Tag: food

An Evening Of Higher Education

After last night’s 6:00 o’clock news, I headed to Southern Connecticut State University. Jerry Dunklee, a journalism professor at Southern who I knew as a radio talk show host when I first came here, invited me to join a panel on blogging.

The class was already underway when I walked in the room. I was glad to see little has changed. The students avoided sitting close to the front.

Sitting behind a table, facing the group, were Denis Horgan and Andy Thibauld. These guys are much better examples of what bloggers are all about than the navel gazing I usually post.

Andy publishes “The Cool justice Report,” while Denis’ blog is self named.

Both these guys are capital “J” journalists with backgrounds at traditional media outlets. Denis went though a messy divorce at the Hartford Courant, after editor Brian Toolan told him to stop blogging. I’m not sure of all the steps, but the Courant no longer has Horgan… we do.

As with my blog, though in a much more beautiful, writerly way, Denis choronicles his own life and experiences. A really good writer can make the mundane meaningful.

If that came off as a left handed compliment, it wasn’t my intention.

Denis is also author of “Flotsam: A Life in Debris,” reviewed quite favorably in the… wait for it… Hartford Courant. You can’t make this stuff up!

Andy Thibauld is also a print journalist gone web. This description probably doesn’t do it justice, but his site is an outlet for Andy’s investigative reporting.

Staunchly liberal (as is Horgan), Andy is answering a calling, more than doing a job. The fact that he’s doing this kind of expository reporting in a medium where there’s little chance for financial payoff means it’s passion driven.

Stereotypically, both men seem directly out of central casting for who they are. That Denis is an Irishman from Boston is totally obvious before he even speaks! Andy wears the same rumpled trench coat nearly every other investigative reporter wears.

There’s got to be a warehouse where these are given out to people who whisper, “I know this pol on the take.”

Both these guys are passionate about what they do. Neither seems to have a free will choice to stop. It’s just too deeply ingrained in their DNA.

I’m not sure how either puts food on the table. There’s no money in blogging… certainly in this kind of blogging. People write for newspapers because they need to write and they need to eat. Blogging only fills half the equation.

I can’t be sure the students got what we were talking about. Can you understand what drives these two guys before being driven yourself? Don’t you first need to understand what it’s like pounding your head against the wall for a boss who judges your work by quantity alone?

The students seemed attentive and asked good questions. It’s just, I’ve come to the conclusion experience cannot be taught.

It’s a shame the traditional media (print and electronic) are under such brutal financial pressure. Guys like these, to whom principle is king, are amazing role models for college students. I’m not sure if I belonged on the same panel.

There are never enough bright people with principles.

Don’t Ask – Don’t Eat Policy

There’s a buffet restaurant in town we go to three or four times a year. it’s fairly high end in its fare – not a total carb outlet. Some of the staff were nice enough to ask for a picture with me, which they then hung near the register.

We haven’t been there in months. Tonight, on our way to the movies, we thought we’d stop by.

CLOSED by order the of the Health Department (or something very similar), the weather worn notice affixed to the door read. That’s not good. In over twenty years here in Connecticut, I’ve never seen anything like that before.

Exactly what do you have to do to be shut down, not just warned? Maybe I don’t want to know.

I’ve checked the website of the local health department and there’s nothing there. It’s one of life’s little mysteries… like the food at the buffet.

Plane Talk About The Flight Home

We’re on our way home from Las Vegas. I’m typing this from 39,000 feet somewhere over the vast void that is the middle of America.

Helaine obtained a late checkout, so we left the hotel at 2:30, heading first to refill the rental car and then return it to the “Giant Rental Car Building,” newly opened south of the airport. All the car rental companies share this facility and the shuttle buses that leave every few minutes. This part of the experience, coming and going, was painless.

Oh – there is one thing. Our car had Sirius Satellite Radio. We discovered that sometime around day five and quite by accident. Since Dollar pays for it, and I wanted to use it, you’d think there would have been a placard or sticker advertising its availability. Even when I hit the right button (by mistake) there was only a hint of what I’d unlocked.

We did get to hear a little Nina Blackwood, Martha Quinn, Mark Goodman and former Philly favorite, Michael Tierson. I always had a thing for Martha.

Sunday afternoon at McCarren Airport is a medley of your favorite lines. We stood in line to get our baggage weighed and tagged. We stood in line for security. Helaine stood in line for food. And, of course, we sat in line to get our choice of seats on the plane.

AMAZING, BUT TRUE STORY ALERT: As we checked in, the agent asked for our heaviest bag first. On the scale it went. Southwest only allows (in my family the word ‘only’ must be included) 50 pounds per bag. The bag weighed 49.95 pounds! When the agent put the tag on the bag, the weight rose to exactly 50.00 pounds. None of us had ever seen anything like it.

This was probably the last time we’ll be sitting on the floor, holding our place in line, in the Southwest terminal. Next month they unveil a new, modified boarding system which will reward those who are anal retentive and get their boarding passes within the first few minutes after they become available. The punctual will then get their choice of the best seats!

From the cockpit, this is the pilot.” How many times do you want to hear those words on a flight?

Why ask?

We wanted to sleep. He wanted to speak. “Folks, it’s going to be bumpy over the Rockies.” “Folks, we’re over the Rockies and it’s bumpy.” “Folks we’re passed the Rockies and I’m turning off the seat belt sign.”

There were a few more announcements. I forget exactly what they were, except Iowa City was off to the left during one and “we’re over Chicago,” on the other. The “peddling as fast as we can” line was only funny the first time.

Considering the hour of this flight, I’m surprised the cabin lights were never dimmed. Though, with chatterbox driving, the point was probably moot.

Our flight left Las Vegas 45 minutes late. The plane was there on time, but we waited for connecting passengers from Oakland. Having been on the receiving end of that kind of largess in the past, I didn’t mind being on the giving side tonight.

All Southwest flights are in 737s. It’s funny how times have changed, because Southwest now uses that as a selling point in its ads. You never fly in a little plane on Southwest. A few years ago, when the domestic carriers used wide bodied jets of many more routes, Southwest’s claim would have been laughed off the TV. Now, when the alternative is a 30, 40 or 50 seat regional jet, Southwest has a point.

I have spent much of the last few hours trying to figure out a way to allow fully reclining seats on a 737. Maybe if you remove the overhead bins and create an upper-lower configuration for the seats? There’s got to be a way, and whichever airline does it first, wins.

It’s 1:00 AM now. We’re still in the air. Will there even be baggage handlers when we arrive?

I so want to go to sleep.

We Loved Love

Yes, Las Vegas is gambling and food, but it’s also shows – often great shows. We saw one tonight with Cirque du Soleil’s Love at Mirage, just up the Strip.

Helaine and I went with my Cousin Michael, his wife Melissa and their son Max.

As with all Cirque du Soleil shows, this one is very physical. The most obvious point that sets it apart from the others is the music. It’s all Beatles songs, remixed (and in many cases, reconfigured) by George Martin. As far as I know, this is the first time the Beatles original recordings have been featured in a non-Beatles performance.

If there’s a story to Love that ties in with the music, I didn’t get it.

Love is performed in the same space that once held Seigfreid and Roy. The theater has been rebuilt, putting the stage… or more appropriately stages, in the center, with the audience surrounding them.

As soon as we sat down, I knew we had really great seats. But this is a theater with many, many great seats.

The lights dimmed and the performance began. Almost immediately, I realized there was so much going on at any one time, I’d have to pick and choose what I would follow and understand I’d miss a lot. And then, as I was mulling this entertainment bonanza over, the stage got ten times busier!

I have never seen a more spectacular opening for an on-stage performance. It is truly indescribable!

Helaine and I have seen all the Vegas Cirque shows but one (Zumanity). This was the best of the lot – a show we’d gladly see again.

Some of the shows are very gymnastic, this was more dance oriented. Yes, there were displays of strength and flexibility, but nothing over-the-top.

I especially enjoyed a portion of the show where two roller skating ramps and four excellent skaters appeared as if out of nowhere. As with so much of this show, sets and performers ‘appeared’ from above or below eye level. Stages and ropes were constantly moving up and down.

It was over much too soon.

The Road To Las Vegas

I’m writing now from Las Vegas and the MGM Grand Hotel. I have found, over time, my blog entries slow down when I’m in Vegas. I’m not in the room as much and there’s not much to talk about when I’m mainly playing cards (though we will be seeing some shows and visiting places I’ll want to tell you about).

I’m currently up, but a McDonalds employee makes more per hour!

It was sad leaving Palm Springs. I know I can speak for Helaine when I saw, we thoroughly enjoyed ourselves. The hotel was great. The city was great. The experience was everything we wanted and more. I even had a great time at the Rick Springfield concert.

We left Palm Springs around 9:00 AM and headed west in the slightly circuitous route necessary to get to Las Vegas. Traffic was moderate, but mostly moving at or above the speed limit.

We weaved through San Bernardino&#185, then to Victorville and Barstow. Now we were in the middle of nowhere and the speed ramped up to 80-85 mph, as the drivers took it on their own to improvise what the speed limit should be.

Most people from the east think of desert and think of the vast trackless sand of North Africa. Most of the US Desert Southwest isn’t like that at all. There is vegetation, mostly in the form of scrawny, low to the Earth brush.

We didn’t eat before leaving Palm Springs, which opened us up for a quick lunch at “Peggy Sue’s 50 s Diner” in Yermo. Yermo is a town of around 2,000, adjacent to Ft. Irwin.

The food was fine, but Peggy Sue’s needs a little updating and freshening. Much of the diner looks like it hasn’t be refurbished since the 50s!

We continued east on I-15 (it’s really a north-south road, so we were officially going north), stopping again in Baker. Our destination was Alien Fresh Jerky!

Here’s a place that’s successful because of its catchy positioning. After all, you can get jerky anywhere, but how many places have Alien Fresh Jerky?

Baker to Las Vegas is only a hundred miles or so – next door in terms of the desert. We were at the MGM and in our room by early afternoon.

By mid afternoon we had found my Cousin Melissa, gone to Wynn (up the Strip), had dinner and deposited me a the poker table.

If that’s not a full day, what is?

&#185 – San Bernardino is the county seat for San Bernardino County, which is larger in area than the states of Massachusetts, Connecticut, Rhode Island, and Delaware combined. It is the largest county in the United States.

Par For The Dollar

Back in 1980 I was working in Buffalo. My Philadelphia friend, Lucy, invited me to join her for a weekend at a family owned compound in what is referred to as “Cottage Country,” north of Toronto.

On a frigid, crystal clear lake, reachable only by their classic mahogany power boat, it was pretty close to heaven. For that weekend I was part of her family, joining them for every activity. I even went to church with them (and throughly enjoyed that experience too).

While driving up, I got hungry and stopped along the road for some food. I bought a sandwich and a Coke, handed the clerk a US $20 bill and got $22 Canadian change… plus my food!

What a country!

Actually, all that meant was, the US dollar was worth a lot more than its Canadian equivalent. As of today, they’re of nearly equal value. I think the proper term is, they’re at par.

I’m not an economist, but I’m pretty sure the value of a nations currency is directly tied to the strength of its economy. Our dollar is weak.

Over times, things tend to even out. A weaker US dollar makes our exports more reasonably priced overseas… at least it does with those things we still make here. Conversely, imports continue to cost more. That’s an incentive to buy American, here and abroad.

Still, having the US and Canadian dollars at par troubles me on an emotional level. Our dollar being more valuable has always been a given. It’s the first time in my life it’s not.

I don’t personally see signs of a weak economy, but obviously, others do. Our cheaper dollar is screaming that to anyone who will listen.

Ameen’s Big Adventure



This is the story of a very good day. I credit it all to Ameen, someone I hadn’t met until this afternoon.

Today really started yesterday, when I called my friend and fellow photographer, Steve. Saturday was going to be beautiful. I had some free time. Would he like to drive to Litchfield County to take some photos?

Steve was here at noon and by 12:30, with my car’s top down, we headed north.

Where were we going? I had no clue. I’d printed out two Google maps. They were wide shots of Litchfield County – Connecticut’s northwest corner. The maps were good enough to help find a road back home, but not specific enough to take us anywhere in particular.

We took Route 69 through Bethany and Prospect to I-84 in Waterbury, then up Route 8 to Winsted. We were in the country now. We continued northwest on Route 44 to North Canaan. Not one photo had been snapped!

That’s why I hit the brakes and turned into the parking lot when Steve caught sight of the Collin’s Diner. It was very retro and very photogenic.

The diner was tiny, sitting toward the back of a large, but mostly empty parking lot. The building itself had a glass brick foyer, enameled outer panels under the windows and sweeping curved lines where corners are usually found.

We took our cameras from the trunk and began shooting away. A minute later a man walked out of the restaurant and in our direction. He was short, but muscular, with a do rag on his head, a chain with charms around his neck and tattoos on every part of his body not covered by a Wesleyan University t-shirt and Dolce & Gabanna sunglasses.

We soon learned he was Ameen. The restaurant was his family’s business. And, he didn’t mind us taking pictures if we’d send him copies.

We continued to chat and within a few minutes he’d invited us inside to meet his mom and the rest of the family working there.

When we were ready to leave, I asked Ameen where we could go to take some good pictures? He said, “follow me.” For the next few hours we followed Ameen’s hybrid SUV through rural Northern Litchfield County.

Over the past few years, property in Litchfield has become very desirable to New Yorkers looking for a country place. To many people, that’s the new face of Litchfield County. But Ameen has spent a lifetime in these hills and he was going to take us to meet some locals and see things only locals know.

I can’t tell you exactly where we went, but the first stop was the side of a quiet country road where the view was expansive. The mountains in the distance were part of the Catskills in New York State. Between us and them were working lime rock quarries.

We continued uphill. Ameen must have really known the roads because my little sports car kept falling way behind his top heavy SUV. We stopped at Rustling Wind Farm.

Ameen knocked on the door to make sure it was OK for us to take pictures. He got a yes and a hug! As it turns out, at one point he lived in a little house on the property.

Rustling Meadow is the kind of countrified place once foreign to a city boy like me. Even now, it’s heartening to realize places like this really do still exist.

We walked through the upper field, past reminders that horses run here, and stopped to listen to the wind. There was no city noise – nothing mechanical. There was, however, the rotting exterior of a real outhouse!

Back in the car, we headed to the Munson’s. They are a family out of Litchfield County central casting – Karl and Laura are very attractive and earthy parents with two exquisitely beautiful children&#185. As we drove up, mom and daughter were playing in the front yard. The younger son was up in a tree, sitting comfortably as if it were a living room chair.

It didn’t take more than a few seconds to notice a large, four panel solar array, mounted on a post. This single installation provides all their electricity! In fact, power lines from the local electric company don’t even come onto the property!

I’ve met people who were off the grid before – but they usually had to live spartan lives to make it happen. Not so the Munson’s, who store their solar bounty in an array of batteries and have enough for a few weeks of rainy days. There are a few concessions, like a gas powered refrigerator and fluorescent lights, but mostly you wouldn’t notice the difference… until the electric bill didn’t come.

The next thing I noticed was the stone. Karl is a stone mason, and there was what looked like a small stone home off to the side, with a bigger one in the process of being built.

Before there were any buildings, the Munsons lived in a yurt! Like I said, they were out of Litchfield County central casting. They could not have been friendlier or nicer, nor could their life seem more idyllic.

We headed out again, to our next stop at Wangum Lake, a reservoir for the local water company. Like so much else in Northern Connecticut, it is isolated, rural and beautifully pristine.

This was our last stop with Ameen, who was taking his sister out for her birthday. We said goodbye and headed south on Route 7, along the western bank of the Housatonic River. There was one more stop to make.

A few hundred feet off Route 7 in West Cornwall, Route 128 crosses the Housatonic via a covered bridge. There aren’t many of these left. It’s a one lane bridge running not quite the distance of a football field. Could there be anything more New England than this?

It was time to head home, a little over an hour away.

Connecticut never ceases to amaze me. It really is a beautiful state, with sharp contrasts between the shoreline and the hills in its northwest and northeastern corners. Today it was worthy of nearly 200 photographs from me alone. Steve and I had an excellent time.

There’s no doubt, we wouldn’t have seen half as much without Ameen. If you’re ever up in North Canaan, please stop by the Collin’s Diner and tell him we were raving about the hospitality. Next time, we’ll even try the food!

&#185 – Both Munson children were incredibly photogenic. However, this being the 21st Century, I’m not going to post their photos online.

Off To New York

This is my parents last full day in Connecticut. Tomorrow, at an ungodly hour, they fly the day’s only non-stop from BDL to PBI.

The goal of the Connecticut Foxes was to make this a vacation full of activity, and we’ve succeeded. Maybe we were a little too aggressive in planning for my dad. We have taken him to the edge of his physical limits… though that wasn’t our intention.

Today was our day to head to New York and the Lower East Side. Stef, Helaine and my Mom love shopping there, but after this week, we knew it would be too much for my dad.

The solution was mine. The five of us would travel to New York together, but when the women headed to Canal Street, my dad and I would continue to Whitehall Terminal and the State Island Ferry.

When I was a kid a trip on the Staten Island Ferry cost 5&#162. Later, it was raised to 25&#162. About ten years ago, to lower the cost of commuting from Staten Island, the fare was removed altogether.

It’s a phenomenal free trip from The Battery, at Manhattan’s southern tip, to St. George on Staten Island. You go through the Upper Harbor, past Governors Island, Ellis Island and the Statue of Liberty on Liberty Island.

It’s easy to forget, as I had, how busy a harbor this is. There are ocean going freighters moving past barges and tugs and other local working boats. We actually cruised by LSV-!, the Army’s General Frank S. Besson, Jr.

I thought the Army only had ships in Jack Lemmon movies!

Our ferry to Staten Island and back was the John F. Kennedy, christened in 1965. It, like all the ferries, is a stubby, dirty orange behemoth. There is no front. The ferry is commanded from both ends.

We took the outbound leg, standing outside on the upper deck on the port side. That’s the best view of the Statue of Liberty.

On the return we stood at the very front of the Kennedy, with an ever sharpening view of Lower Manhattan, the ‘satellite city’ of office towers that’s grown up in the Hoboken/Jersey City area and the smaller, older, office buildings in Downtown Brooklyn.

This trip, like nearly every other trip to New York was heavily dependent on the New York City subway system. I know some people are a little apprehensive, but it’s a great way to get around. It’s certainly faster than driving. Service is frequent… every few minutes on some lines.

The downside is, the cars are sometimes dirty and there are often people soliciting for (often dubious) charities. We had one guy beg while holding up sandwiches, ostensibly for any homeless on the train. We also had an accordionist join us – hand outstretched. His charity begins in the home.

There was one other downside today. When we headed from Whitehall Street, at the ferry slip, to Cortlandt Street, we discovered the Cortlandt Street Station is closed due to the reconstruction around the World Trade Center site. That aded a walk I didn’t plan on from City Hall down to Cortlandt.

We met up with the girls at Century 21, an &#252ber clothing department store, about a block from Ground Zero. My dad and I sat in the shoe department while (mostly) Stef did her damage upstairs!

The final stop of the day was dinner at the Stage Deli. It was very good, but my first choice was to head to Chinatown for Chinese food. I can’t name one Chinese restaurant down there, but I’m sure whatever we would have found would have been great.

By the way – on a trip like this, majority rules. It’s no sin to be outvoted.

The Stage is in the mid-50s on 7th Avenue while Grand Central Terminal is at 42nd and Park Avenue. That wasn’t too much of a hike for Helaine, Stef and me, but it was too a lot for my parents. We threw them in a cab and met them at the train station.

We were home by 8:30 PM.

My parents need to go home to recuperate from their vacation!

Blogger’s note: I took well over 300 photos today. I was saddened to see a few pieces of dust had settled on “Clicky’s” sensor. That was easily cured with a bulb duster I carry… but not until I had shot at least 250 photos that need an extra hand to be acceptable.

Back From Philadelphia

Yes, I want to write about Philadelphia – but not tonight. We did a lot. We had a fun time. I am bushed… much of that due to the six hour drive home!

We spent a few minutes home before going out for my birthday dinner. The destination was Guilford and “The Place.” I’m sure I’ve written about “The Place” before, but just in case you missed it, a brief synopsis:

“The Place” is a roofless restaurant. You eat under a string of bare bulbs atop of ‘floor’ of crushed clam shells. It is only open during the warm weather.

The menu is quite limited: clams, lobster, corn, steak, chicken – that’s about all. Most folks bring a little something from home to help round out their meal.

Most importantly, at “The Place” you sit on a tree stump out in the open and watch as your food is cooked over an open flame. The grills burn long slabs of oak.

Here are a few photos from dinner tonight. It was another excuse to try out the new 10-20mm lens.





A Wonderful Day

This is about yesterday, Saturday. We didn’t do anything special, but it was a great day.

Helaine and Steffie want me to update the look of my eyeglasses. I haven’t had my eyes checked in a while, so I made an appointment for this coming Friday. Uh oh – that didn’t fit in with Steffie’s schedule.

We went to the optical center yesterday to pick out frames. I’ll go back Friday to get my eyes checked. I suspect that’s not the usual order of things.

Currently, my glasses are oval shaped. The new glasses are rectangular. I worry about making a Kerri Russell fashion faux pas.

“I used to like Geoff…. but something’s changed. I just can’t put my finger on it.”

Helaine says it’s good for me that the girl who waited on us had no idea who I was. She thinks I need more humility. Humility is so overrated.

It was great spending time with Steffie. I’m sure she’ll cringe when she reads this, but there’s a whole lot of maturity and understanding that wasn’t there a year or two ago. She’s funny and intelligent. She’s fun to be with.

Don’t ask why, but along the way I developed this desire to go go-cart riding. We headed to “The Game” in North Haven.

Before we had a chance to cart, we headed to the batting cage.

I’ve never been an athlete and yesterday was no exception. However, I didn’t make a fool of myself. Steffie and Helaine did the batting cage too and were great.

Truth is, hitting the ball with the bat wasn’t important. We just had a good time kibitzing and laughing and being a family.

Go-carts was a bad idea. I drive a car that can do 150 mph. Maybe a go-cart isn’t the same thrill it used to be.

This is the same problem the Harlen Globetrotters have. They were great… until NBA players started showboating. Now, what’s the big deal?

We scoured Route 5 looking for a diner… and found one. Every diner I know of is owned and run by Greeks. They really have it down to a science.

What is it about us and diners? Are we the anti-gourmand family? The food was great, especially my chicken pot pie with homemade crust.

When you add it all up it, nothing we did was so special. On the other hand, it was totally amazing.

You understand, right?

Delayed In MKE

I spoke to Helaine this morning. She was due back in Connecticut this evening around 6:30… until Midwest called. Mechanical problems, they said. Flight canceled.

The skeptic in me still looked to see the ‘equipment’ with the mechcanical problems will be flying passengers into Milwaukee before being pulled. I am always suspicious with airlines. Can I cancel my reservation for mechanical problems and suffer no consequences?

Helaine is much more gracious than I am, even when the reservations agent asked if she could fly to Newark (101 miles) or Washington (318 miles) instead of Bradley… where her car is?

Helaine explained the situation, so they booked her Midwest to Cleveland and Continental to Bradley. Neither the Midwest nor Continental flights are actually operated by those actual airlines. Again, can I fly under an assumed name without consequence?

With no Helaine, I have been left to my own devices. The pre-cooked food she left ran out last night. I have become needy with age, but even I can go to the grocery store – and I did.

Exactly who goes to Stop and Shop on Mother’s Day? I can’t say for sure, but it was jammed. I picked up my “Little Red Riding Hood” basket at the door and headed inside.

The losers were lined up in front of the Mother’s Day cards. Yikes! 2:00 PM on Mother’s Day and they still didn’t have a card? I joined them and began to search. I had already gotten Helaine a gift, so the card is more like icing.

Who am I fooling? It’s the card that’s important and the (in this case) peripheral that’s peripheral.

After picking up the cards and food I wanted, I moved over to the Dunkin’ Donuts stand. The girl behind the counter was scratching her arm as if she had psoriasis. Nice. Hope that rash clears. Thanks for sharing.

In a George Bush Sr. moment, I watched the guy in front me use a debit card to pay $1.80 for coffee and marveled. I have a credit card (only one) and no debit card. I’m so last century.

I pushed a $10 bill at “Itchy,” who handed me change and a receipt.

Do we really need receipts for coffee? Is someone going to return their coffee with cream and one Splenda?

At the automated checkout, I realized I don’t have a Stop and Shop card. Without it, everything is priced as if I were buying on Rodeo Drive.

I asked the guy in front of me if he would swipe his on my behalf. “No worries,” he said.

I’m home now. Helaine just called to update her progress. She hasn’t moved through security yet, but she’s confirmed on both flights. In a quirk of interairline weirdness, she’s got a handwritten paper ticket and no boarding pass on the Cleveland to Bradley leg!

Oh… and Midwest Airlines gave her a $75 flight voucher and another $8 for food. It’s little consolation, but as with everything on Mother’s Day, it’s the thought that counts.

About The Car

A few weeks ago I wrote about our desire for a new car. We have it now, a brand new Toyota 4Runner.

A few readers were kind enough to offer advice, including Jim McGuire who wrote about FightingChance.com. It’s a service, providing ‘real’ prices and a buying strategy.

The strategy didn’t work exactly as anticipated. We faxed over 20 dealers and heard back from five or six.

That being said, we had enough info to get what we consider a pretty good deal at thousands off the sticker price and 0% financing. Plus, we got exactly the car we wanted.

I was going to write about it sooner, but I wanted the car to be a surprise when we visited Stef earlier today. School will be over in a few weeks and we drove to her dorm to pick up a few things including the back seats from her smaller SUV.

We headed out at 10:45 AM hitting little traffic through Connecticut and into New York. As we pulled onto campus, I called Stef so she would meet as at her car.

And then it happened.

About twenty seconds from our destination… a few hundred yards away at best… a large bird with a bad stomach decided to let loose. Oh the humanity! A white bomb exploded across the hood, splattering onto the window.

The car only had about 350 miles on the odometer. I am now personally committed to putting him on the endangered species list. How could this fowl be so foul?

Steffie and a friend showed up, ready for seat removal and lunch. Lunch would have to wait. We were heading to the car wash. It was a little dusty anyway.

Speaking of lunch – we headed to the Cheesecake Factory. I am currently doing “Atkins,’ so food is always a challenge. I had a shrimp and crab salad which was as good as it was oversized.

I wans’t going to have dessert until I saw “6 Carb Cheesecake.” Is that even possible? And, if it was, what would the cheesecake taste like?

I was amazed when a real sized piece of cheesecake came to the table. Sweetened with Splenda and not sugar, it was sweet and tasty with real cheesecake texture and taste. I liked it enough to buy a full cake to bring home!

And, the car is clean.

Global Warming Backlash

Following his Oscar win for An Inconvenient Truth, Al Gore has become a pretty large target by some global warming skeptics. Here’s what ABC News reported earlier today.

Armed with Gore’s utility bills for the last two years, the Tennessee Center for Policy Research charged Monday that the gas and electric bills for the former vice president’s 20-room home and pool house devoured nearly 221,000 kilowatt-hours in 2006, more than 20 times the national average of 10,656 kilowatt-hours.

“If this were any other person with $30,000-a-year in utility bills, I wouldn’t care,” says the Center’s 27-year-old president, Drew Johnson. “But he tells other people how to live and he’s not following his own rules.”

This isn’t a new tactic. Laurie David, wife of Larry David and green activist, was singled out after she called for environmental restraint while flying coast-to-coast by private jet!

I’m not a big fan of making examples of individuals. We all have feet of clay. Still, there is some food for thought here.

I drive an SUV. I live in a fairly large house. Am I going to have to hide that in the future? Do I get a pass for having a short drive to work?

As I’ve made clear here, I am very skeptical of dire predictions of large scale human induced climate change. I really don’t want to change my life if there will be no benefit. I certainly don’t want to cripple our nation’s industrial base.

Meanwhile, in order to maintain credibility, the loudest voices will have to walk the walk as they talk the talk.

She’s A Jolly Good Fellow

Helaine just called from Atlantic City. It was as if a huge weight had been lifted off her shoulders. For the first time in over a week she was calm, collected, smiling.

Here’s the back story. Helaine and Steffie are big fans of Rick Springfield. You remember Rick Springfield: Jessie’s Girl, Don’t Talk To Strangers, Dr. Noah Drake from General Hospital.

With a huge dollop of help from the Internet, Springfield is able to tour the country, mostly on weekends, filling nice sized venues. A significant percentage of each show is filled with his most rabid fans. These are people who can sing the songs and have probably memorized the set list.

Stef and Helaine try and catch his shows whenever they can, usually a half dozen or more times a year.

Though Helaine is active in his ‘fan world&#185’, she isn’t an officer or board member of anything official. She’s just a fan… an active fan.

As a fan, Helaine knows about Sahara, who with her mother are also fans from Cape Girardeau, MO. Sahara has cancer of the brain stem.

No explanation is necessary. It’s as horrible as it sounds… and Sahara has not quite entered her teens.

Helaine thought it might be a nice idea to help the family by throwing a fundraiser… and that’s what she did, just a few hours ago at Harrah’s in Atlantic City.

It’s not easy organizing a luncheon for 125 woman when you’re three or four hours from the luncheon site. Helaine rounded up items to be auctioned (you have no idea how much Rick Springfield stuff is available on EBay)&#178, arranged for the room and its fixings, dispensed the luncheon tickets and got a commitment from Rick Springfield to show as a special, unannounced but hinted at, guest.

One afternoon, she sat me down with Photoshop to design a “Love for Sahara” logo, which was then printed on buttons. Gotta love the Internet!

As the luncheon got closer, Helaine got a little more antsy. Had she remembered everything? Would Harrah’s provide what she’d requested? What would go wrong?

Let me answer that last part first: Nothing! It all worked perfectly.

Helaine and Steffie, along with Stef’s sorority “Big Sister” and a few other friends, executed Helaine’s wonderful plan. The food was great. The venue perfectly set. The auction a total success.

The numbers aren’t finalized, but when all is said and done, somewhere around $11,000 will find its way to Sahara’s family. I’m sure, with everything that’s going on, the money will help.

I never had any doubt Helaine could pull this off. She very organized and very smart. More importantly, I’m proud of her big heart and compassion.

A room service sandwich is on its way to her hotel room. She threw a luncheon and never had time to eat.

Right now she’s feeling relief… and pride.

&#185- I refer to Rick Springfield’s fan base as the “Rickdom,” which upsets Helaine to no end.

&#187 – My personal thanks to Regis & Kelli and Rachael Ray. Working for an affiliate, I asked for and received tickets to both shows, which were then auctioned off.

Blogger’s note: The original entry has been edited to correct Sahara’s age, which is 12.

The Art Of Seduction

Helaine and I have been married 23 years. I’m a lucky guy. I won the marriage lottery.

There was a time when marriage didn’t seem that appealing. I had been burned in relationships. I was a guy. Guys don’t commit!

Helaine set out to convince me she wouldn’t be deleterious to my mental health. She did that through baking.

Damn you Helaine, that’s not fighting fair!

When you cook your ravioli in the Chef Boyardee can because all the pots are otherwise filthy, homemade food of any kind is appealing. So, Helaine seduced me with her acumen in the kitchen. She is a great cook and a better baker.

The were cakes and torts and kugel&#185, but the clincher was the butter cookies.

Oh my god!

It is impossible to convey the powers of these cookies. They are light and crisp and flaky and oh so buttery. They might be the perfect food (as long as nutrition is removed from the calculation).

Twenty three years later, we’re still together… but no more butter cookies. It’s not that she doesn’t love me. It’s that butter cookies (and everything else) have taken their toll on my once boyish physique.

Helaine has gone away for a few days. I’ll write more about that later. But, as a going away/Valentine gift, she left a plate of my old friends.

The attached photo was taken a few evenings ago. There’s nothing left to shoot.

&#185 – From Wikipedia: Kugel (Yiddish: קוגל kugl or קוגעל, pronounced koogel or kigel {being that the “u” takes on an “i” sound in eastern european Yiddish}, also often referred to in the diminutive kugele, kigele) is any one of a wide variety of traditional baked Jewish side dishes or desserts. It is sometimes translated as “pudding” or “casserole”.