Born in the USA: or what exit you from?

Yeah, that second part is vintage SNL. That's what it's like here in north Jersey. The towns seem to fall into two categories -- really old ones that look like something outta central New York only less shabby, and really nondescript ones that look like my home town. The villagy ones have small down town areas where the streets might as well be paved with dollar bills. It's interesting.

I went to a party yesterday. Nice, fun Jersey folks full of Jersey pride, a concept that must've taken hold while I was living in the West. When I left NJ it was still a place you were supposed to be ashamed of, an exit. But now I get a sense that people don't mind being from NJ and it's kinda cool. I guess if you're willing to pay the taxes and drive alongside your fellow New Jerseyians you're entitled to some pride.

The poet James Hoch is from New Jersey and he says that he thinks being from here gives one a sense of entitlement. Maybe it's because he's ten years younger than me; maybe he's from another part of NJ, the one with Princeton. All I know is that to me NJ is still an underdog. After moving from here to Ptown and then to central New York, I think maybe it's my destiny to live in underdog towns. You know, places that people aren't exactly ashamed to be from, but that have some problems. And for all of its splendor, Clinton NY is still in the rust belt.

My friend Pri works in an upscale salon in Tenafly, NJ. She told me that with the economy going south rich people are spending less on trips and house remodels and more on, well, hair I guess. Interesting.

It's funny, I think. Sometimes humans have to defy adversity in such human ways -- spending where and when we can. And I'm doing it too in my own small way. Today I'm going to look for a new cd player, and I won't know where to start because I'll have about forty thousand places to shop. I'm not used to that, so I'm sure I'll wind up going to Target a) because I can find it and not get lost in a maze of Jersey towns that all look alike (see above), and b) because it's next to the B&W bakery, where the best crumb cake in the world is made.

What are you doing to keep the economy going? I almost convinced myself to buy a Ford Focus to replace blue boy, who, I think, really wants to be retired soon. If not retired, at least he wants new struts and shocks and I don't think I'm into that kind of commitment.

Anybody have any car advice for me? So far I've looked at Kias and Hyundais and now my brother-in-law is tempting me with Nissans. Whatever the car it must:
get the best gas mileage possible
not be a complete death trap
not be a cliche (no college teacher Volvo, no Saab, no Outback thank you)

Having thought about the Kia Rio a little further, I think there might be a reason for all those airbags.

Wherever you are, I hope you're having the best holiday ever. Let's get some car advice coming, kay?

Some Reasons Even I have to Love Christmas

1) being with family, even though most of them are hard of hearing, so I have to shout which makes me feel guilty, somehow mean, loud and crass. But hey, they're still here to yell at; that's what counts.

2) the gawden state is warm and the snow is melting fast

3) deli for dinner on Christmas Eve

4) deli for breakfast on Christmas Day?

5) the ability to take hundreds of photos -- thank you Daryl. I haven't broken it yet.

6) being with people who actually think Missy's cute because it reminds me that Missy's cute.

7) getting seven hours of sleep because my parents live on a dead end street

8) another safe holiday trip down the NY Thruway without calamity (5 hours of fog and rain, but no calamity, well not for me. I saw some bad shit.)

9) the flash drive that I accidentally(?) left at home, which means no syllabus work for me until after New Years

10) having a blog so I can wish you all Happy Holidays

Jess, you're not gonna like this one . . .

It's not really a negative post -- more a I'm a student of media and human nature one. I've noticed that since the economy went south, there has been an increase in the number of NPR spots about how making your own Christmas gifts means more than buying gifts. This morning it was one from Germany, which makes me nervous and almost glad that their in the same economic Boot (tricky, huh?) that we are. Misery loves company and this aspect of the world economy makes me think of new connotative value for the word weltschmertzen.

The thing is that I can't make those heartfelt gifts that keep on giving, and I've got the semi-embarrassing track record to prove it. There was the year of Christmas tree ornaments I baked and painted but didn't let dry long enough before painting (moldy), and the time I collected pheasant feathers to glue on styrofoam balls, using a hot glue gun instead of the craft glue the directions called for (messy and slightly dangerous). My relationship with "craft" has included a crocheted hat that resembled a potholder (that my mother insisted on wearing anyway; did I mention it was orange?). When it comes down to it, making gifts requires an attention to detail I just don't have and the ability to sit still for more than five minutes at a time.

I used to be able to make beautifully decorated sugar cookies frosted so colorfully they made your eyes hurt, but that was when Pin and Big were young and they would just eat them anyway, ingrates!

So this year I am turning my limited attention span to one project. On Christmas day I'll be making lemon curd from my grandmother's recipe and hoping that I don't screw it up, what with the eggs and the double boiler and all that. My grandmother, technically Lucy Ellen (aka Nellie) Phipps Murphy McCarthy I suppose, was really the only one in our family who baked and canned. She was an expat from England, and I remember her apartment in the Bronx smelling like pickled cabbage when we went over there. She made plum jelly and her own mincemeat, and once she sent me a recipe for a banana sour cream cake that she'd made and sent home with my father. She also made my father steak and kidney pie, and happily did not send any of it home with him.

So I'm sitting here with her recipe, getting ready to head down the thruway, and of course since it's the holidays I'm nostalgic and excited. I'm still jealous of all those folks who can make a gift (including Big and Pin who must've inherited some creative craft gene that skipped my generation). So, I've got a lot invested in this lemon curd thing. Wish me luck?

Grandma's Lemon Curd
1 lb. lump sugar (that's 2 C granulated sugar)
1/2 lb. butter
2 lemons
4 eggs
Melt the butter; grate and squeeze the lemons; simmer all together until the mixture thickens. Use a double saucepan or a jug in a pan of boiling water, then you are sure of not burning the curd.

Sounds deceptively easy, huh?

Happy Holidays Everyone!

PS: don't pity me because I didn't have those homemade goodie-filled moments as a child. Remember, I grew up in the land of great bakeries :)

Exactly!

Jess is right. Let's have something upbeat for the holidays. I'm past my "the killer is in the house" moment from last night, and it's time to jump right into holiday mode. Jess wants a favorite holiday memory, so here goes.



Father Christmas Come To Bergenfield, or Why is This Kid Such a Pain in the Arse?

'Twas the night before Christmas and that ten year old kid
with the glasses and runny nose
Had heard from some others at school that day
That there was no Santa Claus

She camped out by the tree, refusing to budge
"We'll see if this Santa dude comes"
The adults all were waiting -- their intentions were good --
To ferry the presents and start the fun

But the kid wouldn't give, and the hour grew late
Then later, then later and later
So a ruse was concocted; the presents were moved
To upstairs, and the brother enlisted

He hung out the window and shouted with glee
"I see him! I see him! It's Santa!"
Threw his voice: "Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night"
And Christmas was saved in New Jersey

It wouldn't have worked with just any kid
But this one was gullible by nature.
What a family, you say?
What a pain in the butt that kid must have been --
a real winner.

But the family was kind, bottom line, always kind.
And the kid was just odd and tenacious
So Christmas won out; after all, family's family
Did I mention I was really thirteen?



So that's my Christmas story. Can you imagine what those relatives really wanted to do with me? Fate or karma got its revenge though. Pinhead was, as a kid, as big a pain in the butt as I was. What goes around . . .

What's your favorite Christmas memory?

Another Scary Movie, SPOILER ALERT

One of the cool things about insomnia is that you can wake up at 4:00 in the morning with grand ideas about all that time stretching out before you, time in which you can decide things like wow, I'll get those drapes hemmed and those new pants hemmed and read Margaret Atwood and blah blah blab. . .

One of the things I like to do at 4:00 in the morning is watch a good or even a crappy movie, either a watch instantly one or one that has arrived in the mail in one of those festive and delicious little red envelopes. I like to drink coffee and prowl around the house and celebrate the little things, like there are no upstairs neighbors snorting coke and falling down drunk at 4:00 in the morning like there used to be back in the days of 9th St. in Pocatello, ID when I was trying to study for my doctoral exams.

In short, the upside to insomnia is that if you live alone and own your own home, you can pretty much do anything you want at 4:00 in the morning. But there's a downside to all this glory. When you really haven't had much sleep, you ought not watch a movie like "Distubia".

Flashback: Last night I was at the Franklin Hotel in Rome enjoying a delicious meal, and a friend said that she always wanted to live in the country, but being a single woman prohibits that. Since I feel stupidly and ridiculously invulnerable all the time, I thought how silly. I told her "you don't want to live in the country because it's boring," something I truly believe after living nine, ten and then three miles from the nearest town in various houses in various parts of southern and southeastern Idaho. Since I am so stupidly Jersey girl about such things, I didn't give any real thought to vulnerability, that is until I watch "Disturbia" and two hours later realized I had every light in the house on and almost jumped out of my chair when the washing machine switched cycles.

The thing is, David Morse is THAT GOOD at being that guy -- that creepy, smart, quiet everyman whom you can't really quite imagine could turn out to really be "that guy" even though you know he's gonna turn out to be that guy. And that movie is don't-look-out-the-kitchen-window-while-you're-rinsing-out-the-coffee-pot scary. It's so well done. It's turn-down-Deutsche-Welle-Radio-so-you-can-listen-for-the-bump-in-the-bump-in-the-night scary.

BTW, I broke the coffee pot, a french press.

So, all this made me think about scary movie heroes and antiheroes, villains and villains we admire. I'm wondering what kinds of villains really scare you, even if you're like me and not easily scared. I think for me it's the quiet Anthony Hopkins super brainiac type, the one who plans and whom you can't imagine losing his (her?) cool. Of course, there's also scariness of the brute force of sheer and aggressive quick paced evil.

So, finally here's my point. Who scares you? It would really say a lot about how secure ya'lls are in your masculinity (Clark?, Nicks?, Mikey?) if some a yous posted, but I bet I can get Jess to share on this one. On second thought, with her keen analytical mind she probably doesn't get scared. After all, she figured out Bill Unwin pretty quickly.

Jess, in response I predict that Missy will try (and I hope not succeed) to eat some of the many chocolates my father will receive for Christmas. I predict that on Christmas Eve while we're all stuffing ourselves with deli, she will be ever-so-sneakily sniffing around the Christmas tree. I will try my best to be vigilant and watchful, but once I have that second Manhattan I sometimes let my guard down. Of course Missy will be glued to the dining room table as long as the aforementioned cold cuts are still a presense.

SELF SERVING AND SHAMELESS PLUG: If you're in the Utica area and ready to kill someone with cabin fever, come on out to the Winter Solstice Reading, Open Mic, Music (I promise Christmas carols), Pinata, anything else you can imagine extravaganza. Bring a "b" as long as you promise not to give the high school kids any. It should be fun. It starts at 7:00 at the College Street Cafe and Artist Studio at 34 College Street in Clinton, NY.

Things I'd like to know

from people who have posted to my blog:

Jess, have you learned to drive yet?
Nick, how's the job(s) (depending on the Nick) going and how come you hardly ever post?
Clark, how many plagiarists and/or F's did you give this semester? This one is designed to cheer me up, I admit, unless the answer is 0.
Lena, what's your all time number one am besten (sorry, don't know any Italiano) Italian food that only Italian families really know about?
Carlie, is pink still your favorite color? No, kidding, bad joke. What is the number one hot topic in your field right now? Should be interesting for the rest of us to know what's hot in the field of long-dead stuff.
Anonymous who posted that stanza for the haiku, who the hell are you? That was good stuff.

As for me, I got nothin' today, unless you count my most recent moral dilemma. Since I switched bedrooms to be in the quiet bedroom that's off the street, I've been woken up by the skittering of little scamperfussen, as small animals cross my house (sometimes many and sometimes many times), which they can access via my quaint and adorable (oh, how I wish it wasn't there these days!) side porch. For some reason, with winter's arrival there's more traffic up there. I could put a trap on top of the porch. It'd be easy enough to plant it on the porch roof with a broomstick. Live trap? Maybe. Death trap? Well, let's just say I'm getting a little tired of all this scampering.

Happy Tuesday

Some of you will be shocked

because I seem, let's see is it too feminist (no, that's not it), too cool (well, that's certainly not it, too busy (maybe), too tired from all that insomnia (btw, I can sorta see bags under my eyes from the corners of my eyes right now -- disturbing), maybe too impatient, but I actually baked something successfully. I modified the following biscotti recipe a little, using 1/2 C dark brown sugar and 1/2 C white sugar. I, like the recipe's author, think 1 1/2 C is too much. I also did replace 1/2 C of flour with whole wheat. Here's the link:
http://novice-baker.blogspot.com/2007/11/favorite-chocolate-biscotti-recipe.html

I should mention that I've tried biscotti before and they have always been a horrible failure, tough and hard as a rock. So, today's get-your-imagination-going-blog-entry is: can you name an alternate use for bad biscotti? I know, this seems like my lamest post yet, but think about it, what would you do with a failed but still edible food item. Doesn't have to be biscotti, btw. . . c'mon peeps, let's entertain each other on this rainy day.

Speaking of my peeps, and entertaining they are, here are some pics of my beloved (no, I'm not ashamed of how over the top that sounds; it's true) family taken at my sister's house in Congers. If you ask me, they're adorable!

P. S.

Carlie, don't you think your kids would love to go caroling?

And the winner is . .

Jess cause Nick googled my trivia song, which was Photo Jenny. Jess, coffee's on me. It was great to see you guys today. Give a ring if you want your coffee before you hit the road back to NJ.

On a song-related note, some of us coffee shop weirdos are going to go caroling. Yes, caroling. Yes, I know it's lame, or maybe it's really cool depending on how you look at it. If you're interested, we're in the process of picking a day, so hop on board.

C'Mon People

let's keep those weather-related songs coming. We're on a roll. Can you tell I'm stuck in the house with thirteen papers left?

oh yeah and i almost forgot, a little trivia . . .

can you finish this line of the song i've had stuck in my head the last several days? winner gets coffee on me next time i see yuz:

everyone says she's really ugly
so i shut my eyes
oh i shut my eyes and make a film
and the star of it
and the star of it
and the star of it is:

Hint: it's a B and S song

More paper avoidance and insomnia

This morning I have so far:
1) Woken up at 4:20 (no kidding, 4:20 man!)
2) Maintained a good attitude about afore implied insomnia
3) Become an Oneida County Habitat for Humanity volunteer (something I've always wanted to do, but somehow never gotten around to; thank you www)
4) Watched an episode of Dexter while surfing the net so randomly I couldn't begin to tell you how I got to half those places)
5) Super moisturized my rapidly aging winter insomnia face with pink Mary Kay stuff I buy from Laura
6) Squinted a lot because insomnia makes your eyes tired!
What's not on this list? You got it -- I have gotten through 1/2 of one paper. But that's not what this post is about. I started thinking about altruism and how we should all try to help each other, and that got me thinking about ways I know I can't help because of my limitations. I think being a secular humanist is way cool, but I know I have my limits. Here are some things I thought I'd do over the years, but couldn't because I thought maybe they'd ruin me with grief:
-- walk dogs or play with cats at humane society, pound, whatever
-- take Missy to nursing home to interact with patients
-- volunteer at nursing home
-- help get dogs/cats adopted at retail venues
-- board animals for humane society
I think all of the above have in common the element of "I'd want to take them all home" (or keep them) and their ain't enough room at 27 Kellogg for that many pets and old people. How about you? As this holiday season approaches are you starting to think about something you might do? Do you know your limits? Oh yeah, thanks Biggie Head, cause I think you started all this with your I'm gonna spend Christmas volunteering at the homeless shelter thing. Ah yes! There's another thing I know I'm not cut out for. Whatcha got?

Global Warming?

The day before yesterday it was 3 degrees. Now it's raining. Pretty wacky. In a tribute to global warming, I'll see if I can come up with a list of weather-related songs. See if you can add to it.

1) Obviously, "Rainy Days and Mondays"
2) "Summertime, and the Livin' is Esay"

Okay, that didn't last long. That's all I got at 6:00 in the morning when there's a stack of papers calling to me "grade me, grade me now"! Help me out here, if you can.

Suffer the Little Blog Followers . . .

I've been resisting the urge, for about two weeks now, to drag my poetic obsession into this blog, and at the risk of sounding like the boring, preoccupied with words English teacher I really am, I'm giving in.

Mark Doty has won the National Book Award. I've been reading his work for so long I can't remember how long, and it has seen me through some terrible and bleak hours, days, and months. Doty's work has meant so much to me that it occupies a place in my emotional and intellectual self I can't even begin to articulate. Nuf' said; instead of rhapsodizing, here's my all time favorite (still makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up every time I read it) Mark Doty poem:


Visitation

When I heard he had entered the harbor,
and circled the wharf for days,
I expected the worst: shallow water,

confusion, some accident to bring
the young humpback to grief.
Don't they depend on a compass

lodged in the salt-flooded folds
of the brain, some delicate
musical mechanism to navigate

their true course? How many ways,
in our century's late iron hours,
might we have led him to disaster?

That, in those days, was how
I'd come to see the world:
dark upon dark, any sense

of spirit an embattled flame
sparked against wind-driven rain
till pain snuffed it out. I thought,

This is what experience gives us ,
and I moved carefully through my life
while I waited. . . Enough,

it wasn't that way at all. The whale
—exuberant, proud maybe, playful,
like the early music of Beethoven—

cruised the footings for smelts
clustered near the pylons
in mercury flocks. He

(do I have the gender right?)
would negotiate the rusty hulls
of the Portuguese fishing boats

— Holy Infant, Little Marie —
with what could only be read
as pleasure, coming close

then diving, trailing on the surface
big spreading circles
until he'd breach, thrilling us

with the release of pressured breath,
and the bulk of his sleek young head
— a wet black leather sofa

already barnacled with ghostly lice —
and his elegant and unlikely mouth,
and the marvelous afterthought of the flukes,

and the way his broad flippers
resembled a pair of clownish gloves
or puppet hands, looming greenish white

beneath the bay's clouded sheen.
When he had consumed his pleasure
of the shimmering swarm, his pleasure, perhaps,

in his own admired performance,
he swam out the harbor mouth,
into the Atlantic. And though grief

has seemed to me itself a dim,
salt suspension in which I've moved,
blind thing, day by day,

through the wreckage, barely aware
of what I stumbled toward, even I
couldn't help but look

at the way this immense figure
graces the dark medium,
and shines so: heaviness

which is no burden to itself.
What did you think, that joy
was some slight thing?

Santacon 2008

I was talking to Biggie Head with Fries on the phone (live from Hipster Central, Portland, OR)while she was taking a break from work, and the Santacon Parade went by. You can see what she saw at:
http://www.oregonlive.com/news/index.ssf/2008/12/these_bad_santas_party_down_in.html

It amazes me when life imitates NPR.

I hate insomnia

Yep, I've been up since 5:00. In fact, I was up three times between 1:00 and 5:00. I'm not so sure my new sleep helper (a beta blocker) is good for me, considering I was shaking every time I woke up.

GMCali, aka my friend George, says that Calm is a great product, and Biggie Head with Fries (my new nickname for oldest daughter) says they sell it where she works in super groovy peace out Portland, so maybe if 4 outta 5 zen hippies recommend it . . .

Until then, I hope you all had a great night's sleep.

We Brilliant Again

I don't wanna sound sexist, but it looks like only girls pitched in on this one. I expect male responses to my call for limericks! Nicky, where the hell are you? Lost on the turnpike again? If it weren't for Jess, I'd figure you were mad at me. And Clark, if you're still out there -- after your Black Friday piece I know you can come up with something funny. Yes, that's a challenge -- a limerick throw down. So here's our linked haiku; have a great weekend everyone.


Pat, Lena, Jess and Carlie's Linked Haiku Thanksgiving Haiku

When we all say grace
Aunt Grace always choking up
That's how true love is

Family so crazy!
Yet I wouldn't trade them in for
All the gold on earth

The best part is not
the food (though it was yummy):
it's all the laughter

Long drive to New York
Almost didn't make it there
Car trouble is fun

Made it home at last
Guest Appearances were scarce
Gotta love family.

Go to the movies
When there's no family around
Expat status sucks.

Oh Blog Divine!

I've been ignoring my blog, and I feel so ashamed. After all, Murphy's New York a go go got me through the hard times of being housebound thanks to L5 at S1 and L4 and all that stuff. But now that the back attack is under control, I've been a poor blogger. Well, yeah I've busy catching up on all the stuff that went by the wayside, and I've been busy enjoying the return to mobility. In fact, it's sunny right now and I'm going to walk the dog. Speaking of, Missy says hi and wants you all to know she's recovering pretty well from the third of a loaf of pannetone she pulled off the counter and ate the other day.

Now that life is back to life, if any of you are still out there checking in, and you want to come to/be part of a solstice reading on the 21st, let me know. I love the idea of getting out of the house on the shortest day of the year to spend time with other vitamin D deprived people.

So here's a totally lame limerick about life and blogs. I hope you'll read it and contribute one back at me about your life:

There once was a girl from New Jersey
Who couldn't have been much more crazy
She jumped up and down
And tried never to frown
She was, oddly, hyper and lazy

Have a great weekend.

It's a bird! It's a plane! Well, I don't know what it is . . .

but I'm gonna find out. Whatever it is that woke me up at 4:00 this morning trying to get in my bedroom window, that is. As soon as it's light, I'm going to do the forensics. I was, frankly, a little too nervous to try to whip open the curtains and do a gotcha when it was so dark out. I think it's a bird, maybe trying to nest in the windowsill because I left the storm window open. It could be a squirrel, or, heaven forbid, a bat, but the rooting sound indicates otherwise. Whatever it is, there I was at 4:30 banging on the wall with a rolled up poster to get it to go away, to no avail. Then I tried yelling, but that only scared Missy because she thought I was mad at her. Finally, after coaxing Missy back in to the bedroom, I tried the old "get it Missy, get it!" also to no avail. It's gone now, but the sun's about to come up and I'm about to bravely and with great fortitude go see what kind of evidence I can find. Yes, folks, I'm going to look for scat, guano, feathers, whatever I can find. I am brave beyond belief! Either that, or I watched too much CSI when Pinhead lived with me. I'm trying to make it into an adventure: wish me luck!

One thing I do know. If it's burglar, and s/he's on a ladder trying to pry his/her way into my house, I don't think I have to worry too much. S/he's probably really small and dumb. Okay, here I go . . .

but before I do, I'd like to add a little incentive to get the haiku from last post finished. Here it is: C'mon people, let's get this haiku finished! Jeez, it's Monday. You're back from wherever; let's go! And you though I was gonna offer cash and prizes . . .