And they say romance is dead...

So Monday night, due to some workplace angst, I was feelin' the need for some cheesy comfort food while Greg was at rehearsal. The only deep dish place doesn't deliver, so I went for the cheesy spinach artichoke dip and a salad from a southern place. Perhaps a bit too cheesy. Half the dip and 1/4 of the salad later I was in a world of hurt. By the time Greg got home at 10, I was out of the bathroom, but at the computer concentrating intently on a game of freecell 'cause it distracted from the stomach cramps while still being in immediate proximity of the loo. He was so informed.

I got the "Poor Schnoodle..." head stroke and then..."so would it make you feel a little less adrift if we were to get married?" Probing look. "Um, I'm good with the married, I just don't think feeling insecure is the reason to do it." "Well, of course that's NOT the reason, and I will ask again in a more traditional way, but I was thinking we should probably do it this year anyway..." We grinned, made a face and I went back to concentrating on ignoring the cramps.

Tuesday night we went to our regular pub for dinner, and over our cheddar burgers we talked some more and he officially proposed. No, no bended knee, no flowers, there was candlelight, but then the place is so dark you need the candles to read the menu.

My brother was appalled by the lack of romantic gesture...but really, the fact that he wanted to ask me to marry him even when I was in intestinal distress is better than flowers any day.

Okay, does this really still need to be there?

We had dinner with our old neighbors on Saturday. They moved two blocks away, so travel was convenient. He's from Wales, she's from North Carolina. They're getting married in South Carolina in November and had the wedding regs at the apartment.

Did you know that if you were living together by choice before emancipation, you are considered legally married in South Carolina? However, this rule is void for couples who didn't start living together until after August 19th, 1872--then it is required that they be married by an official.

Yes, this is still on the books.

Comments on the trip home...

So, Greg and I were in the homeland for my mom's 70th birthday last week. (I'm sorry to those of you we didn't see, but we were in intense family mode and by 10 pm were generally asleep.)

I knew what I was getting my mom for her birthday, I went in to pick it up only to discover they didn't carry it any more.

Thus, on the day, Greg and I are running all over town to find a gift, leading to the most amusing run-in of the trip. We had been to Great Estates earlier in the day and my mom was enraptured with some crystal pitchers. There was a large one that was gorgeous, but she'd freaked over the price (my mom has some money issues) so I was looking at a smaller one that I didn't like half as well. As I was checking out with one S.W., I was explaining the situation. Her words: "It's her 70th birthday! What's the matter with you?!"

I'm glad she did. My mom was quite pleased with the larger vase, and so was I.

Why

does the restroom in my office smell like strawberry toaster strudel when the kitchen does not?

My skeletal struggle...

Yesterday I had a headache at the back of my head. At first, I thought I was having a stroke. Then I reached behind me to rub my neck. The muscles didn't give at all. Seriously, I have relatively strong fingers and I couldn't even dent my skin. I walked out of work to the local nail salon for a 20 minute chair massage. It helped some.

Fast forward to last night: I'm taking my bowl to the sink (after a lovely chicken paprikash on rice with a dollop of Greek yogurt and sliced cucumbers from the deck) and my back spasmed so hard that I swear my ribs were jerked out of their sockets. I've had spasms before, but always little twinges in the lower back, this was a really long contraction of the big muscle on the right side of my spine. It actually hurt my ribs to breathe for the next half hour--scared the hell out of me until I realized the cause:

Saturday night we went to see Wedding Crashers (hysterical, by the way) and as I was crossing the street, I turned to see what was holding Greg up as he paid for the cab and tripped on a plastic barrier. My mistake was not letting myself fall, but jerking myself upright.

So my words of wisdom: choose the scrapes.

The Ghosts Strike again...

Saturday night's show: Olga came within an inch of totally losing her top. I'm tellin' you, there's something weird going on there... They've had several dozen shows, but this series, in this space, is the only one with wardrobe issues.

Ghosts of Strippers Past...

So Greg has a show running in a new space. A renovated strip club in Times Square that has been purchased and is being set up as a general theater space. The new owners have pulled out the old fixtures and repainted, but I don't think they've entirely managed to exorcise the past.

We were there for rehearsal on Sunday. I sat in the audience observing, occasionally getting up to fetch something. EVERY TIME I got up, I noticed that the strap on my right sandal needed to be refastened. Okay, it's just velcro, but it was the first and only time it's ever happened. (And no, I was not cricketing my feet together.) I joked about ghosts wanting a little more action.

Then came last night and the wardrobe malfunction to end all wardrobe malfunctions.

There's a fan dancer in the show. She comes out in a white ball gown with giant fans, dances about to a waltz and eventually drops the dress, but remains primarily covered by the fans, deftly switching them to expose her feathered pasties and g-string for a split second with each switch. Well, during last night's show she'd dropped the dress, continued the dance and then she suddenly froze. The chain on her g-string had come undone. She couldn't refasten it without dropping the fans and if she dropped the fans she'd be naked. Conundrum, indeed. In the end, Gabi saved the day by coming over and reattaching the chain so she could continue. In five years as a burlesque dancer, this woman has NEVER had a costume fall off.

My ghost theory is gaining popularity. Wonder what's going to happen tomorrow night...

Maybe we aren't doomed after all...

I was taking the PATH train to a baby shower in Jersey City this weekend. I'd been waiting in an airless filthy station for 25 minutes for the train along with about 30 other people. Among them was a group of 4 kids, ranging in age from 10-14, with a small, beaten up boom box playing old school rap--it wasn't that loud, but it really echoed in the tunnel.

The train finally pulled in, we piled on, and the group of 4 was split up. The youngest asked the one holding the boom box to turn it up so he could hear it across the aisle. The response from the adolescent in question: "People are trying to read. And sleep. We don't want to bother them. Turn it up?! That's just ignorant!"

I may have to start watching Law & Order again...

Did you all see that Tom DeLay is up in arms about the "unflattering" reference to his name in the season finale of "Law & Order"?

From the Reuters article by Steve Gorman:

"DeLay's name surfaced on Wednesday night on the show's season finale, which centered on the fictional slayings of two judges by suspected right-wing extremists.

In the episode, police are frustrated by a lack of clues, leading one officer to quip, "Maybe we should put out an APB (all-points-bulletin) for somebody in a Tom DeLay T-shirt."...

Producer Dick Wolf, creator of the "Law & Order" franchise, took a swipe at DeLay in his own statement on Thursday, saying, "I ... congratulate Congressman DeLay for switching the spotlight from his own problems to an episode of a TV show."

Only in the homeland...

Excerpt from an Oshkosh Northwestern obituary for a 28-year old:

"Unfortunately he was an avid Chicago Bears fan."

Not-so-high light of the weekend.

Saturday evening we got a mayday call from a friend that woke us from a wine-tasting afternoon inspired nap. We were out the door in less than an hour.

This past Thursday a process server arrived at his door--he's being sued for child support. He has a 7-month old son. He's absolutely devastated, 'cause he probably won't have much or any say in the upbringing of his child who's being raised in a house of lunatics (grandpa dons protective gear to open the refrigerator--I kid you not) and there's little he can do about it 'cause paternal rights are relatively limited if you don't have the resources to flat out sue for custody, especially if you "haven't shown an interest" for the first months. It was a wrenching evening. Sometimes-bitter venting was interspersed with things like, "Do you think his eyes are blue or brown?" and on the lighter side, comments like "Why the hell did she have to name him that?"

Really glad Mother's Day was postponed to next weekend...a day in the Bronx after that would not have been pleasant.

I have "humours" all right!

I've scheduled my Spring reflexology treatment for tomorrow morning. The change in season makes me feel off and discombobulated and this gets me all adjusted/restores the balance of my humours. I only wish I were going tonight so I'd sleep better.

On the need for a hall monitor...

Saturday night we held the elevator door for Arash, our neighbor. As we were going down, we asked if they'd seen the action on Thursday night. He and Yasmin totally slept through it, but he had noticed the damage to the door. In fact, he'd intended to knock and point it out to them so they could have it fixed. He was very relieved that he'd been spared that incredibly awkward exchange...but then noted that perhaps we should have a hall monitor. Visitors or residents get loud in the hall at night, the appointed monitor comes out with a bat and grunts like Billy Bob Thorton in Sling Blade, "Go inside and hush up! Uuhhhh-yuuhhhhh."

Sunday morning, a chat with Yasmin on the deck began, "Good Morning. Did you happen to lose a pink feather boa?" "Why yes, yes we did." She was most relieved it was mine. Evidently, at some point on Saturday, someone reached into their bedroom (deck door was open to ventilate after the exterminator came) and stole all of her bras from a clear plastic chest of drawers next to the door. At the same time she realized they were gone, she found the boa outside on the deck. As it is, having one's underwear stolen is creepy enough; to have a boa exchanged for one's bras would be cause for moving.

Domestic Disputes

This morning, 100 o'clock-ish, Greg and I wake up to hear a slow steady REALLY LOUD thump against a door. Not ours, mind you, but a door down the hall. What the hell? If you're in the entryway, you can hear what's happening in the hall, but if you're in the bedroom, generally NOT. Then we hear a calmly angry voice, "Let me in!" "I am NEVER going to forgive you for this!" The entire time the thump continues. Shortly after the "Never going to forgive you..." our door buzzer rang for a split second and then stopped, then he stopped shouting.

I'm pretty sure Cada's (the dog) parents aren't going to be together any more--at least based upon the fact that the bottom corner of the door was kicked in about 3 inches when I left for work this morning. Strong door though, the rest of it held, no cracks or anything, but I digress...

I'm thinking that he came home late, she locked him out and wouldn't let him back in. In the end, the door buzz was probably the police who'd been called by the neighbors. For some reason, perhaps because we were so deeply asleep when it happened, or subconsciouly recognized the voice or perhaps because there was no frenzy in it, neither of us felt compelled to actually get out of bed--and really, Greg jumps out of bed immediately if the roof alarm goes off and that's often the wind.

I guess I'm not more concerned about it because they have something of a twisted relationship. Greg actually did go to their door once because he heard her screaming bloody murder, but while standing there, he realized she wasn't being hurt, she was in a screaming rage. The conversation heard through the door: The GUY was saying, "Go ahead, call the police, YOU'RE the one hitting ME..." followed by a pause and HIM saying "Yes, I'd like to report a case of domestic violence..." They've had some hellacious fights, generally with her (she's a nice neighbor, but quite the Princess) as the antagonist.

So unless they're the best actors in the world and he's a completely twisted psycho in the Hannibal Lechter sense, I'm pretty sure it wasn't going to end with anyone being hurt--of course the more I think on that this morning, the more concerned I become.

Crap.

Fruit Compote update

I tried making the fruit compote from the cooking class and made a couple of discoveries:

1) They gave us a dry white wine in the class by mistake--Sancerre instead of Sauternes--that's why it took so long to get the correct flavor. (No, I'm not the one who opened the bottle, I would have noticed.)

2) Making it with a dessert wine does only take 20 minutes, but the flavor isn't nearly as good.

3) In class we used mission figs--calmyras don't work nearly as well.

Hi-Ho Haru!

My mom stopped by my aunt's house this morning to drop off some pictures. She noticed a large number of suitcases sitting out and asked about them.

Haru is leaving this morning for two months in Japan and didn't mention it to anyone. Well, I'm guessing that my cousin knew, but I'm not really sure about that.

The woman didn't go home for a single visit in 30 years and is now starting to split her time.

Ferocious Felines!

I forgot to mention the close calls of our Seaside Safari!

Susy was attacked this weekend not once, but TWICE by roving felines! Once on the way to dinner and again on the way back. Okay, so "attacked" may be a little strong...more like "startled". Especially the first time when a gray tiger appeared out of nowhere and ran across her feet. The second time around it was an act of retribution: An orange tiger was trying to get us to pet her/let her into the B&B and when it became obvious we would do neither, she too turned across Susy's feet, hissed and ran off into the night.

Perhaps the cat-hunting lobby in the homeland has the right idea...

LI Wine and Cheese

Just had a lovely weekend on Long Island with the Boy, and young Gillespie and her husband, a.k.a. Scott.

Rented a car Friday night (40 minutes to find a parking space at rush hour) and left early Saturday morning to pick them up at the airport in Ronkonoma at 10. Did a leisurely and sometimes hilarious drive out to Greenport on the North Fork, stopping at several vineyards for tastings and driving out to Orient Point to look at the ocean.

Stayed at a Stirling House, a lovely B&B that I'd highly recommend (most are too fussy and this one, although it has a high Victorian parlour, wasn't overwhelming) and had a really good dinner in a rather upscale restaurant called the Frisky Oyster in a very quaint tourist/fishing town.

Sunday we wandered Greenport stopping to ride the 1920's Carousel in a Missile Silo (a.k.a. The Futurodome) and assorted shops. Then we took off for the airport, stopping at another couple of vineyards for tastings.

We tried 5 of the 34 vineyards on the North Fork: Paumanok and Lieb Family Cellars were our favorites by far. Jamesport is probably really good, but you really have to think about the wine, something I'm not willing to do. Pellegrini has a gorgeous tasting space and was the most pleasant tasting experience if only 'cause you take a silver tray with your flight(s) and sit at a table, so you don't need to think up something intellectual to say/hide the fact that it disgusts you about each wine to the person pouring it. It also had a couple of nice wines, including the Scott described "church wine". It doesn't taste like communion wine, it smells like an old Catholic Church--sweet wax and incense. The best thing we could say about our final stop at Martha Clara's winery is that it had a nice gift shop, oh, and the tastings are free.

Our big wine lesson of the trip: Merlot on Long Island tastes/looks/smells absolutely NOTHING like a Merlot from California.

We had such a good time, we intend to do it again in Virginia's Shenandoah Valley this fall.

FINALLY: La Cuisine Provencale...

Dateline Friday: I had been waitlisted for a spot in another session of the cooking class Greg got me for Christmas.

10 AM: I called in to see if there was any chance of getting in. I made sure to mention that I worked only blocks from the school, so a last minute call would be fine.

2:30 PM: The office phone rang. Two people had canceled. I was IN!

6 PM: Arrived at class, 45 minute orientation/lecture (with snacks) began.

6:45 PM: Broken up into groups of 4. 12 people, skill levels all over the map with the low end being a guy who's never tried to cook and a woman who so has never WANTED to cook in her life--we're talking thick makeup and 2 inch nails--both there with significant cooking others to the high end: general foodie types to an elderly Cubano who's the personal chef for a modern artist who lives on the upper west side (he takes classes to expand his cooking horizons).

I learned a few things technique wise (I can now properly dice an onion with minimal effort, peel 30+ cloves of garlic in 1 minute and know how to french lamb chops (not that I ever will)), as well as culinary historywise.

The complete menu for the night:
1&2) French olive tapenade and Dried cod/potato spread (no, really, it was really good) both served with homemade garlic toasts.
3) garlicky bean and pasta soup with basil pistou
4) daube de boeuf (essentially LARGE hunks of beef, stewed with vegetables and then the veggies are removed)
5) roasted rack of lamb with herbes provencale
6) braised fennel
7) tian of roasted eggplant, zucchini and tomato with homemade croutons
8) fruit compote for dessert

Some of the recipes were to DIE for...but generally only after the chef who was subbing for the class made some adjustments:

The rack of lamb with herbes provencal. He added a honey dijon base that made it one of the best things I've ever tasted. Other than the flavor, I'm fond of the lamb 'cause it made me the class hero: it was the last thing into the oven so it wouldn't be overdone, so we'd started to eat the other 6 non-dessert dishes and drink LOTS of wine before it came out. We were chatting up a storm with the chef (people were describing their favorite restaurants in Chianti) when it suddenly struck me, "Excuse me, but isn't the lamb supposed to come out?" I got halfway through the word "lamb" and it turned into a total cartoon moment: the chef jumped up, chair literally flying and crashing to the floor, RAN across the room to the oven, ripped it open and pulled out the baking sheet with 4 racks of lamb, apologizing profusely for having forgotten it and that it was probably ruined. Luckily, it was fine, still very pink and absolutely incredible. The class toasted me and the old Cubano rapped me on the shoulder and rasped out "good!" (Something told me this was a massive complement from this guy.)

The other thing was the dried fruit compote: sauternes, thyme, lavender honey with dried: cherries, golden raisins, figs, dates, prunes, and apricots. The recipe said to simmer for 20 minutes. Well, after 20 minutes the Turkish woman and I who were making it, tasted it: cough syrup. Called the chef over and in whispers "This is absolutely terrible, what can we do?" He tastes it, cocks his head and says: "It needs to cook for at least another hour so the sugar can seep out of the fruit." Well, it simmered for another 2 hours and ended up tasting like fruit stewed in huge amounts of brown sugar, and spooned warm over vanilla ice cream may well be one of the best desserts I've ever had.

10:30 PM: Out, stuffed and very pleasantly drunk. Greg finished work at the same time, we met on the street and he carried the leftovers home, upon which he promptly dined. He too ended up being very glad he gave me the class for Christmas.

Overall awesome experience. I'd highly recommend it, so the next time anyone's coming to visit and wants to do a little cookin', let me know!

You know you're tired when...

I saw a bouquet on the front desk this morning. It had a "Happy Birthday" balloon tied to it. I wondered if it were for me. Yeah. A little more coffee's gonna be required.