5,479 Days, But Who's Counting?

A little over 15 years ago, I rang Husband at his dorm room. I told him that I had something that I wanted to ask him. Before I got to my question, we spoke for two hours.* Then I said that I hoped to see a film over the weekend, and was wondering if he would like to join me. He said yes.

So, on Feb. 23, 1995, I met Husband in the lobby of his dorm and we walked to the East Village Cinemas to see "Pulp Fiction." I wore a pair of rainbow striped stockings, a turquoise skirt, and a black tunic-y thing with orange embroidery at the neck and sleeves. And blue Doc Martens. I was nervous that Husband didn't know that I meant to ask him out on a date, but when he paid for the tickets, I thought he knew.

After the movie, we went to a cafe and drank the worst hot chocolate I've ever had foisted upon me. It was like the staff dropped a Hals into it and let it dissolve. We laughed about how nasty it was. When we left, I forgot my ear muffs. Husband asked if I wanted to go back and look for them, but I said, "No, they are diarrhea brown. I'll just get a new pair." He thought this was hilarious.

He walked me back to my dorm, and we stood in a light drizzle for another two hours, talking. When we finally parted around 4 am, he hugged me good night. I've been on cloud nine ever since.

*And how my roommates, who were trying to sleep in our one room dorm cell, did not punch me in the face (as I deserved) is beyond me. I sat right next to one of my roommate's beds as I obliviously chatted away.

The Cats Say It's Time to Go

My bubbe dislikes cats. She says that they are "false, and hypnotize
you." Dana's cats, though, are pretty honest. They are sending clear
signals to my allergies that it is time for me to go.

I had a great time. The monster truck rally rocked. I ate lots of junk food. I went to a mall. I had brunch with Maren. Dana and I watched home movies of us as
kids that I just had transferred from 8 mm film on to DVD. One of the films turned out to be of my mom's 30th birthday and another was of Dana's 1st birthday, which was cool because Dana's 30th birthday is today. (Happy birthday, chooch!) Most important, I spent lots of time with Marcus, who is a little thief. Yes, he stole my heart. (Cue the cheesy music.)

But now it is time to go. My eyes itch. My nose is stuffed. My ass is frozen. Sadness. Fortunately, Marcus's 1st birthday is just around the corner, so I'll see everyone again in April or early May in Chicago to celebrate the little bugger. Yay!

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Blog: www.cussandotherrants.com
Book: www.offthebeatensubwaytrack.com

Monster Trucks!

My sister's 30th birthday is Monday. Back before I remembered how bad winter is in the midwest, I decided that I would visit her over the holiday weekend and join her celebration. Living in New York has spoiled me. Sure, it gets cold here and snows, but this is kid stuff compared to what I grew up with in the Chicago area. I have become soft.

I expressed my fears to Dana. She told me to wear layers. I laughed. "It's 25 degrees here and I am already wearing a hat, scarf, down coat, lined mittens, tights, knee socks, leather boots up to my knees, jeans, a long sleeve shirt, and a sweater (and, of course, undies). I am still cold." She laughed. "Damn, you're a wuss."

And speaking of wusses, when she told me a few days ago that she would like to celebrate her birthday at a monster truck rally, I hesitated. Part of me was really, really, really excited. The other part feared the Confederate flag waving, pick up truck riding majority of the audience. I assumed that I had enough sense of self-preservation not to get into a fight with anyone, but who knows? I challenged a fucked up Jamie Kennedy at his own documentary. (Not that he was a threat, but it shows that when I feel insulted, I don't think before I open my mouth.)

However, excitement got the better of me, and I cannot wait! Not only does the show feature truck stars Killer Bee, Rislone Defender, Bar’s Leaks Eliminator, Storm Damage, "the ever so popular monster truck 'The General,'" but - but! - if we arrive early enough, we can take a family ride on a monster truck known as Bone Crusher. Fuck, this will be amazing. Bring on the monster trucks!

Now, if only my flight gets there OK, given all the snow, and equally importantly, gets me back on Monday...

BOMB and Explosion

My friend Mark and I went to check out Brooklyn's Other Museum of Brooklyn (BOMB) after work this evening. (If you visit the website, note that the BOMB we went to and the BOMB depicted are different buildings. BOMB moves with the real estate market.) It is open every Tuesday from 7 - 9 pm.

The new BOMB is in a building that is not heated or necessarily finished. As I went up the staircase, I was slightly fearful that I would plunge through the boards. It was sturdy, though. When we were upstairs, the curator, Scott, offered us beers. When I said I don't drink, he sweetly said he also had cranberry juice and various flavored seltzers.

Basically, BOMB is a museum dedicated to promoting the historic preservation of Admiral's Row, which is a set of buildings in the Brooklyn Navy Yard that the Mayor's office wants to tear down, and a place for the curator to store things that he rescues from the trash. Here's what Mark and I saw (apologies for the blurry pics - I used my BlackBerry phone):

If you squint really hard at the upper right, you can make out a canister used during Prohibition to make alcohol. The twisty spigot is wrapped around a gumball machine. Near the furnace to the right, sort of behind the fireplace, is a long black cylinder which is a rusted out sewage pipe. The window shade is pulled back by a paper mache puppet that looks out the window and admires the neighborhood.

The bathroom counter is covered with items that Scott, the curator of BOMB, found on the beach. This includes a femur, many pieces of broken china, coins, and rocks.

This portion of the wall was part of a church steeple in the 1800s. I love it. Yes, that is a cow skull hanging in the center of it. The Disgruntled Cow uses Scott to express her displeasure at how the Mayor milks the City dry. The object with wheels is a racing car from 1920 that reminds me of a go-kart.

This torpedo used to hang outside the museum. I sort of like it in the niche at the top of the staircase.



Mark and Scott are far more knowledgeable about Brooklyn than I can ever hope to be, so I mostly listened to them chat as my feet went numb from cold. Scott gave us all kinds of goodies to take home. Of course, I loved every second of my visit.

The explosion on the subway ride home, though, was terrifying. As we sped through the tunnel, a passenger with a wispy white goatee suddenly blew up at another rider. He jumped in the man's face and bellowed, "Why are you staring at me? Get your eyes off me! Do you have a problem with me. I said stop looking at me. Are you sweet for me, huh? Are you a homo? DO you want me to shove something up your ass? Fuck you!"

A few months ago, someone was randomly stabbed on the subway under very similar circumstances, and even though I was at the other end of the car, my heart thundered away. The other passengers watched the scene unfold and looked nervous, but only I changed cars when the train stopped. The man who was harassed got off, whether it was his stop or not. I hadn't been that nervous on the train since I was caught in the middle of a fight during rush hour and a guy broke a glass bottle and brandished it at someone.

Happy Anniversary, BlogHer!

Four years ago, someone took a chance on me. I'd only been blogging for a few months when I heard that BlogHer was looking for volunteer contributing editors for a new site they were launching. I rushed to their current homepage, noticed that people already claimed the topic I most wanted (feminism and gender), and saw that travel and recreation was still open. Well, I love traveling and do it a lot. I had just blogged a trip to France. I left a message with links to three posts (this was before I had any idea what HTML was, not that I'm an expert at it now), and hoped for the best.

Not long after, I heard from Lisa Stone, one of BlogHer's founders. She said that she "loved" my blog and offered me the gig. I was thrilled! (Re-reading her email today, which I just looked at again, brings tears to my eyes. Yeah, I still have an email from January 2006 in my inbox.) My first post - Introduction to Travel and Recreation appeared on January 22, 2006. I hoped for many things, but was not sure what to expect.

Four years later, I still write for BlogHer, although on feminism, not travel. It offered me a platform when I was just exploring writing. It offered me a platform when I sent out proposals for a travelogue I was writing about unusual things to see and do New York City. It offered me a platform when my book, Off the Beaten (Subway) Track, was published 2.5 years later. It offered me a platform to meet and be inspired by other women.

Sure, it hasn't been all champagne and roses. When I realized that my four year anniversary was coming up, I compared it to my marriage: sometimes I wanted to scream and stomp around with selfish, delusional indignity, but overall my life is richer, happier, and better in every way because I have it. (Husband was slightly offended by this analogy, but I stand by it.) I'm so lucky.

Mele Kalikimaka!

My friend from school invited Husband and I to Christmas Eve dinner last night. The food was excellent and company was fascinating. One guy belongs to a raw milk collective in NYC that contracts with an Amish farm in Pennsylvania to deliver raw milk and products to them. He said raw milk cottage cheese is unbelievable. He also said that donuts in Ireland are amazing. Interesting!

I've been fortunate enough to have some great Christmas Eves over the last few years. Husband and I were in southern California last year (although the temperature was freakishly low - in the 40s!). Actually, we were in New York on Xmas Eve - we left for California on the 25th. Two years ago (2007), we ate at a Denny's on the big island of Hawaii (hence the title, which is Merry Christmas in Hawaiian). That was an awesome trip. The year before that, we watched season one of The Wire on DVD. OK, we finished watching The Wire on DVD at our apartment on Christmas Eve before we left for LA in 2008, not 2006. In 2006 I was at my parents' house. I am so senile it is scary... And, finally, four years ago, we celebrated Christmas Eve with my friend Julie and her family in the Dominican Republic (2005).

Here's hoping that everyone has a lovely Christmas.

What Happens in London, Goes on My Blog*

As always, London was brilliant. I am sadder than ever that Husband's potential job in London fell through last summer. I so adore it.

My flight landed a bit early on Thursday night, customs was empty, and the tube came almost right away, so I arrived at my friend Mara's doorstep around 9 pm. We hung out with another friend of hers, then went out to meet a crowd of randy Brits for drinks. (I even had a Pimm's, which horrified the experienced drinkers, as they informed me, "Pimm's is a summer drink." However, they were even more horrified to discover that otherwise I rarely, if ever, imbibe.)

Friday, Mara and I hung around her neighborhood until the afternoon. Then we had fish and chips at The Golden Hind in Marylebone (which is the neighborhood Husband and I planned to move to before the deal fell through). On the way, we walked through a festively decorated passage:After eating, we decided to eat more, and went to Borough Market, where I saw pheasants for the first time:I also ate many samples of cheese and the most delicious custard tart ever ingested.We then wandered around a bit, then called it a day and had dinner at her flat. (Mara is an amazing cook.)

On Saturday, we headed out early to try and eat breakfast at Gordon's Wine Bar, which is thought to be the oldest wine bar in London, and literally is partly in a cave. However, it didn't open until 11, and we were planned to take a walking tour at 10:30, so we dived into a little cafe instead.

The walking tour was excellent. I learned about the installation of London's sewer system after the summer of "The Great Stink," when the Thames was so rancid that members of Parliament could not open their windows. I also learned that the Waterloo Bridge was built by an all-women crew, since the men went off to WWII. Shockingly, it still stands today:I mean, who'd've thunk that women could do construction 'n' shit? Sigh...

I also got a brilliant shot of the original Scotland Yard from the 5th floor terrace of Royal Festival Hall, which is a great public building in and of itself:
(It's the reddish brink one.)

Next, we went through an area revitalized and operated by the Coin Street Community Corporation, a community development group. The organization does affordable housing, social services, and commercial space. I have no idea what all this carved wood was about, but I loved it:The whole thing once again made me sad that a) I didn't move there, as I would love to work for an organization like that; and b) that I won't work in community development directly with my new job. Oh well.

Finally on the walking tour, I loved this collection of M. Potato Heads in someone's arched doorway:Mara had to work on Sunday, but Husband came into town for work, so I spent the day with him. We headed east to see an exhibit of works by Sophie Calle (totally brilliant) at the Whitechapel Gallery, then beigels with salt beef (aka corned beef) at my favourite bagel place in the world, Brick Lane Beigel Bake. On the way to the gallery, we passed the smartest store awning ever: Husband loved that the banner above it advertised a weight loss clinic. Down the street, we saw:Full (from beigels, not Tubby Isaacs jellied eels), we headed back to the fancy area near our hotel, stopping at Selfriges Department Store's Really Really Great Garage Sale, which took place in the car park. I am honestly not sure what the hell it was - lots of random junk on tables, and some women kept trying to get me to buy a word process for 5 GPB - but it did have, uh, reindeer:
And that was my whirlwind weekend in London. Yes, I cried on the tube as I headed toward the airport on Sunday night. The good news is that Steph is coming to stay with me this weekend, so that will be fun. It's always easier to come back from a trip when there are other good things to look forward to.

*For the most part...

Visiting the Queen

Pussy cat, pussy cat, where have you been?
I've been to London to visit the Queen.
Pussy cat, pussy cat, what did you do there?
I frightened a mouse under her chair.

Yes, today I am on my way to London to visit my friend Mara, who is a queen in my mind. (I hope, however, to not encounter any mice, under her chair or wherever.) I have not seen Mara or her adorable daughter or amusing husband in over a year, so I booked my flight with frequent flier miles a few weeks ago, hoping that if I found a job before then that I could work around my trip. So far, so good. I only wish that my class schedule had permitted me more than a long weekend trip.

Husband actually will also be there for work, although he is not arriving until Sat. and I depart Sunday night. We have jolly times planned with lots of eating and wandering around and museum-going. I shall post pictures.

I adore London. Last summer, it seemed that Husband would move there for work for four years, and although it scared me a little to leave the US, I became very excited about the adventure. Once I got into it, of course, the plan was called off. Logistically, that's good since I wound up going back to school and I didn't want to live away from Husband for months at a time, and then my sister had a baby and I'd never get to see him if I lived so far away. But I'm still a bit sad that it didn't work out. Maybe another time. In the meantime, I'll enjoy my trip.

Discoveries and New Projects

First, the important things - here are pictures of Marcus from my visit to my parents' house this weekend:With Great Grandma in the car.
On Tante Suzanne's lap in Grandma and Grandpa's living room.
With Daddy and Grandma in the kitchen.

Of course, I think my nephew is perfect. I stupidly wore a sweater that is dry clean only, and he did not spit up or drool on me. Clever baby!

When I was not fawning over Marcus, I looked through a trove of documents that my dad had stashed away. They turned out to have critical testimonies from my grandparents about how they spent their years before, during, and immediately after World War II. I now have a comprehensive timeline of where they were and what they did. This should make my thesis (which is about my family) so much richer. I still have so many unanswered questions, though.

My return home also will allow me to start a new online project. When I was last there in July, I found a notebook containing my first "novel," the writing of which I am dating (through scientific methods like context clue guessing) to 8th grade. It is a hilarious, tragic, cringe-inducing story of friendship, bullying, and crushes. This afternoon I shall create a blog for it, and type up a new chapter every day (or as often as time permits). Yes, my new career as a YA author awaits... ha ha ha.

Going to Hawaii Again!*

At the end of 2007, Husband had a lot of vacation time that he needed to use. (His employer does not let people roll over vacation days from year to year.) We decided to plan a blow out trip to Hawaii. Using large numbers of airmiles and hotel points, we were able to book one of the many luxury hotels on Oahu. Husband initially planned to stay at the historic Moana Surfrider, which was the first hotel in Waikiki, but it was full. This turned out to be an excellent, excellent thing, as we stayed next door at the Royal Hawaiian instead.

Known as the Pink Palace because everything - from the exterior to the linens - is pink, many famous people and presidents stayed at the Royal Hawaiian. (I love places steeped in history.) Because I like strange things that no one else cares about, I was particularly impressed that the doors to each room were a thick wood with a carving of Hawaiian royalty of some sort and a motto in Hawaiian. As always, I was a little obsessive about learning how to say things in the local language, so trying to pronounce the motto was a challenge. (We were in Hawaii during Christmas, so I managed to learn how to say "Merry Christmas" - Mele Kalikimaka! - which was fun. I love how that feels on my tongue. But I digress...)

Anyway, not only were we in Hawaii for Christmas and New Years, but I also celebrated my 32nd birthday while we were there. We indulged in the famous breakfast buffet at a restaurant that seems to no longer exist at the hotel. As always, I pocketed the little jars of jam that hotel restaurants always put on tables. (With flavors like Mango and guava, who can blame me?) I like giving them to people with the souvenirs that I actually purchase for them. I also like eating them at home. I don't really know why.

We pretended to be normal people and went to the beach once. Really, though, it was too chilly in December (for me, anyway) to spend much time in the water, plus I hate sand, and I had to protect the stab wounds I had on my feet from when I fell on a sea urchin or five while attempting to snorkel on the Big Island earlier in the trip. While on O'ahu, we spent most of our time hiking, meeting up with friends who happened to also be in Honolulu, eating, and enjoying our pink hotel room while I soaked my feet to prevent infection. We also snuck over to a local bar to watch the Giants game one afternoon. It was a good rest for my painful feet.

Man, I would love to go back. I am especially nostalgic because Husband is unable to take vacation in the foreseeable future. Those were the days, I tell you.

*Sadly, I am only revisiting this magnificent state on my blog. I wish I was heading over there...

This is a Traveling Mom dedicated post.

Burned

For the second time in three weeks, I felt the sun bore down on the back of neck and forgot that I had sunscreen in my backpack. My fried neck was a small price to pay for such a gorgeous wedding, though:


I know I am biased, but I love (liberal) Jewish weddings. The chupa (wedding canopy) is so beautiful, and since I've never been to Orthodox wedding in which strict gender segregation is practiced, I always am extra-touched by the equality demonstrated in the ceremonies. Other than the sunburn, the only downside of the wedding was the number of bees flitting about the lush landscape. Bees scare me shitless. Another guest assured me that these bees were friendly, though, and I will say that it was certainly friendlier than the one that chased me around the parking lot of an ice cream shack at a beach town in New Jersey. (I offered that bee my ice cream and wallet to make it go away.)

Other things that I saw on my trip that uplifted my spirit, were these murals in the Mission District of San Francisco:



OK, so the birthing mural freaks me out a little (but I overall think it is cool) and the sidewalk graffiti is not technically a mural, but whatever. It reminded me that I like humanity. However, discussions that I had with friends and Bob Herbert's column in today's NY Times brought me back to reality.

I am burning with indignation at the lunatics who live in this nation. Protesting Obama's speech to school kids about studying hard and respecting teachers as socialist brainwashing? Calling him a Nazi? What the fuck is wrong with people? Of course, these are the same assholes who insisted that I had no right to dislike Bush since he was our president and as president, I needed to respect him. Gah!!!!! I give up.

Greetings from the Friendly Skies*

While waiting for my flight to San Francisco last week, a slick promotions guy gave me a coupon to use the new in-flight internet service gogo. I shoved the card in my pocket, and used my captive time to finish reading a book for school. My plan was also to do work on my way back, but odd events prompted me to blog instead.

Everything seemed normal. We pushed back from the gate. A flight attendant announced that our flying time would be five hours and ten minutes. This was 35 minutes less than scheduled, so I was pleased. We taxied. The plane stopped.

"We'll be returning to the gate to discharge a sick passenger," a flight attendant informed us.

I looked around. No one in front of me looked ill. I thought that planes did not let people off once they were boarded unless they were sick enough to need an ambulance, or rowdy enough to require police removal. I tried to be compassionate, but I was pissed about the delay.

We pulled into the gate. A man three rows ahead of me stood up and got off. I expected him to take a bag down from the overhead. He walked off unencumbered by a carry on. Fuck. Now we'd have to wait for his luggage to be rooted out from the checked bags.

My friend, who is a very nervous flyer, said, "They better damn well take off any bags he had with him. How will we know? He didn't take a bag off the plane."

"He had a brief case," the guy across the aisle cut in.

"Someone is going to fly across the country with just a brief case? That seems suspicious." Sara's eyes filled with tears.

I suggested that she ask the flight attendant about the baggage situation. When he walked by, she stopped him. He said that they knew he didn't check any bags. Sara pointed out that he didn't remove any from the plane, either. He flight attendant frowned.

"I'm sure he took all his bags."

Sara asked him to check the overhead bin just in case. A black carry-on was stowed. All the nearby passengers were asked if it was theirs. No one claimed it. The flight attendant paled. He pulled the suitcase out a bit and loudly asked whose it was. Finally, some guy looked up. "Oh, that's mine." Crisis resolved.

The woman sitting on my other side commented, "I expected them to cart out someone if he's so sick he can't fly. This is strange."

It occurred to me that once the "sick" guy was on the plane with or without his bag, whether or not they let him off, if he brought a bag it was already on the plane and there was nothing we could do. He could have stashed it in an overhead bin not near his seat. I resolved to just enjoy the flight.





*This post is inadvertently sponsored by gogo, although the company will probably regret it.

Helmet Head

During the monsoon that drenched the east coast on Saturday, Husband and I joined Alex Elliot and her family at the Higgins Armory Museum in Worcester. My expectations were low, but it turned out to be pretty awesome. Husband photographed me in this stylish helmet:

If only I could wear it when the Wall Street Journal photographer comes to take my picture tomorrow. Better that type of helmet head than the kind that my hair is likely to whip itself into tomorrow.

Mystery Guest at the Westin Copley Place

On Friday afternoon, Husband had a meeting in Boston. Since I most unhappily remain unemployed, I hopped with him into Fred the Red, our semi-trusty PT Cruiser, and motored up. We already planned to go to Massachusetts on Saturday morning to spend the weekend with Alex Elliot's family (her son's 6th birthday party is on Sunday), so it was just easier to go up with him and make an extra night of it.

When we returned to the hotel after dinner,* the street was blocked off, cops wandered around in neon safety vests, and crowds gathered along the curb. Husband and I speculated that this had something to do with Sen. Kennedy's funeral. A cop verified our suspicions, and we went into the hotel.

In the lobby, some SWAT-type team finished checking in and the strapping men hoisted their large black bags onto their backs. I asked the concierge what was going on.

"Well, there's a senator, Ted Kennedy..."

"Yes, he died," I interrupted. "I know that the funeral is this weekend. But what's going on here?"

"Oh, there's a dignitary staying here, but we don't know who it is."
A couple in their early 60s the gift shop were convinced it was Barack Obama. Husband tried to explain that if Obama was here, there would be Secret Service everywhere and metal detectors. I pointed out that there were not snipers on surrounding buildings. The cashier ignored our logic. "It's Obama! I know it!"

A letter slipped under the door of our hotel room noted that, "We have a dignitary staying in the hotel for the next two nights, and as such have extensive security measures in place in the hotel as well as the area surrounding the building outside... but the front entrance to the hotel will still be open for drive in traffic."

Who could it be?**

*Which, incidentally, leads me to an important question: I ordered a lobster salad on brioche, and when it arrived, it was on bread. I thought brioche had to be a roll or bun (and I'm 90% sure that the menu said "brioche roll"), so I asked the waiter if they ran out of brioche. "No, this is brioche bread," he replied. It was certainly thick and buttery, but I spent the rest of the evening convinced that it was toasted buttered white bread and that the staff was laughing at me. I looked up brioche, and it said it can be baked in a loaf. But I wonder if it would look different than any other kind of toasted bread?

**"It might be a prince from Seychelles," Husband decided. He cracks me up.

Back in Action

Although I rescheduled my interview for this afternoon (excited and nervous!), I was a fucking wreck yesterday. Frustration, lack of sleep, and the mess that I arrived home to triple teamed me into a crying blob of jelly. I attempted to clean things up a bit, napped for a few hours, then showered. I feel much better today.

I didn't take many pictures at the BlogHer Conference, as I am not very good at photography and I always forget to take out my camera. I ride the coattails of my friends. However, I did get a few snaps (in random order):

Laurie of LaurieWrites and Sarah of Sarah and the Goon Squad at Thursday's reception.

Gorgeous view of the Chicago River from my filthy hotel room.

The plastic beaver cream cheese knife that Suebob of Red Stapler gave me - a beaver spreader!

With Pam Mandel, travel writer extraordinaire, of Nerd's Eye View at Thursday's reception.

Moi, Count Mockula, Maren, and Suebob graced the Oscar Meyer Weinermobile with our loveliness on Friday.

Carmen (whose blog I forgot - sorry!!!) and I tested out the bathtub of the Presidential Suite at the CheeseburgHer party on Sat. night. It passed my rigorous requirements for spectacular views, but I swear was a bit dirty.

With BlogHer co-founder Lisa Stone at the CheeseburgHer party. (If I look tired, it is because of my crazy partying at the Playboy party on Friday night. OK, OK! I confess: there was no Playboy party. We invented it to compensate for not being invited to any sponsored parties and make people jealous...)

Laurie Kingston of Not Done Yet; Virginia DeBolt, techie extraordinaire, of BlogHer; and Maren at dinner at Gino's East of Chicago on Saturday night. (Maren and I each had 1.5 slices of deep dish pizza, then foolishly each ate a cheeseburger at the following CheeseburgHer party. On a related note, may I add that my interview pants are tight today?)

Even if I was functional yesterday, I could not have uploaded these jewels of fun until today, as I have no internet access in my apartment right now. Another casualty of the renovation. I really hope the damn thing is over before next year's conference in New York...

Greetings from Pittsburgh!

BlogHer was a trip and a half. I laughed and laughed with my
roommates, Suebob and Maren. I romped with Count Mockula, her mom,
and her genius toddler daughter. I wore a paper bag hat, sat in the
bathtub of the Presidential Suite in the Sheraton, and ate a
cheeseburger at the CheeseburgHer party. I socialized with
Sassymonkey, Denise, LaurieWrites, Heather Clisby, Megan Smith, Major
Bedhead, Amber Rhea, Pam Mandel, Sarah and the Goon Squad, Average
Jane, Liz Henry, and other exceptional women. Updated to add the Graces: Mitchell and Davis, who made my lunch on Sat. one of the highlights of the conference.) I wanted to meet
Nordette Adams, and failed. I collected swag. I ate Mars Bars,
courtesy of Sassymonkey. I dined at Gino's East of Chicago with Liz
Rizzo, Virginia DeBolt, Laurie Kingston, my parents, the
aforementioned roommates, and Count Mockula clan. And on and on.
(Oh, yeah. I attended some panels and also did a book signing.)

So I am tired. I want to get to my furnitureless, dust-infested
apartment (except for the bedroom, which has almost all of the
remaining furniture and boxes, but not so much dust at my last time of
residency). I want to prepare my bag and outfit for an interview I
have tomorrow morning. Then I'd like to sleep in my bed, which has
dirty sheets because we haven't changed them since construction began,
but this kind of dirty sheet smells like Husband, who is in Vegas
nowe, and makes me happy. And I want to prepare for my interview
tomorrow. (Noted twice, not out of senility, but to emphasize
importance.)

Instead, I am sitting in an airplane in Pittsburgh. The flight was
scheduled to arrive in NYC twenty minutes ago. Planes are not allowed
to land at LaGuardia right now due to a storm, so we flew in circles,
slowly progressing east, until we ran out of gas. (Like me, but no
refueling in sight!)

It could be worse. I could still be at O'Hare. And at least I have
six Mars Bars in my bag. And a Vosges chocolate bacon bar (thanks,
Suebob!). Plus, BlogHer will be in NYC next year. Yay!

--
Sent from my mobile device

Blog: www.cussandotherrants.com
Book: www.offthebeatensubwaytrack.com

Dirrrty Conference

Our first night of BlogHer, Maren noticed that a pillow on our bed appeared to have a moldy pillow case. The bathmat had a crusty orange substance on it. I called reception, and the woman told me that housekeeping would be by with fresh linens. We waited and waited, but not one came, so we just cast aside the offending items and went to sleep.

Then last night Maren and I discovered that there were mold-like splotches on the sheet, in addition to what might have been a make up smear. Our top sheet was so threadbare we could see through it, even in the sections that didn't have holes. Maren's "new and improved" pillow case had three holes in it. (Suebob's bedding was fine.)

Continuing on our dirty theme, but in a more fun way, the three ladies of 3011 realized that our lack of invitations to exclusive unofficial BlogHer parties freed us up to attend the early evening soiree at Playboy headquarters. (You know how it is - Hef tires out so easily these days!) The swag was fantastic - bunny ears and puffball tails, crotchless underwear and peekaboo bras, and vibrators. We mingled with the likes of George Clooney, Adrien Brody, Daniel Craig, and Matt Damen. It was so fabulously exhausting that we could hardly stay awake during the otherwise delightful Sparklecorn party (complete with unicorn cake).

The only party that will be more exclusive will next year, when the conference takes place in NYC in early August. The Party in My New Bathroom* will include the most select group of bloggers and other fine individuals. I feel bad for Hef, but I don't think there will be space for me to return his favor.

*Assuming the fucking renovation is even finished by then, but that's another story.

Snake on (the Way To) a Plane

A series of black clouds with lightening bolts hovered over me as I
left my apatment this morning. I walked to the corner to get a cab to
the airport, staring at sidewalk. The sidewalk slithered. This
confused me for a nanosecond until I realized that I was gazing upon a
panicked snake.

The snake slithered back and forth in a series of s-curves. Its pace
was breakneck as it moved toward the street. "Uh, don't go there!" I
silently urged.

No matter how unfortunate things are right now, I don't have it as bad
as that poor, terrified snake. Good luck, little guy!

--
Sent from my mobile device

Blog: www.cussandotherrants.com
Book: www.offthebeatensubwaytrack.com

The Non-Guide to the BlogHer Conference

It's that time of the year, when the BlogHer conference is just around the corner, and people freak out and worry obsessively: what to wear, what if no one wants to talk to me, etc. etc. It's also that time of the year when "experienced" BlogHer attendees write posts and guides to BlogHer to sooth newbie's fears. Here's my non-contribution to this literary tradition:

Forget all the soothing internet back-patting that's going on: you are right to freak out. It will probably be overwhelming. But it will also be fine, and you will be excited to come back again. And again. And again.

My first BlogHer conference was in San Jose in 2006. Before I went, I feared that I would wind up in a corner eating cheese by myself. (This is what happens to me at pretty much every conference I go to, so I didn't think that BlogHer would be different.) And that's almost exactly what happened, except I didn't eat cheese in the corner by myself. I ate cookies. Lots of cookies. I also spoke to some cool people, and I met my blog heroine, Suebob. Suebob even went out to dinner with me, off-site. I was sure after that she would never want to talk to me again, but not only did we keep in touch and hang out at subsequent conferences, I even visited her at her lovely home, and we shall be roommates at the conference this summer. See? It all worked out. (And what did I wear? I think I wore a different pro-choice t-shirt every day. I had a reason, but I can't remember it. I also wore jeans and some weird gym shoes that were supposed to help work out my legs.)

In 2007, my several friends joined me at the Chicago conference. Just knowing that Count Mockula, Alex Elliot, and Super Des were there, and thus I would not eat cheese (or cookies) by myself in a corner, made me more confident and relaxed. As I result, I talked to more people. This was good. (And what did I wear? I can't remember. Probably jeans and t-shirts. During the ice breaker, some idiot bitch asked me if I was a lesbian, and when I said no, she sneered at me and pointed to my CUSS logo shirt and said that I "project" lesbian. Whatver.)

The following year, Count Mockula had a baby (totally awesome) and didn't come to the conference in San Francisco. Des did not attend, either. Alex and I roomed together again, and I spent the entire conference hanging out in the bookstore, chatting various people up, except for the session I attended on not having children. Maybe I went to another session or two involving other things, and I attempted to attend one of the infamous swag parties, but fled the noise and crowds promptly. The important part is that I had oodles of fun, and I got to sign my book, which rocked. (And what did I wear? More t-shirts and jeans, although I gussied up a bit for the book signing and wore a silk-y shirt with jeans.)

Now we are back to my hometown this year. Alex can't attend, but I shall be rooming with Mar, a newbie, and the aforementioned goddess Suebob. I will attend parties and a session or two and hang out. I will eat unhealthy foods, possibly by myself, but more likely with others because I've done this before and I know more people. I will do another book signing (this time, during Friday's cocktail reception) and have lots of fun. Yay!
(And what will I wear? Yes, t-shirts and jeans...)

Monsters in Baltimore

While in Baltimore on Saturday, I encountered two different types of prehistoric creatures:



These (human-propelled) sea monsters patrolled the waters of the harbor. Since I am very interested in sea monsters, I found them fascinating. I hope that we can try one out ourselves next time we go to Baltimore. (Note that maps of the harbor are inaccurate these days, as none seem to include the sea monsters that reside there.)




At the aquarium, my friend (who works there) let me play with this hissing cockroach before she took it out to the general area and let other kids touch with it. Undoubtedly, if I saw a giant hissing cockroach in my apartment, I would scream, not let it on my hand, and certainly not pet it. As I look at this picture, I want to puke. But I swear at the time it was sort of cute.

I wish they had sea monsters of the non-roach variety at the aquarium!

Speaking of Licking...

On Saturday, I discovered that Del Monte made Daniel Craig-sicles on Britain. According to The Daily Mail, the frozen treats were available from June 1 to June 7. Curses! (I am incredibly impressed at the artistry that went into the popsicles - they really look like Daniel Craig in Casino Royale!)

Anyhow, that afternoon, Husband and I went to David Farmland with Alex Elliot, her husband, and their two kids. I am as impressed by Davis Farmland as I am by the Craig-sicles. The animals were all very well-behaved (including the human ones also visiting) and I enjoyed petting goats, sheep, and calves.

One calf, in particular, really seemed to like me and would not stop licking me, including my butt as I bent down to pet another calf:





She even licked my armpit, which was more than enough for me - I finally left the calf pen. I bet that calf would also have enjoyed a Daniel Craig-sicle, though.

Bubby-isms

On a crowded bus yesterday, I sat in the seat behind my mom. She repeatedly turned around to talk to me, annoying the woman sitting next to her. Once the bus emptied out a bit, we were able to get seats together.

"That woman sitting next me gave me a dirty look every time I turned to talk to you," my mom said.

"Yeah? Well, she can kiss my ass. If it was such a big deal, she could have offered to switch seats with me so we could sit together."

Mom giggled. "You know what Bubbe always says? 'You can kiss my ass on a Sunday morning.' Know what that means?"

"No, what?"

"Well, a lot of very religious Orthodox Jews don't use toilet paper on Saturdays..."

Ha ha ha ha! That Bubbe of mine! What a bad person. Although, I point out, the insult would be even more potent if it was, "Kiss my ass on Saturday at sundown," as that is when the Sabbath technically ends and people can go about their normal routines.

Either way, a few hours later, we came across this bunny cookie in the window of a bakery:

With the dab of chocolate over his mouth, he sort of looks like he took Bubbe's retort to heart.

Happy Birthday Mom!

Sixty-two years ago today (well, it's still today in California and Illinois...), my mom was born in a blizzard. It was a difficult delivery, as she was breech and her nose somehow managed to catch itself on my granny's tailbone, if I recall the story properly. (If I don't, my mom will correct me in the comments.) I am so glad that things worked out.

The funny thing is that Husband and I went to the San Francisco Streetcar Museum this afternoon. Why is this funny? Well, my granny's cousin always tells us how she heard that "Bernice was in the hospital having a hard time," so she rushed over to the hospital in the blizzard on a streetcar. San Francisco operates old streetcars on its F line, with different cars paying homage to cities that also operated streetcars in its past. I looked for a postcard depicting the "Chicago" streetcar known as "The Green Hornet," but sadly there were none. I thought it would make a great birthday card for my mom. (Yes, I am admitting that I otherwise forget to send one, although I did call her.)

Later this evening, Husband and I passed by a storefront with the words Fecal Face Dot Gallery on its awning. We laughed and laughed, and I thought about how my mom would also chortle if she were with us.

Happy birthday, Mom, you nutty fecal face! I love you.

Rescue!

While walking back to our hotel from Ghirardelli Square, I noticed an abandoned pirate on the sidewalk. I was horrified! Who would throw aside a perfectly good pirate like trash! Since his whiskered yellow face and brown musket were covered with sand, dust, and cobwebs from neglect, I procured a tissue (unfortunately, a used one, but I doubt that the pirate cared) from my coat pocket, and scooped the little guy up.



As we continued on, I stopped at a little corner grocery to purchase a libation for myself (Cherry Coke Zero, the most expensive bottle I ever bought at $2.01!!!). At the store, I snagged a piece of wax paper that was intended for use in picking pastries up from the case of baked goods, and further enrobed my new friend. He rode the rest of the way safely in my coat pocket.

Upon our arrival, I plunked my adopted pirate into the bathroom sink for a bath. At that point I noticed that much of the gunk that previously covered him had already transferred itself into a gunky part of the tissue, so he was already in better shape than when I first came across his sad little body. After he floated around in the hot bath for a few minutes, I wiped him down with a (clean) tissue. The rejuvenated pirate seemed very grateful, and I now have a guard for my desk at my new job!

Often times no good deeds go unpunished, but I am pleased that I took a few minutes early in this new year to help a plastic trinket in need.

Out with the Old, In with the New

There's nothing like starting a new year than by breaking things. By things, I specifically mean bathrooms. And by bathrooms, I mean home and hotel facilities, one on each coast.

Yesterday morning, Husband and I awoke to urgent voicemail messages from my cousin, who is staying at our apartment while we gallivant about California. It seems that the pipes in our bathroom are leaking. The super and a maintenance dude came over to poke about, and after ripping up the linen closet (and patching it back up), concluded that the walls and floors of the bathroom need to be torn open to fix the problem. Work is to commence on Friday, Jan. 2 and hopefully will conclude on Monday, Jan. 5, which is my first day of work and I was already a nervous wreck about it before I learned that I won't have a functional bathroom that day.

I rang in the new year today by nearly breaking the toilet in the hotel. The result of my spontaneous self-cleansing strongly resembled an eel. Steph warned me yesterday morning that the toilet was not as powerful as it should be. ("It took me three flushes and a lot of hoping. I almost started looking around for a wire hanger, but then figured that this place was too fancy. A wooden hanger would work," she explained, "but wire hangers can be bent so that you can get as far away from the shit as possible, whereas a wooden hanger, it is what it is.") I thought about my honeymoon trip to London in August 2001 and how I had broken the toilet with a shit brick, and then feared that my eel turd would be even worse. Fortunately, it went down in two flushes and nothing resurfaced. Whew!

Happy new year and shit...

Enjoying California: A Pictorial with Rambling Commentary

Despite my unfortunate mislabeling of the previous post as "fun trips that are not fun any more" rather than "fun trips," I am having a great time on my jaunt through the sunny (albeit not overly warm) state of California.

Here Liz and I are outside the Museum of Jurassic Technology:

(I got my ridiculously fashionable coat on sale at Esprit during the snowstorm that prevented me from visiting Alex a few weekends ago. While shopping, '80s music was playing over the sound system and I felt like I was in junior high all over again - the setting and sounds were the same, although to be fair, I didn't shop at Esprit back in the day, as it was out of my price range, but I am majorly digressing here. The point is, the coat is cute and now too tight because I've eaten an enormous quantity of marzipan and other baked goods while on my trip.)

On my birthday (Saturday), we drive up to see Suebob. She showed us around her town and treated us to the yummiest tacos and guacamole ever. Her house is adorable, and I loved meeting Goldie, her sweet golden retriever. (Husband was not tormented by Goldie, so no worries.)

Then Husband and I headed to Santa Barbara, where we stayed at an overpriced hotel by the ocean. I decadently ate lobster tail for dinner. For dessert, Husband and I picked up marzipan petit fours from The Andersen, a Danish bakery, and ate it once the stupid hotel found a room for us with working heat. Luxury hotel my ass...


On Sunday, we started out bright and early and hit the little town of Solvang, which was founded by Danish immigrants who were sick of midwestern winters. The town remains 60% Danish, and is full of cheesy architecture that I loved. We bought more marzipan pastries from Olsen's, which displayed a ginormous gingerbread house:

From there, we drove up the road to a lavender farm that Liz recommended. It was heavenly, which of course means that we departed the sublime and descended into the grotesque. We made a pit stop at the world famous Madonna Inn (featuring a waterfall in the men's restroom as well as loads of pink decorations and ornate insanity around the hotel) on the way to San Luis Obispo, where we had to check out Bubble Gum Alley:


Then it was on to Hearst Castle, which was probably the most obscene place I ever visited. It is very nice that the man was generous to his guests, but damn. It is hard to say an ill word about the gorgeous indoor swimming pool, which had thousands of pieces of Venetian glass tile glowing under the water.

After a long day, what better way to relax than to spend the night in a spacious, heated yurt? (Maybe something with a bathro


Once we unpacked, we sat on the porch and gazed at the gajillions of stars in the sky. It was incredible! In the morning, I took this photo of our lodgings:


If it had a bathroom, it would have been perfect... Oh well. It was still a worthwhile experience. Husband and I hiked two short trails in two different state parks for breathtaking views of nature:



Winding up our sightseeing journey at Winchester Mystery House, designed by Mrs. Winchester (inheritor of the Winchester Rifle Co. fortune) to confuse the spirits of the people killed by Winchester rifles. Featuring doors that open into walls (or sheer drops, as seen below ), stairs that end at ceilings, and mysterious nooks and crannies, it was quite a contrast to Hearst Castle.


Last, but not least, Husband and I landed in Count Mockula's delightful home, where her sweetie cooked us a yummy meal, her adorable baby entertained us, and we savored after dinner hot chocolate before heading off to our (free) hotel, from which I am blogging right now while attempting to keep my eyes open. We'll see Kara and her family again tomorrow (and Suebob, too!), then head to San Francisco for a few days.

Good times!!! (Pictures can be made bigger by clicking on them. And thanks for bearing with this loooooong post.)

Merry Xmas

Husband and I are departing today for our fabulous road trip up the coast of California. As I finalized our itinerary on Sunday night, I realized the difference between arrangements Husband made and those that I took care of.

He booked lodging in Santa Monica, Santa Barbara, Sacramento, and San Francisco. Three of the four hotels he reserved rooms in are free, thanks to his extensive travels for work and the points that he racks up while traveling and charging everything on his Starwood awards credit card. The hotel in San Francisco is particularly over the top - the St. Regis! When Steph, who is meeting us in San Francisco and staying with us, heard what hotel we'd be at, she wondered if they'd even let us (me and Steph, that is - Husband will be fine) in their luxurious halls. Then we laughed maniacally.

It was not until I checked out the hotel website last night that I realized that this might not be a joke. Damn, that place is swank! It even has an indoor pool. Steph said she was glad that I gave her time to de-fur herself, which is when it occurred to me that if I am to frolic in its waters, I should probably shave off my overcoat as well.

I found us a place to stay in Big Sur. It involves yurts.

Bring on the Holiday Travel!

Oh, I am sure that I will regret the title of this blog post, just as George W. Bush will regret encouraging foes of America to bring it on if ever accidentally develops any level of consciousness about the outside world. Still, it is time for Holiday Travel. I got off easy last weekend when I went to Chicago to visit my family, with no delays on my flight out and only a 20 minute delay on the return.

Tomorrow, my sister and brother-in-law are flying from Chicago to Miami for a last hurrah vacation before the baby is due. They are staying with Dr. P, which makes me very jealous. (However, Dr. P is coming up here in January for an interview, and I am so excited about the visit and potential return to New York that I am only a little jealous that Dana gets to hang out with one of my bestest friends and I don't.) My fingers are crossed that they weather allows them a timely departure.

Also tomorrow, my parents and bubbe are leaving Chicago to visit my great uncle and great aunt in Las Vegas. My dad loves Vegas, and I am sure that they will have a great time. I hope that they get out there with no issues as well.

Then on Christmas, Husband and I take off for LA, from which we will drive up Highway 1 and on to Sacramento, with stops to see (in geographic order) Liz Rizzo, Suebob, Santa Barbara, Solvang, San Luis Obispo, Hearst Castle, Big Sur (we stay in a yurt!), Winchester Mystery House, Warrior II, and Kara. Also, we will spend New Year's Eve with friends in San Francisco, where Steph will also join us. So excited. Hopefully, there will be no injuries this year involving sea urchins and/or medical helicopters or slipping on tile and fracturing my elbow thus requiring an immediate return to NYC for surgery, as unfortunately happened to my sister-in-law this week while she vacationed with my brother-in-law in Mexico. (Feel better, SIL!!!)

What are your holiday plans?

Slipper When Wet

"Watch out when you go in the shower," my mom said to my sister on Saturday morning. "The tub is slippery."

"Duh! That's how tubs are!"

"No, really. The cleaning people came and removed five inches of soap scum, so it's extra slippery."

That said, I had a very nice visit today. My nuclear unit took in the latest movie starring my long lost twin Adrien Brody, Cadillac Records, which I enjoyed. Lots of food for thought. Then I obtained a new white turtleneck for a mere $7, which I will use to replace the stained one I've had since junior high.

For dinner, we celebrated my birthday at Red Lobster, which was a special treat for me. (Sometimes I just want to promote osmosis my eating salty cheddar biscuits. Ha ha - no really, my peach-bourbon BBQ shrimp and scallops were good.) Afterward, we had cake at home. Usually I love yellow cake with fudge icing from Jewel, the local grocery chain, but the cake I picked out wasn't so moist and the frosting detached from the cake in clumps. I took the opportunity to interview my grandma and bubbe about their families, though, and that was nice for the most part.

Assuming the weather is agreeable (it's supposed to rain), I'm heading back to my own ten inches of soap scum this evening, and I'm sad that it went by so fast, although I look forward to seeing Husband. And I got an upgrade on the flight back, so that will be nice.

What's Fucking Cookin' in the Windy City

Despite foreboding reports from CNN that due to weather conditions, yesterday was one of the worst days to travel, my flight not only took off on time, but also landed early. The flight was smooth. I was even upgraded to a nice comfy seat!

Both my parents were at work when I arrived, so I took a cab to my friend Hanah's apartment. The cab driver and I had an interesting discussion about Haiti (where he is from), consumerism and how it leads to dissatisfaction with life in general, and text messaging. When I got out of the cab, he thanked me for the nice chat and said that I could call him directly if I needed a ride back to the airport.

In the evening, I went to dinner with my parents and bubbe at a diner called What's Cooking. I was the youngest person in there by at least 25 years. At the table next to ours, two regulars chatted it up at top volume with the staff about the Blagojevich scandal.

"I know one place the Blagojevichs won't be eating tonight!" the gentleman with the coke bottle lens glasses bellowed.

"Yeah, at Anthony's!" his friend with unwashed hair yelled back.

Although I had no idea who Anthony was, my mom and I could not help but join them and the bus boy in laughing. The sort of reminded me of Statler and Waldorf, the two old men Muppets who heckle people.

The TV news is all Blagojevich, all the time. A businessman showed a reporter a picture of himself and Rod as babies. (At least I think that is what was going on. I was not watching the TV, but heard the anchor announce, "Blagojevich is the baby on the right.") No one else seems to want to be in pictures with him right now, as everyone is trying to distance themselves from his taint.

One thing that really riled me up is the flack that Blago's wife, Patti, is taking for a phone call in which she curses like a sailor. I noticed a story about it in the New York Post, a newspaper best used as litter pan liner, but the Sun-Times headline on the topic read, "Foul-mouthed first lady," as if being a woman and using bad language is a crime. Well then, arrest my fucking ass, shitheads, because I don't see anything wrong with swearing it up. This excerpt from the article is pretty fucking hilarious, though:

Patti Blagojevich -- who publicly used her first lady platform to promote food allergy awareness, treatment of lazy eye and a children's book club -- secretly was recorded directing a deputy governor speaking with her husband "to hold up that f- - - - - - Cubs s- - - . . . . f- - - them," according to the complaint.

Yeah, fuck that shit! How fucking dare she?!?! If you are going to fucking advocate for the fucking treatment of fucking lazy eye, don't even fucking think of letting a little f-bomb drop. Seriously, I fucking hope she gets her fucking mouth washed out with fucking soap! Fuck and shit on that!

Reliving the Good Old Days

Being old and senile, I could not remember when I went to Israel for my friend Hanah's wedding. I swore I blogged about it while I was there, but that would mean that I did not go to her wedding in August 2005, as I didn't start CUSS until October 2005. The best way to find out was to check the archives, and lo and behold, there was a trip to Ocean City, NJ, and a trip to visit my sister in Iowa, but nothing on Israel. (Hence the wedding was August 2005, not 2006.) Still, I'm glad I checked because some of my old posts cracked my ass up! I think I was funnier when I was miserable at work and hated my life, before I had a book and went back to school to learn to be literary and shit. For example, here is my three post re-cap (conveniently combined into one, for an extra long treat) of the Iowa State Fair:

On Saturday, my sister, my brother-in-law (BiL), and I set out for the Iowa State Fair in Des Moines, which is about an hour and a half drive from their house. As we left a bit late, we were too hungry to wait to get to the Fair for lunch, so we stopped at a roadside Subway attached to a gas station. Kum & Go is also known to locals as “Ejaculate & Evaculate.” Ha ha ha. I love it.

After ingesting a low-fat sandwich, Diet Coke, and Baked Lays for lunch, I met my healthy obligations for the day and was ready for some serious Fair eating. Pork chop on a stick? Count me in! Taking BiL’s advice, I put a little bit of Cookie’s BBQ sauce on the chop, and an equal amount on my shirt. YUM! It was tasty on the chop. (Not sure about my shirt, though.)

After the chop, we headed over to the Agricultural Building. Sister and BiL assured me that there were many samples to be had. We tried various jellies and honeys, which were delicious. I bought a Dark Sweet Cherry jam, which Sister must ship to me because I could not bring it onboard the plane thanks to the terrorists. The Ag Building also housed the butter sculptures. Does anyone else find the butter cow slightly disturbing? I think it is the veiny udders and prominent ribs. I don’t hang out around many cows, so maybe I just don’t know what they truly look like, but this one is like some weird starving cow on the Ganges or an anorexic bovine. I just never picture cows with their ribs sticking out or bulging veins when I think about them. I like Superman and his butter bulge much better than the cow. (Sacrilege, I know!) Insert your own “melt in your mouth” joke here. I’m not sure who Mr. State Fair is, but he rounds off the troika of butter sculptures nicely. For some reason, I think he has something to do with the Riley of “The Life of Riley,” but like the anorexic cow, I could be making that up. On a final note regarding the butter sculptures, I was amused to see a book about Norma “Duffy” Lyon, the woman who has sculpted the butter statues at the Fair since 1960, was available to purchase.

The butter sculptures were not the only food art on display. Oh no siree! [Here's] the chocurkey. I actually think that this looks a little like a turd molded into a turkey shape placed on a spray painted gold cardboard disk. Gobble gobble!

These are just cute.

No state or county fair is complete without ginormous vegetables and animals. Iowa did not disappoint when it came to the veggies.

The rabbits, however, were not so impressive (although they were damn cute!!!). I mean, sure slightly under 18 lbs. sounds big for a rabbit, but last year at the North Carolina State Fair, I saw a 25 lb. Flemish giant. Tycho, my New Zealand white, is 13 lbs. of sleek fur and muscle. I think Tycho can totally take down that lame ass “Big Betty.”

The final highlights from the Iowa State Fair was spotted in the general store and in the Various Industries Building. As illustrated by this photo, the death penalty is not only barbaric for humans, but also for dolls. Is this not freaky? If I were a five year old girl, I think seeing a doll hang from the rafters of the general store in a noose would give me nightmares. I’m surprised that it didn’t give me nightmares now. On the other hand, every home (or apartment, even if it is a 200 square foot studio like my first one was) needs an “Infrared Health Cabin.”Hmmmm… is this not also known as a sauna? I like how they claim it can “balance” blood pressure (what the hell does that mean?) and lower your cholesterol. Is sweating your balls off really a way to lower cholesterol? If so, Husband, Brothers-in-Law (both of them, Sister’s Husband and Husband’s Brother), and various other men I know must have some of the lowest cholesterol known to man. At least it achieves something other than generating tons of laundry as they sweat through everything they own and change four times a day! Now if only sweatiness would reduce noxious gas emissions, they’d be set…

State fairs are supposed to be all about fun. People go to them to see the latest in tractors, ginormous vegetables, impressive animals, the projects of overachieving 4-H kids, and most importantly, to eat things that are fried or on a stick, or even better, both fried and on a stick. We do not go to them to be brainwashed. Or at least I don’t.

Imagine my horror when I passed by this scary booth: Worse, it was innocuously wedged between a display of whirlpools (for some reason, there were many such displays – hot tubs seem to be the coolest thing in Iowa after tractors and combines) and vacuum cleaners in the Varied Industries Building!!! What does crazy zealot brainwashing have to do with industry? Unless, of course, the state of Iowa is suggesting that the business of denying scientific evidence like evolution has grown into an industry. (And they would be correct in that suggestion.) I was completely offended. If I want to be offended, I watch Fox News. I don’t need to see this shit at a fucking state fair! I want pig races and other entertainment. Bah.

Just as I was calming down about the religious nutjobs, I saw something even worse: You can imagine the scene I wanted to cause. First, I wanted to point out that if you are printing ginormous, factually incorrect propaganda, get your fucking punctuation correct. The asterisk that footnotes whatever bullshit study you invented does not go before the 94%, it goes after it. Stupid fucks can’t get anything right, can they? I was tempted to tell them that there was a booth selling fried aborted fetuses on sticks, and that the teensy skulls have a nice crunch to ‘em. Then again, you never know how these life-loving loons might react. I could easily get shot and killed. I have found that anti-choice folks don’t have great senses of humor. Saving souls is fucking hard, serious work, you know? Maybe they should be outside the general store, protesting the hanging of the doll.

Speaking of the death of thousands of innocent people, I found this attraction at the carnival section of the fair to be in rather poor taste, albeit hilarious: I don’t think it is clear, but the kids climb up the middle section of the angled, sinking, inflated Titanic in a section marked “first-class only” and then slide down the deck. Who the hell thought of this? I admit it is sort of genius, although the class issue annoys me. (All the steerage folks of course were locked underground and drown like rats.)

Also on the offensive yet funny side: Sure, you can get a nice fountain, but why not go for broke and put your very own statue of a Vietnam vet on your lawn? (That is what the sign identifies this extremely white soldier as.) He's fending off the gooks for you and making the world safe for the George W. Bushes of the world to fuck up. What scares me are the people who actually do think that this is a great lawn decoration. They are usually those militant types I try to avoid, not to stereotype or anything.

Thus concludes my overview of my time at the Iowa State Fair. It’s been fun for me, and I hope you feel the same.