Heartmongers are keeping the Love Alive!!

I went to the Heart show tonight. I have been a Heart fan since I was about 5. They were living, breathing, rocking proof that not all rockers had to be boys.

(Plus their music scratches that spot in my cerebral cortex that makes me happy.)

Anyway, about the show...... IT F*CKING ROCKED.

With an excellent version of White Lightning and Wine, they also smashed through classics (Barracuda/Crazy on You), a couple of good covers (Immigrant Song/Love, Reign o'er Me), and two songs off of Ann's new album.

Ann Wilson was in rare form, her voice much better than their last visit to Boston.

And Nancy Wilson is awesome. Really, she is a rock goddess.

I want be Nancy Wilson for a day... *sigh*

Good enough for an astronaut, good enough for me!

No, not adult diapers, I am talking about TANG!!!!

There is this drink that I secretly really love. It is called a Lost in Space.

It is made with vodka, Tang, and I think a little smidge of crack.

Whatever - the crack makes it good, the Tang makes me want another one.

Another thing for the list

I have a mental list of things I am not terribly likely to try in my lifetime.

A few items on the list include: running a marathon (see: Uta Pippig), play running back for the Patriots (I would be killed instantly and anyway #39 does a great job), drive a Formula One car around the track at Imola, make a cheese souffle for the Queen of England...

The most recent addition to that is: Enter a Food Eating Contest.

Don't get me wrong, I am fully capable of eating lots.

However when I over eat, all I want to do is have my stomach pumped, I wonder why Roman vomitoriums went out of style, and I lie in bed swearing to never eat again and to only have a little lemon juice and some lettuce for the rest of my days.

So when I read about people who are able to wolf down something ridiculous like 674 hotdogs in 48 minutes it makes my stomach go "blurp".

Not because of the amount the winner ate, but because of the amount that the runner up had to eat.


You'll notice in the picture there are four people huffing food. There can only be one winner.

It gives me a vicarious pain in my gut.

Blurp!

Fun with Fluff - Fluff Fluff Fluff Fluff Fluuuuuuuffffffff

I figure that I have probably eaten about two thousand fluffernutters in my short lifetime.

Not including the hundreds of mini-fluffernutters made on Ritz crackers.

I love Fluff (Marshmallow Fluff - NOT the Jet Puft Marshmellow Creme crap, THAT is NOT Fluff ok).

If I were twelve, you could probably get me to admit that I love Fluff so much, I would marry it.

So it's not a real shocker to hear that I will be going to the "What the Fluff" celebration of the stuff on Saturday, September 29 over in Somerville's Union Square, from 4-7pm.

I can't wait.

I think I am going to go make a fluffernutter right now.

What it means to be "whipped"

The term "whipped" can be applied to cream, butter, potatoes.... all manner of deliciousity.

It can also be used in reference to the guy on "Deal or No Deal" who obeyed his wife's command and lost $1,000,000.

He was pretending to decide whether to take the "Deal" or not - at her behest he had already passed up a tailgating truck that came with Superbowl tickets, on field tickets, lunch with the team, sex with a cheerleader.... stuff like that, oh and $97,000 cash.

Yep, she made him turn that down.

Instead, when he had four cases left, plus his own, the banker offered him $197,000 down from a previous offer of $240,000.

And his wife says "take the money, honey" and looks totally pissed while he thinks about it. She tells him again to take the money, reminding him that he has debts to pay, squinting her eyes, and crossing her arms.

Then she shoots him a look that says: IF YOU DON'T TAKE THIS OFFER I SWEAR TO JESUS THAT I WILL NEVER LET YOU SEE ME NAKED EVER AGAIN AND I WILL ALSO REMIND YOU OF YOUR FAILURES AS A MAN FOR ALL THE REST OF OUR DAYS TOGETHER

Even I felt it. It was terrifying. I thought my tv would burst into flames.

And he immediately took the deal.

But then in the end, even though he was whipped, she looked like the a@@hole because it turned out that he had the $1,000,000 case.

At least he'll still get to see her nekkid!

Baby snot washes right out.

Monday sucks. Bad day at work. It's cold out. I feel like poo.

But it's play group night. Every Monday night I go for two hours to a shelter for homeless women & children and play.

Yep - play.

Rolling on the floor, crayons, running in the yard, getting grubby, choochooo trains, the peanut butter song, juice and crackers kind of playing.

It's through a great organization, Horizons for Homeless Children, and now matter how totally sh*tty and awful my day has been, it all disappears when one of the kids says "c'mon let's play" or "sing me a song".

No one ever wants to hear me sing, except for these kids.

And at the end of the day it makes me take everything with a major chunk of salt.

We need more people to come and play. Sometimes I go on Wednesday's as well because we're short of people.

And we need a new playground out the back. Right now it's a dusty, dirty mess with lots of weird metal climbing-ish thingys that the kids just fall off. Plus all the boys want to play football or soccer and those dumb things just get in the way.

Anyone out there know anyone with a magic wand? Or a sack full of money?

But yeah so now I am home, covered in baby snot, peanut butter, dust, and a little crayon. And thinking, we need more volunteers.

It is fun. Dooooooooo it. You know you want tooooooooo..........

My secret dream dance sequence

In my dreams I don't have two left feet. And I can sing. And I am apparently married to Rick Rubin.

In my dreams, when I am not marrying music moguls, I construct intricate dance routines like this:



I am sorry - I know that it is being played to DEATH on tv right now.

But seriously, in my dreams I a) look totally hot in an blue spangled pantsuit and b) can dance like that.

Go to YouTube and check out this other Feist video: My Man My Moon
It's my other fantasy dance sequence...

Flashback and Flash-WAAAAY-Back

I was on YouTube looking for a Feist song (that post is coming) and found this video.



I am transfixed!

I love this song - it takes me back to about 1994-5 when the Evil Twin was at a Wikked Smaht Skoo down in DC and I would go down and visit her and listen to this song on my Walkman over and over again and pine over completely unrequited crushes.

And we'd talk about dumb boys and eat at Au Bon Pain and drink beers.

*Sigh*

Thank god for Mazzy Starr.

And for Rita & Fred.

GO PATS

Tonight, 8:15, Gillette Stadium, Pats v Chargers.

GO PATS

And for everyone who keeps writing about how Bill Belichick is an awful cheater who has ruined the Patriots, the game of football, and the integrity of ever single person in the entire Patriots organization, I say this:

Get bent.

Especially Margery Egan whose opinion piece in the Bawstin Hehrald today made her sound like a depressed menopausal woman without a sense of humor. (READ IT HERE)

Yeah, taping play calls for the other team is cheating. Just ask a number of other team coaches in the NFL. No one spends that much money on sports teams just to guess how the other team plays.

Belichick has to lose a first round draft pick, fork over $500K and some other stuff. And for this Margery Menopause Eagan thinks he ought to be burned at the stake, along with his baby-making man-whore QB Brady.

I wonder how she feels about Barry Bonds*? Or about the gambling NBA referee? Or about Chris Simon, the NHL player who called Mike Grier a certain racial slur beginning in "N" and then who intentionally bashed the face of another player.

I could go on, but then I'd sound like a depressed menopausal fun killer.

GO PATS!

Babies R Us

When celebs in HoHoHollywood don't do anything retarded for a while, gossip people start to make sh*t up.

Like saying people are pregnant just because the cracker they ate for lunch is distending their malnourished little bellies.

Well for s&g's let just say that if we use today as day one of conception then the following people ought to be squeezing out spawn on or before June 7th, 2008.

Top Five Hollywood Pregnancies:

1. Christina Aguilera
2. Jennifer Lopez
3. Angelina Jolie
4. Jamie Lyn Spears - yup, Britney's little sis!
5. Jake Gyllenhaal - yeah, no sh*t huh. No wonder Reece dumped his ass.

Tick tock tick tock!

Only 268 days to go!

I am going to be awake ALL NIGHT LONG!!!!!

Lalaalalalalallalalalalalala!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I had 487 other things to do today but instead I wound up working with my friend MadMo, the Sassy Sauce maker, at the South End Open Market.

Currently she offers three kinds of sauce: Rum Caramel, Bittersweet Chocolate, and Peanut Butter Fudge. I don't have a preference since they all taste crackalicious to me anyway.

I meant to only pop by for a minute to say "Hi" and to get my free jar of sauce. But instead I got hooked on selling the stuff.

Seriously selling chocolate sauce is like selling crack. So easy to sell it once you get them to taste a little.

And for all my efforts I got to take home a couple of jars of the stuff. And of course I am about halfway through one of the jars of Peanut Butter Fudge. And I can already feel my heart beating a titch faster than normal.....

It's going to be a long night.

Two Sides, Same Coin

The houses to either side of me are now student rentals, where less than ten years ago it was crack peddlers...

On the one side I've got a house full of party hardy sort of inconsiderate but mostly friendly Northeastern students who think a party doesn't start until well after midnight.

While on the other side of me...

I have a house full of Conservatory students who politely asked me if I minded them having a party on Sunday night. They are going to have a brass band and things should start going around 4 PM

And they further assure me that it'll only probably go until 10 or 11pm. If that. So I should go early if I want to meet everyone for a drink.

And I just might - especially if there is going to be a brass band.

They write it, I read it...

Sometimes I laugh out loud:

"suspect then allowed the officer to check his pockets from which 5 hand rolled cigarettes of a green leaf matter were recovered. At this time the suspect stated to police 'oink oink'"

Cook, Eat, Photograph, Blog

I posted a link to my kitchen alter-ego.

For about 5 years now I have been trying to convince a number of friends to name their offspring Calamity Shazaam - it's a great name, you could hold a fistful of lightening in your bare hand with that kind of a name.

But no one has yet, so I am taking it back for myself.

Check it out yo! - link is to the right ------>

I hate that I love it

The one show that makes me laugh out loud is 30 Rock.

Holy frickin' funny Batman.

I still think Alec Baldwin is a major tool, and probably his character Jack Donaghy isn't far from the truth.

Elaine Stritch as his mother is hilarious.

There is this one scene where Jack ends up in the hospital and his mother won't go in to see him. So instead she says to the doctor:

"Tell him his mother’s here. And she loves him.

But not in a queer way!"

The OTHER Kind of Party Line

After my rant the other day about annoying drunken student neighbors, here's a little update.

So I called the landlord, told her what had happened, and then I went and rang the neighbors bell. Because these things can fester if left untreated.

At first the neighbor was like "what party?" and then when I laughed out loud, he denied all raucous behavior. When I explained to him about the police log and the horror stories, he sort of admitted that maybe there had been a couple of people over for a few drinks.

I explained that I fully expected that he and his buds would get together for a "few drinks" but that the next time that they carried on like that until 4am and were rude to other neighbors when asked to turn it down, I would call the police, the landlady, Northeastern's Department of Public Affairs, and Santa for good measure to make sure they are put straight onto the "Naughty" list.

He was pretty genuinely apologetic, and I sort of felt like the crotchety old lady on the block. But then again who wouldn't be crotchety if roused from a good night's sleep at 4am by drunkards.

Then today, I got this from My Man on a Bike:

RESOURCE FOR CITY RESIDENTS TO REPORT AFTER-HOURS PARTIES

The Boston Police Party Line is now in service citywide. The purpose of the Party Line is to give city residents a direct contact for reporting the occurrence of loud after-hours parties. Please make note of the telephone number, which is 617-343-5500.

Police Commissioner Ed Davis stated, "As part of our ongoing efforts to address public safety concerns and the reduction of violent behavior, the citywide party line is yet another tool to gather intelligence and provide residents with an additional mechanism to communicate with police. Mayor Menino and I heard the communities concerns about this issue and we sought to quickly provide a solution."

The Party Line is citywide, and each District will be responsible for dispatching its own unit to the reported location. All reports will be investigated. Illegal sale of alcohol and/or disturbances will be cause for police action. Please be prepared with important details when reporting an incident, they include:

· address
· whether the party is inside or outside
· the floor or apartment number
· whether the Boston Police would be able to gain entry to the building
· the amount of time the party has been going on

If the call is concerning a party that is no longer in progress, the caller will be referred to the District Community Service Officer. The Boston Police Intelligence Unit will continue to closely monitor calls and information concerning planned or anticipated after-hours parties. In these cases, a District Duty Supervisor will be notified and preventative measures will be taken.

The Boston Police recommend that residents take full advantage of this service as a means of preventing late night disorderly behavior, the increased possibility of crime and other incidents that result from after-hours gatherings. Do remember that in a case of an emergency situation, please dial 911.

It seems like pretty useful information. I hope you never have to use it.

PS: If you are looking for THAT kind of party line, click here instead.

In the Pantheon of Porcelain Gods, this would be Thor

I wear at least a 9.5 so that means that that is one big toilet seat.

Seriously.

I think in another life it was a life preserver.

In case you want to see it for yourself, it's at Nancy's.

How to scare burglars away

Frighten them off with "big sound".

Drunken Students - Grrr

This past weekend my new next door neighbors (Northeastern students) had a mad, drunken, event.

I hesitate to call it a party.

Anyway the drunken stupidity went from 11pm to after 4am. Apparently many other neighbors complained, several called the police, and a few went over and knocked on the door - all to no avail.

I was away for the weekend, but of course the minute I got back my phone started to ring. Something hasn't pissed off the neighbors this badly since street cleaning was started.

Evidently, in my absence, it was left to me to call the landlady to tell her about this. She didn't sound too happy. And if it happens again when I am home, she will be even less happy when I call her at 4am.

It would also seem that my yard was used as an overflow for the football competition - given the fact that I had to pick up lots of butts, cups, and other party flotsam.

I have no problems with about 87% of the student population in Boston. But it's the inconsiderate dopes who really give the whole lot a bad name.

Gahhhhh, ignorant party animals! Why can't they all live on campus?

Underwear in the bushes

One of the unfortunate side effects of drying your clothes outside on the line is that there is a very high risk of your underpants ending up on a shrub.

Whoopsie-daisy!

I had a few of my "foundation garments" on the drying rack yesterday, and I thought that I had hidden everything under dish towels. Um, because I am a modest Miss, thank you very much.

(And because if I didn't, my grandmere would probably rise up out of her tomb over in the old country, pick up the first Air France flight to Boston, hop in a taxi, and get her derriere all the way over to the 'hood just to give me a look that said "only brazen hussies flaunt their Petit Bateau en plein air for all the world to see, you naughty bad girl!")

However as I was watering my garden this evening, I found a stray pair of underpants in the impatients.

Zut alors!


**** UPDATE ****

I thought it was curious that my undies ended up halfway across the yard.....

My neighbor asked me if I found any of her laundry as some blew off her line. So now I am a) weirded out that I wear the same type of undies as my neighbor and b) intrigued by the fact that statistically speaking lots of people must wear the same kind. Hmmmmmm.

And for the record, I did not wear the found undies. I threw them away. They were in the garden all night long - what with the cats, birds, raccoons, possums, heroin addicts....

Mutherf*cker sold me WHAT?

From an actual police report that came across my desk today:

"When asked what type of plant was growing on his porch, the suspect responded "an East African geranium". It was in fact a large marijuana plant."

The Slow Dance

All weekend long this one radio station is playing blocks of Led Zepplin, a Get the Led Out kind of thing.

I love it. When I was a starry-eyed teenager I wanted to run off to some sun-splashed field of gold with Robert Plant. Ahhhh, *sigh*, I totally still would....

Anyway, at school dances they used to play "Stairway to Heaven" as the last song. All the girls hoped that the googly eyes they'd been making to all the googly boys would pay off and that they'd be asked to dance.

Really, it's a great song to end a teen dance on. It starts all slow and mushy, boys get a feel, girls get a feel and then before anything naughty could happen Jimmy Page and John Bonham would lay in with guitars and drums and everyone would quickly separate.

Like turning on the overhead light.

But nowadays the slow dance has become like the midday schooldays nap - I wish I had appreciated it more. Because now I definitely don't get enough of either.

And with that I ask you - what would be a great slow dance song to end the night? There is a little poll thingy on the right of the screen. Let me know. Maybe we can slow dance to it later.

Labor Day Weekend is Old School

Where I live, Fourth of July is for the kids (anyone under 45) and Labor Day is all old school.

I woke up three days in a row to the smell of BBQ wafting in the window, the sound of women laughing and of some of the best music you ever want to wake up to. And who doesn't want to wake up wanting a hamburger!

We begin with: Ladies and Gentlemen, MISTER OTIS REDDING!



And we finish with: GOOD TIMES



You cannot listen to Chic without wanting to shake something.

Happy Labor Day folks!

Behold the power of the Sun!

I have to say that I am becoming disturbingly earthy-crunchy, and I don't like it one bit.

Let's examine the evidence:

I recycle - most of the time. It's remarkable how much less garbage I produce when I consistently recycle/compost. (It was my only New Year's resolution - too embarrassing to fail when you only give yourself ONE!)

When I am not walking, I drive a beat-up Volvo sedan. I had to compensate with a Brockton Rox sticker in the window otherwise I feel I incite road rage among the Hemi set. (What can I say? The Champagne Supernova only cost me $650 on Craigslist)

I make my own yogurt and jam and bring my lunch to work almost everyday. (It's a) cheaper than eating out, and b) there is just so much fried chicken/pizza/subs/chinese that a person can eat in a week)

I go to the library. I go to the library A LOT. Seriously, the library is wayyyy underused. Did you know that you can check out DVDs? Plus the librarian at the Dudley Square branch is really nice and always hopes that God blesses me. How nice is that? Pretty nice! (My new job pays me in peanuts and good will. I am all about FREE these days!)

And the clincher today: my dryer is on the fritz and I cannot physically go one more day without clean clothes. I am too lazy to go to the laundromat, so I hauled all my clothes outside since it was a gorgeous blowy sunny day. Not only did all my laundry (shirts, jeans, sheets, & towels) dry in the sun in about 20 minutes, it didn't have that burny scorched smell. Rather it smelled a little like soap (enviro-friendly natch!) and a whole lot like sunshine. I want everything to smell that way! Behold, the power of the sun!

So anyway, I think I need to go to a football game with George Bush and get this earthy-crunchy-granola crap outta my system.

Ugh - September First

September first means summer is over.

And that the streets today were awash in a flood of of nervous out-of-towners driving moving trucks badly and wondering out-loud if the neighborhood that little John/Jane just moved into is safe.

OK for one thing, can everyone please stop driving moving trucks like they are Jettas?!? I mean really! A moving truck is not able to dart in and out traffic around other slower vehicles, it IS a slow vehicle! Or whiz onto the highway fast enough to not have to yield to oncoming traffic. Just not able!

And as a further consideration, check your side mirrors when you change lanes. Or at least indicate. You can't imitate our ways when you are not confident in a big, outta control, moving truck. Especially if you are in a U-Haul, because if you are in a fenda-benda you are f*cked!

While you are at it, you might also want to tell your beloved parents or whoever is moving you in, to not wonder out loud if the present neighborhood is safe enough for your precious self to live in.

It is rude, obnoxious, ignorant, and lets all your neighbors know that you are a big dork. You should tell them to keep their presumptive commentary to themselves. That they can blog about it bitchily later, just like yours truly! Or they should move you pronto to Brookline, it's generic and safe and goes over well with parents.

Otherwise, welcome to Boston.

Please keep your 16oz red cups to yourself.