The Future of Humankind

Hello! Why yes, we have been slacking on the blog. It seems we slightly underestimated the time commitment involved in everyday blogging.... An hour a day doesn't sound that demanding, but once we're done with work and cooking and eating and cleaning up and playing wiffle ball with the dog and spending a few minutes talking - we only have about an hour or two to watch a little Netflix TV before our 9:00 bedtime. And the kid isn't even born yet. We'll consider this blog already broken in for when we have no free time at all and no one will ever hear from us again. (Just kidding dear family!)

Although we decided a while ago that this blog wouldn't be all about baby, there's baby chitchat and there's baby news. And we have baby news... granted it's old news and if you know us at all you've already heard, but once again for posterity's sake: IT'S A BOY!

Because I am just this much of a nerd, I have to point out that the sonographer committed one of my pet peeve errors and labeled our baby's penis "gender," when of course we all know the biological status of baby is the sex while gender is more of a social construct blah blah blah. But certainly the sex is pretty unambiguous... our son gave us the money shot as soon as she went looking down under. I think that Mike and I were both stunned for a moment; obviously there were only two possible outcomes, and yet somehow seeing it with our own eyes was still a slightly surreal moment. Technology is amazing, eh?

Some people still choose to wait to find out the sex of their unborn baby, but we are not such people. I'm not the most patient person in the world; if I could magically time warp to January after our son's arrival, I would. And not just because that would mean skipping the whole beached whale stage of pregnancy and the whole getting a 7 pound baby out of there experience. (And yes, I am adamantly choosing to believe this baby will be average and not the back-shattering size of my husband as a newborn - according to the family horror stories. If you attempt to tell me that I'm probably going to have a big baby, just know that inside my head I'm saying LALALALALALALACAN'THEARYOUUUUUUU!)

And so we have just about four months before we get to meet this little guy in person. What, you don't think his wittle skeleton face is cute? How dare you! Actually, I kid but the ultrasound was incredible, and in fact if you are so inclined you can even watch it online. Baby's first home movie, already a Youtube sensation. Make sure you check out the renal glands, that is totally the best part.

Life's a Beach

It's been nearly three years since Mike & I moved to land-locked Nebraska, and lately, for the very first time, I've started to miss the ocean a little. The #1 thing we heard from all of our friends on the East Coast when we told them we were leaving was "Won't you miss the ocean???" and we always said, "ehhh... I don't think so." And I haven't, really. Houses under $200k have a funny way of dampening nostalgia.

But at last, my inner beach bum has begun to stir a bit. If anything it's surprising it took this long - after all, I grew up on an island. My life practically revolved around the beach in the summer. When I was very young, going to the beach was the main way that my mom and her friends with young children socialized during the warmer months. I have a very early memory of swimming underwater, close to the shore - something I learned to do before I could even properly doggie paddle.

In the 80s we used to go to a beach we called Jetty Beach, in Oak Bluffs, so called because stone jetties bordered it on either side. We went there because it was not as crowded as other parts of the shoreline on Martha's Vineyard - and also because it was in walking distance of a public restroom - needed because in those days, we would spend the entire day at the beach - from just after breakfast until almost dinnertime.

In the 90s, I suddenly realized Jetty Beach was gone. Erosion had chewed away at it until only the boulders along the wall were left, and a thin strip of sand at low tide. As an adolescent I realized that it was uncomfortably close to the ferry - that is, not close enough to be dangerous, but certainly close enough for me to wonder if we had been swimming in diesel fuel. Hmm.

In the late 80s, my dad and uncle bought a boat together, and this took over our summers as our main form of entertainment. We occasionally went tubing, but mostly we loved to take the boat from the harbor near our house, out over the ocean, and into a lagoon where we could park at an uncrowded, quiet stretch of beach to relax and swim. (I will confess that I was mildly terrified of being out in the rough ocean on the boat.)

As a teenager, of course I sadly fell prey to self-conscious desires to be cool and not be seen in a bikini, so my beach attendance fell off somewhat in summer months. But once I could drive, I found that the beach was a great place to indulge in teenage angst, especially in the winter when no one was there. I would often drive to the seaside to park and write embarrassing, tortured diary entries with only the Atlantic Ocean as my witness.

When we lived in Boston, Mike and I rarely made it to the beach, but we did drive down to Nantasket Beach in Hull a few times. On one of our first dates, we went to Nantasket, bought a kite and flew it on the beach, and went for a quick swim in the frigid ocean.

Right before we left Boston forever, we lived for a month in a rental house practically right on the beach in Winthrop (where we later had our wedding). The house was a true bachelor pad, with plastic lawns chairs for interior furniture, but we only had to step out the back door and walk 25 feet up a wooden boardwalk to be on the beach. Winthrop's only flaw is that it's close to Logan Airport, so planes would fly close overhead. At night they were amazing to see. Russell loved going out to beach every evening to play ball and run around (although he never did like swimming).

Now here we are in Nebraska. Nebraska has some rivers (the Missouri, though, is an ugly brown puddle in these parts), and it has man-made lakes. There are a surprising number of beaches local to Omaha, some of them very attractive, but of course nothing really compares to the ocean. I look forward to someday taking our child to Martha's Vineyard to play on the beach - I would hate for my kid to grow up never having seen the ocean (imagine!). Recently I have even become nostalgic enough that when I stop to really remember, I can almost smell that salty air.

Why I Love and Hate Sports So Much.....

This past weekend I, like many people in the world, were glued to our TV set watching what we presumed to be history in the making. I am not talking about the Erin Andrews sex tape. I am talking about a 59 year old Tom Watson almost winning the British Open and becoming the oldest man in the history of golf to do such an achievement.

I sat there Saturday afternoon and Sunday morning watching this remarkable drama play out only to have mine and many, many millions of other people's hearts broken on the 18th and final hole of the championship. This poor guy blew it on the last hole.

Technically, he didn't blow it right then and there. He had an opportunity in a 4 hole playoff to win, but he knows and I know and the world knows, that it was over before the playoff even started.

This is why I love and hate sports. Sports is the one passion play in this world that can suck you in and tear you apart, if you let it. There is no greater joy or pain (that has absolutely no bearing on your existence) than having your favorite team win it all, or blow it big time.

That's the crazy thing about sports too. It really doesn't (and should not) have any bearing on your well being. If it does have a bearing on your well being than chances are you are gambling on it, and in my opinion you are not really a fan if you need to wager money on a game in order to enjoy it.

Why do I have such a healthy opinion on keeping a safe distance from yourself and your favorite team?

Because I am a Knicks fan.

If you are a Knicks fan over the age of 25 than you know all too well about pain and heartache. You, like me, sat there and watched Michael Jordan tear our hopes and dreams apart like no other. If you are a Knicks fan than you know what I'm talking about when I mention "The Dunk" (the highest of highs). Then again you know exactly who I'm talking about when I mention someone going 2 for 18 in game 7 (the lowest of lows). Being a fan of the Knicks is all about heartbreak, I could go on and on about the pain and sorrow that all Knicks fans share.

At what point did I stop letting this game affect me so much? It must have been when Reggie Miller and the Indiana Pacers started embarrassing my beloved Knicks that I said enough is enough. If I let a chump like Reggie "Cheryl" Miller spoil my good mood than what's the point? I knew I had to let go otherwise I would be doomed.

That is why it's better to keep a safe distance from your emotions and your love of sports. It can only lead to a deep rooted pain that can barely be cured. Just ask any Cubs fan.

**** Oh by the way. If you clicked on the Erin Andrews sex tape link hoping that it was the real thing: Thank-you. I have always wanted to "Rick-roll" somebody.

The war on "Whatever"

Can we talk about something? I need all the people in this world who handle their responsibilities on a daily basis to do me a favor. I'm talking about those of us who pay our bills, pay our taxes, stop at red lights, drive the speed limit, don't litter, say thank-you when someone holds the door open for you, actually hold doors open for people, say excuse me when necessary, take care of your children, show people common courtesy, etc. If that is something you can relate with then I'm talking to you.

The next time you hear somebody who is not being responsible for their actions say "Whatever." I want you to verbally kick their ass. I don't want you to physically kick their ass (that could lead to lawsuits), but I do want you to lay in on them with a tirade like they have never heard before. Basically, I want you to act like this guy (warning EXPLICIT LANGUAGE!!!).

We need to take a stand against this behavior!! We the responsible people in the world need to sort this out once and for all. It's the only chance this country is gonna survive in a global economy.

There are times when I see really stupid behavior go by unchecked because we are forced to say "whatever" to those who live in a "whatever" world. This has been happening far too often and I hold one person responsible for this.

George Lucas.

That's right, Mr. Star Wars himself. You know why I hold him responsible? After he butchered my favorite childhood memories, with those pathetic sequels to Star Wars, his response was basically "whatever." He was like "These movies have made hundreds of millions so all those people couldn't have hated it. If people didn't like it, it wouldn't have done so well"

Hey dude, up yours!! I went to see those crappy movies because I had to. It was like I had no choice - my biological clock would never have forgiven me if I didn't go see pieces those of poo. The original trilogy owned a part of my life for like about 17 years, I had to pay my respects. The prequels were the most anticipated moments of my life.

I figured something out though. We all agree that Empire Strikes Back was the best of the original trilogy right? I mean, if you disagree with me than your opinion on movies is crap anyways so suck it! Did you know that George Lucas didn't even write the screenplay or direct the movie? Granted, he did write the original storyline, but for those of us who have seen it over a hundred times, we all know that the beauty of that movie is the witty dialogue, the amazing action sequences and the depth of character development (not to forget the brilliant score by John Williams). Empire Strikes Back was what made the original trilogy so great.

Instead of George "I ruined Star Wars for everybody" Lucas directing Empire it was Irvin Kershner who directed the film and Leigh Brackett who wrote the screenplay. Ain't that something? I mean, this guy Lucas takes all the credit for making my entire winter break in1981 manageable (my sister worked at Cinema East in Nyack, N.Y. at the time and got me into the theatre every day that week, thanks Jen) and yet he hardly had as much to do with making that film so brilliant as he likes to take credit for. What a dick.

So when The Phantom Menace came out in 1999, it was I who stood in line, along with millions of other superfans, waiting with anticipation for what would become the biggest letdown of our lives. That movie was ca ca poo poo pee pee. I could write a manifesto about how much that movie sucked, but we all know what I'm talking about.

The critics agreed with me that this movie was horrible and not just because of Jar Jar Binks (dammit! I promised myself to never speak that name). It was horrible for the poor acting, the crappy story, and the fact that the only cool character (Darth Maul) was in it for like 10 minutes. I blame all of this on one man.

So what does George Lucas do when it's time to make the next two movies? Does he put his enormous ego aside for the greater good? Does he say, "hey, maybe someone else should direct these next two and I'll just focus on special effects and counting my money." No. Instead he says "whatever" and just goes about his way ruining a franchise. Hey, at least he got his money. Doodie-brain.

So if you see someone at work or at home or at the strip club who is not pulling their weight and you call them out for it - if their response is "whatever," I want you to think about all the times "We" the hard working people of America get stepped on. Think about all the times "We" the responsible ones have been screwed by greed and ego and I want you to respond like this .

The Gospel of Food

I once read that Americans view food with the kind of passion and imbue it with the kind of higher meaning usually reserved for religion; I think the comment was meant to be disparaging of such an attitude, but when I mentioned it to Mike, we both took a shine to the idea. Now our running joke is that food is our religion, and in fact when we tell our friends on a Saturday afternoon that we're headed to "church," they know we mean Whole Foods.

Three years ago Mike and I decided together to become vegetarians, for ethical reasons. I don't usually talk about the animal rights aspect of this decision, because I feel it tends to annoy more than convert; so suffice to say, we think animals have feelings and we decided not to eat them anymore.

Even if you don't believe that pigs have personalities, there are so many reasons to eat vegetarian, or at least limit your consumption of meat, it's hard for us to understand sometimes why more people don't eat this way.

*It's environmentally friendly. Everyone knows about cow farts and methane gas, but there are many other aspects of meat production that damage the environment, from animal waste to deforestation to the use of petrochemicals. The farm animals that we eat - including cows, pigs, chickens, and even salmon - are fed mainly on corn, because corn is subsidized by the government and corn is cheap and corn is fattening. But corn also takes up a lot of arable land and is grown with a lot of petrochemical fertilizers and pesticides. Here's one crazy true fact: if every American ate the equivalent of three fewer cheeseburgers per week, the positive effect on the environment would be like taking every SUV in the country off the road. Here's another: if everyone on the planet ate the way Americans eat, we would need two and half more planets to sustain that level of meat consumption.

*It's better for your health. Everywhere you look in medical recommendations, you find the same exact nutritional advice: eat whole grains, "good fats" (nuts, seeds, olive oil), lots of produce, and not too much of animal products. Diabetes? Same advice. Heart health? Same advice. Cancer prevention? Same advice. And yet where people usually turn for nutritional advice is either TV fast food commericals or fad diets (eat no carbs! eat no fat! eat this insanely specific combination of carbs and fat!). Most Americans eat way more meat than is necessary or even beneficial to their bodies - you only need the equivalent of 2-3 ounces of lean meat per day, yet the average American eats more like 12 ounces daily. One of my heroes is food writer Michael Pollan, who boils it down to a wonderfully simple maxim: Eat food [meaning real, not processed food], not too much, mostly plants. It is that simple.

(Also, did you know that over 70% of the dioxins - icky toxic chemicals - that end up in the human body get there from food consumption? All the fuss about BPA in water bottles and you could actually do more to reduce your exposure to these pollutants by not eating meat. Dioxins are stored in animal fat, which means every time you eat animals, you consume those chemicals.)

*It's cheaper. This isn't always the easiest argument to make, and certainly there are exceptions. If you are a lower income person who lives in the city, lacks easy access to transportation, and mostly shops at bodegas, no - it's not cheaper, and in fact it would be pretty difficult to be a healthy vegetarian. But for the average middle class person with easy access to supermarkets, you can save a lot of money by dropping meat from your grocery list, or just limiting it to a few meals a week. Staples like rice, beans, raw nuts, potatoes and pasta are some of the most inexpensive things you can buy at the supermarket. Produce can be found at reasonable prices if you buy seasonally (which many people do not). In addition, meat has hidden costs that we don't think about but most certainly do pay for - agricultural subsidies paid for by tax dollars to prop up all that corn-based animal feed, and health costs and insurance premiums that come from chronic diseases caused partly by poor nutrition, like diabetes and heart disease.

*It's delicious and easy to stick to. This is not a diet. Mike and I have both lost weight since we stopped eating meat and started eating better (real) foods, but it hasn't been something we've had to go out of our way to do. Initially, yes, we had to do a little research and learn how to make & eat meals that were not centered around meat, as most American meals are. But once you make the mental switch, it's not that challenging, you don't really miss meat, and the food is delicious. One thing that Mike and I have in common is that we love food. We never would have been able to stay with a "diet" that wasn't full of tasty, enjoyable food, or that forced us to nibble on grass while our stomachs growled. But, surprisingly (even to me), going vegetarian has been one of the easiest things we've ever done.

It's never too late to try something new, and no one says you have to go whole hog (as it were) and cut all meat consumption tomorrow. But try eating one more vegetarian meal per week and see how that goes. Then maybe try two. Three and we get all the metaphorical SUVs off the road and you might start to lose some pounds too. If you hate it, forget it. But chances are it won't be as hard as you might think, and who knows, you might even like it.

The Day I Learned What the Word Minority Meant...

Always in life there are lessons to be learned. Don't lick a frozen pole (it will rip your taste buds off) or don't wait till the very last moment to throw a firecracker (it's not a jumping jack) or especially don't leave the dirty movie tape in the VCR (that one may cause embarrassment/explanation). This is a story about learning the full meaning of abbreviated words.

It was the winter of '87 and I was a chubby 7th grader who was way ahead of his time. I was one of only four fat kids in the entire school. My parents were really into feeding me fast food, much like a lot of parents I see today. I was on a high fructose corn syrup diet. I guess I was some sort of bizarre trendsetter in a terrible kind of way now because there are way more fat kids than ever before (at least out here in Nebraska).

The principal had gotten on the loud speaker to announce that those students who would be interested in attending the "Mino-Expo" need to get permission slips from the guidance counselor. He explained that students would be going to SUNY Purchase (SUNY stands for State University of New York, and Purchase is this town in Westchester) and spending a Saturday learning about all the amenities that college has to offer.

I was a bit of an outcast back then and the only way I made people like me was by doing the "truffle shuffle" (if you don't know what that is, than click here ). I was always looking at the bright side though, and I knew that I wasn't always going to be an awkward teenager who had to humiliate himself in order to make friends. I could become a drunk fratboy who could humiliate himself for laughs!

I remember approaching the guidance counselor at school in order to ask for a permission slip (just to make the story more interesting click here if you are from New York and want to see who the guidance counselor reminded me of - CAUTION!!! there is an expletive that follows this link- hide the kiddies). She did this double take like I had asked her for her phone number or something, but she gave gave me a permission slip anyway.

On the day of the "Mino-Expo '87" I remember being so thrilled. "I'm gonna go to college someday, I'm not gonna be such a loser, these fellow students of mine can SUCK - IT!!!" That was my mind-set - I felt unbeatable.

I had noticed that none of the students that I semi-knew were going to the "Mino-Expo." I have to admit I was a tad bit disappointed that my fellow classmates had not given any consideration towards their college futures. Too bad losers.

When I got on the bus to go to the college I had given no thought to the fact that I was the only white kid on the bus. The town I grew up in had a fairly mixed racial demographic so it really wasn't too surprising for me to be "in the minority" (a term I had never heard of until about an hour later).

When we got into the auditorium it suddenly occured to me that something was not right. I quickly grabbed my seat in this theatre of close to 5,000 people thinking "what the hell is going on here?" It wasn't until the first speaker of the program gave a speech about helping African Americans and other minorities get a head start towards a college diploma that I knew I had made a terrible error. I remember slinking into my chair and literally trying to cover my white neck and dirty blonde hair into my winter jacket so people behind me might not recognize me, but to no avail.

The rest of the day I once again became an outcast, a role I was all too familiar with. I do remember seeing one other white guy that day, but at least he had brown eyes, unlike me the blue-eyed devil that I am.

When we got home sometime after 6 o'clock my sister Jen picked me up from the school. She wanted to know how my day went and did I like it. I remember so vividly our conversation. I said "I didn't know that 'mino' meant black people? Mino is short for minority?" She just giggled and said "Well, I guess today, YOU were the minority."

Badum-bum!!

Oops!

I forgot Saturday was my blogging day. I do apologize; the baby ate my brain.

Life without cable......

Much like everyone else in America, Erin and I have had our butts kicked in by the recession. I picked the perfect time to start working for a company whose bread and butter solely relies on the the building of houses, and Erin's trade is dependant on people upgrading their houses. Needless to say, we got kicked in the financial butt pretty hard.

One of our first financial layoffs we had to make at home was cable television. Cable has been in my life since I was a wee lad. My father (always being ahead of the curve) saw to it that we were the first people on our block to have cable. We were the second to have a VCR so he refused to let that travesty happen again. (Actually I can't remember, which came first? The VCR or cable? It's kind of like the chicken and the egg isn't it?) Cable practically raised me from a latch key kid to a crummy lover of a boyfriend.

When the time came it really was a no-brainer. It's hard to justify spending $100 a month when I had just been given a 10% pay cut at work. Besides, football season had already ended so there really was no excuse. The only thing I was gonna miss was Countdown with Keith Olbermann but hey, Obama had already won so mission accomplished.

We decided instead to get a subscription to Netflix which has been a real blessing in disguise. What we do is, we get the best TV series that are out there and we watch entire seasons. So without further ado I would like to point out some of the best series that we have watched and recommend some to you.

Mad Men - This was one of our favorites. If you have never seen this show before, that link will take you to the very first episode. If the first episode doesn't hook you in then you can go straight to hell. If you have seen both seasons, don't talk to me because Season 2 is coming out this week.

Battlestar Galactica - We are talking about the re-imagined series that just concluded a few months ago. If dorking out to sci-fi is anything of interest to you, then this is the one. I only wish that these guys who re-did Battlestar had re-done Star Wars. This show is borderline genius. In the 5 seasons that were created, I would say that 8 episodes sucked. The beauty of this show were the season ending cliff hangers. That is what kept us hooked. I'm sorry, I meant this is what we frackin' loved about the show.

Breaking Bad - This is another AMC drama that had me hooked right from the start. It stars the dad from Malcolm in the Middle as a high school chemistry teacher who learns that he has lung cancer. So he does what any normal person with a chemistry degree does when he finds out he has a year left to live. He becomes a Crystal Meth cook. I mean, why not? right? It almost seems like the show was written by some geek who knew a lot about chemistry and writing but could never kick anyone's ass. So instead he creates this alternate universe where chemistry guys are really hardcore. This show is not a good recommendation for the family or for people who are hypochondriacs especially about the cancer.

So these are our picks - if you have any other favorites please let us know. Currently we are watching Weeds. A show that has definitely "grown" on us (ha ha).

Some favorite things

The following are some of my favorite things and places on the internet:

*GOOP. Goop has gotten such a pounding in the press, but I really don't understand why. It's true that I am probably never going to be able to use the issue about things to see in Paris, but many of the issues are useful or interesting, and I think Gwyneth's tone is friendly and unpretentious. Maybe I'm biased because this is the one celebrity with whom I am convinced I would be BFFs if we ever met, in a slightly creeper stalkerish way but not really. But I always loved her, even before I painted her house on Long Island a couple of years ago. I enjoyed her issue about Party Jams, and I have to say she totally rocks just based on the fact that her Party Jam list introduced me to Jaydiohead ... seriously, how cool is that?

*Ikea Hacker. I do love me some Ikea, and yet what's even cooler than Ikea is this website where random contributers show off their Ikea "hacks" - Ikea furniture and accessories that have been repurposed, chopped up and reassembled, or embellished in all sorts of creative ways. I don't really have the motivation or the motor skills to try something like this myself - or wait, I did use a pot hanger as a picture frame display, but that's pretty rudimentary. I am amazed by bedroom makeover hacks like these.

*Dogeared Jewelry. If you are not a girl, you may not be interested in this site; however, if you know any girls, this would be a good place to buy gifts. I am always a sucker for trinkets and amulets with special meanings, and a lot of these pieces come on a card with a message or fortune or set of magic words. The jewelry itself is simple but pretty.

*Run Pee. This is an ingenious idea and I totally wish I'd thought of it. If you like going to the movies but you hate having to miss part of the film while you dash to the restroom or refill your soda, next time make sure to look up the movie on Run Pee first. It lets you know specifically when to take your breaks without missing any of the action. Highly recommended for pregnant ladies and anyone with Overactive Bladder Syndrome.

*What Should I Read Next. Another great idea. It works somewhat like Netflix's movie recommendations in that it compares the books you like with the reading lists of others who liked those books, and makes recommendations. You can input as many books as you like, and also only select certain things from your list to get a recommendation - so for example, if you're in the mood for a mystery, include only the mysteries from your list of books you've read, and you'll get a recommendation based on that. They also have a beta site for film and music.

*FAIL blog. In terms of Internet culture, this is a slightly musty classic by now, but I think it's still good for a laugh. Any time you have your cranky pants on and some time to kill, take a look at the newest Fails and I can almost guarantee you'll cough up at least a giggle.

Am I Too Sensitive for Fatherhood?

So Erin and I announced on the World Wide Web that we are going to become parents the other day. First, we just want to thank everyone for the messages and support we have received on our Facebook page. It means so much to us, keep it coming, because everyone knows how much I love getting adulation.

I started thinking about this future life as a daddy. Am I too sensitive for this role? I mean, one of the things I know about myself is that I am a pretty sensitive guy, am I gonna be able to handle it when my kid tells me to "shut up" and that they hate me because I won't buy them a toy? People who know me can tell you that my feelings can get hurt rather quickly - I'm kind of soft in that regards.

Ever since I was a boy I've been a little too sensitive for the things normal kids take for granted. My mother kept me out of little league when I was a kid because she knew I couldn't handle getting berated by a coach. She was right! Good looking out Mom.

We're talking about a guy who forced his Grandpop to drive his crying ass all the way from Atlantic City back to New York in the middle of the night because he got so homesick he started dry heaving. (Oh, hyper-ventilating was my specialty. Shoot, the school nurse had to re-stock paper bags on my behalf.) I'm Sens-O-Tive!!!

You don't believe me? Take a look at this

This is me crying like a little sissy on my wedding day. I always cry at weddings, what the hell is wrong with me? This wasn't the only time I cried that day, I was a wreck. Now how am I gonna handle my kid saying mean and hurtful things when they are angry at me. On top of that, you can't cry in front of your children, mommies can, but daddies can't. Never once did I see my father cry, because that is the un-written rule of fatherhood - Don't Cry.

The good news is that I haven't cried over pain for a long time. Earlier today, I split my head open at work, true story. It required 12 stitches and I didn't cry once; in fact, I almost made the nurse sign an affidavit confirming that I didn't cry. She thought I was nuts.

So I don't know what the future has in store for me when it comes to being a parent. I'm sure I'll develop a thick skin and tough it out like men are suppose to, but I do know this. When our baby is born, I'm gonna be crying like a baby too.

First Time (Dog) Mommy

As we announced on Facebook yesterday (being the hip Gen Xers that we are), Mike and I are going to have a baby! Mike's most recent post and my own impending motherhood have got me thinking about the ways that getting a puppy kind of broke me in as a new parent. Some people say getting a dog is good practice for having a child... and indeed I was able to practice being a crazy, neurotic, Supermom on poor Russell.

Having a dog was something I'd always longed to do, but tried not to think too hard about before it was a realistic option. Kind of like when women of a certain age start to come down with baby fever but know the timing isn't quite right - I'd ogle puppies on the street but try to push it quickly out of my mind. So when Mike suggested it was time - time for us to get a dog of our very own - I was over the moon. And then I went totally overboard.

Picking out a puppy awakened the neurotic first time mommy inside me. If I was going to have a dog, he was going to be the healthiest, happiest, most well trained and well behaved dog on the planet. He would be perfectly groomed all the time. He would know a wide variety of cute tricks in addition to all of the basic commands. He would come to work with me and lay quietly by my side until quitting time. He would volunteer his time on the weekends by comforting old people in nursing homes and sick children in hospitals. He was going to be perfect, because anything less would make me a big, huge, failure of a dog mommy!

First, of course, I had to figure out what to feed him. If you ever want to explore an issue that's more emotionally charged and controversial than abortion rights or race in America, take a gander sometime at the topic of what to feed your family dog. If you want to feel the wrath of a thousand angry strangers, go to a message board about dogs and say that you feed your dog Iams. I dare you. I'm poking fun, but truthfully, The Dog Food Project is a great resource and I do recommend it.

Once I'd figured out what to feed my young pup, I OBVIOUSLY had to get him into the best possible puppy kindergarten as soon as possible. Yes, there is such a thing as puppy kindergarten, and god help you if you don't get your puppy in there during its "optimal socialization window," which some say only lasts until 10 weeks, because if you don't... well. God help you. Since Russell was already 8 weeks when we got him, I had great anxiety about managing to get him into a good school as soon as possible. Luckily, some friends of ours were looking for a puppy kindergarten too, so we all enrolled together.

Russell wasn't even 9 weeks when we got him into school - whew! At the beginning of our puppy classes, we owners all sat in a circle and went around introducing our dogs and explaining where they were at in terms of potty training, obedience training, and overall behavior. There is the same simmering sense of competition in a puppy kindergarten as I imagine there is among parents of human children. Some people in the circle smugly point out that their 8 week old hasn't messed in the house once, and others confess in a near-panic state that the dog is 10 weeks old and still pooping EVERYWHERE IS THAT NORMAL WHAT DO WE DO???

The reality of puppy kindegarten is about as laughable as it sounds. Teaching 2 month old puppies to sit, lie down, and come is about as constructive, and absurd, as teaching 6 month old human babies to read. But oh, we were earnest. I was all wound up about how well Russell was doing in class, whether he was playing nicely with the other puppies during free time, whether he would potty during potty time or just pee on the classroom floor like some of those other mouth-breathers in class, whether he was focusing properly, whether the rowdy dogs in class were bad influences, whether we had good communication with each other. Meanwhile, Russell's thought process was something along the lines of PUPPIES PEOPLE PEOPLE TREATS PEEPEE TREATS TREATS PUPPIES POOP!

The sleep deprivation and all-night feedings of human babies also have an analog in puppy raising, and that is in the insanity of housetraining. Russell was two months old when he came to us, and it took an astonishing three months to get to the point of not having regular accidents in the house. The gist of our method was taking him out often enough that he couldn't possibly have to pee in between scheduled walks, and making sure that he pottied while we were out there. On top of it, we lived in the city and were not allowed to use the yard for a dog potty. So we are talking more than three months of walking the dog down the street every 2-3 hours, starting at roughly 6am and ending around 11pm. I can recall walking down the street in the early morning, in my pajamas, in the rain, crying.

Next I fixated on the concept of the bond between dog and owner, and it became an obsession for me: how good was my relationship with Russell? Did he trust me? Was he bonded to me? Suddenly it wasn't enough to have a puppy who behaved well, we had to have a good relationship! But how would I KNOW? I would take him on long walks, let him off leash, call him to me casually although secretly I was testing his love - would he come? would he purposely defy me? totally ignore me? I would feel a surge of relief every time he came back to me, and when he didn't, I would feel a panicky sense that our bond was slipping away.

Eventually, when Russell was closing in on a year old and starting to act more like a friendly family pet and less like a crazed, furry piranha, I too settled down. Over time I realized that I could make mistakes and still my dog would be basically all right. And that in actuality I probably did not have total, Godlike control over his personality, which was the notion that really put me into a near-paralytic state of fear in the early days. I accepted that he would probably always pee on people's feet, and probably always hate puppies, but the world wasn't going to come to a crashing halt because my dog was not perfect.

I would like to think that Russell broke me of my worst, most Crazy Mommy tendencies, and that because of my experiences with him I will more quickly find a path to some kind of intuitive, even-keeled motherhood role. But even as I write that I can hear an internet full of experienced moms laughing at me. Don't worry, I'm sure I will join the chorus sometime next year.

The Ballad of Russell Jones

There is a third member to our family and he has been with us for 4 years now, his name is Russell Jones. Russell is not named after the former drummer of my rocking high school band "Yellow Snow" (I was in so many awesome bands with Craig Russell like "Lunatic Fringe", "Mammoth Pony" and "Big Nose Kate" but "Yellow Snow" was my favorite name for a band). Instead, Russell was named after a late great artist who I will reveal at the end of this story.

Russell came to us via air mail, literally. Now I know this is an UN P.C. thing to do but we bought Russell through the Internet. There is a website out there, which shall not be named, because the chances that puppy mill dogs are being sold here are almost a certainty. It's just so freaking hard to adopt a dog in Boston, that was our first option, but the waiting list is ridiculously long. Besides, our land lord would never have signed a waiver giving us permission to own a dog, better just to spring this crap on her out of the blue.

Russell is a cocker spaniel from the dirty south, Georgia to be exact, we like to imagine that he was this happy-go-lucky farm puppy who played with kids and whistled music from "The Song of the South" (we are pretty confident he was on some sort of farm because he certainly smelled like a farm when we got him). In reality, he was probably subject to neglect and torture and being forced into some sort of puppy mill sex trade even though he was 8 weeks old. We'll never know what his life was like before we met him, but we do know he loves children and has a very personable demeanor.

The day we picked him up from the airport, Erin and I were so nervous, thinking "what have we gotten ourselves into? Are we ready for this? I wonder what he looks like?" (we did see a picture of him before we bought him, we still had no idea whether we were going to get an actual dog or get scammed like when you buy a "video camera" from some guy off the street and it turns out to be a box of rocks). I remember the moment like it was yesterday: here we are as this smelly doggie crate gets placed on the counter at the baggage claim, and inside is this timid, happy little pup who just so happened to make our hearts melt at that very instant. If there ever is love at first sight this was it.

Now granted, Russell is as cute now as ever but maybe some of his charm has worn off. You see, Russell has an issue that makes him a little less charming every day. Russell pees every time he meets someone new. It just a thing that Cocker Spaniels do I guess, they will meet you and they will pee all over the place no matter what. We've learned to bring him outside when we have visitors, but I gotta admit, it kind of turns people off when they meet him for the first time. I guess I can understand but it's not his fault, he's just so freaking happy to see you.

Now for the history of his name. Erin and I wanted to give him a human name because we're "crazy dog people" who think Russell is our son. We decided on Russell under my one condition. It had to be Russell Jones. It has always been a dream of mine that I would introduce Russell Jones to somebody and they would know who that was. They would look up at me and say "nice." I always dreamed that I would meet somebody as nerdy as me. That day has never come. Nobody has ever appreciated my in-depth knowledge of this artist or his group until now. We named Russell Jones after this guy .

We're taking the day off!!!!!

Happy 4th everyone!!!!! No new post today, but here's a link to something that is guaranteed to make you laugh

Happy Birthday U.S.A. of America!!!!!!

All week long Erin and I have been reminded that the 4th of July is this weekend. You see, Erin and I go to bed rather early (9:30 is usually when we turn off the light and say goodnight), yet we have been awoken every night this week to the sound of whistling firecrackers and thunderous explosions. It kind of drives me nuts but at the same time there is nothing I can do about it because I firmly believe this is karma biting me in the ass.

When I was a kid, I, like every kid in my neighborhood, was obsessed with fireworks. There was a span of like 5 or 6 years where all I cared about from late June to mid-July was lighting bottle rockets and setting off firecrackers.

Unfortunately, fireworks were illegal in New York, not that that was gonna stop us. I remember pooling all our money together and sending a pair of missionaries down to Chinatown to bring us back "the goods." We would wait for hours hoping and praying for our neighbors' safe return. When they came back, they always had a story to tell us about some Chinese guy with a whole car trunk full of the most amazing class C explosives you could imagine. Oh how I wished I could have seen the goods inside that trunk - I could only imagine the type of fun the guy with the car trunk was gonna have this 4th.

One year, we had a real panic in the neighborhood. I don't know if it had something to do with Reaganomics or the Cold War but we failed to send anybody down to Chinatown on our quest. It looked pretty bleak for the kids in the neighborhood, what were we gonna do? Light some lame ass sparklers? Watch some "snakes" burn? What were we gonna do? We had no damn fireworks!!!

Luckily, my dad was a cop who had no ethical quarrels with relinquishing some confiscated fireworks from the evidence room. Oh, the joy on my face when my hero of a father started to set off jumping jacks in the street. It started with just a few of us enjoying his little fireworks show, then pretty soon all the kids in the neighborhood gathered around to watch him in action. I could see him feeding off the energy of the crowd... he was definitely the coolest dad on the street that day and he knew it. He was getting real fancy, lighting bottle rockets off two at a time, setting off a whole pack of jumping jacks all at once, he didn't care, hey this was "free shit." Oh, this was so cool: he would light them off with the burnt end of his cigarette. Never in my life did I wish to be a smoker until I saw that you could light fireworks with cigarrettes. He was an anti-smoking campaign's worst nightmare.

Of course this ego trip came to an abrupt halt when my next door neighbor, whose cousin was in town visiting, came walking up the street to watch the show. My dad, who was now throwing the jumping jacks in the air with his eyes closed, never saw this girls kinky, curly, dirty blonde hair coming when he threw what would end up being the last jumping jack of the evening.

As a boy there are always first times for everything, the first time you get in a fist fight, the first time you see your neighbor naked, and the first time you see a girl get her hair lit on fire. I remember it being so fast, yet moving in slow motion at the same time. The blood curdling scream, the smacking of her head and of course the crying. The smell of burnt hair is something to remember too, but it's not nearly as cool as the fire itself. Luckily, an older boy in the neighborhood who ended up becoming a volunteer fireman later on in life was there to pull the jumping jack out of her hair and save the day. I remember my dad nonchalantly walking over to this girl, giving her a once over and telling her she was all right. What he couldn't hide was how pissed he was that this little punk stole his thunder by saving that stupid girl's life. Thanks for nothing, kid.

So remember, have fun this weekend, and don't throw fireworks down a hill while other people are walking up it without looking.

Sleeping around

I can only think of one thing right now, and that's how much I would love to be taking a nap. But instead I have to do my homework. And so, sticking to the theme that's very much on my mind, I bring you the Top Ten places I have slept, in no particular order:

1. In bed. Truly, this is the best location for sleeping.

2. Various couches. Underrated, in my opinion.

3. On the beach, overnight, with no tent. Growing up on an island means that when you are a teenager you can indulge a lot of nonsensical ideas, like, "Why don't we just lay some sleeping bags on the beach and crash out there?" And also, "So we don't have a bottle opener, but we can just bash the necks of these beer bottles into a rock until the tops break off and then try not to drink any glass!"

4. In a tent in the woods, in November, in New England. And yes it was very, very, very cold. One of my friends woke up in the morning with frozen contact lenses. See above for the rationale behind this idea.

5. On a futon on the living room floor, when I was about 4 years old, and woke up to find that my baby brother was standing over me, pee arcing out of the top of his diaper and onto my head.

6. On a ferry boat, headed home to the island. I woke up seconds before the boat was about to head back to the mainland - the last trip of the night - the lesson being, never trust the ferry boat workers to make sure you get off the boat.

7. In the back of a friend's minivan at another friend's overnight party. All the good sleeping spots in the house were taken, but the floor of the van worked okay.

8. The kitchen floor in my apartment. This was not my shiningest moment, but certainly we've all had one night in college where we had a few too many and the cool, hard floor seemed to be the friendliest and least vomit-inducing place to sleep? No? Anyone?

9. The floor of my apartment, for a few months. After college I moved to Boston, and for reasons I can't quite remember, couldn't get my futon bed to the apartment for a while. I slept on a thick comforter on the floor, with some fleece blankets thrown over me. I actually grew to like it once my body adjusted. It was very... austere.

10. On two kitchen chairs, at my brother's* apartment. Again for reasons I can't remember, all the beds and couches were taken on one occasion that I visited his place in Boston (I wasn't living in the city at the time). I somehow found myself being the last one awake and hadn't thought ahead to where I was supposed to sleep. The only thing I could come up with was to pull two kitchen chairs together, curl up on the seats, and cover myself with a jacket. And oh yeah, it was the dead of winter.

*I feel that I should say, in light of his appearing in two of these anecdotes, I hold no grudges. But someday perhaps he will have a baby that will pee on his head and justice will be served.

Making the other dream come true.......

Ever since I was a wee lad I've always been fascinated by big rigs (aren't all little heterosexual boys amazed by trucks? They're just so damn cool). It was always my back-up plan if I didn't win the lottery or marry into money - becoming a truck driver was my safest option.

The day finally came for me to get my shit together. I was ready to make Erin an honest woman and I knew I had to get something going for me that would keep this little birdie around. While I was driving back from a Human family get-together I saw a sign on the back of a trailer saying we will train yo' ass and what not. I decided this was it.

Signing up for truck driving school was rather easy - basically they will take any A-hole's money. No S.A.T.'s for me (whew). The only catch is, in order for you to get a government loan, you have to take a 5 month course. 10 weeks in a classroom, and 10 weeks training in "the yard."

Remember those kids in school who had only one teacher and never switched out or interacted with the other kids? They were just stuck in that one classroom with nowhere to go? Well, those who didn't end up in the army or prison went to truck driving school. This class was like a really UN-clever knock-off of "Welcome back Kotter" and everybody was a comedian. The classroom was chaos, guys walking in and out as they pleased, openly cheating on tests, and just chit-chatting away without a care in the world. On top of that, there was this weird prison atmosphere where one wise comment to the wrong guy could lead to a shiv in your plumbing. It was a little stressful to say the least. I did learn quickly that if you mention "lot lizards" you were guaranteed a raucous ovation ("lot lizards" are truck stop hookers, and never in my life have I heard a more accurate description - those girls are pretty gross, but then again, so is their clientele.)

After my ten weeks were up in "class" I got to go to "the yard." The yard is where you learn all the backing maneuvers that are gonna be on your test. Backing that thing up is a lot harder than it looks, I mean, you have to freaking parallel park that thing!!!! That shit ain't easy. On top of that, you're battling 20 guys to get into the truck just to practice. You end up savoring those moments inside the truck because there are so many guys waiting to boot you out. It goes back to that prison mentality, you have to be ready to throw down in order to protect your turf. I almost got into it one day with some guy I'd never seen in the yard before. This guy thought he was gonna take away my practice time without getting permission from the head of the yard to be there? Hell no. I was ready to get my ass kicked (and I would have too, just ask anyone who's seen me fight).

The time finally came for me to take my test. Talk about pressure. Here you have a State Trooper as your test taker. This guy wants nothing more than to fail you because, I don't know if you know this, but all State Troopers in all 50 states hate truck drivers, it's kind of like the way dogs hate cars - it's just an inherent reaction. Of course I, like 90% of the guys who take this test, failed. Sorry, I can't blind-side parallel park that thing every time I try. Sometimes I need more than 3 tries. My bad. Luckily for me, that was the only part of the test I failed. Other guys just completely blow it, I'm talking about the easy stuff like straight backing and shit. I had to come back a few weeks later and re-take that one part of the test again (which I passed). I also had to take the cop out for a ride and show him I wasn't gonna hurt anyone, which I haven't yet (knock on wood).

So you see kids, dreams do come true. That is, if you set the bar just low enough to hurdle it.

My Writing Career (thus far)

Mike and I entertain each other and make each other laugh every day, so we've become convinced we can do the same for a wider audience. It's true that we don't have the ability to ply you with tequila, which is the magic elixir that brought us together, but nevertheless we will do our best to make you fall for us with our wit, humor, and if all else fails... naked photo shoots?

One of Mike's wishes for this blog is, as he mentioned, to give me an outlet and possibly some recognition for my writing. I'm pretty sure that Harper's Magazine editors are browsing Blogger all the time, so no worries on the fame front. It's true that I've always wanted to be a writer, or, as I would have said in the first grade, an "Author." Ever a bookworm, Authors were my idols as a grade school kid. I also wanted to be an Artist, Teacher, Mommy, Singer, Piano Player, and to become famous for my awesome Dirt Bike Riding skills. One goal at a time, though.

When I was first able to read and write, I started making joke books. God knows why I was so enthralled with corny jokes. I collected them from adults, kids, books, and made some up. I composed my books of jokes on construction paper and bound them with staples - they were illustrated in crayon and each unique. The crowning joke of my best ouevre was the following: "If a rooster lays an egg on a hill, which way will it roll down?" Wait for it... "Neither. Roosters don't lay eggs!"

Later, in grade school, we made illustrated books that were sent away to be bound for us. I know I made one, but my memory of my own book is eclipsed by a great scandal that broke out when my younger brother made his book. He wrote about a family vacation we'd taken and described catching a fish in the lake with our dad. But I was there and I knew they'd never caught anything! My indignation that this fabrication actually made it into publication utterly consumed me. I think I'd written about Christmas or something, but none of that mattered when my little brother was perpetrating this great injustice on the world of Authoring.

In college, I centered my Plan of Concentration around - who would've guessed it - making books. Although I majored in art, the illustration of these books interested me only somewhat, and the bindings were even less compelling to me. The concepts and the writing of them pleased me the most.

After college, I had a brief entanglement with a webzine that went nowhere in particular. I wrote some humor pieces and some more serious articles. Although our fan base consisted mainly of friends and various barflys we'd prosthelytized to along the way, I got a thrill out of being almost-semi-not-really-famous for my writing. On one occasion we had a launch party at a bar, and a girl I knew only as a ditzy webzine groupie came up to me and gushed over how much she loved my work. I almost died of happiness on the spot.

I think, sadly, I'm a writer trapped in an artist's body. The pain of my existence is that I'm better at art, but enjoy writing more. I create wall finishes for a living but still dream of toiling over words all day. People who knew me in college always ask if I still draw, and the answer is no, but I have file upon file of random memoir, fiction, or essay scribblings to show for myself - that I never do show.

So here I'm branching out, from regaling my husband to regaling, like, five or six more people. And I can assure you that my husband, too, is a blog waiting to happen. If we can actually sustain our interest in this for more than a week, I promise you, it will be totally sweet.

The Real Humans Re-Boot.....

Welcome to the Beta blog for the new and improved Real Humans blogsite.

Erin and I decided that we are going to become more dedicated in posting on this site. In fact, I am gonna post Monday, Wednesday, and Friday and Erin is gonna post Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday. Maybe we'll let the lil' pooper Russell post on Sunday.

Hopefully, I haven't just put a load of pressure on us to keep posting, in fact don't be surprised if you never hear from me again.

So, why are we getting more serious about this? First, because Erin has no choice, I'm forcing her to do this. Not really, but I did kind of just pop this up and volunteered her energy. The other reason is to follow our dreams, why not right? I know it would make Erin's dream come true if she were to get published, and for me, I've made all my other dreams come true why not this one.

There was once a time when I would smoke a lot of pot and dream that some day I'm gonna find some woman who will fix me and make me whole. Now granted, I needed to quit smoking pot in order for that dream to come true, that was another dream of mine, one day I would quit smoking pot. Don't get me wrong pot people, I love the weed, in fact I love it like an alcoholic loves booze, which is not a good thing, for me (sorry alchies, no offense). The thought would go through my mind that some day I'm gonna meet a woman who makes me laugh, loves me like crazy, and cooks like a champion. On top of that, she'll be super cute too.

Sure enough, this dream did come true. All it took was a little discipline and believing in myself, so let's see if we can make this happen too.

April vacation begins

Last Monday we met our Little Brother and his mom and had our introduction meeting with a Big Brothers Big Sisters match coordinator. We went over the ground rules and then took our Little out for ice cream to get to know him a little. He is a great kid and it was so much fun to meet him... unfortunately our plans for this weekend fell through, but we are looking forward to getting together again soon.

My mom and sister are coming into town tonight and staying for a week. This is the first time we've had anyone come out to visit us here (except for a surprise one-afternoon visit from NK a couple of years ago!) and we are so excited to see them. There are lots of places we can't wait to take them in Omaha, and of course we're looking forward to showing off our house as well. Today is rainy and gray, but the weather should be pretty decent in the coming week. If possible I'd love to hit up the zoo, a few restaurants, some scenic drives, and there is exhibit at the Durham Museum right now called Chocolate: The Exhibition. How could three red-blooded young women miss something like that? The description states Chocolate will immerse you in a sweet experience, engage all your senses, and reveal facets of chocolate you have never thought about before. I'm there.

CHILAQUILES!

What to do with a bag of tortilla chips and a jar of salsa?

Make Chilaquiles!

The above recipe is from Moosewood's Low Fat Cookbook, and it. is. awesome. I made mine with black beans, frozen corn, tomatoes, onions, salsa, Swiss chard, and pepper jack... and of course the crushed tortilla chips. I only used half the amount of cheese called for in the recipe because that's all I had, but it was plenty. 

The bottom layer of crushed chips turns into a salty cornmeal, while the top stays a bit more crusty. You could serve this with more salsa, or sour cream, but it's great as is.  Cheap, easy, delicious... it doesn't get any better than that. Plus you get to yell "CHILAQUILES!" as you cook.

I must say I have become a convert to dried beans instead of canned. It's a little extra effort, but they have so much more flavor, it's lovely. I boil up a pot on Sunday and then have them ready to go for the week's meals.

Spring Cleaning

I've been horribly remiss in updating ye olde blog. Mea culpa! At first it was because nothing at all worth mentioning was happening, and then because life got a little too busy. In the future I will attempt to keep this place a little fresher.

First order of business: I've added a few new Bad Vanity Plates to the sidebar, although not nearly as many as I've seen lately. There have been a rash of first names, for people who apparently suffer from amnesia but at least can remember where they parked the car. What's my name? Hold on, let me check my plates. Oh yes: Otis. 

Most exciting update: Mike and I signed up with Big Brothers Big Sisters of the Midlands. It was originally Mike's idea, as with so many of our life improvements (see: vegetarianism), after he was inspired by President Obama's call to public service. When Mike went to his orientation session, he learned that we could be a Big Couple, so I signed up as well. I just completed my orientation last week, and we can't wait to get a Little Brother. We were told that because there are so many boys awaiting mentors and not enough Bigs for them, we should get a match soon. For girls, the opposite is true: Big Sisters go on a 6-9 month waiting list. So I am happy to help out a little boy who is waiting to find a friend. Out of respect for our Little's privacy, I will probably keep any future blogging about this experience to very limited & general updates, but we are so looking foward to this new adventure.

In more recent news, we had another excellent restaurant meal last night. We went out with friends to Stokes Grill & Bar in the Old Market. It is a Southwest spot that we've been meaning to try for ages, but which I always seem to forget about when we're deciding where to eat; finally, we made it down there. I had somewhat low expectations, and this is probably unfair, mainly because it looks cool and the ambience is well put together. Sometimes restaurants that focus so much on appearances fall apart on the food, but this is not the case at all for Stokes.

I'll mention the one downside up front: not a whole lot of choices for the vege-pesca-tarian. There were only one veggie and two seafood entrees for us to choose from; however, there were also four salads and eleven appetizers that could easily combine to make a meal. The four of us started out by sharing nachos with cowboy beans and some crab rangoons. The rangoons were good, nothing spectacular, but tasty and crispy as they should be; the sauce was a little on the sweet side for me. The nachos were great, with blue & yellow corn chips and plenty of topping.

I ordered fish tacos for my entree: grilled tilapia in two flour tacos served with beans and rice. I usually don't like tilapia all that much, because it has little flavor of its own and is often badly prepared. However, the fish tacos were very good! The tilapia were cut in nice little filets, neatly blackened and well seasoned. The soft tacos seemed fresh and were just a little toasted. Best of all, the beans and rice were absolutely delicious. I have had many Mexican meals since moving to Omaha, and in pretty much every instance the bean & rice sides have been travesties: cold, dry and completely and utterly without flavor. At Stokes, they were hot, seasoned, and zesty. I almost would have been happy just to eat the sides, and that's saying a lot when it comes to beans & rice. Mike ordered the Twisted Garlic Shrimp Pasta: radiatore pasta with Southwest spices, tomato, avocado, and shrimp. He thought it was also very good. I stole a few bites of his pasta and it was tasty: kind of like a Southwest-style mac and cheese. 

One other minor complaint: I ordered a margarita, and, while pleasingly large, it was weak and off-the-charts sweet, with a pretty artificial-tasting lime flavor. Like a limeade with a couple extra teaspoons of sugar. Probably would not order again, but it didn't take anything away from the meal.

Today we have been busy doing some much-needed but much-dreaded housecleaning, including washing the curtains and table linens, and doing poop patrol in the backyard. Of course, two hours after mopping all the floors, it all looks crap again because Russell has dragged in two tons of dry leaves. Lesson for next fall: RAKE.

Salud To Your Health!

Mike and I went to Espana last night for our Valentine's Dinner. We have eaten there once before, but last night's meal tipped me from "like" to "love." I don't know if we ordered a better selection of tapas, or if the chef was having a better night, but I was truly wowed by the food this time.

We started off, of course, with their wonderful Margaritas. Served in a slender juice glass, Espana's Margarita is made with tequila and orange juice - no syrup or fakey lime sugar water. Delicious. And nutritious!

Our first round of tapas was cold. We ordered white asparagus in aioli and a fish/scallop seviche with baby spinach and plaintain chips, and we also received a plate of crusty bread. White asparagus can sometimes be a little on the bland side, but no so in this case; it was tender but full of flavor. The aioli was marvelously tangy and made a nice dipping sauce for the crusty bread. The seviche was one we have ordered before but had to try again. The best way to eat this is to pile the seviche and a leaf or two of spinach onto the plaintain - the flavors together are delightful. Seviche is seviche, but if it's fresh and light, it's good.

Next we had our hot tapas (with another round of Margaritas, of course). We had grilled shrimp in garlic, olive oil, white wine, and lemon... or so it said. I tasted lime, which was tart and sweet and wonderful. Shrimp is very hit or miss for me - if the shrimp itself is bland or too soft, I can't stand it. But this was firm, just a tiny bit crispy on the outside, and full of flavor. 

The low point of the meal was the bowl of steamed clams, I'm afraid. They were a bit tough and sandy, and the white wine sauce was fairly ordinary. Not bad, just a little predictable. But I will forgive one weak spot.

Finally, we tried one of the special tapas of the evening - parsley pesto crostini with divers scallops. And oh. my. god. Wow. These completely blew me away and erased any memory of substandard clams. Each bite just melted in your mouth. The scallops were a bit carmelized on the outsides and tender beyond belief. The bread was soaked in pesto just enough to be soft but not soggy. They were warm and rich and... just wow.

We opted out of dessert, but maybe next time we'll see what they've got. The Margaritas were sweet enough that I wasn't really craving a dessert by the end of the meal. In all, it was a little pricey at $80 plus tip, but well worth it based on quality.

Surviving a Recession Human-Style

Tough economic times have hit the nation, and even the irrepressible Humans have been affected. While I wouldn't exactly call us bona fide Recessionistas, I think we have found a few ways to cut costs during this financially stormy weather.

Cut cable and landline. As I've mentioned before, our cable bill was enough to make Baby Jesus cry. So we got rid of cable TV, canceled the landline, and signed up for a $17/mo Netflix account that gives us three DVDs at a time. Net savings = $120/mo, not bad, not bad at all. 

Shop a little smarter at the grocery store. We call Whole Foods "Church," so I must confess that this is really the last area we are willing to seriously slash. We love food, we believe in eating well, and we don't want to skimp at the expense of our health. But we have done a few things that have lightened our grocery spending. (We include household cleaning and paper products in this line item.) I substituted some canned and frozen veggies for fresh - broccoli is just fine frozen, and canned corn is good enough in the off-season. I switched from canned beans to dry - canned beans are cheap to begin with, but dry are cheaper. And some of the pricier items we use, like soy milk and granola bars, we now buy at Target instead. Net savings = about $25/mo, not too shabby.

Don't heat the rooms we aren't using. I finally got around to it today, but I have been meaning to do this for months - since the summer, I think. I bought magnetic vent covers to block the heating/AC vents in the finished basement and guest room, neither of which we ever use. They cost less than $5 for a three pack at Lowe's. Net savings = TBD.

Don't go anywhere. It's about as much fun as it sounds. But in the short run, we have saved a lot on entertainment spending just by staying in.  The Netflix subscription certainly helps there too. Sure, we're getting cabin fever, but we've had a lot of fun too. You can't do The Robot at a movie theater, and believe me, I've tried. Net savings = as much as we can stand.

No News is Good News.

Perhaps by the same token, not reporting it will make the bad news disappear?

Your friendly neighborhood Humans are in a slump. January was a difficult month and we're hoping that February will be a kinder, gentler set of days.

We kept things pretty low-key this weekend. Friday night we stayed in and decided to drown our sorrows together. I drank a few glasses of wine and Mike rustled up some Bushmills and some Diet Cokes that we had left over from a party (last June... that's how often we drink soda at home). We listened to music, pored over the household budget, watched some 30 Rock on DVD. 

I'm somewhat hard to please when it comes to TV comedies, but 30 Rock is truly funny. We've also tried to watch The Office via Netflix as well, and I just can't get into it. There are a few good jokes here and there, but the show is boring, the plots are boring, the characters are one dimensional... it just does nothing for me after watching one entire disc. By contrast, 30 Rock draws me right into the plots and characters, in addition to making me hoot with laughter. Alec Baldwin is impressive as a comedic actor, and I adore Tina Fey's portrayal of the hapless Liz Lemon.

On Saturday we went grocery shopping, visited my father-in-the-law in the hospital, and I made a lasagna for dinner. I have tried the same lasagna noodles twice - Isola gourmet lasagna - since they've been on sale at Whole Foods, and concluded that there is a reason they're on sale. The noodles are thin, leading one to believe that they will be tender when baked. But they come out hard and cemented together. On my second attempt, I even buttered each noodle with tomato sauce in the hopes of preventing them from sticking together, but the improvement was marginal at best. It's almost impossible not to please Mike with my cooking, but this lasagna got the thumbs-down from both of us.

Saturday night we stayed in again and watched The Darjeeling Limited. Another thumbs down, I'm afraid. The music was great - the movie, not. For me it was one of those films that seemed like it might get better... any minute now... for a long 90 minutes... and it never did. Buy the soundtrack, skip the movie.

Edited: Ha ha, I forgot about this little football game thing that happened on Sunday! Anyway, it was fun, we watched with family... all the adults were cheering for Arizona, without much personal investment. Our hosts made vegetarian chili specially for Mike and me, which was very nice (and yummy). I ate too much cheese dip and got a tummy ache. Our nephew is a big Steelers fan, so at least the one person who cared about the outcome got to see his team win. And that was the Superbowl this year!

On a lighter note... weekend review.

Mike and I went to see the car show downtown this weekend, to celebrate the birthday of a friend who does not like to celebrate birthdays - hence, a low key event completely unrelated to cakes or waiters who sing to you in front of the other patrons.

As we were driving down, we ran into a colossal traffic jam, headed toward the Qwest Center where the car show was taking place. We had to take a circuitous detour and as we finally approached, we saw that all the official parking lots were filled. So Mike dropped me off as close as he could get me (a few blocks) and went to find a spot to park.

I trudged along with a big herd through the bitter cold - it was in the low 20s and windy - and followed the crowd into the lobby of the box office. It was packed with people, freezing cold, and sold out. Scalpers were outside hawking tickets. Our friends were nowhere in sight and when I texted them, they replied that they were still parking. Unbelievable! All this for a car show? What, were they debuting the first working Delorean time machine? I was confused, cranky, and freezing my buns off.

At last Mike arrived from Parking Siberia and informed me that I was in the arena part of the Qwest Center. You know, where they were having some big college basketball game. Ohhhhhhhh.

So we trudged back over to the convention center, found our friends, and looked at some cars. I'm not all that into cars, but I can appreciate a little pretend shopping. Mike and I were ogling the Honda Fit hybrid, while our friends were comparing and contrasting Lexus and Mercedes. Different strokes and all that.

Afterwards we parted ways, and Mike and I went grocery shopping and returned home. I made some veggie maki rolls - cucumber, avocado, and carrot. I think my sushi rice is decent and I am an okay maki roller. The weak spot always seems to be the nori, which is chewy and on the ends it's even crispy and hard. It's probably just not the greatest nori in the world, but at $4 a package for the cheap stuff, that's about all the splurging I can justify for DIY sushi.

Post-dinner, we watched Hustle and Flow. It was a little hard for me to put the celebrity gossip about Terrence Howard out of my mind at first (I've heard he's kind of a... not a nice guy) but he did give a good performance and I enjoyed the movie. I was worried that it was going to glamorize pimping, but that was far from the case. It was a pretty heartbreaking portrait of what life is like for men & woman who try to make a living on prostitution and petty drug deals.

Today has been a day of cleaning, cleaning, cleaning. We dusted, we laundered, we scrubbed, we mopped. We (Mike) unclogged the gross shower drain and installed a strainer thingy. I also attempted to start our taxes and realized, after several hours, that I have to wave the white flag this year. Life has gotten too complicated for Turbo Tax, and I think we're going to hire a pro to figure that jazz out for us this year.

Road to Recovery

It's an education I wish I didn't have to have, but I have learned a lot from miscarriage. I've learned that while becoming pregnant can seem instantaneous, becoming unpregnant takes a few weeks for the body to achieve. I've learned that the answer to the question "why?" is confusing and frought with more and more questions. I've learned that some people do not understand that we are grieving a death.

We are grieving a death. I understand that until you go through it, you probably can't imagine it - I know I couldn't, before it happened to me - but consider this a public service announcement. Whatever your intellectual thoughts on pregnancy and human life may be, I can assure you that the emotional experience for me and for Mike is not that I had a health-related mishap or a medical emergency, but that someone has died. 

Every day gets easier, though. Sometimes a thought, a song, or the sight of a baby can send you reeling backwards with surprising force, but then you forge on again. I can't imagine how we would be coping if we didn't have each other and a strong marriage to fall back on... if we didn't have the solid and reliable power to make each other laugh, still, even on the worst days.

It's funny how, when you're pregnant, everything becomes in reference to pregnancy. Every food you eat, every move you make, every thought you think points back to I'm pregnant. When you lose a pregnancy, everything then points to I miscarried. One of the many, many random thoughts I've had in the last week and a half was, "What a time to cancel cable!" I thought there could be no worse time to lack the immediate & compelling escape of television. But for the one millionth time in life, I was wrong. The silence of the television has been unexpectedly pleasant. Instead we've spent our mornings and evenings listening (and even dancing) to music, talking, or just sitting quietly together. It's peaceful, and perhaps just what the doctor ordered.

We lost the baby.

Over the weekend, I miscarried naturally. It happened very quickly, beginning Saturday morning and over by midday Monday. On Monday afternoon I saw my doctor to confirm. At 8 weeks, I heard a healthy heartbeat. At 9 weeks and 3 days, I lost the pregnancy.

It's hard to know how to blog about this. It seems like I could write a whole book, or nothing at all, but anything in between is insufficient.

Mike and I are coping okay. We appreciate the kind words we've received from friends and family, and even the words that don't come out quite right... we know that people often do not know what to say but wish us well.

I am doing fine physically. There really is no answer for why this happened. I am just trying to stay healthy, and we will try again when we can. 

First Gifts

We have received our first baby gifts!

The first batch was from my dear friend Jenn. She was one of the people I blabbed to a little early... we were talking babies and I spilled the beans. Jenn is a wonderfully generous and thoughtful person and she sent me a box of awesome parenting books. She's an editor at a small publishing company and we found her name in the acknowledgments of some of these books - how cool!

The second package came from my mom, a first time grandma. It bugged me out to hold up that little shirt (it says "peace") and picture having a baby that small... then bugged me out even more when I read the tag and saw it's for a six month old! I can't imagine having such a teeny baby, even though I have held my fair share of newborns before. 

The socks are adorable, in a set of six different colors and all printed with a sneaker pattern. The book is a fun little fill-in-the-blank keepsake book with a goofy, silly style that is perfect for Mike and me. The illustrations are really cute 60's style cartoons... we're going to enjoy writing in that together.

So we went "fantasy shopping" at Nebraska Furniture Mart today and just picked all the things we would buy if money were no object... not just baby gear, but we still need furniture for most of the other rooms in the house as well. It's somewhat hard to find pieces we like, since we don't share the Midwest's love affair with shades of brown, but there were a few cute things to add to our fake shopping cart, like a cute lime green loveseat and a retro red leather sofabed (not for the same room!). We managed to find a few simple cribs that were acceptable, though most of them were huge hulking behemoths. I don't understand why cribs now look like giant sailing vessels that need their own zip codes - ? Babies are still really small these days, right?