his quarters but "Cute Boy" gives him knuckle punches until he gives Billy his quarter back. The rest of the boys raz him and call him "Quarterback" for the rest of the day.
The afternoon progresses. The game progresses (with a lot of stopping and starting) and every time Billy Hickey succeeds, there's a time out while everyone decides that, no Billy, you didn't succeed. You see, there was another rule. But good try Buddy. Maybe next time.
Oh no Billy, you're thinking of a yellow flag. That move gets a red flag--it's different.
Oh no Billy, you can't stand over their off to the side waiting for the ball. You were offsides.
Oh no Billy, when you kicked the ball, even though it went over the sidewalk, it didn't go between those two trees. Sorry, no points for you.
And so on and so on until the streetlights come on and everyone has to go home. Rather than doing his homework that night, "Dumb Boy" spends the evening writing down all of the rules which he painstakingly copies out for everyone and hands them out at school the next day.
And that's how we got Football.
Happy Super Bowl Sunday everyone. And may the best team win.
P.S. Billy Hickey went on to make millions in the tech market and he has a private box at the stadium. He flew there on his private plane with his private chef and his super model wife.
"Cute Boy" went bald; "Funny Boy" is still telling the same jokes; "Smart-ass Boy" got arrested for stealing a car and then leaving his driver's license in the glove compartment; and "Dumb Boy" turned out to be a really, really good snow plow driver. They are all watching the game together in the basement of the Dad who ran over the ball in the first place.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)