HOMEMADE DONUTS.
Need we say more?
Donuts—1st attempt (Also, we love kitchen gadgets)
I know. Who needs a Donut Maker? I mean, one could go through life — several lives, actually and never even once consider how much better things could be if one were to acquire a Donut Maker. Right? Which is exactly why… read more… (don’t stop now!).
It’s been a week and one day since we were told to go.
And, although we returned this past Tuesday, the whole “get your family off of the island” train of thought has yet to find a comfortable place in my heart. You know, that nice cozy corner where I keep other random things like Philly Cheese Steaks, V.C. Andrews novels, Chris Botti and pedicures with extra long leg & foot massages. Because if you’re going to get the massage, why not go for the extra? V.C. Andrews, by the way, was brilliant when it came to simplifying incest. Like those kids HAD NO CHOICE, right? Step Mothers were evil, Mother in Laws were absurd… even the REAL Mothers wouldn’t flinch at poisoning their own, I mean EVERYTHING was wrong about those novels… which I still think about fondly whenever faced with being marooned during a natural disaster. Because there’s nothing like adolescent light reading for the virgin imagination, especially when paired with meat, cheese, and eclectic clarinets. I tried to add the pedicure back into that scenario, but I don’t think that the nail salon has their power back on yet.
But there wasn’t anything imaginary about this ORDER OF EVACUATION, which actually saw us vacating our home last Thursday in an effort to get ahead of the mass exodus off Long Island. And it was a quick decision too, seeing as how we had nothing to do for the weekend, really…. Aside from waiting for something–So why not wait somewhere else? And so we went. Annoyed. While I rolled my eyes all over the East End of Long Island — damning the media onslaught of what could maybe possibly happen. I jammed bags full of toys and clothes for all weather scenarios. Calmly of course, while the three year old attempted to understand the reasoning behind our immediate departure.. One minute playing outside — the next scrambling in a FOR THE LOVE OF GOD– ESCAPE!!! I packed up our cooler. I convinced the dog to get into the car. Then the kids. Chumps Are Us, I thought as I watched the Mayor of New York suggest that he might not screw up this time by shutting down New York City…. and then I turned off our TV and headed North, in-land. Fools, damn you.
On the phone with a friend as I was driving out of town I felt embarrassed. Where had my coastal mentality gone? Why was I not out stocking the house with booze for day-long hurricane parties and WHY was I driving so fast?
But in the end, it didn’t really matter. I mean — things happened here, trees down, limbs dangling, flooding, docks washed away, but the only real loss was in our gardens, which were crushed by the elements. Damages that are certainly recoverable over time. We only decided to return to find the lovely notice above when our power returned on Monday night. And we never really did escape, as the fury of all things Irene simply said “Oh – they went that way”, and followed not so lightly to, in many circumstances, worse situations.
And we were safe. And dry. And not being blown around in gale force winds that look ridiculous as they hit the news reporters on the beach. We may have acted a little typical, as we ran for cover… And the storm may have been completely blown out of proportion… But never before have I taken my cynicism by the throat and decided to go the route to safety. Kids, I tell ya.
BlogHer 2011 is in San Diego this August…
And I can feel it… the shaking heads of disapproval combined with the “What?” and the “Did she say?”… When really I’m just quoting The Legend of Ron Burgundy… “San Diego. Drink it in, it always goes down smooth.”… And no… despite what many of you may think… my fingers did not ignite into flames upon typing the word vagina… although I may have to overload my head with conditioner to relieve the rat’s nest that is slowly entwining on my head… you know, with the good conditioner. Because that’s all it takes for a movie line to be burned on my brain…. That and years of avoiding bad humor repetition. Some lines will just never go away… “I’m sorry, I was trying to impress you. I don’t know what it means. I’ll be honest, I don’t think anyone knows what it means anymore. Scholars maintain that the translation was lost hundreds of years ago.”
I was a fool at the BlogHer 2010 conference…. I went, I curmudgeoned it’s existence while enjoying every minute of my friends — AND I should have stayed in the city — released my inner need to hang. But the call of the 2 year old was too much and I disappeared before dark. Now look at me. (choking with cheshire cat laughter) So… what’s to come of this year? More fun… and a smaller show, I suspect — NYC being the hub of ALL — despite August and all of its sweaty attractions… I have never been to San Diego — and I really want to go. Time will tell, at this point… in August — I will have a babe of 4 to 5 months hanging off of me like a Koala… As if my addiction to Will wasn’t enough this past year, how am I supposed to leave and fly ACROSS THE COUNTRY, without the newborn? And whatever… I don’t even want to go to the real conference — with fake vodka drinkers and potato heads — I just want to go play with my friends… IS THAT SO WRONG? And, while planning the trip now seems nearly impossible, am I as selfish as I think I am for already thinking about going?… “Last time I looked in the dictionary, my name’s Ron Burgundy. What’s your name?”
I suppose I could bring the babe… but as I think of that scenario, I remember seeing Moms with infants at last year’s show… chilled in the air conditioner with tired looks on their faces. What were they thinking? And you just know I’d end up being the Mom with the Baby — IN A BAR. I mean really. I have to stop thinking about it before my brain packs up and leaves for more preferential accommodations… in San Diego.
So while I’m sitting here… in 7 degree weather, waiting for all things inevitable while trying to think of my own creative one-liners… I can at least start to think about San Diego, right? Because you’re going — and you are — and someone is sponsoring that other person to go… and no one will notice if I just show up and crash the party, right? Because I only had a little taste of last year’s event… “I don’t know how to put this, but I’m kind of a big deal.”
A year ago yesterday I wrote this post about not going… now all I want is to GO. You may as well plug your ears and start heading in the other direction, because I’m about to whine and stomp for the next 7-8 months… thinking of good alternatives like “BlogThis” or BlogMe”.. “JustGoBlogYourself” — Labor Day, Southampton.. — Realists need not apply. “Go fuck yourself, San Diego.”
I could be über pessimistic about this…
But that isn’t going to solve anything.
When I started designing on my own I was squeezed into a 2nd bedroom that shared several guests…. Jump forward 5 years I was in a lofty barn with wood floors and exposed piping… a designer’s dream… another 5 years later, I was alone in a 10×10′ room with more equipment and office supplies than anyone should be allowed to possess. Last year I found myself back in a similar 2nd bedroom with guests AND a toddler that loved to wreak havoc on anything computerized. It was time. I picked it all up again and descended to the basement… Several months later I am still in boxes and crates… more than half of my work is displaced throughout the house… disorder, anxiety, chaos.
The time has come and I started today… I am making this space into a design friendly room that will also work for my son and husband (who like to use the room from time to time too… )…
How I waited this long, I will never know.
THIS JUST IN! Sharks are SCARY!
And no, this is not a picture of a shark. I know that, THANKS. This is a much smaller fish that turned a wee bit camera shy after some serious tank flirtations… I was all, hey fish what’s up and he was like — “Have you seen the new Bright Young Things Spring 2011 Collection… Fabulous.” I admitted that I had but that the ‘convertible wardrobe’ kind of made me feel like 80s vinyl in a Classic 50s… To which he flung his yellow spotted multifunctional Pashmina to the sand, looking me up and down… just bubbling with frustration as I continued to faux pas myself all over the aquarium floor…
Brody: That’s not funny. That’s not funny at all.
I continue to be impressed by Long Island. I mean really. I grew up looking at Long Island from the shores of Connecticut wondering about how such a small sliver of land out there — a sand bar if you will, was able to hold all of those mechanics, buttafuocos and pizza parlors… Not to mention the supply of hair spray — how could anyone breathe over there? It was always a curiosity for me… although not too intense.. you know, between etiquette classes, horseback riding and parlor teas… with my pinky finger held sky high. Right? Because THAT is how I grew up. NOT….okay, well maybe horseback riding – but I worked in the stable too, SO THERE. But I wasn’t quite accurate, as I danced around to Billy’s Uptown Girl, thinking — you just KNOW Cristie Brinkley loves Long Island. And here we are years (upon years and years, but who — WHO is really counting?) later that I find myself not only living on Long Island, but only a mere 5-10 miles from Ms. Brinkley herself… Who, damned if you don’t believe it, looks like she just walked out of a Cover Girl ad AT ALL TIMES, without trying. I can remember my (now) husband telling me that we were moving to Long Island, oh so many 9 years ago… I was excited, but seriously — also saw myself in a world among greasemonkeys (not that there’s anything wrong with that) and the lovely women from Goodfellas…“A lot of pantsuits and double knits…”
Come to pass and shall never a weary eye go without sleep (nice huh?) I came to my senses and live in an area of Long Island that is quite the opposite of what I expected. And, although, we do have our share of sketchball criminals that try to pull the wool over your eyes when given the chance… you have to appreciate that they are taking care in using the best, most expensive wool on the market… bought and paid for with the money stolen right out of your pocket… But that isn’t what this is about. In fact, I haven’t even begun to talk about what this is about, aside from constantly being surprised by Long Island — and the area in which we live and all the clean air and vineyards and organic farms… children’s museums, beaches… orchards, history… art… and yes… AQUARIUMS.
But I should be getting on now. This post has grown long, without purpose… and I’ve already lied. There is really only one Aquarium on Long Island– in Riverhead. And until today, I have avoided going to visit it with every fiber of my being…. for no good reason. But not today. Today we went. We went and enjoyed fish after glorious fish, walking down the incline as the water grew murkier and darker… into the realms of the deep water species that look somewhat disturbing and ominous… as my son’s grip on my hand grew tighter and tighter, we kept moving… until we reached the mouth of a cave with the theme song to Jaws BLARING from the darkness… Will was scared…(duhnuh duhnuh duhnuh) I was mildly curious as I insisted that we turn the corner… only catching a glimpse of the Great White in the tank as Will screamed, breaking away…. RUNNING while Yelling “WE HAVE TO LEAVE”… as we made our departure I thought, huh, well that was intense. Did I mention how impressed I am with Long Island?
From: jonburns10@btinternet.com
Subject: [High Scoring Spam] Re: Once In A Life Time.
Date: July 15, 2010 11:04:44 PM EDT
To: undisclosed-recipients:;
Reply-To: jonburns2010@californiamail.com
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So… I cryptically mentioned the other day that I am starting to archive old blog posts.
There I was, bawling my eyes out with one hand on the mouse, the other on the bottle–WHY! Why can’t the QUOTA go the OTHER WAY? WHY WHY… and then a dedicated reader and participant in the whole FTB experience reached out and suggested that I NOT delete… Instead, as she grasped my shoulders firmly…shaking me with understanding and fury… She exclaimed.. “JUST PUT THEM SOMEPLACE ELSE!..” And with that the planets realigned and calm spread throughout the land.
So it is with this advice that I have started to compile les Archives — found just up over there… No, not there… THERE – up at the top of the left hand column under PAGES. There you will find the beginnings of a compilation of “yeah I wrote that” words strung together into nonsense-grammatical-sentences — historical rants and raves of almost daily observations. Don’t get me wrong, the duds are being deleted… but as this process continues.. just know that if you haven’t had enough of me yet – there is now a place where you can find MORE.
And it is with this that I am also starting an new “thing” called Two for Twosdays where I republish something from the way back machine… Because the other day while driving I heard Three Strange Days by School of Fish… which took me back a few decades to a time when I used to slip away (sorry mom & dad) to NYC to go to a concert series called Two for Tuesdays at the Twin Towers. And I’m so totally grounded for this. It was awesome– AWESOME I SAY and always an adventure, and while I’m reading all this old stuff anyway… it took me to this piece, written last April.
Can I borrow your headlamp?
Almost 10 years ago (yikes!) I worked at a company that was deep out
in the New Hampshire woods… a company that developed ground
penetrating radar equipment and software. I will give you a second to
think about this.
The radar tools were used worldwide for things
like major infrastructure projects, highway repairs, and my favorite –
archeology and hidden treasures. I was titled the “Graphic Presentation
Specialist” and spent a lot of time looking at pictures of digitized
rebar. It was my job to make radar look sexy. I have always had a
slight interest in science, so this was it wasn’t too mundane for me…
most of the time.
My co-workers were all scientists–geologists
mostly… and when I needed approval on the latest product shot I would
have to go on a scouting hunt through the woods to find the individual
in question.. Once found, they were usually dressed head to toe in
protective jump-suits, not as a precaution–just because they wanted
to–testing equipment in the dank woods. Headlamps were also big in this
office… when at their desks, they all seemed to need the extra
light–despite the mind-burning fluorescents in the ceiling. Gas masks
were also in abundance, although I don’t recall ever seeing or catching
a wiff of any hazerdous chemicals. These were all regular people…
just really smart and into the world underground.
There were some
creepshows– the guys that lurk around unibomberesk. But for the most
part everyone was really friendly and upbeat. They had organized runs
after lunch–big groups of geologists running on the country roads
talking about rocks and rebar. I’m not going to lie–it was amusing…
And, it was a good job. They had awesome beneifts and, because we were
owned by a larger Chinese oligarchy, the 401K was-a-rollin. I probably
would have stayed with the company longer than I did (about 1.5yrs)..
but I began to laugh at the rebar jokes… I began to recognize the
flaws in the digitized software accounts of cracked concrete… I
started to think that the lights weren’t bright enough–can I borrow
your headlamp? It was time to move on… and so I did.
In
2001–after 9-11 and during the clean-up of, I was watching the news.
Still living in New Hampshire — although no where near the woods, I
was of course somber about the course of events when… WAIT – in the
background there… That man… I know him… Hey that’s STEVE from
GSSI–he’s holding a peice of Ground Penetrating Radar equipment!
To date, the company is still going strong, and I will always have fond memories.
Last week I was out walking with my son and parents in my hometown. It wasn’t too cold and it was before the storm of the century — which just turned out to be a snow storm anyway… We walked over a familiar bridge that crosses over the local train line to Manhattan, and when we came to the top of the stairs to descend… it happened again. Dizzy, ears ringing… pull it together… you’ve stood in this same spot hundreds of times in your life… pull it in.. vision focused. Whew, panic attack averted… but for what?
A few years ago… wait, no – many years ago.. because, right? who am I kidding… We went to Bermuda in the off season. It was Marchish and the island was empty… with the exception of the locals–WHO HATED US. But being full of ourselves we were immune to noticing the discerning “WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE NOW” glances. Blame it on ignorance – we were on vacation and dammit, that island was OURS.
One night we were strolling along looking for a nice restaurant when we found the perfect establishment… through the windows we could feel the vibe pulling us in… a tiny little hole in the wall bistro.. people were laughing, the food looked awesome… it was as if there was a vacuum sucking us off the street–we read the menu outside… FIVE STARS — And, open in March(ish). We entered… We entered only to be met by a woman that quickly escorted us out… “I couldn’t possibly seat you without a reservation”, as we eyed the many open tables.
Now. Mr. Sal did not care… I, however, felt that if we didn’t eat at this restaurant before leaving the island that the island would have defeated us… and please bare with me because I swear this post is going somewhere… Clearly, we were not from there. Clearly, we were Yankees stomping the English land. But clearly we were not traipsing about in matching “BERMUDA!” tee shirts. Several calls were made – no answer. Time was desperate as we were flying out in a day or two. I felt severely NOT at ease. Finally, a man answered… “They don’t take reservations because they are only open on a limited basis.” WHAT? Firstly, what is with the word “THEY” as I quickly reeled back with dominate rapport — the exact words the woman had tossed at us while showing us the curb. “What did she look like?” Oh — and my tone softened as I described her as if she were standing in front of me. “Okay, I will make an exception – how about dinner at 9pm”. SUCCESS.
That night, after a few cocktails, we floated down the cobbled street to what had been built up in my mind to be the most amazing eatery in the entire world… We entered… only to be greeted by the same woman glaring at us… “oh YOU“. “THE GUESTS of HONOR“. “We Saved our BEST Table for you!“… the sarcasm froze the room. Literally. The other diners stared… the wait staff froze mid-spoonage. Platisicized, we were lifted onto one of those music video conveyor belts and unwillingly displaced from the doorway to our table. “What CAN I GET YOU“… “Anything for YOU.” We wanted to get up and run out of what had now become Mrs. Lovett’s pie shop on Fleet Street. But then… sigh… but then the chef appeared and explained that we had walked into a private party the evening before and that in her excitement, the owner — that was leasing the space from another proprietor, had breached an agreement by uttering the word “reservation”. That, in fact — the restaurant was opened just for us — hoping to fill the rest of the tables in the off-season month. DEFEAT.
The next day, having barely touched the food that we were sure had been laced with meth, we decided to do a bit of sight seeing… the air was crisp–sky bluer than blue. We climbed the lighthouse stairs to the small opening–Mr. Sal went straight out while I froze at the door. All I could see was the thinnest of thin wrought iron railing at about knees height… I envisioned myself falling… I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move. I pulled myself back inside and sat on the floor. Frozen. What was happening? I was not afraid of heights.
From that day forward I have had panic attacks at ranging heights… from the top of the stairs at the train station.. to cathedral ceilings… to mall escalators… to dunes. It had been only a few years before this experience that I enjoyed climbing numerous cathedral domes and leaned daringly over ledges while traveling in Europe… As I kid I freely leaped off cliffs into miniscule bodies of water… “Bowls” if you will. So, after evaluating and talking to the experts that seem to think that “vertigo” is a made up word that only pertains to the planet Mars… I have decided that I need to go back to Bermuda to apologize. Come full circle. Find the woman that I know is still damning me to this day… and explain the confusion. Lift her curse… This is the only way.
Yay! February!
January was a doozie, right? Well – time to move on. This month we are trying out a few new things at FTB – including calling it FTB, not to be confused with the notorious OTB but in commonplace with OCD as well as CO’D–Isn’t he just dreamy. At any rate. A few new things are happening here at FTB – more reader interviews, more products and more design… yes. more more more. So without hesitation to kick things off, I reached out to my product guru Mari… she’s Ma-aaarrrr-va-lous…. sorry, I couldn’t help it. Here we go – LET THEM LOOSE!
When Ry asked me to do some regular posts on products it was perfect timing. (She begged, you know, it was pretty sad to see her so desperate for my brilliant expertise and witty posts How could I say no?) I’m a mom and a shopper with no disposable income. So any money I spend tends to go towards my baby birdie. For myself, I’ve found one of the best ways to get it out of my system is to gather my favorite picks together in an online shopping cart and walk away. All the thrill with none of the regret! Now, I can do that right here. You can look forward to products that are high on individuality, but almost always low on price. Because though I LOVE fine things, and definitely have champagne tastes, I think I’d have a heart attack if I spent $100 on just one thing. This week’s binge is courtesy of Etsy.
The Random Five:
- Forest Wooden Bird Necklace, $10
- Cherry Kimono Kanzashi Flower Hair Clip, $23
- Orange Blossom Small Corsage Brooch, $25
- Lost Lucy Formica Painting, $35
- Beige Felt Hat with curls, $69
Side note… Ry bought the Orange Blossom Small Corsage Brooch and plans to wear it among her layers of black. But what is one hint of color? Let’s watch – she just might implode.
