Monday, January 31, 2005
Weekend skiing in New Hampshire found Horizon organic chocolate milk cartons en masse at the cabin a la the couple with kids we share the place with -- free from anti-biotics and growth hormones. What I especially liked seeing is that the milk is packed in aseptic boxes. The material is FDA safe (at least that's what they are saying now) and fully recylcable. In fact aseptic packages are amongst the most environmentally friendly and energy-efficient on the market today. Now if I could just get my friend out of her humoungous SUV that she uses to cart the chocolate milk around....
Wednesday, January 26, 2005
Wonder whether Tom Wolfe's new book I am Charlotte Simmon's is a true reflection of college life... The daughter left the book here over her break and now I'm reading it. She told me not to read it because she felt it skewed the whole college experience. Amazon reviews are mixed but let's just say for argument's sake that Wolfe gets it just half right. If this is the case, why the hell are we paying so much for such whirly wantonness? The girls are particularly scary and I've taken notice of this first hand from incidents occurring on the middle school/high school scene here in town X. Not that there is necessarily anything wrong with promiscuity. But these girls are being self-degradating sluts to the max. I just don't believe that these wasted drunk girls are really enjoying their gang bangs. Sorry. These guys (wasted themselves) are banging them. 'Cum-dumpsters' are what these girls are referred to by said bangers...
Monday, January 24, 2005
After touring the state's roads in his own vehicle and riding Route 128 with a state-employed snow plow operator Sunday, Gov. Mitt Romney declared state offices closed for Monday, January 24th. Only 'essential' and emergency state workers are expected to report to work Monday in Bristol, Essex, Middlesex, Norfolk, Plymouth, and Suffolk counties, as well as the three counties that make up Cape Cod and the islands of Martha's Vineyard and Nantucket. "They know who they are," said Romney press secretary Shawn Feddeman, referring to the so-called essential employees. Hmmm. Maybe I'll bake something today...
"Oh youuuuu-hoooo!!" I yelled out to the tractor plow barreling up the street at 4 p.m. yesterday afternoon. For extra measure I planted myself in the middle of the street and started waving at him. He stopped. I start batting my proverbial big ble eyes (they're brown actually). "I think you know why I waved you down, right? I'm Anna. What's your name?" Joe smiles. "Thirty bucks," he says. "Deal." And quicker than a sixteen-year-old, he was done. No, no not that... He was done with my driveway. Fifteen mammoth scoopfuls of white deposited neatly to the left and right so that in the event I need to go to the store for more wine or firewood, I can. "Thanks a million" I said and I meant it. "Anytime...," and he was off up the road to the next woman outside shoveling -- husband inside at the fireplace with a 'sore back....'
"Oh youuuuu-hoooo!!" I yelled out to the tractor plow barreling up the street at 4 p.m. yesterday afternoon. For extra measure I planted myself in the middle of the street and started waving at him. He stopped. I start batting my proverbial big ble eyes (they're brown actually). "I think you know why I waved you down, right? I'm Anna. What's your name?" Joe smiles. "Thirty bucks," he says. "Deal." And quicker than a sixteen-year-old, he was done. No, no not that... He was done with my driveway. Fifteen mammoth scoopfuls of white deposited neatly to the left and right so that in the event I need to go to the store for more wine or firewood, I can. "Thanks a million" I said and I meant it. "Anytime...," and he was off up the road to the next woman outside shoveling -- husband inside at the fireplace with a 'sore back....'
Sunday, January 23, 2005
View to door leading to garage. Gee I'd shovel the snow if I could just get to the shovel....
Breathtaking Blizzard of 2005. Snowdrifts higher than our tropical palm and table-high orchid plant. Some front doors we saw on our lone walk this morning were completely blocked by drifts. Yes it is possible to have a California house with big picture windows and tropical plants growing indoors here in wintry New England. But the windows must be DOUBLE-GLAZED....
Friday, January 21, 2005
As beautiful as this white gardenia plant is -- the very one I blame for keeping me from going into work to face Fritz the Mouse and all those pallid peons called State employees today -- it is really the double-glazed window behind the plant that astonishes. Outside it is but 7 degrees Fahrenheit yet both this tropical plant and I sit comfortably side by side -- both pretending we are places we aren't I suppose: the plant pretends it is in the exotically sweet tropics of Africa or Asia -- itself emanating an exotic lush fragrance that casts me to places I've never been. I pretend I am in the office in Boston helping down-trodden constituents and practically-illiterate Reps. Thanks to Audix, VPN, and other virtual toys, very few would know I wasn't really in the office save for my one colleague and of course the boss. The only downside to my CEO-like office suite is when the two o'clock sun starts streaming into the window next to my desk. It makes me sleepy... The rays warm me, and the gardenia blossom as well for it exudes a potent fragrance and my head becomes siesta-esque. There is an inviting day-bed just behind me with two magazines that want to be read... Has the State House lost an hour of my time spent taking a quick nap? No not really. Because afterwards I feel a bit guilty and am doubly productive.
More Madness. The boss and I agreed to rendezvous at 5:15 p.m. in front of his district business so I could hand off some citations he needed for an event the following morning. Mind you his district business is located in a section of city full of heroin addicts and homeless... Knowing he would probably be late (and sure enough he was), I thought I'd do something useful while waiting around. So I got out of the Audi and started re-packing a box of extra clothes I needed to ship to the daughter down in D.C. 'You givin' those clothes away?' says a man walking by. 'Ah, no.....' He looked like he wanted to say something else but walked on. This Ann Taylor-dressed, 40-something woman cutting packing tape with her teeth out on a dimly-lit, rough-neighborhood sidewalk devoid of any apparent reason why she should be there doing this in the first place was perfectly safe. Would-be muggers like predictability, not a victim who appears to be completely mad!
The boss was complaining to me the other day how 'his business in the district is going down the tubes.' From year to year it's getting slower and slower. He wanted to know if I had any ideas or thoughts. I told him that even if his city eventually gets around to finishing the downtown rejuvination project, his business is still going to have its problems and the reason being is that it's always half-full of a bunch of the city's Old Guard a.k.a. scruffy old white guys trying desperately to hang onto their power base and constantly complaining about how the city is changing. 'Your Vietnamese, Latino, and Russian immigrants don't feel welcome there. And certainly the bohemian gay community who would be the most likely to buy into the downtown artist lofts the city is building aren't going to come to your place. Not after you voted against gay marriage. And you can't sustain your business with your existing customer base. They're a dying breed. Literally. Hire a Latino employee!' I told him. 'That might help....Or if you want to pay me on the side to re-package your image, I'll be glad to give it a go.' (no more... Oh Anna do you think you could do a couple of projects for me on State House time.....)
The boss was complaining to me the other day how 'his business in the district is going down the tubes.' From year to year it's getting slower and slower. He wanted to know if I had any ideas or thoughts. I told him that even if his city eventually gets around to finishing the downtown rejuvination project, his business is still going to have its problems and the reason being is that it's always half-full of a bunch of the city's Old Guard a.k.a. scruffy old white guys trying desperately to hang onto their power base and constantly complaining about how the city is changing. 'Your Vietnamese, Latino, and Russian immigrants don't feel welcome there. And certainly the bohemian gay community who would be the most likely to buy into the downtown artist lofts the city is building aren't going to come to your place. Not after you voted against gay marriage. And you can't sustain your business with your existing customer base. They're a dying breed. Literally. Hire a Latino employee!' I told him. 'That might help....Or if you want to pay me on the side to re-package your image, I'll be glad to give it a go.' (no more... Oh Anna do you think you could do a couple of projects for me on State House time.....)
Monday, January 17, 2005
Mad Mother's Metaphors. Innate improvisatorial mania is, I've decided, a magnificent Darwinian advantage on today's nano-second changing stage. I may be a lousy cook but I can whip up life-altering metaphorical lessons for family and friends faster than beaten fluffy egg whites. "You see this smeared cream cheese and raspberry jelly on the stainless steel refrigerator I asked you to please be considerate of and not smear? This is a metaphor of your life son ..." "You see these shampoo bottles and skin cream products lined up on your bedside table next to the J. Crew shopping bag? This is a metaphor of your life daughter..." "The fact that you didn't join your daughter to walk the dog around the block in 1 degree weather? This is a metaphor of your life friend." I'm sure I could think up plenty of life-altering metaphors for my life but I am a born delusionist who likes to think I am perfect as is. Although honestly a whore analogy wouldn't be entirely misplaced at the moment... Here I am writing fluff adjectives for my boss kissing ass for a coveted chairmanship position to which he has no qualifications. The adjectives fall off my fingertips onto the keyboard like light rain sprinkling thirsty flowers. But if he gets any chairmanship I shall have to quit or have no ethical honor left... Of course it's a lot easier to quit on ethical grounds when you have another job lined up...
Friday, January 14, 2005
The son is exactly the age of bad-boy Prince Harry. Age 20. Said son may be a moronic idiot about a lot of things but he sure as hell knows about Auschwitz. Not in a million years would he go near a Hitler outfit for a costume party. All the more so that he is half Austrian and over half his friends are Jewish. Just wouldn't go over very well.... A recent BBC poll finds that a whopping 45% of Britons have never heard of Auschwitz. Americans probably fare better just because the Jewish contingency in this country spends a lot of time, money, and effort making sure Americans do know. Hmmm. OK. But Prince Harry has been attending pretigious private schools in Britain, ja? Don't they at least do a little dog-and-pony show about the atrocities of the Holocaust and the injustices of Colonialism (Harry's party invite said to dress as colonists or natives...) And as prince, prince, prince in line to be king, shouldn't he be getting some sensitivity training? Well Dad sure showed him. Send the kid to Auschwitz. Then he'll get it. Right...
Thursday, January 13, 2005
Great Quotes for the Day:
"Tonight eat only half the dessert. And then go out and walk around the block. And if you are going to watch television get down and do 10 push-ups and five sit-ups."Thomas Thompson, secretary of Health and Human Services, on new diet guidelines. I wonder how many millions of dollars were spent on this latest study that recommends eating less and getting more exercise as a way to help Americans lose weight...
"After years of lying about his weapons, Saddam Hussein willfully decided to tell the truth about them," Mr. Bush said. "His treachery knows no bounds." President George W. Bush. -- Bush Accuses Saddam of Telling the Truth. Oh my god...
"Tonight eat only half the dessert. And then go out and walk around the block. And if you are going to watch television get down and do 10 push-ups and five sit-ups."Thomas Thompson, secretary of Health and Human Services, on new diet guidelines. I wonder how many millions of dollars were spent on this latest study that recommends eating less and getting more exercise as a way to help Americans lose weight...
"After years of lying about his weapons, Saddam Hussein willfully decided to tell the truth about them," Mr. Bush said. "His treachery knows no bounds." President George W. Bush. -- Bush Accuses Saddam of Telling the Truth. Oh my god...
Wednesday, January 12, 2005
Milking a Disaster. Some reps around here at the State House (usually one's who don't have any legislation filed worth the paper it's written on) will do anything to get in the limelight. Said one:
'I would like to invite you to co-sponsor this late-filed bill regarding the establishment of a special commission to explore the possibility of creating a tsunami early-warning detection system for the coastline of Massachusetts.'
A tusunami off the coast of Massachusetts??! Well I suppose anything is possible... Another Rep is proposing that the state pay each registered voter $25 to vote. Yes, because the majority of registered voters know much about their local elections... "Hmmm. How about this one... This guy has an intriguing sounding last name."
In the meantime, if you haven't heard anything from your local elected Rep in the past couple of weeks it's because he/she is as we speak jockeying for a plushy committee assignment under the newly elected House Speaker. Whether or not your Rep has any qualifications or experience to chair say the Government Regulations Committee or Election Laws Committee is entirely moot. Reps are picked based on the Chalkboard of Favors tallying method. Underpaid legislative aides then come in to make them look good. Well except for the those who play solitaire all day...
'I would like to invite you to co-sponsor this late-filed bill regarding the establishment of a special commission to explore the possibility of creating a tsunami early-warning detection system for the coastline of Massachusetts.'
A tusunami off the coast of Massachusetts??! Well I suppose anything is possible... Another Rep is proposing that the state pay each registered voter $25 to vote. Yes, because the majority of registered voters know much about their local elections... "Hmmm. How about this one... This guy has an intriguing sounding last name."
In the meantime, if you haven't heard anything from your local elected Rep in the past couple of weeks it's because he/she is as we speak jockeying for a plushy committee assignment under the newly elected House Speaker. Whether or not your Rep has any qualifications or experience to chair say the Government Regulations Committee or Election Laws Committee is entirely moot. Reps are picked based on the Chalkboard of Favors tallying method. Underpaid legislative aides then come in to make them look good. Well except for the those who play solitaire all day...
Tuesday, January 11, 2005
Stroking Egos via Death. Every day, hundreds of emails get mass-blasted to the thousands of state employees sucking on the tit of the taxpayer whose tax dollars make it possible to play computer solitaire all day long without so much as a shrug. At least once a week, one of these emails is a Death Notice. Someone actually gets paid full-time to send out notifications to everyone at the State House when anyone remotely related to a State Representative or Senator dies -- mother, brother, employee, cousin, you name it. The email is standard in its' format: So-and-so Rep's step-sister just passed away. Funeral services will be held at such-and-such a place at such-and-such a time. If you would like to send well-wishes, the address is.... Ah ha! This is where the ego stroking comes into play. The game goes: who ever gets the most sympathy cards wins. "Well look how popular I am. I got 622 sympathy cards...How did I look at the funeral service? Did I look ok?"
Email 101. At least the little lady whose job it is to send out mass email death notices knows how to send out an email. Not my Rep... I spent half an hour today explaining the finer points of clicking on the "Compose an Email" icon. Then how to attach a file. And then how to send said email. Said I, "Come on Rep. I know you can do this. We did this before, remember? Did you forget to take your meds this morning? Come on let's focus..."
Email 101. At least the little lady whose job it is to send out mass email death notices knows how to send out an email. Not my Rep... I spent half an hour today explaining the finer points of clicking on the "Compose an Email" icon. Then how to attach a file. And then how to send said email. Said I, "Come on Rep. I know you can do this. We did this before, remember? Did you forget to take your meds this morning? Come on let's focus..."
Monday, January 10, 2005
Shakespeare 2005...Fury hath no wrath like a jilted spoiled brat. Faster than you can say: Go to Press!, every teenager in our town knows (via cellphone) of high school senior XXX who faces assault and battery charges this morning. She was at a party and got mad that her ex-boyfriend was going out with someone else. Rather than beat up her ex-boyfriend, she went after the new girlfriend. Not satisfied with kicking her while the girl lay helpless and bleeding on the floor, she got into her nearly-new black Audi and used it as a battering ram against the other girl's car. Nice.... At issue, as far as the parent's lawyer is concerned, will probably be more about how to get this naughty girl's college chances back on track more than the welfare of the poor girl who got beaten up. At least she did this after the all important first quarter. Now she just has to wiggle out of criminal charges and expulsion.
Shakespeare Tragedy 2005...A woman in tears (or another day at work). With no happy ending in sight. Single and homeless for two years with a four-year-old daughter. Her foster family has petitioned to take custody of the child citing pyschiatric problems of the mother. Whispers of cigarette burns and cigarette lighters being put in places they shouldn't be. Testimony from the child. But was she coerced from the foster parents? A confused and harassing Department of Social Services. The woman herself the product of DSS and afraid to death of them. She and her sister were abandoned by her parents at age eleven. She was in and out of foster homes her whole childhood. Abused and sexually molested. As a pregnant teen, her first baby was put up for adoption. Now she has been taken in by her younger sister who herself has four children. And no husband. They live in a two-bedroom rat hole. "This little girl means everything to me," the woman cries. "Please help me." Who knows what the other side to this tragic story is. Where the truth lies. I do know that the safety net called social services in this country pretty much means that these people are screwed and bound for a desolate, dysfunctional, desperate future. A colleague in the office who overhead this harrowing phone conversation I was having commented, "She should learn to keep her legs crossed." The End.
Shakespeare Tragedy 2005...A woman in tears (or another day at work). With no happy ending in sight. Single and homeless for two years with a four-year-old daughter. Her foster family has petitioned to take custody of the child citing pyschiatric problems of the mother. Whispers of cigarette burns and cigarette lighters being put in places they shouldn't be. Testimony from the child. But was she coerced from the foster parents? A confused and harassing Department of Social Services. The woman herself the product of DSS and afraid to death of them. She and her sister were abandoned by her parents at age eleven. She was in and out of foster homes her whole childhood. Abused and sexually molested. As a pregnant teen, her first baby was put up for adoption. Now she has been taken in by her younger sister who herself has four children. And no husband. They live in a two-bedroom rat hole. "This little girl means everything to me," the woman cries. "Please help me." Who knows what the other side to this tragic story is. Where the truth lies. I do know that the safety net called social services in this country pretty much means that these people are screwed and bound for a desolate, dysfunctional, desperate future. A colleague in the office who overhead this harrowing phone conversation I was having commented, "She should learn to keep her legs crossed." The End.
Sunday, January 09, 2005
Whacking Bills Trenchant Style. Audacity and a knack for words have made me an avid and very successful bill whacker. The town in which I live makes bill whacking the perfect venue for practicing this sport because contractors tend to think everyone who lives here is rich and won't mind paying hundreds if not thousands of dollars too much on their bills. VP hubby many not have time to comb through the bills but this State employee has plenty of time. And these contractors are making a lot more than this State employee so I'll be damned if they're going to schnooker me out of money I'd rather spend on a trip to Jamaica.. So I twisted Mr. Electrician's proverbial arm and lo-and-behold $700 evaporated from the bill. Last week I began twisting Mr. Plumber's arm and should I be beyond-my-wildest-dreams lucky, will whack $4000 off that bill (involving a conversion from oil to gas, this would be my greatest coup ever). Hell I'll even settle for $2000. On this cold, perfect-for-blogging morning, I am now taking keyboard to screen against my landscaper: Dear Mike. I just received your last statement dated.... This one is much harder because it turns out it is very difficult to do battle with someone whose physical attractiveness takes your 40-something breath away. Which is probably why I'm not twisting his arm very hard and only pushing him down $300 rather than the hundreds of dollars more I probably could. I guess I have to factor in the intangible worth of being able to watch his shirtless crew do yardwork in the summer right?
Money Doesn't Buy Love. Are the big-hitter western nations really so naive to believe that by one-uping each other with Tsunami aid dollars that the Muslims are going to love them more? (we've already seen how successful that tact was in the liberation of Iraq...). If these same nations had shown the same generosity towards Africa over the years that would be one thing but as it is there unfortunately seems to be a lot of agenda-driven motive at play. Suffice to say I doubt the terrorists are buying it.
Money Doesn't Buy Love. Are the big-hitter western nations really so naive to believe that by one-uping each other with Tsunami aid dollars that the Muslims are going to love them more? (we've already seen how successful that tact was in the liberation of Iraq...). If these same nations had shown the same generosity towards Africa over the years that would be one thing but as it is there unfortunately seems to be a lot of agenda-driven motive at play. Suffice to say I doubt the terrorists are buying it.
Saturday, January 08, 2005
Oh Cruel Choreographers Above. No sooner do I rejoice over the son being in London for two out of the four weeks of his college break when someone upstairs decides to throw me a curve ball. "Hee, hee," he/she says. "Let's lob her this one." "Oh god," he/she says, "Isn't that funny?" i.e. try being in the house with an eighteen-year-old, dieting, pre-menstrual, just-had-an-'extra'-tooth extracted, snowbound/cabin-fevered, recently boyfriend-less daughter for four weeks after you had just gotten used to life without kids. Um-hmmm. Really nice. Really. I haven't watched the news in ages because she has occupied the downstairs with no chance of access to the T.V. without feeling like you crossed onto the wrong generational track. Thanks online Google News. I don't know what I would do without you. Nonetheless I love this straight-A, focused, blonde, curvy, kind-hearted girl with all my heart. She is everything I am not (see afore-mentioned sentence).
Friday, January 07, 2005
Incongruities. Our little town went dark last night. So I propped up my feet by the fireplace to wait five hours before someone got the lights on again. Note the hand-stiched Polish leather slippers adorning the made-in-China Nike socks. Sweatpants? Made in El Salvadore. Skinny calves a potpourri of Austrian, Welch, French, and purported American Indian heritage. Said multi-ethnic calves are propped up against a New Hampshire granite fireplace centered in our California-style house in the midst of New England. Glass of white wine you don't see is a Chardonnay from New Zealand. Fantasies swirling in Anna Bloviation's head as she sits by the fireplace whilst hubby is in London, courtesy of George Clooney and Clive Owen. Big bad world out there? Who cares...
Tuesday, January 04, 2005
Maybe a few red pepper flakes too many. In my mango chutney that is. But otherwise quite good for a first attempt at culinary domesticity.
Time for a sit-down with the boss...i.e. he seemed a little irked when I told him I'd be out on Monday. "Geez," he said. "You take more vacation than the politicians do!" "You mean like you?" I countered. Pause... "Well yes." "Oh no sorry boss. But I don't even come close to you." That ended the discussion for now but I can see that we need to have a little Let's-Get-On-the-Same-Page conversation. Maybe I'll write him a letter. One using simple eighth-grade vocabulary he'll grasp: I AM ONLY GOING TO WORK 20 HOURS A WEEK FOR YOUR ASS AND BE HAPPY YOU HAVE THAT BECAUSE I'M STILL DOING A HELL OF A LOT MORE THAN THESE PASTY SOLITAIRE-PLAYING GLOBS I'M SURROUNDED BY. AND UNLESS YOU HAVE A DEATH WISH, DON'T EVER FONDLE MY CHARM BRACELET AGAIN.
Another oddity I'll nail him on. Today was the swearing in at the State House. A day-long fest of self-congratulation enough to make you puke. So the Rep's wife and two teenage daughters come in to partake in the festivities. Now say what you will about my Rep (and there isn't a lot to say), but philandering or any kind of inappropriate behavior toward women is not on his radar. He has really never once done anything remotely inappropriate or forward towards me. But today he did the oddest thing. I hardly ever wear necklaces but today I was wearing an antique charm bracelet that belonged to my aunt and which I had hanging from an antique gold chain around my neck. It's a very unique and beautiful piece but just not something I'd wear every day. Anyway, as he and his family were leaving for lunch, my boss reached across and lifted up the bracelet from my chest to look at it. Not just look at it but look at each individual charm...while inches from my breast... This just seemed like the strangest thing to do to your female employee in front of your wife and teenage kids! What the hell was he thinking? Maybe he's trying to re-kindle his love life with his wife by trying to get her jealous? Or maybe he is even stupider than I thought.
Time for a sit-down with the boss...i.e. he seemed a little irked when I told him I'd be out on Monday. "Geez," he said. "You take more vacation than the politicians do!" "You mean like you?" I countered. Pause... "Well yes." "Oh no sorry boss. But I don't even come close to you." That ended the discussion for now but I can see that we need to have a little Let's-Get-On-the-Same-Page conversation. Maybe I'll write him a letter. One using simple eighth-grade vocabulary he'll grasp: I AM ONLY GOING TO WORK 20 HOURS A WEEK FOR YOUR ASS AND BE HAPPY YOU HAVE THAT BECAUSE I'M STILL DOING A HELL OF A LOT MORE THAN THESE PASTY SOLITAIRE-PLAYING GLOBS I'M SURROUNDED BY. AND UNLESS YOU HAVE A DEATH WISH, DON'T EVER FONDLE MY CHARM BRACELET AGAIN.
Another oddity I'll nail him on. Today was the swearing in at the State House. A day-long fest of self-congratulation enough to make you puke. So the Rep's wife and two teenage daughters come in to partake in the festivities. Now say what you will about my Rep (and there isn't a lot to say), but philandering or any kind of inappropriate behavior toward women is not on his radar. He has really never once done anything remotely inappropriate or forward towards me. But today he did the oddest thing. I hardly ever wear necklaces but today I was wearing an antique charm bracelet that belonged to my aunt and which I had hanging from an antique gold chain around my neck. It's a very unique and beautiful piece but just not something I'd wear every day. Anyway, as he and his family were leaving for lunch, my boss reached across and lifted up the bracelet from my chest to look at it. Not just look at it but look at each individual charm...while inches from my breast... This just seemed like the strangest thing to do to your female employee in front of your wife and teenage kids! What the hell was he thinking? Maybe he's trying to re-kindle his love life with his wife by trying to get her jealous? Or maybe he is even stupider than I thought.
Sunday, January 02, 2005
Mango Chutney. Gourmet Cook in San Francisco sent me a recipe for mango chutney per my request. What I essentially said was this: 'Look, I'm a disaster cook. I'd like to do just one thing in the kitchen kick-ass, and your mango chutney that I ate by the spoonfuls last time I was visiting the mother in SF was it. 'OK,' she said. 'It's easy enough. Just peeling the mangos is somewhat of a pain.' I figure I am doomed for failure in my endeavor to re-create her chutney given that any time a really good cook says, 'It's easy enough; I only threw together two ingredients to make this really fabulous pasta,' well then you pretty much can be assured of wet, blah noodles or shitty-tasting mango chutney.
Trail for the Ingredients. In spite of three gas-guzzling treks to different supermarkets in-and-around Boston, not one carried BALL wide-mouthed canning/pickling jars. Not one. Wow if that's not a reflection of lifestyle change. This glitch to my plans was completely bumming me out given that Stop & Shop was offering mangos two for $1. I started looking online for pickling jars when a trip to New Hampshire this weekend distracted my intentions outright.
Good Ole' New Hampshirites. We've been renting a little cabin in North Conway, New Hampshire with another couple going on twelve years. The cabin is not retro-60's; it is 60's i.e. almost nothing has changed. There is still a golden-avocado shag carpet throughout. The kitchen cabinets are painted harvest gold to match the harvest-gold linoleum floor. Well you get the picture... But even at this pituresque lake-side cabin, change has infiltrated itself into the perfectly-quiet remote of this retreat. About seven years ago the owner brought in a TV. OK... We went years (romantically) without a T.V. but once there we of course watched it. Next winter we had a TV in the downstairs kid suite. Great. Rather than the kids upstairs with us watching TV, they went downstairs to watch their TV. Then the coughing Hoover got replaced by a used Meile. Uh, oh.... This year a very old COMPUTER now sits in the corner of the living room with a note, "Dear Anna and Hubby: User Name: Guest, Password: Guest." Just what I need. A techie hubby coming up to New Hampshire for a little relaxation to now have an antiquated thirteen-inch-screen computer with dial-up modem to tempt him. Hello 1-800 Victoria Secret, could you please provide me with flannel sexy undergarments...?
Bravo New Hampshire Super Shaw's. Having lost the coin toss, I bumped down the dirt road to get wine, Tenacitin, and a Sunday newspaper. Good thing too because what do you think the New Hampshire Super Shaw's has a whole shelf-worth's of? BALL-wide-mouth canning jars of course. $3.99 later, I had twelve 8 oz. jars. At home I already had all of the ingredients save the mangos. But what's this? Mangos on sale 3 for $1. Oh yeah...
Trail for the Ingredients. In spite of three gas-guzzling treks to different supermarkets in-and-around Boston, not one carried BALL wide-mouthed canning/pickling jars. Not one. Wow if that's not a reflection of lifestyle change. This glitch to my plans was completely bumming me out given that Stop & Shop was offering mangos two for $1. I started looking online for pickling jars when a trip to New Hampshire this weekend distracted my intentions outright.
Good Ole' New Hampshirites. We've been renting a little cabin in North Conway, New Hampshire with another couple going on twelve years. The cabin is not retro-60's; it is 60's i.e. almost nothing has changed. There is still a golden-avocado shag carpet throughout. The kitchen cabinets are painted harvest gold to match the harvest-gold linoleum floor. Well you get the picture... But even at this pituresque lake-side cabin, change has infiltrated itself into the perfectly-quiet remote of this retreat. About seven years ago the owner brought in a TV. OK... We went years (romantically) without a T.V. but once there we of course watched it. Next winter we had a TV in the downstairs kid suite. Great. Rather than the kids upstairs with us watching TV, they went downstairs to watch their TV. Then the coughing Hoover got replaced by a used Meile. Uh, oh.... This year a very old COMPUTER now sits in the corner of the living room with a note, "Dear Anna and Hubby: User Name: Guest, Password: Guest." Just what I need. A techie hubby coming up to New Hampshire for a little relaxation to now have an antiquated thirteen-inch-screen computer with dial-up modem to tempt him. Hello 1-800 Victoria Secret, could you please provide me with flannel sexy undergarments...?
Bravo New Hampshire Super Shaw's. Having lost the coin toss, I bumped down the dirt road to get wine, Tenacitin, and a Sunday newspaper. Good thing too because what do you think the New Hampshire Super Shaw's has a whole shelf-worth's of? BALL-wide-mouth canning jars of course. $3.99 later, I had twelve 8 oz. jars. At home I already had all of the ingredients save the mangos. But what's this? Mangos on sale 3 for $1. Oh yeah...
