Hall of Fame

Thursday evening we took Sam to O-State's community Halloween event - they invite local families to a kids oriented carnival and then escort them through a number of residence halls for trick or treating. Since Tim and I are obviously familiar with campus, we went off on our own, unescorted. We're crazy like that.

I wanted to visit Ford Hall, where I was the director from 1999-2001. It was renovated shortly after I left (that's always the way it goes), and I was curious about the changes. Apparently we were the first family there; as we approached the entrance, a group of students showered us with attention. They discussed who would escort us around, and were having some difficulty deciding on the best route. "Should I tell them?" I asked Tim. He just shrugged. I cleared my throat, "I used to be the hall director here, I know my way around - we can go on our own." Blank stares. A half nod in the back. I think someone said, "Aw." Aw? That's it?? Did they hear me right? I was once virtually Numero Uno in this place...hello? Don't you want to know about all the stories and wisdom and observations I have to impart on you? Why are you not all buzzing around me?

A bespectacled girl came forward and preceded to lead our way. She was pleasant enough, but I wondered...is she just waiting to get me away from the group to ask me all about my past tenure?

I made observations as we walked through the building. The layout was actually a little more complex than I remembered, but of course I didn't admit that. Shh. I asked her if she was a Resident Assistant in the building, hoping to flatter her, to make her feel like it was now ok for her to show her regard for me..."Nope. Hall Government." She chirped happily, and went on to explain how Hall Government helps to plan out the event. As if this was new information to me.
"The sisal on the wall is nice." I said. Wow, at least Sam is having a good time.

We went down another level and she announced the ground floor. "Ah, the Pit," I said knowingly, "or as Res Life would like us to say, the Garden Level." Silence. Come on, that was funny. Tim? Nothing. E tu, Sam? Ugh.

On our way back up I pointed out that they'd re-treaded the stairs. "Really?" she said flatly. I suppose that wasn't so impressive to her. But they really did look better.

Sam did a great job - he said trick or treat and thank you to most of the students, but toward the end, he was more interested in his bounty than making his way out of the building with us.

We thanked spectacles. Oh look, new carpet in the lounge. Sigh.

Back in the car Tim asked me what's wrong with me. That's the dumbest question, isn't it? Nothing and everything, clearly. "Re-treaded stairs, Cristina? Really? Who points that out? Do you think they care?" OK, so maybe he had a point. We laughed. Maybe if I put myself in their shoes, I wouldn't be awestruck by some old dorky director popping in either, as if they were a celebrity. But for a few minutes, I thought maybe, just maybe, I had some kind of a mystical legacy to the residents of a coed state dorm. Everyone wants to be a little bit famous in their own circles.

Catharsis by infomercial

It's no secret I'm on the left side of the fence. That aside, I believe that like many of us, I'm fairly objective and savvy when it comes to political spin and bull. It's loud, clear, and pretty obvious from both sides - c'mon it's politics. Duh. And with that, I was a little bit hesitant about Obama's network time tonight. I wondered if it would be too over the top, too glitzy, or preachy.

I started to watch it carefully, but by the middle of it, I was in tears. More than tears - I was on the edge of the couch, sobbing. I realize that a good movie can do this too, of course, and I also know that this was a smartly put together piece - but it simply transcended that. In each of the people highlighted, I could see myself and my family both now and in the future. It was wonderful and worrisome. It was an excellent argument, and most importantly, a positive and uniting one. It made me feel American. I can only speak for myself of course, but I do think that a generation of us have trouble feeling patriotic, and quite honestly, could care less about petty implications and politics of the past. Our conduct in the world has been an embarrassment over the past eight years, and our image is terribly broken. As a friend of mine mentioned, it seems like willful ignorance is taking over. Not only that, but we've been warned that we are the first generation that won't do better than our parents - in fact, to do as well as they have will be a long shot.

I believe that the dream is broken, and I've been bitter and disenchanted about America and my family's future. It's quite a feat to make me feel patriotic and hopeful, and Obama does that. I believe that's a crucial component in uniting us. This election strikes me as a turning point - a generational stand to say STOP this bullshit, people, and get back to humanity and dignity and supporting working people. No one has been more divisive, juvenile, and negative than the Republican campaign and the right - and what's worse is that many of them do it in the name of patriotism, some in the name of fear and race, and most disturbing, in the name of God. It's frustrating, sad, and at times, downright nauseating.

I'm on the left because I cannot understand why health care shouldn't be a birthright of every citizen; because I am sickened that 40 years of work may not support me and my husband and my friends and family in retirement; because I don't understand or accept this disastrous and wrongful war, wrong from its very conception. I don't understand how despite doing 'all the right things', so many of us still cringe when we buy groceries and heating oil. I don't understand why abortion continues to dominate politics, even though very few people (relatively speaking) will actually ever have to deal directly with the issue. I don't understand why people spout religion and patriotism over education and advancement. Education and advancement of a country and its people is true patriotism, isn't it? Questioning the deployment of troops is very patriotic - blindly following the 'wisdom' of the administration is, as evidenced by this debacle, most certainly not patriotic, and aids in fueling anti-American sentiment. I'm on the left because I don't understand how "drill baby drill" can be the mantra on anyone's tongue. I'm on the left because I don't understand why the rich shouldn't pay more taxes or why capitalism shouldn't be scrutinized. I don't understand how being a POW, albeit an honorable and extreme experience, makes you qualified to lead our country TODAY. McCain is dated, surly, and careless (evidence:Palin) and knee-jerk (you can call it maverick), and that's probably the worst combination to put out there in an unstable world.

Tuesday is the time for a complete 180 - I'm proud to have contributed to Obama's campaign and tonight I'm happy to know that some of that went toward this historic production. I have never contributed to any campaign before. I wish I could have given more - this year we've had to tighten our belts, but we didn't flinch at making a small contribution to Obama. And clearly, millions of Americans feel the same. I hope Americans will take a stand and make history on Tuesday and choose humanity and peace over war mongering and corporate greed. And if we choose McCain, then I will be convinced that half the country chose willful, shameful, and disgraceful ignorance as its mode of operation.

I'd like to end with a nod to our nutty undecideds, as beautifully crafted by the one and only David Sedaris:

"To put them in perspective, I think of being on an airplane. The flight attendant comes down the aisle with her food cart and, eventually, parks it beside my seat. “Can I interest you in the chicken?” she asks. “Or would you prefer the platter of shit with bits of broken glass in it?”

To be undecided in this election is to pause for a moment and then ask how the chicken is cooked."

Progress is good

The house project is just about done. The outside work (siding, roof, framing out front porch) is complete. We are putting off the new patio until Spring, so there's a sort of temporary gravel pit in the back, but with winter coming, I don't mind it for now. Inside work is about half way there - we took on some of the finish work to save on costs, but since Tim is so busy, the progress is slow. Essentially we need to paint trim and finish some cosmetic stuff. Here is a before & after.


We finally moved the treadmill back out to the porch! I'm so happy about this - having it in the living room was claustrophobic and un-motivating. I had the worst workouts in the living room - the first day I was back out on the porch, I had a great run, which further convinces me that a big part of fitness is a head game. I'm a creature of habit when it comes to working out too - I have a hard time incorporating new routines, and no matter what they are I never feel like it's a 'real' workout unless there's running involved. I know that's silly. Some of you will understand.

Notice the TV on the articulated arm. Tim started running last spring and decided we (he) needed a TV in front of the treadmill. We've had this treadmill for five years, and all that time I was the only one that used it. Did he ever think to ask me if I wanted a TV? Negative. In fact, I never thought of one. I was quite happy with my portable CD player back in the day, and later my MP3 player - but now I have to have all sorts of sensory stimulation: 70 channels, 200 music files, and the scenery too. The remote is velcroed (is that a verb?) on to the controls. It's not state-of-the-art but it sure beats paying gym fees.

You can also see that we still have some painting to do around the windows and such. When the wider end of the porch is finished and cleaned up, I plan to move a few pieces of furniture back in and create a sunny sitting area. It is a sun porch, after all. It will be a great place to have tea. But I don't drink tea. It will be a great place for coffee.

It's a hot mess on that side though, so no picture until it's all cute and fab.

A wish list

Not that I expect anything. Just keeping you updated on a few of my new favorite things. Like Oprah's Favorite Things. Except I don't actually own these at the moment and don't have 300 extra to give out to my audience. And I don't have a show. Or a production company.
So let's just pretend that you're in my audience, and this blog is my show and this episode is Cristina's Favorite Things, and you oooh and ahhhh and scream wildly at each item as you scroll down through.

I'm in the market for new dishes. Everyone gets a set of this fabulous Dansk dinnerware! Of course, you can't think of dinnerware without thinking of fabulous ingredients. Everyone will be shipped 20 cases of this Dean & Deluca extra virgin olive oil. Calm down, calm down.

What's great dinnerware and wonderful oil going to do for you unless you can be in the kitchen looking amazing in these suede killers from Ralph Lauren. What, you don't cook in jeans and $500 purple heels?


I really want a circle pendant necklace. I'd also like to start wearing more gold again - I think it works well with my complexion. I want to bring out the Mediterranean in me. It's trendy to be Mediterranean. And even if you're not, all your friends will be jealous of this amazing piece by David Yurman.


I absolutely love these silk drapes from Pottery Barn. At $129 for ONE panel, I'd have to get 1 and cut it into six. But of course all of you will be bringing home 20 panels, so even if your color scheme is different, too bad - these are bound to be nicer than yours anyway. Redecorate!


I don't know why I love you, earth tone or black & white contemporary toile bedding, but I do.



Of course now we move away from the big ticket items and on to the smaller fun stuff. L'Occitane is good. It's very very good. I wreck myself in their stores. Hope you brought a shopping cart, cause you're all taking home 40lbs milk soap today...


Philosophy's Amazing Grace is one of my favorite scents.

Perhaps if I purchased a pair of $200 Gucci sunglasses, I wouldn't mistreat them the way I do my $17 pair. And if my neck was this long, fashionable sunglasses would be the least of my concerns.

It's all gas

Tonight after dinner we sat on the couch for a bit. Tim was playing on the laptop, I was kind of zoned out (the genius must have rest periods), and Sam was climbing on us, around us, and rolling back onto the floor. He let out a sudden, loud and rather deep sounding burp for a toddler. We all giggled and he pointed to his mouth and said, "That was a toot in my mouth!"

Lyrical Gangsta

I'm not sure what exactly a lyrical gangsta does, but I think I would like to be one for a day. For solely sheer reminiscing pleasure, here's some of the worst lyrics ever recorded. They're so awful, they're good. Just try to come up with something more fabulously lame.

I'm as serious as cancer when I say rhythm is a dancer.
-Snap!

The west is the best.
-The Doors
*Yea, I know, shame on me for making fun of The Doors. But really, Jim? That line wasn't much of a stretch.

There's not a woman that can handle a man like me - that's why I juggle two or three.
-Gerardo (Rico Suave)

And everything is to the back, with a little slack, and inside out is wiggida wiggida wiggida wack!
-Kriss Kross

Get out of my dreams...get into my car. Touch my bumper, baby let's make a deal.
-Billy Ocean

So your girlfriend rolls a Honda, playin workout tapes by Fonda...but Fonda ain't got a motor in the back of her Honda. My anaconda don't want none unless you got buns hun. You can do sidebends or situps, but please don't lose that butt.
-Sir Mixalot
This song holds a special place in my heart. And on my butt.

Feel free to add on your favorites.

mmmm fried corn

Who knew? A few Fritos are really not a bad snack. Really. You could easily do a LOT worse than Fritos.

In my quest to take as many preservatives and fake junk out of my diet in a reasonable (ie not obsessive and obnoxiously nutty) way, I've been revisiting classics and breaking down the nutritional info. I know it might be hard to think of Fritos as a classic...or even in the same sentence with any form of the word "class" in it, but I say we reconsider.

Ingredients in original Fritos: corn, oil, salt. That's it. And that means Fritos are all natural. It's not an organic product, but again, it's way ahead of most snacks. No artificial flavors, colors, or petroleum based preservatives (like BHA, BHT and the like). Notice lately that stuff in everything? Ugh.

Fritos are clearly high in fat, but fairly low in saturated fat. Fat is not necessarily the enemy. Most would agree that compared to the potential effects of all the crap in most junk foods, some natural fat from the cooking process is harmless. One could closely replicate Fritos at home. That's important.

Sodium is another story, of course, but now there is a low-sodium version of Fritos that are equally natural. Yay.


So move aside, Joe Six Pack, this girl is gonna eat some of your Fritos - but I'll pass on the Mountain Dew.

My new boyfriend, the Doctor

A few summers ago I gave up drinking diet soda. At the time I wasn't consuming much of any kind of soda, so it wasn't that difficult, but in college I believe I drank more Diet Coke than any other liquids combined.
After a few weeks' detox, I took sips of a variety of diet sodas and they all tasted terrible - bitter and poison-y. It's amazing how our taste buds adjust. I've avoided diet soda since. As for regular soda, I'll take a sip of Tim's on occasion, but I generally don't crave it. Except for root beer. I stay away from it so as not to guzzle it.

Fast forward to this past Tuesday, lunch time. I won't go into details of the hectic lunch ordeal and why I had a diet soda in my possession in the first place, but I did indeed pop open a can of Diet Dr. Pepper. And it was good. Not bitter. No chemical flavor. It was perfect. Crisp and lovely, really. Mmmm. Wow, that's a lot to say about a can of soda, no? Worried that this was somehow a mistake, I double checked the ingredients, and the usual suspects were all listed. Dammit! It can't be. Tim offered that Diet Dr. Pepper is supposed to taste better as far as diet sodas go. I looked it up. It is their claim, and yes, in my experience it is true.

The next day I went grocery shopping and I bought a 12-pack of Diet Dr. Pepper. I drank one when I got home. I brought one to work today. I drank it at lunch. It was good. Too good. It's a new kind of love. What happened to me? I suppose one can of diet soda a day probably won't hurt. I hope. Should I have one with dinner?

I'm sure we'll break up one day, but in the meantime, I'm totally in it for the fizz.

Phall Photos

This title just looks more interesting than Fall Fotos. Oh, you know it does. It's more balanced - Ph balanced that is. Don't be jealous of my genius.

Sam is having phun painting pumpkins and lauphing in the pholiage. See?

Now I'm pheeling itchy and pinchy from playing in the leaves with him. Tim just read this and didn't phind it phunny. Then again, I phorgot that he doesn't get it. What a phool. Married to a phreak. It's heaven on earth, pholks.

Ok, I'm shutting this disaster down. Will post more in a couple days.

Blogger's Block II: Cold & Icy

Wow, my career would be in jeopardy if I wrote for a living. After a warm and fuzzy piece like my last entry, I feel a little drained in the membrane. Hey, I just saw Cypress Hill on VH1. They're still around, and just as their likeness on that priceless Simpsons episode, they still look toasted. Nicely toasted.

Oh, and about this warm and fuzzy business: don't be fooled, I'm as chilly and mean as ever. I simply had an unexpected moment of chick-flicky weakness. It happens. Back when I was working in res life, my colleagues made fun of me for unabashedly loathing the part of our weekly staff meeting where our director had us go around the table and describe any good, bad, or stressful events of our week. Really, that wasn't so terrible, but what I found nauseating was that he would then single out the director he felt had the 'toughest' week and passed them this sad little teddy bear, aka the Warm Fuzzy, to hold on to until the next meeting. Why not just cradle and burp us? I mean, really. I made certain I never had it in my possession. If I had been awarded Mr. Warm Fuzzy, he certainly would have suffered an unfortunate freak accident and not made it back.

During one meeting, Beth and Allison remarked that should my week ever be deemed the toughest, an ice cube would be an appropriate token, because in contrast to the Warm Fuzzy, I'm Cold and Icy. That's when I knew those girls could be trusted.

Team Bride

On my drive home from work, I was listening to *my girl* Terry Gross interviewing the writer of the new film Rachel Getting Married, which is supposed to be the un-wedding movie in terms of its more serious plot line. I may or may not see it, but something the writer said struck me - in explaining how she came up with the story, she pointed out that the 'preparation' of the bride is something that has been with us for thousands of years, across all cultures, and the women involved become fully immersed in helping the bride with this big step in her life. It was really a lovely and sweet observation.

My commute is the only time I have to space out a little and think creatively these days (don't worry, I still manage to keep the car on the road). It's often where ideas for the blog, for work, or for taking over the world are born. Most (ideas) don't survive the trip, but in the meantime, they keep me from cursing the gas gauge. Even before today's program, brides were on my mind because of a recent rash of nuptials among my friends and colleagues, so I've been looking at a LOT of wedding pictures.

In most wedding photos, the bride is by far the most interesting subject. This is expected - she spent weeks (months) planning the details: from the major visual of the dress right down to the shade of lipstick. Even the most modest bride knows the spotlight won't ignore her that day. When the writer talked about the preparation of a bride, I naturally thought back to my own experience. I caved to nearly every pressure to follow tradition: the church, the flowers, the dress, the bridesmaids, the reception, and so on. That said, I don't regret our 'big wedding' because it was fun and whirlwind and we were surrounded by people we love. And yet, I've never been able to completely turn off the little voice that suggested eloping, escaping, and getting married somewhere far away and unique with no stress and no frills. I'm certain these are not uncommon internal debates among brides, but I do wonder how common it is to still be thinking about it six years out.

Thanks to that random radio commentary today, I went back to a few months before our wedding, and I remembered how each woman in my life joyously contributed to the ritual of preparing me to take my own big step - my grandmothers who came to my fittings and told me about their wedding day, my fretful mother that wanted it to be perfect for everyone, my mother-in-law who wanted whatever Tim and I wanted, my bridesmaids that hung on my every silly directive, my girlfriends that called weekly and asked if there was anything I needed, big or small, the flower girl that practiced her walk, and even the seamstress who made me feel like a model. I had a team, really. If there's one thing that now tips the scale and turns off that little voice, it's realizing that in preparing to be a bride, I, along with these women, took part in an ageless tradition, and I am grateful for having had the experience.

Three Generation Pizza

For years I've admired my grandmother's home made pizza crust. My mom can make a pretty mean one too, but they differ slightly. Grandma claims that they use the exact same recipe, but my mother and I suspect there's a secret step or ingredient we don't know about. About a year ago, I took an over-the-phone lesson from my mom, and I started experimenting with my own version of this tasty dough. Just as family traditions get tweaked a bit from generation to generation, my version is just a little different from each of theirs. Variations in water quality, weather, ovens, and of course, pans, all combine to make a varying final product...and who knows, maybe just they way we use our hands might make a small difference. Nevertheless, I am happy with my interpretation, and I'm putting my secrets out there for anyone who wants to try it out.

Texture: It's not a thin,crisp crust, but it's nowhere near a thick and bready one (like Sicilian style-yuck). It's in the middle but leans toward the thinner versions.

Pan: I use a round pan, it's heavily punctured for aeration, about 12" in diameter. It's NOT a non-stick one - in fact, it has seasoned and turned dark brown over the years, and I think that helps give a nice texture.

Recipe:

*1.5 generous teaspoons dry active yeast
*1 cup of warm water
*1 teaspoon of sugar
*1 teaspoon of salt
*1 generous Tablespoon of extra virgin olive oil
*approx 2.5 cups of unbleached all purpose white flour (I'm a fan of King Arthur brand)
*extra olive oil for kneading and oiling bowl/pan

In a large mixing bowl, combine yeast and water, swish until dissolved and let sit for 5 minutes or so. I'm impatient, so it sits for like 2 minutes.

Add sugar, salt, and the tablespoon of olive oil. Swish again until everything is dissolved. Begin adding the flour, one half-cup at a time. Using your hands, mix in each half-cup until the dough begins to separate from the sides and can be taken out of the bowl in one mass - keep oiling your hands to prevent the dough from sticking to them. The final dough should be neither dry and crumbly nor too wet and sticky, but somewhere in between. I've used as little as 2.25 cups up to 3 cups of flour to get this consistency.

Turn the dough out on to a lightly floured surface (I just dust my counter top with some flour) and knead it for maybe 3-4 minutes. Keep oiling or flouring your hands. I choose depending on my mood...the olive oil does leave my hands very soft.

When the dough seems supple, with no big cracks or sticky areas, transfer it to an oiled bowl (I use another glass mixing bowl oiled with olive oil). Cover snugly with a kitchen towel. My mother uses plastic wrap and then a towel. I don't think it makes a difference.

Put the bowl in a warm place (if possible). A sunny spot in a room will work, or you can even heat your oven to its lowest temp for a few minutes, turn the oven off, and put the covered bowl in there. Either way, you'll need about an hour to an hour and 15 minutes for the dough to rise.

After the rise, move your oven rack to the bottom, and preheat to 450 degrees. Lightly 'punch' down the dough, and transfer it to your OILED pizza pan. Oil your hands AGAIN, and working from the center of the dough, begin pressing it out to the edges. Keep going around and around until you've spread the dough evenly over the pan surface. This will take some practice at first, but soon it will go really fast and even.

Do not top the pizza yet. Pre-bake it on the bottom rack for about 5 minutes. Take it out and then add toppings. Bake again for 10-15 minutes or until the mozzarella begins to just show some slight browning on the high spots.

Take it out and let it sit for about 5 minutes before cutting.

If you don't think this recipe makes a tasty, lovely crust, then you are a total weirdo.

Parade Smart

Today we went to Oneonta's Centennial parade. We didn't have a serious interest in going, but figured Sam might enjoy watching, and he really did! He waved to everyone and shook his little booty to the marching band music. He was thrilled when the participants threw candy out to the crowd, and he collected a small bounty of lollipops and Tootsie Rolls in his sweatshirt pocket. He hasn't experienced much in the candy world, so he wasn't bent on eating it. We let him have 2 bite size Milky Ways, and he willingly handed his lollipops over to us - actually he made a little game out of it: He would take a lollipop out, examine it, and decide, "This one is yours, Daddy." or, "This one is for YOU, mommy."

Sam was amazed at the horses. I like horses myself, I think they're beautiful. I don't know much about them though, in fact, I believe the last time I was on a horse was during a 6th grade school trip to Rocking Horse Ranch...that was 22 years ago. Yikes! Anyway, as they passed, Tim pointed out, "You saw the bags on the back of those horses?" He had that certain tone I have come to understand is part matter-of-fact and part about-to-mock-you. There's no way to win, so I looked for these 'bags' that he was talking about. And of course I spotted them - big black bags slung directly under the horses' butts, partially covered by their tails. Poop catchers. To myself, I thought, "Ew! Genius! Ew. So they won't poop on the street!" I planned to turn back toward him all nonchalant, like, "Um, yea, SO? I know what those are. Duh." but he was grinning at me - my eyes had already given my epiphany away.

My Interview with Sarah Palin

CL: Do you believe global warning is man-made?


SP: No, definitely not. It’s made by witches.


CL: Witches? You mean like Witchcraft?


SP: Look, I’m not here to answer your questions or argue about causes and science. I just want to talk to the American people. There are witches out there, folks, and I’m going to Washington to make sure they don’t cause more damage. Witches hate us for our freedom.


CL: Speaking of freedom, what is a Supreme Court decision you support, and what would be one you would like to reverse?


SP: I like all of them, really. I mean, you know. They are supreme and all.


CL: Can you be more specific?


SP: Look, it’s not like any of those old judges are mavericks. The one true maverick is in the senate. His name is John McCain and he needs to be in the White House.


CL: OK. Governor, since your interview with Katie Couric, can you now name any Supreme Court Cases and talk about them?


SP: Uh-oh. I believe one of my children just fell down an ice hole. You know that mom’s intuition! I’ll be back in a jiff!


Later that day…


CL: I'm glad to hear everything is OK. Oh, hi there, Pied Piper. Welcome. So, let’s change gears here, Governor. How would a McCain-Palin administration work for the people and help the middle class in these tough economic times?


SP: I would do everything John McCain says.


CL: Oh. OK. Well, what do you think he would say about these issues?


SP: Well, it’s really about hunting and small businesses. Like the business I ran in Wasilla, where I was the executive that signed things. More small businesses should hunt for moose and wolves, and that would create jobs because we would need more people to, you know, cut up the meat and stuff. Also taxes and being budget-nucular. An jobs, too. It’s about economics and you know, financial things. Barack Obama wants to kill jobs.


CL: Right. Um. Sheesh, ok. So what about health care?


SP: There’s no evidence to suggest that eating moose stew raises cholesterol.


CL: No, I meant the health care crisis. There’s over 40 million uninsured American citizens, including families with children. Most are hard working and simply can’t afford good insurance. What should the government do?


SP: The government should get out of their way, but stand on their side.


CL: Is there more to that?


SP: Um. Gulp. Yes. We will tax their income more and give it to the insurance industry so that big insurance companies can offer them fancier packages. This is budget-neutral for the government, but not for the people, cause remember, we have to get out of the way. Then the people can decide among endless confusing plans. And we’ll stand by their side and watch them.


CL: Critics say that actually would make it more difficult and less affordable to get insurance, and millions of people will lose the plans they have now.


SP: Hmm. Well, you know those critics. They just wanna say Gotcha! Again, if I may speak directly to the American people: I have five children and we soccer and hockey moms know how to protect our children. Go Joe Six Pack!


CL: But what you just said does not address the un-insured.


SP: Again, Cristina, I’m not here to argue nuances. The American people want straight talk, and that’s what John McCain and I will give them. We’ll stop government waste and put government on the side of big- I mean big people! I mean all people!


CL: Ahem. Moving on. What eminent dangers do you think face the US in the next four years?


SP: Well, if we start drilling, we have to be careful of drilling-related accidents. We don’t want Americans getting hurt out there.


CL: Ehr...yes, I mean, of course not. But I was talking about rogue nations, like Iran and Pakistan.


SP: John McCain will go there himself and take everyone out. Even if it takes 100 gazillion years. We’re mavericks like that. The two of us own some impressive assault weapons, let me tell ya!


CL: Oh. OK. What about diplomacy?


SP: Duh. No….gosh. Look, Country First means that the American people don’t want their government to be all talky-talk, reasonable or level headed or make evidence-based decisions! That’s the Democrats’ secret European agenda! Look at them! They want to turn us into French wussies. With their whining about schools and poverty and energy and inflation and being all worried about this great nation. They undermine our greatness. They don’t want to admit America is awesome all the time with everything. We have bigger fish to fry!


CL: So then, where do you stand on--


SP: I have more straight talking to do, Cristina: The American people want their mavericks. We have to win always, no matter what. If we don’t win, then our children won’t learn that winning is the most important thing, always, regardless of the cost.


CL: Wow. Thanks for your time today, Governor.


SP: Can I just say one more thing?


CL: Um. I…well…alright, go ahead.


SP: Give me an M! Give me a little c! Give me a big C! Give me--


CL: That’s enough. We’re done here. Thank you. Audio off, please!

Hudson River Smarts

I can't write a love letter about living upstate without giving fair props to my suburban roots. Sure, I spent some time in rural Italy, but I was born and spent most of my life in Peekskill, a smallish city north of the city. Let's be clear, we all know what city. The only city that rightfully owns the name, "The City." A high school friend of mine attended Hartwick, a small liberal arts college in the same town as my state college. A healthy portion of its students are from New England states. Every now and then, my 'Wick buddy and I crossed campuses and socialized. One fourth of July weekend, I joined her and some of her friends in Vermont. These friends spent a lot of time talking about The City: who's moving to It, who's working in It, and when the next trip to It would be. I became confused because I wasn't familiar with any of the neighborhoods or streets they referenced. When someone at last said something about the Mass Turnpike, it finally occurred to me that they were talking about Boston. How quaint. They call Boston "The City." I was outnumbered so I kept the hilarity of it to myself.

If you've never lived in New York, you might not understand this superficial and slightly off- putting attitude. I guess it would be like a Southerner defending country music. There's no sense in the argument, it just is what it is. I don't know for sure if people in oh...let's say...Georgia are talking about Atlanta when they say The City. They probably are, and considering their distance from New York, I suppose that's acceptable. Plus CNN hq is there, so that makes it even marginally cool. I'm sure the suburbs folks around the nation's capital mean D.C. when they refer to The City, and Californians - well who knows what Californians are ever talking about anyway. Anywhere in the Northeast, however, and The City means only one place. And it. is. not. Boston. Massachussettians (?) can pretend all they want in their own state, but they know the truth. Boston is a fine, fine city, don't get me wrong - it's just not the Boss of the Northeast or of..well, again let's be clear: of the Universe.

Tim spent most of his life around this area. I like to say I married a townie. Every now and then, in conversation, we discover a stark difference in our upbringing. It's usually trivial, like for example, how he used to do 'barn chores' while I worked in a retail strip mall. He had a paper route, while I made the headlines. OK, not so much on the headlines. But you get the idea.

My last entry listed a few things I learned as I've assimilated to my upstsate life. I can't list all the things I knew in my former life, so instead, I'll list a few notes we've compared and some things Tim has learned from marrying a Westchester suburbanite:

People:

• We (downstaters) look younger for longer. It's probably the treated drinking water. Or Indian Point 2.
• I never saw a rundown trailer park growing up.
  
• Tim never saw an urban housing project growing up.
• He's realized the dark side. (starts with R and ends with epublican).
• I've realized that no one does pizza right around here.
  
• We're not all rich. The obscenely rich just live among us. Their bling simply makes us look blingier.
• An eight cart long check out line at the grocery store is a lucky find downstate.
• Now, however, I'm spoiled, and if I have to wait behind 2 carts, I'm fit to be tied.
• I maintain that unfriendly and silent cashiers make for more efficient shopping.
  

School:

• Our schools are big enough that even if you're a loser, there's plenty of other losers to hang out with, so that actually will end up making you cool in your own circle. Win-win.
  
• No one in my graduating class lived on a farm.
• No one in Tim's graduating class was a crack ho.
  
• Our district did not bus regular students because nearly every school was within reasonable walking distance.
• Comparatively speaking, much fewer rural kids seem to be within reasonable or safe walking distance of anything. Except hay.
  
• Our Spanish, Art, and History teachers were actually 3 (or more) seperate people.

Location:

• The Hudson River is a major reference point down there.
• A creek is major reference point up here.
• People don't fear snow around here, and it gets so cold, the snow actually squeaks.
• It snows a lot downstate too, but the first 2 snowflakes somehow signal mass chaos to commence.
  
• There are indeed many real farms in Westchester and Long Island. The only difference is that our chickens wouldn't be caught dead in last season's feathers.

Rooster Smarts

I readily admit to being clueless when it comes to what some might consider obvious knowledge or what I call 'upstate knowledge.' I do not want to paint myself as a city slicker with no appreciation for the rural life - on the contrary, I love the outdoors and have grown accustomed to living upstate. It's just that my exposure to things rural has been limited.

From age five to age eight, I lived in Italy with my family. We had a vineyard, a wheat field, walnut and chestnut trees, an apricot grove, and even chickens and turkeys. Sounds rural and farm-y, right? It was, except our neighbor farmed our property and shared the profits, while my family concentrated on their small business. I didn't observe much about farming, and all I knew for sure about the fowl was that they smelled. Foul.

My grandmother lived with us as well, and among a number of now irrational sounding warnings, she cautioned me to not wear red when I'm near the rooster because that would make him angry. I guess maybe they're like bulls in that way? Do we really care? Anyway, one afternoon, I wore my new red plaid coat and ventured down to the cages. Suddenly, around the coop wall, came the rooster, squawking and pecking at me. I ran in circles and cried for help. He was relentless! My father appeared and kicked the rooster aside and swept me up. Shudder. That beastly rooster saw my beautiful red coat and wanted to take me down and peck my eyes out! Little me! The rooster must pay. Kill him at once, father! And kill all these hens too! Of course, I milked that tragic event the rest of the afternoon and got everyone's pity, although I believe they secretly found it hilarious and mocked me after I went to bed.

When we returned to the States, we settled back in the metropolitan NY area, and happily lead la vita suburbana. At one point, my dad tried to raise chickens and a rooster in the shed, but after one too many mornings of sunrise cock-a-doodle-doos, the neighbors complained and threatened to notify City Hall - the chickens were eaten and that was the end of that.

I've been living upstate for a long time now - almost 10 years, and that's not counting college. I present to you a sampling of my amazing farm, outdoor, and general nature epiphanies and things I've learned over the past decade...things that simply missed my consideration growing up 'downstate'.

• Just yesterday I learned that the sunflower seeds that come in snack bags actually come from the centers of those big yellow sunflowers that I see growing allover the place around here. Sunflowers = sunflower seeds you get in a bag - amazing and tasty knowledge!

• Hay comes from really long, overgrown dried grasses. It's what would happen if we let lawns go crazy. Hay does not itself grow grass. You still need seeds for that apparently.

• Perennials = flowers that come back every year. Annuals = have to be planted every year. Hmm. Touche.

• Cows do in fact lie down to sleep.

• County Fairs are not just a mid-west phenomena. Ditto with State Fairs. I didn't know NY had a state fair until ca. 1997.
  

• Llama farms. Really. That's it. There's one half a mile from my house. They're cute. Yay llamas!

• If you don't know what that enormous, horrible, stinking piece of filthy, crazy looking machinery chugging alongside the shoulder is, it's probably a manure spreader. Do not look directly at it.
  

• Hollywood depictions of the young, virile, tanned, cute farmer driving a tractor on an endless field of gold are quite accurate. Good news, eh?

• Ditto with depictions of creepy old toothless ones.

• If you kick your rotten pumpkin off your front step and behind a bush, and ignore its rotting little pumpkin-y carcass, in about a year you will have a pumpkin vine growing near your front door. True story.