Everyone's a Little Bit Racist, Sometimes

FYI - my subject line is a song from the Broadway Musical Avenue Q, no nasty comments please :)

It is true, whether we like it or not.  Things pop into our heads.  Don't think you do it?  I am sure you mutter a few words under your breath when you are driving in Richmond.  Even the Engineer does, and he's Chinese!

Anyways, it's not about us.  Or me.  Or the Engineer.

It's about Mr. Mop.

He has recently become a little bit racist.  

Lately, he feels the need to growl and bark at some people during our walks.  At first I thought it was just during our night walks when he felt extra protective.  But no, now it's all the time.  And it's very very random.  

It's also only ever directed at:  very large African American men OR the Latino guys working at the shop on our street.

Nothing is more embarrassing that having a very nice, friendly man say hello to us only to have my little white dog snarl at him.  

He also does this to select children (okay, just found something more embarrassing).

The dog I grew up with, Molly, was at least a predictable racist. 

Like Mop, she was a small white dog.  And she HATED anything that was dark:  darker skinned adults, dark skinned children (who so wanted to play with her) and dark dogs.  Anything that was not white got a little growl and a sneer.  She once jumped on a Schnauzer because he was grey.  

Don't think I am not trying to stop this habit.  He has to lie down when he does that to an adult.  And with kids?  He gets a treat when he walks by them and doesn't react.  Or kids get to give him treats.  But then that is a whole new level of creepy:  come here little boy, I have a treat for you . . . . 

Anyways, as the song says, "everyones a little bit racist.  Sometimes"  And that's Mop in a nutshell.

Oh, here's the song attached so you can see it isn't just me being bad 

http://www.stlyrics.com/lyrics/avenueq/everyonesalittlebitracist.htm

To Sleep, Perchance to Dream

I do some pretty funky things in my sleep.  I mean besides the usual snoring, tossing, turning, stealing the blanket, hogging the bed and general stuff everyone does.  Here is some of the things I have done:

1.  Sleep Eat.  Yes, just like it sounds.  This has tapered off (thankfully) but it used to be a huge issue when I lived in a studio.  It's as if my subconscious knows something bad is in my kitchen.  ie.  cookies, cake, muffins, brie.  I get out of bed (asleep), go to the kitchen (asleep) and eat some of these treats (asleep).  

I have been known to eat a tray of Oreos and blame my roommate for eating all my cookies.  Put together the wonderful combination of Parmesan cheese and mint (I gathered I ate this as the evidence on the counter suggested in the morning).  And eat half a Costco chocolate muffin, leave the rest on my pillow, and call my cell phone from my home phone to ask what time it was (yes, I left a voicemail).

2.  Sleep Walk.  Obviously goes hand in hand with the sleep eating as I have to get there somehow.  My old roommate once found me on my way to my car (in the pouring rain) to 'make sure it was locked'.  Luckily, he put me back to bed.  He also found me rummaging in the kitchen, hunched down in the corner (again sleep eating I assume) and asked me what I was doing.  Without a word, I looked at him and poured my handful of chocolate chips onto the floor, ran to my bed and counted to ten.  I have woken up before standing beside my oven clock trying to figure out why I am not at work.  And I have also walked to another room in my house to sleep on another surface.  Spare bed, couch, mat in office.

3.  Sleep Talk.  ALL THE TIME.  In fact, just last night I was talking so much and so loud, I woke myself up by asking, "Who is talking?" in a pissed-off whisper.  The Engineer started to laugh which made me realize that annoying voice that woke me up, was mine.

4.  Sleep Laugh.  This is the best.  Nothing is better than waking up to a big belly laugh.

5.  Hog the bed.  I am sure I am not alone in this.  The Engineer always wakes me up to get me to move over.  My response?  I can see the edge of the bed!  Yes, from the middle, obviously I can see the edge.  I suppose in my sleepy logic if I can see the edge, I am by the edge.  Once, the Engineer took a photo of me as I lay in starfish position taking up the whole bed.  I would attach it, but it is terribly embarrassing.

To Catch a Brooklyn

I used to think Brooklyn was my less than smart dog.  But then I realized he is very smart, when he wants to be.

For example, if walking Brooklyn and you notice he is moving his head away from Mr. Mop and acting sly, it's because he has a hunk of roast beef in his mouth (yes, for some reason, there was a hunk of roast beef on the sidewalk).  You will remove said hunk o' beef and toss it under a nearby car.  Then, when getting the laundry ready (a few hours later), Brooklyn will run past you & the laundry cart and between the Engineer's legs, out the door and under the car with the roast beef. 

Yep, this dog has his moments.

So of course I had to grab some biscuits, run down the stairs and toss my laptop bag onto the sidewalk to retrieve my puppy.  

Note to self:  biscuits will not entice a dog when they have a hunk of roast beef in their mouth.  

There I am, on my hands and knees, trying to coax Brooklyn from underneath the Buick.  It hasn't rained in weeks so I don't want to think about the cleanliness of the New York City street that has seen it's share of garbage.

First, I took the 'authoritative' approach.  Nada.  He's got beef. 

Then I tried the 'loving' approach.  Nada.  He's got beef.

Finally I tried the tried and tested method of, "Okay, bye bye Brooklyn, see you later" and walked away.  This works at the park.  In the same way it does for three-year old children who won't get off the swings.  Nada.  He's got beef.

Meanwhile, cars are slowly driving past me.  One man asked if he could help me, another lady was concerned she would run over my toy dog.  I think it was the Fed Ex man who sat leering at my up-ended butt that really clinched the 'worst moment of the day' award.  

The Engineer is standing in our foyer with Mr. Mop who is going bananas.  He finally has the inspiration to get the 'last resort, always works' stick.  Otherwise known as my devil's costume pitch fork from last Halloween that we keep around for such occasions.

By this time, Brooklyn has eaten the beef and is merely running around under the car, wagging his tail having a whale of a time.  

With the stick, I manage to shoo Brooklyn from under the car (I swear, I have never done anything to him with this stick, but it instills the world of fear in him) but for a little legged dog, he sure can move fast. 

I tear down the sidewalk after him and manage to capture him between the tines of my pitch fork.  Of course he rolls on his back in surrender.

Yes, clearly we need to work on our recall skills.  But I don't think even the most obedient dog will respond when he is eating roast beef.  Heck, I barely respond to dinner conversation when roast beef is served.

Books to Read

I have never talked about books on this blog.  But seeing as I tell you where to eat.  Or what museums to go to, I feel the natural progression is to tell you about the fabulous reads I stumble across.

I won't lie.  I have pretty good taste in books.  I think almost better than Oprah.  Not that one can brag about that, it's like saying you have good taste in music.  Who says it's good taste?  It's what you like right?  I am a music nerd.  Once my friend needed a rock song to sing for an audition.  She asked me for my advice.  I told her I listen to Enya.

Anyways, I have two books I recently read that I would like to recommend.

Firstly, The Book of Negroes by (Canadian) Lawrence Hill.  It's called 'Someone Knows my Name' in the States.  It's very good.

It's so good, Mr. Hill will give you your money back if you don't like it.

But you will.  It's a long and very sad story about a girl named Aminata who is stolen from her African home, put on a slave ship, then sold to a plantation owner in South Carolina.  It follows her tale through the plantation, the working for a Jewish doctor, to her escape and freedom in New York, up to Nova Scotia, back to Africa to set up a colony in Sierra Leonne, and then to London.    

I don't want to tell you too much about the book.  But I will tell you this - you will stay up at night so that you can read it.  Which I always think is a good sign.  It is horribly sad.  Not only because it's true, but because places like Sierra Leonne are still f*&(cked up - so you can't even comfort yourself in saying, "this was so long ago".  However, it has a very happy ending.  You must remember this in order to keep reading it.  

Secondly, The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society  by Mary Ann Shaffer & Annie Barrows.

This is an epistolary novel (a novel of letters) telling the tale of post-WW2 England.  It starts off in bomb-blasted London and then travels to Guernsey, a part of the Channel Islands between England and France that were occupied my Germans for five years.

It's charming, funny, sad, lovely, terrible, and a page-turner all  in one.  It makes you see how the human spirit can be destroyed by war and tragedy but then put back together through love and faith. Every character in the novel has survived such remarkable sadness but have to find the strength to keep going.  And they do it by forming new friendships, and new families.

This is a lovely read.  And I believe it is only $13 at Chapters or Amazon.  

I especially loved it because it takes place in the year my mum was born.  So with each page, I think of my grandparents having to rebuild - even though they were in Northern England - with a newborn baby.  They were still in rations until the late 50's!!!

I promise to only tell you about books that you can't put down.  Because those are the best and yet hardest to find.

Mr. Mop and the Library

It has been a rainy few days here in New York City.  Mr. Mop and Brooklyn do not do well in the rain. Super that most of the time we live in Rainy City.

Anyways, they were cooped up for a couple of days and driving me bananas.  When they are cooped up from the heat it's fine because they are passed out.  But when the temperatures drop, the two of them think it's fun to wrestle FOURTEEN hours a day (and night).

So I knew I had to take them for a sizable walk.

I dragged (yes, actually dragged.  Mr. Mop refused to walk) the two down our misty street.  I was on a mission to get to the library in order to return a few books and pick up my holds.  The library is awesome here in Brooklyn.  Firstly, they almost always have the book you want ready. You can also have it shipped to your nearest library at no cost.  Thirdly, it is in a lovely brick building surrounded by leafy trees and across from Brownstones that are nearly two hundred years old.  This is the clincher.

Anyways, there we were.  A wet trio marching to get the latest installment of the #1 Ladies Detective Agency novels I have finally decided to read. Brooklyn resembled a sewer rat and Mr. Mop looked more like Mr. Mope.

We got to the Cobble Hill library (cute name too!) and I promptly tied the boys to the iron gate.  I assured them I would be very fast.  This did not help the matter.  They were all  in a panic and distraught to be left in the rain.  Looking back, it was quite mean.

In I go.  I grab my books in a nano-second and hand them over to the librarian with my card.  I feel a tap at my bum and promptly glare at the old man shuffling past me.  The I see a flurry of white behind the librarian.  I hear giggles and gasps.  I look down and think, "Oh, there is a dog in the library."

Wait a minute!

It was MY dog in the library!  

Mr. Mop had wiggled himself out of his harness and leash!  And somehow convinced someone to open the door for him!  I mean, who let him in?

I immediately picked him up and apologized to the librarian.  Luckily she was laughing.  And she pointed out that it is lucky he came into the library and didn't run away.

I didn't tell her my dog is such a mental case that his acute separation anxiety makes it so that he is never further than three feet from me if he can help it.

There I am, holding my soggy dog, balancing my books when I hear Brooklyn raising a fuss outside.  For a nine pound animal, he can make enough noise to wake the dead and break glass. His bark is so freaking high-pitched and he was actually squealing. 

You can imagine the stares I got as I walked outside to greet my trembling, soggy, loud dog with my other soggy dog wiggling in my arms.

So Mr. Mop loves the library now.  I wonder if it's the draw of all the Danielle Steele novels or the free use of a computer?

Le Eating in Le Nouveau Pomme

I recently turned 30.

And for my birthday, I got to eat WHERE I wanted.  I chose two places in the West Village.  Yes, TWO.  I went out twice.  Sue me.  Once on Saturday when all my Vancouver friends came into town and once on my actual birthday with the Engineer and two dear friends.

This is the tale of the yummiest things to eat on your 30th Birthday.

#1 Palma

www.palmanyc.com

Palma is a delightful Mediterranean restaurant run by Palma D'Orazio.  They have an amazing back garden that is painted in yellow and white.  It is the perfect escape from the bustling streets of New York - for one evening you can sit in the fairy-lit garden under the stars and eat amazing food.  Unfortunately, you cannot sit a group of 10 girls out there.  So we sat in the window.  Which was just as nice - the windows were thrown open and the late summer breeze wafted in.  Do you want to go now?  

See?  I haven't even told you about the food!!

For an appetizer, I shared:

- arancini Siciliani.  In other words?  Fried rice balls.  But not just any fried rice balls.  Italian fried rice balls.  Which means creamy, cheesy risotto, rolled into a scrumptious ball and then deep fried.  I just had a mini-mouth orgasm thinking about it.

- polpettine de carne.  Meatballs.  Damn good meatballs with tomato and basil.  DROOL.  

Then I had dinner.  Won't lie.  A bit inebriated from the white wine at this point so don't really remember.  I am sure it was good.

And it was followed up by tiramisu as pictured.  It was light, creamy and delightfully rich.  

More wine.  YUM.

#2 Le Gigot

www.legigotrestaurant.com

French.  Country.  Food.  

GO.

Le Gigot is terribly cosy inside -you feel as if you are somewhere in Paris, or better yet, Provence.  Actually, anywhere is France is fine by me.  

For dinner they have a prix fixe menu which turned out to be a great deal ($45), for an extra $20 you get a flight of wine.  We got on board.

Course one: gateaux crab.  And not just a touch of crab with some bread crumbs - but WHOLE lump crap held together with deliciousness.  It was huge!  And, yes, delicious.  The wine was white.  And good?  I often forget wine the minute I taste food.  I know - that's bad right?

Course two:  Duck Confit.

What can I say?

I am a duck confit virgin.  I know!  Shriek!  Gasp!  I eat all the time and have never had this delicacy!!!  

If you are going to lose your duck confit virginity, let it be this good.  So duck confit is:

duck leg poached in FAT for ten hours.  

Everything about that sentence is good.  

Our portion was large.  And good.  And fatty.  And buttery.  And I had mini-mouth-orgasms with each bite.

Wine?  Red.

Course three:  chocolate lava cake.

Our server was so good.  He had overheard T wish me a 'Happy Birthday' so had adorned my cake with a candle!  He got a good tip :)  The cake was incredible.  Although, I feel any chocolate cake with melty chocolate inside is fabulous.  

Wine?  Dessert and amazingly sweet and tart.

Book your trip to NYC now.  And then go to these places.  Your stomach will not disappoint.

www.bridesmaidiaries.com

Mountain out of Molehills

I don't feel extra lucky this morning (perhaps that will come later), but I certainly don't feel different or suddenly older or like my heart is going to fail.

Could I possibly have been making a mountain out of a molehill for nearly a year?  Nooooooo, that doesn't sound like me at all.

Oh wait, it does.

In fact, when I woke up this morning at 6:30 AM (WHAT?) because Mr. Mop has clearly eaten something bad and tooted all the way down Warren Street, I felt . . . . pretty good.  Even for so early in the morning I had an extra bounce in my step.  I felt happy.  

Hmmmmm, maybe it was my good friend (who turned 30 yesterday) reminding me of all the things we accomplished in our 20's that did it.  Or maybe Aubs was right:  you simply move on.  Perhaps it was the fact that I have been preparing myself for so long (and calling myself 30 since the early spring - just to get used to it).  Or maybe because it isn't such a big deal.

Turning 30, is not that bad.  Not that bad at all.

In fact, I think it has a pretty cool ring to it.  The only differences between being 29 and 30 are these:

1.  Now I must tick a new box on my insurance form

2.  When InStyle says how to wear stripes (or whatever) in your 20s/30s/40s/50s, I simply have a new look

3.  I now must read 'How to Take Care of Your Skin' in the 30's column.  

Not bad at all right?

I just wish the Engineer wasn't still in his twenties.  

www.bridesmaiddiaries.com

Turning the Big 3-0

Tomorrow is my 30th birthday.

I have been dreading it since September 10th, 2008.  

Apparently, September 9 of this year is lucky.  09-09-09 happens to be the 252nd day of the year.  2+5+2= 9  

Also, both Wednesday and September have nine letters.  It's all about luck tomorrow.  

I think I need it to not have a heart attack.  I really can't tell you why this birthday/age has me wanting to run for the hills and hide forever.  Or lie about my age on Facebook (although from constant teasing by a certain friend, my true age is finally on IMDB).

I once remember listening to a girl I knew who was about four years older than me.  She was about to turn 27 (so I was 23) and she was upset because she felt as though she should be farther in her  life at that age.  I remember thinking, 'God, I'm glad I'm not like that.  I rock for my age.  Wait till I'm 30.'  And now I am.

Here are the things I thought I would have by 30:

1.  A wedding/engagement ring

2.  A baby, or a baby on the way

3.  An Oscar

4.  The freedom not to always say a silent prayer when using the ATM or my Mastercard

5.  A super crazy career (hence the Oscar)

I have none of those things.  But I do have:

1.  A boyfriend

2.  Two dogs

3.  Yup, nothing compares to that one

4.  It's a recession

5.  Oh I do.  I was just hoping it was crazy in a different way

My friend Aubs merely says 'You turn 30.  You look at your life and realize it hasn't turned out the way you thought it would and then you move on.'  Another person I spoke to said that 30 was so hard because it's the one age that has always meant ADULT.  In our current generation 40 is the new 20, 60 is the new 40, but 30 is ADULT.  It's not the new 18, it's not the new era of backpacking across Europe and finding yourself (that's what we did five years ago) and it certainly isn't going to school and getting a degree (oh wait, it is).

I had a hard time turning 13 because I was afraid to grow up.  At 20, it felt pretty good.  Albeit I was living in Scotland and dancing on tables with friends while doing whiskey shots.  

My friends all came out from Rainy City to celebrate with me this past weekend, so that definitely helped the blow. 

And I spent the day after in much the same state I did after that night of whiskey shots.  So maybe 30 is the 20?

Fresh as a Daisy

Life with two dogs has sent me on an endless mission of finding ways to make the air around me smell nice.  I am all about open windows, fans, and vacuuming on a daily basis.  I also wash my sheets and couch cover (hooray Ikea) all the time, so I am fairly certain the Vancouver apartment smells un-dog-like.

I once got a plug-in air freshener, only because a cat owner friend of mine had one and her house always smelled so girly.  But clearly I got the wrong one.  Those things are horrid!  Even plugged into the second bedroom with the door closed, the stench made it’s way into every room of my apartment and gave us headaches.  In fact, the Engineer and I woke up in the middle of the night because of the stench.  If a bad smell wakes you up, you know it’s bad.  Or when you get out of the elevator and can smell your house?  And the person in the elevator says ‘what is that weird smell?’ you know it’s time to ditch the plug-in ‘freshener’.

On our Cape Cod trip, we had some smell issues.  Firstly, we stayed at the oh-so-not-luxurious Brentwood Motor Inn.  They were one of the only places that took dogs AND that we could afford.  At barely $55 a night, we figured out why. 

Our first room was actually pretty good.  Big and spacious, we were pleasantly surprised to find ourselves in a non-dump.  But then we had to move rooms.  To a very small, very stinky room.  One with holes in the sheets and  an air quality akin to that of what I imagine jail to be like.  Let’s just say if we had this room the first night, we would have checked out the next morning.

Add two dogs to the mix?  Two dogs who keep getting wet in the ocean/rain?  And some digestive issues of too much fried seafood? 

You have a problem. 

So I went to find some air freshener.  I was stunted in the ‘Stop & Shop’ cleaner aisle.  Glade candle?  This would probably be the least noxious option but we didn’t have matches.  Air spray?  Seemed like a good idea as I could use it in both the room and the car that was starting to smell of wet dog.

I picked Febreze because it seems cleanest.  They had three scents:  normal (but this was sold out), Clean Linen, or Moroccan Bazaar.  I picked up the latter and sent a puff out to see how the bazaar smelled.  I didn’t spray enough so did it again.  Except this time I hit my eyes and face.  After choking and wiping tears out of my eyes, I felt my cheeks smelled pretty good.

The description is this:  “Inspired by the fragrance of fresh-ground ginger that fills the air in the spice markets of Casablanca”.  Ooooo, sounds exotic.  They go on further:  “No need to fill your house with the heaping barrels of brightly coloured spices – just give it a spray or two.”

What is wrong with this picture?

You got it:  it’s disgusting.  I sprayed the car and then promptly got a massive headache with the sweetly smell.  Ground spices my ass.

Then the Engineer looked at it and started to laugh.  He pointed out that he was pretty sure a Moroccan bazaar stinks.  Then he asked me why I didn’t pick the small Chinese store scent. 

Good point. 

Not that a Moroccan bazaar necessarily stinks badly, but I am sure it isn’t exactly what you want your bedroom to smell like.  It is comparable to a Chinese corner store.  Ooooo, the smell of incense and bok choy will take you to the exotic streets of Shanghai.  Let’s bottle that.  Or let’s capture the crowded streets of Bangkok.  Yum, the smell of hot city sewers and pad thai.  Febreze should have the F Train during rush hour to take you back to your holiday in New York.

What was Febreze thinking? 

On that note, what was I thinking?

 

 

Clam for You, Clam for Me

Fried Clams!  Fried Clams!  I finally had fried clams – and I actually understand what the big deal is now (also, where the heck did I learn about them in the first place?).

They are YUMMY!

A fact I found quite surprising, seeing as all the other fried seafood just seemed a bit . . .  well gross.  The Engineer was sweet enough to indulge me, so we stopped once again at our ‘friends’ Seafood Sam’s – the place of the lobster-bisque-thick-as-mayo fame.  We opted to order a small dish of fried clams, otherwise known as belly.  The girl was quite surprised we ordered a small.  Clearly we are one of the first people to order a small.  Ummmm, look at the picture – doesn’t that seem like quite enough fried food?

I had to eat them on my lap in the car, as Hurricane Danny was making quite a name for himself in the form of crazy blowing rain and freezing  temperatures.

These little pieces of ‘small, fleshy belly’ (as the Seafood Sam’s girl explained) were like little pieces of fried heaven.  So freaking delicious!  Full of flavor, a batter quite light, and plenty of meat. 

 

I am very happy that we tried this Cape Cod delicacy.  And quite happy we waited for the last day.  Otherwise my meals would have been fried clams and ice cream at the Creamery for dessert.  FYI – if you ever find yourself is South Yarmouth you must go to the Creamery.  It’s homemade ice cream all named after places on the Cape:  Orleans Oreo, SOMETHING Coconut, Sandwich SOMETHING.  My favorites were the minty SOMETHING and the coconut – both topped with delicious hot dark fudge.

Anyways, back to my clams.  I still can’t believe that the biggest seafood dishes on the Cape are all fried.  I feel that if I were to eat an entire large platter of fried clams, fried calamari, fried shrimp, fried lobster, fried scallops and friend crod (ummm, some fish that I don’t know) I think I would have a heart-attack at the tender age of 29.  How do these Cape Codders do it?  And yes, all those items I just listed are in fact what is offered all together on menus here.

Things I learned here on the Cape:  it is not gourmet heaven and eating out is super expensive.  We are not against paying high prices for food, but good money after bad food (and wasted calories) is one of my pet peeves.  When we come again, it definitely will be all about getting a place with a kitchen and making our own food.  The ‘Stop & Shop’ is plentiful here and my new favorite grocery store – so you can make your own fresh seafood prepared in perhaps a more healthy way. 

The Engineer and I struggled all week with what to eat, and spent the entire time suffering with sore tummies and other digestive issues.  I think we thought the Cape would be full of wharfs where we could get fresh seafood right off the boat.  Maybe you can, we just didn’t find it.

Martha’s Vineyard is in the Edible magazine family, so must be abundant in good eats.  But once again, we didn’t find it.  Clam chowder at the Black Dog Café was about it.  Nantucket?  Full of amazing looking restaurants.  Unfortunately all with prices starting around $27 for an entrée. (we paid $9 for a sandwich – it was a plain ham sandwich on brown bread) 

Next time we come, it will be a diet of ‘Stop & Shop’ food, clam chowder, fried clams, and ice cream.  Oh ice cream, how delicious thou art.  Lobster bisque from SS?  How delicious thou ain’t.