All Hail Big Sky Country!

Truman has just informed me that HB 191 did not pass in Montana!
This ban would have allowed current pit owners to register their dogs but would have banned purchase or breeding of American Staffordshire Terriers, Staffordshire Bull Terriers, American Pit Bull Terriers, American Bull Dogs and "any dog that has been registered at any time as a pit bull terrier or has the physical characteristics that substantially conform to the standards established for the breeds listed in this subsection by the American kennel club or the united kennel club."

Truman thanks everyone who spoke out in opposition to this bill and recommends that anyone is favor of Breed Bans please check out this site.

The Golden Age of Ugly

Better known as "The 1970's". Just last night, I was enjoying a latte at my neighborhood coffee shop and browsing their bizarre collection of used books. I happened to see a cookbook from what I guessed was the late 70's (1979, it turns out, a bit late for my taste, but amusing nonetheless) and absently flipped through it. In the dessert section was a recipe for fruitcake, a questionable confection at best, and an accompanying photo showed the "cake", garishly specked with red and green "fruit" surrounded by a looming corps of Corn Husk Angels.

Feel free to check out The Corn Husk Shoppe. For all your wholesome (or wholesomme?) corn husk needs. As long as you don't need more than three varieties of corn husk items.

With the temperature hovering around 30 degrees most days, I was forced to purchase some outwear for my canine statesman. Poor Truman, though he has lost the "skeletor" look he had when I first got him, he still has very short fur and .000001% body fat and therefore no ability to keep himself warm. Truman would spend most of his walks shivering and doing his best to drag me back home where he would then procede to run laps through the house in an effort to burn off excess energy without having to go outside.

I wasn't sure how he'd take to a jacket, or if I could even find one to fit him since most dog clothes are made for the tiny varieties. Luckily, I came across this dashing fleece-lined jacket! Truman wanted tweed, but was willing to compromise on the red fleece. Look, he's so snug and warm that he's not freaked out by the larger than life statue of Sigmund Freud looking at him with calculated disapproval!

As one would expect, people we encounter on our walks are universally moved to "Awwwwwwwww!" at the sight of Truman trotting happily down the street in his little jacket. An added bonus is that Truman seems less motivated to act like a jerk when he sees other dogs. I guess it's difficult to look like a tough guy in a jaunty red coat.

Predictions

Now, normally, the phrase "Alt-Country Band from Brooklyn" would make me want to impale myself on a broken PBR bottle, but I love love love the Coydogs.




Just try to get this song out of your head.

Wherein our Heroine Learns That There Are An Alarming Number of People Who Have Never Eaten Tuna Casserole

Yesterday evening I had plans to watch The Best TV Show Ever with my friend Tintern. I inquired whether he thought a tuna casserole would be appropriate fare for the night's activities. Imagine my surprise when I received this text message in response: I've never eaten tuna casserole.

After I recovered from my shock and picked my lower jaw up off the floor, I set to work preparing one. While my noodles were cooking, I got a phone call from my friend in Minnesota. I jokingly made reference to the tuna casserole shock I had just received and Sara confessed to me that she'd NEVER HAD IT EITHER.

So then, that got me to thinking... is Tuna Casserole really an All-American staple or did I just have a warped childhood?

I did a little research and discovered that canned tuna dates back to the early part of the century. However, the first known recipe for Tuna Casserole was published in 1941 by the Campbell's Soup Company. Apparently they developed Cream of Mushroom soup explicitly for use in Tuna Casserole. (Does anyone actually use it for soup? Or is it like Lipton's Onion Soup mix which, as far as I can tell, no one uses for anything other than dip. Or on a rare occasion, meatloaf.)

Casseroles, which refer to the dish in which they are cooked, were heavily promoted during the Depression and the Second World War as economical and nutritious meals. Later, in the 1950's they remained popular dinner options for the time-pressed housewife. The 70's brought about the advent of Hamburger (and Tuna) Helper which further streamlined the making of this popular dish.

An informal office and email poll today shows that most people seem to have grown up eating Tuna Casserole at least once, usually more often. Thank goodness.

Truman Makes Me Proud

It's not easy having the most popular dog in town. I mean, what with the paparazzi following us around and snapping pictures of me with my hair all askew and the constant pleading for interviews and appearances at ribbon cuttings.

Still, every so often Truman doesn't make an ass of himself and, by default, me.

The other night I was going to meet a friend for an evening walk (hi, Mika!) and on my way over to her place, we ran into one of my neighbors. This guy is a charming older gentleman who I frequently see walking his cute, brindle Am Staff-mix. His dog is not only gorgeous but also well behaved, excepting that she doesn't like other dogs either. He and I frequently have shouted conversations with one another from opposite sides of the street while telling our dogs to "shhh. stop it. SIT! No, SIT! Good dog... shhhh. No! SIT."

Anyway, he was sans dog this time, so Truman and I stopped for a chat and he said, "He's really come a long way." I agreed and mentioned something about Truman being kind of a nightmare when I first got him. "I know", he said. Then he mentioned that he was talking to someone at 7-11 and saw me walking by on the other side of the street. The person he was with said, "See that dog? That's how I want MY dog to behave." "I told him, she's put a lot of work into that dog. He wasn't always like that. You've done a good job with him."

I was pleased as punch, and Truman wagged his tail in approval as we continued on our way.

One of my other friends had commented to me that "you hold your pets to a really high standard." Which is true, but I think it's especially important for bully owners to make sure that their dogs are shining ambassadors for the breed. No dog should be out of control or ill-mannered, but the general public tends to be a lot more forgiving of toy dogs or popular breeds. Pits definitely have a bad reputation (Thank you, Michael Vick.), and nothing makes me happier than when people meet Truman and ask what kind of a dog he is. As he is happily leaning on their legs and licking their hands, I can proudly say, "He's a pit bull!" Frequently, people are surprised and say things like, "But he's so sweet!" and it's a nice opportunity to dispell some of the negative sterotypes that surround these dogs.

And of course, his fan club continues to grow with every walk. Just yesterday, we ran into a group of kids who were so excited to find out that Truman loves sticks that they followed us on our walk and pointed out all the best looking sticks, and a waiter at Friendly's who commented "Awesome dog. Awesome. Awesome. Awesome." as we walked past the restaurant.

I'm seriously thinking about starting a fan club. I just hope Truman lets me join.

Bully for you!

Life with Truman continues on at it's familiar, exhausting pace. There were a few times (like when he ate my glasses and most of a mattress) that I seriously considered rehoming him in a moment of extreme depression and financial desperadoes. I even consulted a dog behaviorist (not cheap) about his dog-on-dog issues. Turns out, he's not so much aggressive as he is a "knucklehead with no impulse control."

Since then, I've discovered several things:

1. The Gentle Leader: Head collar designed to help control Truman's frenzied lunging at other dogs. Worn in conjunction with #2

2. Hot dogs. Yes, hot dogs. The ONE FOOD I CAN'T STAND. Truman, however, will sell his soul for a hot dog. Or even just a piece of a hot dog. Or a piece of regular dog kibble that's been sitting in a sandwich baggie with a piece of hot dog.

The two of these things have really improved the quality of our walks. Instead of me sobbing and pleading and stopping every five steps to try and regain his attention, all I have to do is rustle the ziplock bag and suddenly it's OHMIGOD I'M SITTING. LOOK. LOOK. MOOOOOM! LOOK. SEE ME SIT? WHAT OTHER DOG? DID YOU SAY HOTDOG?

We're not perfect by any means, but more often than not, I can easily distract Truman from other dogs and continue on past without a scene. On some occasions, when he hears another dog bark, he will actually LOOK AT ME instead of lunging for the dog. It's like reverse clicker training! Dog bark = hot dog! Which is great, because we've tried the clicker and Truman ran and hid under a blanket and would not be convinced that CLICK = TREAT, but rather CLICK = dog eating dinosaur zombie attack imminent!

3. Swimming: Truman is so insanely athletic it scares me. I've gone from being semi-regular gym-goer/climber/yogi to
'I'm physically exhausted all the time.' I can't keep up. And if he doesn't tire out, see above re: mattress eating.

Lucky for us, Truman loves to swim! What's more, I just have to stand on the shore and chuck a tennis ball into the water and wait for him to go get it. Repeat 500 times.

Last week, I decided to take Truman for a walk in the Park. There was a concert going on and a zillion people, animals, bicycles and all manner of distractions. I thought it would be good for him to get used to a lot of different things happening around him so I armed myself with a huge quantity of chopped up hotdog bits and prepared for the worst.

Fortune smiled on us however, and it was 90+ degrees and 200% humidity (Truman tires out easily in the heat). We walked around the park without incident even though there were dogs everywhere. Truman, of course, made friends with everyone we passed, and was a perfect gentleman. We were walking by a tiny, elderly man in a wheelchair with an oxygen tank and Truman made a beeline for the man and stood next to him with his head in the man's lap. I apologized for Truman being overly friendly and but the man said that was ok, and started stroking Truman's head and telling me about his dog. We talked for a few minutes and the whole time, Truman was standing like a statue with his head in the guy's lap just being an absolute angel.

I may be jaded and unimpressed most of the time, but I have to say, Truman, I'm proud of you. Thanks, pal.

The Truman Show

About a month and a half ago, I found myself adopting a dog. It was one of those instances where you are wasting time on Craig's List and are suddenly compelled to email a poster about their haunted piano. Or a pit bull.

It was a typically sad story: stray dog, saved from doggy death row at a Rhode Island shelter, needs a good home. I agreed to meet him "just to see", but knowing full well that once I had him in my house, he was not likely to be leaving.

I was prepared for the challenges of having a dog, especially one with an unknown history. What I wasn't prepared for was having a dog who is one of the "popular kids".

The very first night I had Truman (he seems like a president, or at least someone with wire rimmed glasses) I took him to PetSmart to get him a collar that fit. We were in the store about 2 minutes when one of the employees came over to tell me what a beautiful dog I had. (He IS cute, don't get me wrong.) We speculated about what breed he is, most likely pitt/boxer and who knows what else, and went to pay for our stuff. A woman waiting in line behind us also commented on how nice he was. I was surprised, but pleased. I was used to having a dog that you could barely take anywhere for fear of him causing a huge scene. Or a llama riot.

Over the past weeks, I have kind of gotten used to the attention. Not that anyone is paying any attention to me, mind you, just my dog. Everywhere we go, people stop to talk and tell me what a nice/cute/beautiful/great dog I have. And it's not just certain people, it's everyone: children, the elderly, firefighters, gangstas, used car salesmen and women in mini-vans.

I live in a decidedly urban area and "tough" looking breeds like pitts definitely appeal to a lot of people, usually for the wrong reasons, but I'm really amazed by Truman's mass appeal considering how much bad press these so-called "vicious" dogs receive. I mean, we've all seen and heard news stories about small children getting mauled by pitt bulls, heard about the horrors of illegal dog fighting and seen cities and states all across the US ban ownership of "aggressive" breeds. So, when mothers with small children ask to pet my dog, I can barely hide my surprise.

Truman is by no means perfect. He likes to chase squirrels, he doesn't always come when he's called, he gets excited when he sees/hears/smells other dogs and he totally destroys any toy not tested on wolves. But, overall, he's a good dog. I like to think that as much as I did him a favor by giving him a home, he's doing wonders for people's impressions of bully breeds and maybe giving a pitt bull in a shelter somewhere a better chance of getting adopted.

A New Old Look At Marriage

On a recent trip to the Salvation Army, I stumbled upon what may, in fact, be the most amazing book ever written. The Modern Home Medical Adviser c. 1942 (known hereafter as "The Book"), offers a very interesting chapter (Ch. 5 "Sex Hygiene") on the subject of marriage and marital relations. After reading such gems as,
"Some girls have been lead to believe that they are under obligations to repay in ways that are destructive to morals and character. So long as the girl was entertaining in her own home, and furnishing lemonade or home-made fudge, she might bid her suitor begone when he made improper proposals;"

"The error that young people are so likely to make is to believe that parties, shows, elegant furniture and sport roadsters can bring more happiness than children."

And, finally:
"Great improvement in underwear has been made in recent years. Undergarments should be changed as often as one's finances will permit and should of course never be worn after they are definitely soiled."

I am totally on board. I mean, sure, I work, but only until "the time when...[I] shall be promoted to the much more important work of real home-making." I can't imagine anything better than not having to read any more college applications. And I'll have a clean house to boot!

My 30 List

As in, Things to do before I turn.

At the top of the list was 'Climb 5.11a'. I have actually been somewhat serious about my climbing as of late, hitting the gym semi-regularly and both climbing smartly and cranking hard when I am there. I've been successfully climbing 5.10's, a,b and c, with a few onsights to boot. So, all in all I considered myself in pretty good shape to tick an .11 by the end of April.

Went to the gym yesterday afternoon with Forrest and warmed up on an .8+, then jumped right into some .9's and easy .10's. I was a little worried that I was going to tire myself out pretty quickly, but I felt really good and I was climbing well, so I kept on keeping on. Towards the end of the evening, Forrest belayed this MIT dude up an .11a that had just been put up. It was the perfect candidate for my first attempt: a balance-y route that lead up to a lot of stemming through a wide chimney at the top. I was feeling pretty good, albeit a bit tired, so I decided to give it a go. (Also MIT dude had said that the grade was a little inflated, so I thought I might have a shot.)

About 2/3 of the way up the route, I suddenly had a thought: I'm actually going to climb this! And I did. I had a small bobble at the last move, so technically, I didn't get it clean. But I did get the move on the 2nd try. And I'll totally get it clean the next time.

Now I have absolutely no reason to turn 30. Woo hoo!

ABORT THE MISSION

After day 1 of the flu/fast I was forced to partake of some orange juice. And Tylenol. In my defense I didn't eat any solid food all week until Thursday night when I made my sister go to Dairy Queen with me. I had heard about the "Kit Kat Blizzard Miracle Cure" and decided to try it out. Or maybe I was simply delirious with fever. Either way it seemed to do the trick and I felt a lot better on Friday.

I've been doing a lot of thinking about "adult relationships" lately. I feel like in my life to date, most of my "relationships" have been reminiscent of playing Dream Phone c. 1996. In the game, which I totally own having purchased it at the Salvation Army for the low low price of .99, you have to call all these boys and try and figure out which one likes you. It takes ages and sometimes the boys are jerks and say things like, I know who it is, but I'm not telling, HA HA! (just like in REAL LIFE!)

As part of my plan to Keep It Great In Ought Eight, I decided I was not going to dick around on the metaphorical Dream Phone. No, instead, I was only going to talk with boys directly. Like an adult. I mean, at really fucking close to 30, I should be able to say, "You're right. I really like you!" and then get on with my life.* Keep it STRAIGHT in Oh Eight! Arrange a DATE in Oh Eight! Don't HESITATE in Oh Eight!

*The author reserves the right to continue sending drunken and obsessive text messages well into 2040.

Master Cleanse Day 1: The best laid plans

In a moment of collective health-consciousness (or collective crack smoking) some of my esteemed colleagues and I have decided to embark on the fabled "Master Cleanse", aka "Maple Syrup and Lemonade Diet". It's a group effort which makes the idea of drinking this crap (and nothing but) for 5 days slightly less noxious. And misery loves company.

My constitution decided to throw a kink into our carefully laid plans and I got really sick yesterday. I am sure this is due, in part, to my adamant declaration that "I don't really get sick." Because I am. I spent most of last night in bed weeping with a fever, body aches and a non-productive and extremely painful cough. Not even disc 1 of the Tudors could distract me from how miserable I felt.

I called out sick from work and had Morgan bring over the Cleansing Supplies for the others. But not before mixing up 2 Nalgene bottles of the stuff for myself. I have been dutifully sipping it in between naps and coughing fits and I have to say... IT'S NOT THAT BAD. Except that I put too much cayenne pepper in this batch, so it's not that bad except for the fact that my lips are on fire.

I'm not feeling hungry either. But not sure how much may be due to the fact that I feel absolutely wretched. Still, I'll take it!

Keeping it Great in Ought Eight

I've never been particularly enamored by the start of a new year. It usually goes something like: I really want to do something fabulous. Except I don't know what that is. So I end up not really doing anything and then feel let down.

This year I decided to not even worry about it. And I ended up with a bottle of bourbon (thanks, Peter!) and a really good night with some really good friends. And a whole lot of ridiculousness.

I'm actually oddly optimistic about the new year. My sister and I were saying how 2007 was kind of a let down, but 2008 seems bursting with potential.

Potential and of course stacks and stacks of applications that I should really be reading.

How To Throw A Surprise Party 101

First, make sure you involve as many people as possible. This will come in handy later when you are trying to remember all the ridiculous lies everyone told the party recipient. Second, make sure you come up with the most plausible solutions for why the surprisee can/can't be at a certain place at a certain time. Some of my favorites include, "No reason" and "I don't know." You will be making up all manner of outrageous stories in the planning process but make sure that you totally piss off the person who you are trying to surprise. It's technically not a surprise party unless the guest of honor is hurt/mad at you for excluding them from all manner of secret plans. Finally, it is essential that there be at least 2 false alarms where everyone leaps out and yells "SURPRISE!!!" only to discover that the person coming in was only stepping out for a smoke or something and is not the surprise party recipient.

A Brief Moment of Silence

On this day in 1965, Pop Tarts were created.

Now we return to our regularly scheduled time wasting.

I recently decided that with The Commodore lost at sea, it was my duty to revive seersucker.
I mean, any staple of southern gentlemen is all right by me!

In speaking of wardrobe, a lady that I work with stopped me last week to comment on my striped tights (worn under grey cropped pants). She said, "You look like..."
"A pirate?", I offered hopefully.
"An oompa loompa."
Now, admittedly, I may have an astonishing haircut, but I am by no means knee high. Nor do I accept payment in candy. (Though I have considered it in more desperate times.) And for fuck's sake, this woman has been wearing STIRRUP PANTS almost continuously since the mid-90's. I hardly feel as though she is in any position to comment on anyone else's outfit.

Oh, and I DID win the office Apple Pie Smackdown. Someone asked the secret to my filling: just a touch of bourbon. Oh, and 3/4 c. of heavy cream. 'Tis the season!

You Had Me At "Free Scotch"

On Saturday, I put on a kicky cocktail dress (ignoring the fact that it was 30 degrees out), grabbed Suzanne and headed to the "Johnnie Walker Journey" at the Boston Center for the Performing Arts. Now, even though JW and I go way back (Colorado, 2000, irrigation ditch) I wouldn't necessarily consider myself a huge fan. I mean, I'm more of a bourbon aficionado, and in terms of Scotch, I know more about single malts than blended whiskeys. But I am an apt pupil and always looking to expand my (whisky) horizons.

After sipping a cocktail (red label margarita, Grade: b+), and munching on some snacks (Turkish apricots with Gorgonzola, grade: a++) we were shown to our seats for the tasting/multimedia presentation/hour long advertisement for Johnnie Walker. Suzanne and I were seated next to a very animated (read: drunk) couple who kept shouting out references to how excited (drunk) they were to be there. Despite the obvious marketing scheme, the event was pretty nice (free drinks). They did some interesting things, such as serving the Gold Label ice cold and mixing the Red Label with "cola", and encouraging us to use the Green Label as cologne, ("Put a drop in your hands, rub them together. Now, smell it!).

However, when the heavens opened and Johnnie Walker Blue Label rained down into my glass, I think I regained my faith in god (whisky). A swirl, a sniff, and it was like angels had wept tears of salvation into my snifter.

Hint hint... Christmas is coming.

I was warned about Brockton

I had a college fair in Brockton today. I thought it was Braintree for a while. Mostly because I think Braintree might actually be the best name for a town. I mean, come on! Brain Tree!

Unfortunately, it was not. It was Brockton, which Scott described to me as "kind of awful". It kind of was. At least the college fair.

Did you know that Brockton high school has around 4000 kids? And it's the 2nd largest high school east of the Mississippi? True fact! At least according to the chick from Curry College who was at the table next to me.

So, the only kids who talked to me besides the ones who thought I was "Clark Atlanta"? One was blind (admittedly not her fault and I am sure she's an amazing student) and the other hadn't taken her SATs yet. Sigh.

Halloween Conundrum or "The Lass Who Loved a Sailor"

Or at least the idea of dressing up as one.

The problem with Halloween, besides me not ever doing anything nearly as fabulous as I imagined, is that if you are a girl, most costumes revolve around wearing as little themed clothing as possible. Don't be a pirate, be a SEXY PIRATE! A sexy law enforcement officer! A sexy hot dog! I'd like something nautical without looking like well...

Oh, and Bee is already taken.

Letter to Albuquerque

Dear Albuquerque,

You and I kind of got off to a bad start. With that whole delayed flight from Denver, which was totally Denver's fault-with the bad weather and all. But Denver and I have a long and complicated history and no matter what happens, I will always hold a special place in my heart for CO.

Anyway, getting there late and coming within mere seconds of being stranded at the rental car counter didn't really do much to endear me to you. Neither did the whole fiasco with the hotel, although that did turn out well when I got my palatial corner room (albeit with no bed, just a pull out sofa. Or more correctly 3 pull out sofas. And a fantastic shower!). Oh, and that "joke" with the missing package? Not funny.

The college fair was pretty good, except just so you know, charging the admissions reps for snacks and beverages? TACKY! It was nice to be done at 3:oo though and have the afternoon to myself. Chapman and I did have quite a nice walk to Old Town. I never would have thought to put the PRISON right near the convention center, but good for you! It's a nice touch.

The awesome old guy at the ice cream shoppe was a nice surprise as well. Of course, he is originally from Colorado, so you only get partial credit. But that malt was pretty damn good.

One more thing, that whole rule about no alcohol within so many feet from a church? Not so much. And I'm from Massachusetts where you can't do anything fun. Ever.

So, Albuquerque, I don't have a whole lot to say about you, but I do appreciate the FREE WIRELESS at the airport. That part is awesome!

Perpetuating the myth

"Ok, so we just happen to show up at the coffee shop, looking completely fabulous, where Shifty is playing tonight..."
"Right. And I pretend that I just happen to be driving around listening to sea shanties on my iPod."
"Awesome."

Nautical, But Naked

Topic of today's group information session.

You know those nightmares where you realize you are in school/at work/speaking at the UN and totally naked? On the same theme, I have this paranoid fear of trying on clothes in store dressing rooms and then forgetting to put my pants back on and walking out into the store pantless. I've never actually done this. Or even come close. But I worry about it. A lot.

Today I had to give an information session to a group of prospective students and parents. Of course I was freaked out because the last (and first) time I had given one was over a month ago and surely I had forgotten everything I ever knew about Clark in that time.

Also, I realized that the pants I am wearing today make me feel naked.

I mean, they are just black, cropped pants (like pretty much ALL my pants) but the key difference is that they actually FIT me. I almost never buy clothes that actually fit. Mostly because they haven't made clothes to fit my body in at least 30 years. But also because I worry that if I buy clothes that fit I will gain weight or something and then they won't fit and I will be down one pair of pants. So I buy things that are too big. And then I buy a lot of belts.

So, I had on my naked pants and my nautical-themed shoes (which are the most awesome shoes EVER) and a striped shirt and my anchor/ship's wheel necklace that my (awesome) sister got me and a room full of people who were only mildly interested in what I had to say. And half of whom left early. And the rest of whom didn't find any of my "jokes" even remotely funny.

Sigh.

Must go home and cobble together a pizza in a (probably) hopeless attempt to redeem myself after the Great Paella/Biscuit Disaster of Last Weekend.