I'm back...with a PSA

Well, I'm back. Earlier than I thought. And while I wish I had oodles of pictures to share...I don't. I was holed-up in a conference room. Clear view of the Space Needle, nonetheless! I managed to pull out the camera once. For this. That's it. Sorry. Not that I even went inside. Too busy. With bunches o'stuff you don't wanna even know about.

So...my, what happened while I was gone! I'm not going to comment on Iran, because I'm no expert on the Middle East in general, let alone Iranian politics. (Though feel free to give me a basic, as-neutral-as-possible run-down on either). Or Michael Jackson, because Thriller came out the year I was born (1982, to save you a Google trip), and I never really got into him. My classmates were more into Snoop Dogg than Michael Jackson and New Kids on the Block. The first CD I ever purchased for myself was Doggystyle and, no, I just thought the dogs were cute. All I have to say about that is that if I have kids, they will only be allowed to choose their own music at the same age they'll be allowed to date: 40.

Moving on.

But I am going to step on this little soapbox right here and give y'all a lecture on anal cancer.
Farrah Fawcett died of anal cancer. And I don't want any of you to die of anal cancer.

Now, at this point, I'm going to tell you the homework assignment from the first day of sexual education from my5th grade science class. (I went to a school where sex ed was a part of science, and I believe - as much as a non-parent can believe - that this is the way to go). Assignment: stand in front of a mirror. Say the following words: Penis. Vagina. Breast. Sex. Semen. Anus. Repeat until you no longer smirk. Thank you.

Anal cancer. It is very nasty stuff. Gay men and people with HPV are especially at risk, but you know what? Straight women who do not have HPV can get it, too. Like my mom. Anal cancer may be tough to self-detect, so just go on and tell your ob/gyn to do a super-fun anal exam while she is down there. Most ob/gyns do not perform a standard anal exam. Uncomfortable? Youbetcha. But you know what is more uncomfortable? Getting your anus zapped with radiation.

My mother was very, very fortunate to have an ob/gyn who performs an anal exam as part of the standard vaginal exam. Because it was caught so early, the cancer was treated before it could do something icky like spread to the liver. But, let me tell you: those few months of treatment were terrible. She had to kick my father and brother out of the house - and ban any daughters from visiting - due to her low white blood cell counts and risk of infection. Sitting and lying down were impossible. Bathroom visits required an intricate, painful sterilization process. No fun. And very, very fortunately, my mom is ok. She did not lose her anus. That's a big deal. And her kids didn't lose their mom. Thank you, Lord. Did I ever think that "anal" and "God" would make it into the same sentence? Nope. But they did. Thank you, God, for saving my mom from anal cancer.

So, please...ask your ob/gyn to do a little poking and prodding around the anus. I'd rather you not associate "Allison" with "anal prodding," but...I'm totally willing to take that risk.

*Trips while stepping down from soapbox*

---

Usefulness of the day: Breast self-exam kit.

off to...

Seattle.

See you in a week or so!

Picture credit.

Prayer request

I'm the oldest of three. I take after my father, another oldest of three: very hard-working, anxious, independent, attracted to academia. My parents were very strict with me. No television. No sugar. No Barbie dolls, no princesses, no pink. Mouth washed out with soap (literally, with a specially reserved toothbrush) for a range of non-cuss words. I was trained from a very early age that "missed a deadline" is an oxymoron. My parents made it quite clear that grad school was expected. That's me.

My sister. She is a happy social butterfly. Though she graduated from college two years ago, she is perfectly content continue to continue as a restaurant hostess because she really likes people. Her ambition is to be happy and have fun. Not a bad ambition! My parents definitely loosened up with her. She is certainly the easiest child - very easy to love. While I was having panic attacks over missed lessons at age 10 when an illness kept me home from school, my sister was just an easy-going, carefree kid. And she remains so. She certainly works very hard, but she realizes that being happy and calm is her top goal. She is going to be just fine.

Then, my brother. For as long as I can remember, he has had Issues. He was booted out of school at 12 for reasons I've been told I have no desire to know. A little snooping suggested that my brother commited some violent act against another student(s). When finally forced by my parents to seek employment at 16, he was fired from every single job. McDonald's, Burger King, bag boy at several grocery stores - all fired within a few months. My father pulled some strings at various businesses of which he is a very loyal customer. Fired, fired, fired, fired. Why? Poor attitide, failure to show up, mostly. You have to be a really bad employee to fire the son of a very good customer.

At the start of his senior year of high school, he was arrested for possession of a large quantity of marijuana. And scales. In a school zone. It was only on a evidentiary technicality that he escaped serious problems. My parents? They were more wrapped up in the evidentiary issue than the fact that their son was caught with scales. (For those who do not know drugs: having scales = dealing drugs).

At this point, my parents asked me how he would do in a boarding school as my brother was no longer welcome at the local public school. (I went to boarding school, loved it, thrived, but not for everyone). I told them that many students at boarding schools have drug issues. Pills and cocaine are a lot easier to hide from dorm parents' eyes than the typical high school fare of beers pilfered from Dad's supply or cigarettes, and most of us would agree that a beer or cigarette is preferable to snorting pills. He has a fair amount of anger issues as well. I strongly recommended a military-type program and recommended one quite close to where I was in school at the time.

My parents thought that was lovely, but they didn't want to make him go someplace where he would be forced to cut his hair and give up his hoodies. So they chose the most liberal boarding school in New England. The one my school made fun of for being "dirty hippies" and such. He was admitted on the conditions that he repeat his junior year and submit to weekly drug tests. He was given all the help in the world and still barely managed to graduate. I'm not surprised: my parents made a rather sizable donation to the school a few months prior to graduation, and I watched plenty of my own high school classmates pass a drug test. Let me just say that a few classmates made hundreds peddling "clean" urine.

After high school, he spent a few years just "hanging out." My parents told him to go to college, learn a trade, or join the military. No follow-through. A few more week-long pizza stints that resulting in more firings.

Then my parents decided to sell their very large home and downsize to a much smaller condo as my sister and I were living on our own. They convinced my brother to rent an apartment in a neighboring area. Paid for by my parents with no expectation that he would contribute. They planned to convert the 3-bedroom unit into 1 bedroom plus a very large closet. After construction but prior to filling up the closet, my brother returned. He has been in that closet for 2+ years. One would expect that a 22 year old guy would not want to live with his parents. Parents whom he regularly curses at and accuses of Ruining His Life, campaigning against his interests, secretly siding with teachers who fail him and bosses who fire him, etc.

Somehow, he got into a local college majoring in audio engineering. It is a 4-year degree...in 2 years. Not exactly ideal for someone with zero motivation. How zero? My mother had to do his college application. My mother had to register him for classes. And etc.

And now he is failing. All his classes. Despite extraordinarily persistent professors and private tutoring. And my unheeded offers to help him with his essays and whatever else he needs. And more, I'm sure.

There is simply no charitable way to put it, and that just wounds me: He is a mean, ungrateful, rude, lazy person. And a pathological liar. I honestly can't think of a single positive thing to sya about him. When my mother was dealing with chemo/radiation last year, he offered no help. He regularly has scary angry outbursts. Why? The. World. Is. Against. Him. He has been seen by Boston's top psychiatrists, learning specialists, and psychologists, and they all uniformly declare that it is a motivation issue - no learning disability, no major trauma, no illness. No pill for poor motivation. He has been given everything he needs to succeed. And he still fails. Not because he is stupid or sick, but simply because he refuses to try. He sleeps till noon, maybe goes to class, then goes out with friends and stumbles home at 3am.

And this all pains me because he hurts my parents. Especially my mother. And I'm kinda protective of my mother.

So, if you have a moment, please pray for my brother Jim. Please pray that he passes his upcoming exams. Other than that, I'm not quite sure what to pray for, at this point. That he gets it all together? Guidance? Healing? I don't know.

myspace and such

Last night I attended a lawerly function with my two mentors, one of their wives, and a retired federal judge who is well into his nineties. Mentor #1 is driving with Judge in the front passenger seat. I'm in the back with Mentor #2 and his wife. Judge, who is one of the kindest people I have ever had the privilege to know, turned to me. In a kind voice, he asked...

"So, are on my face?"

Mentor #1 swerved and got a few choice hand gestures from the drivers around us and Mentor #2 choked on his gum, thereby giving me a few blessed seconds to process that one.

"No, I'm not, Judge. I don't think anything can compare to a thoughtful, handwritten letter."

Somehow, I don't think that's going to make it into the firm's monthly newsletter.

***

Usefulness of the day: "Take these three items: some WD-40, a vice grip, and a roll of duct tape. Any man worth his salt can fix almost any problem with this stuff alone." - Walt Kowalski in Gran Torino. (Atrocious acting, decent story line).

Comic credit.

Age differences & dating

The Boy does not want his handsome picture posted, so please go with this. He carries one. Close enough.

So, the Boy and I have been dating for a few months now. There is a bit of an age difference. We touched on it prior to even meeting in person, and decided that it would not be much of an issue. To be sure, there are life experiences that he has had that I have not, but, overall, we believe that an awareness of these differences and a resolve to treat these differences with patience and humor is key. Except, sometimes...

Boy is quite handsome, if I do say so myself. And I will: the Boy is ever so handsome. He also looks rather dashing and distinguised and just carries himself in a regal-but-not-pretentious way. He is happy to let his hair go (a tad prematurely) gray, and the look does suit him very well. Thus, one could be forgiven for giving him a quick glance and estimating his age to be several years over what it actually is. Especially when the Boy is leaving work in a particularly dashing and distinguised charcoal pinstriped three-piece suit.

That noise you hear? That's just my heart going pitter-pat. Don't mind me. Moving on.

The other night, I had a good workout, sat in the sauna, showered, and left the gym. My post-gym outfit is cropped pants, tank top, backpack, and wet hair combed straight and topped with a stretchy headband. It is a very young look, being all rosy-cheeked from the sauna and fresh-scrubbed from the shower. If I straighten my hair, I don't look attracitve but I do look very, very young. (Think dark-haired Alice in Wonderland meets FLDS and, yes, if I straighten my hair it really is that long. Which is why I wear it curly). You could probably glance at me in my post-gym look and estimate my age at 17. So if Boy looks 7-10 years older than his actual age, and my post-gym look makes me look 7-10 years younger, we're looking at what can be perceived as a 20 year age difference when it is much less than that.

Raise your hand if you see where I'm going with this.

I was walking home from the gym on Friday evening. The Boy was walking home from his office in the aforementioned charcoal gray pinstripe pitter-pat suit. And we ran into each other. Boy was hungry, so we stopped into a charming cafe. After we were seated, I excused myself to visit the restroom and tried, unsuccessfully, to make myself look a little better. Upon return, Boy was ordering for both of us: plain medium-rare hamburger for him, veggie burger with avocado and tomato for me, and beer to share. The waitress turned and said, "Hon, I know you're with your Dad and all, but I do need to see your license."

Oh.

I complied. I do applaud efforts to combat underage drinking, after all. As I tucked away my wallet, I sternly reminded myself that now is definitely Not The Time to make any kind of comment even remotely related to the following: (1) "daddy", (2) Father's Day, or (3) trophy girlfriends (because, goodness, I'm waaaaay to humble to think that!)

Boy was a little blue. Not offended, not hurt. Not crumpled, but definitely crinkled. This is coming after a few mildly awkward comments made to him, out of my hearing, by his grad school buddies at a reunion. Also, a Botox-related* flyer landing in his mailbox. While his friends are all into IVF and getting into the top preschool and grade schools, I'm not there yet. So Boy is feeling old. And it doesn't help that while other 20-somethings have a few good years of Life Experience, I've been holed up in a library for years and years. It does help that most of my friends are his age, and that the bar-hopping-till-closing scene of my peers Does Not Appeal to me in the slightest. It also helps that both sets of parents don't see a moderate age gap as anything remotely worth commenting on, that we share a similar upbringing, and that we hold similar values, outlooks, and goals.

But the father/daughter comments? Those don't help. That's just ick.

And then I felt sad when I met Boy for tea on Sunday evening and noticed that his lovely shimmery silver hairs were gone. The dye job might make him look younger, but not better. Just doesn't work. His standard weekend jeans, too, were replaced by a pair of those deliberately ripped skinny hipster jeans I know I've never seen before. He (jokingly!) said that I am banned from wearing my post-gym/wet straight headbanded hair/backpack look in public until 40. I told him we had a deal if he lost the dye job and ripped jeans. He let out a great big sigh and thanked me. Partially because I suspect the deliberately ripped skinny hipster jeans were cutting off circulation and/or exerting undue influence on his diaphragm, but partially because maybe he realized that I have great taste. In jeans, yes, but also in men.

Always be a first-rate version of yourself, instead of a second-rate version of somebody else. Judy Garland

* Men do Botox, too. Maybe not everywhere (yet?), but definitely in major metro areas.

***
Usefulness of the day: Moving? You'll need clean boxes. Your best bet for free, clean boxes are copy-paper boxes from your office-worker friends and wine boxes from liquor stores. Need bags for linens or clothing? Skip the trash bags and go for heavy-duty contractor bags. What? Don't look at me like that. I know I'm not the only one who crams her comforter in a trash bag on moving day.

Picture credit.

dog eared

I promise, this will be the last dog post for a while...

Dog ears.

I really like 'em.

I love Jack's big floppy velvety triangles, especially when they fly up in the air.

And especially when the light hits them just so.
And sometimes, they're antlears.
And the way tanned ears flop forward. Sigh.

Even wet ears. I'll take 'em.
Really wet ears.

Yeah, they're pretty cool.

And Coco's? They are huge.

She's my batgirl.

Of all the things her prior owners did wrong, at least they did not crop her lovely ears. Because I would miss them.

Wouldn't you?

Because that adorable, "I'm confused, but I think you might have said 'walk' or 'treat'" look just wouldn't be the same without adorable, confused ears.

Not a whole lotta learning or retaining, but lots of listening. That's for sure.

***

Usefulness of the day: Ok, I probably should have posted this in Decemeber, but...those big plastic/Rubbermaid storage bins tend to go on clearance right after Christmas. If you need big bins now, try a home improvement store - they're often much cheaper there than at a place like Target or The Container Store.

staying up late, smoothies

Jack doesn't feel quite right about going to bed while I'm up. Accordingly, I have a whole photo album with nothing but Jack doing his best to help out in the wee hours...

1L year, snoozing on my appellate brief binder. (The appellate brief is the major 1L project).

Snoozing on my Neumann (from my 1L writing class).

A paws-on approach to my Law Review writing. I think this particular project was either on kill switches or automotive door latches. Either way, a p-a-r-t-y.

Sometimes though, I actually have to crack open a book. Thereby removing his pillow.

Lately, though, he has had little to snooze on. Most of my files are electronic, and I can't have him napping on my non-electronic documents. Dog drool is not the best way to Win Friends and Influence Judges.

Poor dog.

Coco doesn't really do books. Or reading. Or writing.

She also Does Not have a sense of humor.

***
Usefulness of the day: Print out coupon for a free light smoothie on June 19th.

L to the onely

I hosted yet another baby shower on Saturday. When I was finally able to leave, I pulled out of mom-to-be's cute suburban development and merged on to the main road. Swerved to avoid hitting a baby squirrel in the road. Got pulled over.

"You just swerved. Have you been drinking this afternoon?"

[Holds up bottle of water.] "Sir, I wish I could say I've been drinking. I just spent five hours at a baby shower. All my friends are 30 and pregnant. I have no more friends." [Pause.] "I could really go for a drink now, actually."

[Laughs.] "Get outta here."

In my experience, once you get knocked up you can no longer associate with non-parents. That's a rule. And it is a really, really bad rule.

I understand that new parents have massive time obligations. I do. But, in my experience, there seems to be something that happens in new parents wherein, while they are out buying crib bumpers and onesies, they also buy new friends.

And that stinks.

I hosted the shower for Friend. We have a standing puppy playdate every weekend, and sometimes get together during the week as well. Friend and her husband and a few friends and I had been planning a group trip to Costa Rica in June 2010. Collectively, we've been planning this trip for almost a year. So it was a hurtful surprise to learn that Friend and husband plan to ditch us and go to Disney World (gag*) with other new parents. New parents who she couldn't stand, by the way, until she learned she is slated to be one in two months.

Ok. I can handle that. I understand that the rainforest isn't the best place for an infant.

And then Friend's husband starting talking about how "we need to make new friends. You know, new friends who have kids."

I'm not against new friends. Everyone likes friends. But I know how this will go down, because it has happened a dozen times before. Kid arrives. Non-parents are slowly phased out of the social circle. Because, goodness, non-parents have absolutely nothing to contribute to anyone. We're just a sad sorry buncha losers. And this particular friend? Yeah, I drive her to all her check-ups. When her husband refused to go, I went with her to all her birthing classes. And I will very likely be the one to drive her to the hospital. And I'm already being edged out.

And that is just sad.

I use to have tons of friends. Then they got pregnant and, whoops, 9 months later I'm relegated the the b-list.

I'm hardly anti-child. I do roll my eyes when Susie has absolutely nothing to contribute to the conversation save for the latest installation of how Her Son Is The Most Amazing Person Ever And I Do Mean Ever. But I also do my fair share of fawning over the latest photo and contributing to discussions regarding the latest health threat du jour and, yes, baby-sitting. For friends who turn and unabashedly ditch me in favor of Newer Cooler More Pregnant friends.

Sigh.

* Sorry. I'm anti-Disney. I just don't see the appeal. I'll blame this one on my parents, who were adamant that Disney Must Die. When everyone else went to Disney World, we went to Dutch Wonderland (back when it really was an Amish amusement park and no, "Amish amusement park" is not an oxymoron) and Water Country.

***

Usefulness of the day: if you get bleach on your hands, rinse with lemon juice to remove the smell and slimy feel.

Picture credit.

calling all botanists...

what are these lovely orange things?




***
Usefulness of the day: When making rice, add 1-2 tablespoons of lemon juice to the boiling water to improve the texture. Also, coupon for a free lunch.

stupid fun

Roomie (in video) and I really do have jobs. And social lives. And other such responsibilities and endeavors that get us out of the house. I promise.



***
Usefulness of the day: Free wake-up calls.

Red paint, rust, blue skies

enfants mauvais souvenirs

My heart breaks for these women. Please pray for them.

And lest anyone think that we are above using rape as a weapon of war...

Marrowthon

Join the Marrowton!

If you are unable to join yourself, might you pray that I match up soon? (Just to be clear, I am trying to donate bone marrow to anyone who will take it - I am not seeking a match for myself. Other than some sleep issues, I've been blessed with very good health and a helluva immune system that I attribute to growing up in a hospital and being friends with lots of physicians and pharma people.)

Either way, did you know...(all taken directly from National Marrow Donation Program, emphasis mine)

1. The majority of donations do not involve surgery. The patient's doctor most commonly requests a peripheral blood stem cell (PBSC) donation, which is non-surgical and outpatient. [Allison - similar to donating plasma.] If the patient's doctor requests marrow, marrow donation is a surgical procedure, usually outpatient.

2. Only five percent or less of a donor's marrow is needed to save a life. After donation, the body replaces the donated marrow within four to six weeks.

3. Donors never pay for donating and are never paid to donate. All medical costs are paid by the patient's medical insurance or by the patient, sometimes with assistance from the National Marrow Donor Program (NMDP). The NMDP, which operates the Be The Match Registry, reimburses donors for travel costs, and may reimburse other costs on a case-by-case basis.
[Allison - The tissue-typing kit is a $52 tax-deductible donation.]

4. You have the right to change your mind about being a donor at any time. Donating is always voluntary. [Allison - being on the Registry does not obligate you to donate.]

5. Fewer than 1% of PBSC donors experience a serious side effect from the donation process.
PBSC donation may require placement of a central line if you do not have suitable arm veins. A central venous line is a sterile tube that is inserted into one of the larger veins — the femoral vein, internal jugular vein or subclavian vein. Based on the NMDP's experience, 18% of women and 3% of men require central line placement. The risk of serious complications from use of a central line is small. A central line will be placed only with your consent after you have received information about the possible risks. Another potential risk is associated with filgrastim injections. Though filgrastim is commonly used to treat cancer patients, the use of filgrastim in healthy donors is fairly new. Therefore, no data are yet available about the long-term safety. The NMDP began using filgrastim to aid in transplants in the 1990s. Since then, no NMDP donors have reported any long-term complications from filgrastim injections.

6. [Allison - While most bone marrow donors donate through PBSC, sometimes marrow can only be extracted through a surgical procedure.] General or regional anesthesia is always used for this procedure. Donors feel no needle injections and no pain during the marrow donation process. Afterwards, most donors feel some pain in the lower back for a few days or longer. [Allison - my father donated bone marrow in a surgerical procedure in the 1980s without anesthesia. He said the actual collection process was not unbearably painful, and that after collection he had moderate low back pain for a few days.]

Why am I such a cheerleader for bone marrow donation? Because it is easy, simple, free, and can save a life. I do not know anyone personally who needed a bone marrow transplant. I put myself on the registry because - with minimal time and effort from me - I can save a life. Please don't wait to be "inspired" until a loved one needs a transplant. There are so many of others' loved ones waiting for a match today!

Prayer request

I have yet another Really Big Deal event on Thursday morning, so if you have a moment and the inclination, I'd love prayers/positive thoughts/good karma* that it goes well.

* I sometimes watch My Name is Earl, so I know about karma. I think the show was canceled. Too bad. Yes, it was a front for Scientology, but it was a feel-good show with a clean, simple, happy ending.

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Usefulness of the day: Father's Day is June 21, so get your cards in the mail soon.

three chickies chirpin'

So, I walk outside yesterday evening and hear the little baby chickies chirping. I grab my camera, perch myself on the railing, balance, and coo "hey baby, hey baby," trying to get them to peer their little chickie heads above the nest. "Heyyyyyyy baby!" I say, louder, as one little feathered head tentatively peeks over the nest. Aw. And then a few whistles as I focus the camera. Mid-whistle, I realize (1) there is a neighbor across the alley...sunning herself? on her balcony wearing only half of what most regard as the bare minimum in appropriate sun-bathing garb and (2) oh, wait! she's not sunning, she is... (3) entertaining a male caller, (4) one of them was kneeling (ahem. not in prayer.) and (5) my camera is pointing almost directly at them.

Well. Thank goodness the two were otherwise engaged and oblivious to it all and, oh, had some music playing in the background. Because I would really hate to be dragged before the attorney character & fitness boards and have to explain that I was really just snapping the chicks, not the chick &...rooster. Oh my.

"Are they...what are they doing over there?"

Look at that disapproving scowl!

"Well, I never!" she exclaimed with much indignant huffing.

Mama Bird really didn't need to see that.
You and me both, sister.

Finally, some chick action. My kinda chick action.

Thank goodness the younguns' eyes are still covered.

Mama and I used all the eye bleach.

___

Usefulness of the day: If your old photos are stuck together, gently heat with a blow-dryer on the lowest setting for a few seconds.

a wine snobtastic weekend

I added the nectarines to make two girls throwing back a bottle and watching a full season of Big Love look klassy-in-a-still-life-way.

I've been drinking some really bad wine lately. My usual "try something new" strategy is to treat the shop like a bookstore and browse, taking time to chat up the owner, read labels*, and glance at the reviews. Friday night, however, I decided to deliberately pick out two bottles I would never otherwise buy.

First: One.6, marketed as a low-carb Chardonnay.

Generally, I buy wines to see how good they are. I bought One.6 - a 2003 Chardonnay - to see how bad it was. I left my unrepentant wine snob friends out of this tasting and brought in my sweet friend Marie. (I lost the tribute to her, but she's the newlywed and lucky recipient of two Snuggies). Going in to this little experiment, I was skeptical. Maybe a little too much wine snobbery has rubbed off on me, but I still retain enough basic high school chemistry. Wine is made from grapes. Grapes are a fruit. Fruit contains sugar. Sugar = carbs. To be sure, sweeter wines contain much more sugar than dry wines and dry wines are already low-carb, but still: the idea of a super low-carb wine struck me as silly as a low-dairy cheese.

It is palatable. Almost no fruit, which is kinda what happens when you have almost no residual sugars. There is a bright, citrus start and a crisp, acidic finish. Hint of oak. I really can't say anymore about it because there simply isn't anything more to say. Bland. Pedestrian. Just not very good. There are tons of great wines in One.6's $10 price range. Don't waste your money on this one.

If you want your strict low-carb diet to include alcohol, stick to zero-carb unflavored vodka or gin. If you want to keep carb counts down while enjoying wine, stick to a very dry variety. Most wines are low in carbs anyway.

And then, the red**...

Pure Merlot 2006 (Lake County, CA)

I believe that certain food or beverage labels are to be avoided, particularly those that include descriptions of what should be patently obvious. Sushi Land. Tasty Kake. Fresh Grocer. And anything with "pure" in its name. But since it is Opposite Day in these parts, Pure Merlot it was.

The first important thing to know about this bottle is not that it is a Cabernet Sauvignon Merlot blend (i.e. not pure Merlot?), but that it packs a 15.3% alcohol content. Marie calls this stuff "water" but the rest of us should take heed lest we go rear-end-over-teakettle with the first glass.

Balanced oak-fruit blend. Definitely some blackberries and black cherries and figs. Marie noted cranberries; I did not. Then again, I'd already knocked back a glass of One.6 at this point. On the spice side, lots of pepper with a little bit of chocolate and tobacco. But otherwise kinda eh. Not unpleasant, but lots to be desired.

And with that little foray, I'm done exploring for now and sticking to my regular summer Gewürztraminers, Rieslings, and Vinho Verdes. The best part about these wines? They're usually cheap (under $10) and almost always very good. Vinho Verde (Portugal, literally "green wine") is new-ish to the US, but most large stores and Trader Joe's carry it. (While I'm on the subject of Trader Joe's, I've never had anything bad there, ever. Joe has excellent taste! Is he single?)

Care to share your favorite bottles?

* Fun fact: recent studies show that women like animals on their labels, explaining the proliferation of labels with kangaroos, pigs, goats, etc. Which doesn't mean that such wines are bad - just that they have a savvy marketing team.

** Who remembers that movie where the daughter took some hallucinogen then explained to her mother that her resulting illness mixing red and white? This is one rule you might want to follow. An hour between red and white is fine, assuming you drink one glass per hour.

----------------------------
Usefulness of the day: Have tons of plastic grocery bags? Give them to a dog owner. Don't know any? Either drop them off at a shelter or the bag dispenser at a local dog park. (And before someone starts with me on the plastic bags, I am not paying $5 for 15 biodegradable doggie waste bags).

Also, Big Love is addicting. It is basically The Sopranos: just swap Jersey for Utah and mobsters for various FLDS compounds. I still steadfastly maintain that HBO should have picked up The Black Donnellys (you might still be able to watch for free here), but until that petition is met, Big Love is a fine consolation prize.

Rhododendron

***
Usefulness of the day: Free Friendly's ice cream tomorrow, noon to 5pm.

oven-roasted potatoes

5 pounds of potatoes for $1 was too good to pass up! Potatoes, in my limited experience, are cheap, fast, and super easy. notunlikeyourmomsorrycouldn'tresist.

Wash your potatoes. Don't even think about peeling them. Heavens, no. You would lose most of the nutrients and flavor. Cut a potato in half lengthwise. Halve each half. That is four fries from one potato for my fellow I-did-not-major-in-mathers. But don't feel you must do it my way. You can also make skinny fries or round fries. Toss in a big bowl or pot.

Assemble the fun stuff. Olive oil, salt, and pepper are a must. I opened the spice cabinet and randomly grabbed chili powder, Bragg's aminos, and Mrs. Dash Italian seasoning. Had I thought about it more, I would have bought fresh chives and thick Greek yogurt for a dip. But, alas, I was not thinking. No matter.

First, drizzle olive oil over the potatoes.
Then, add the dry ingredients. Lots and lots of herbs and spices. Don't worry if it looks like too much. It's not. I promise. Pinky swear.
Stir it all together. If you have an especially big, handled bowl and are feeling frisky, toss. Spread in a single layer. Drizzle any leftover oil in the bowl over the potatoes.
Bake at 400 for...a while. I did not time. Every 10 minutes or so, turn over the potatoes so they cook evenly.

Put a few paper towels on a plate to drain the oil. Serve warm.

I imagine these would also be good with garlic and green olives, rosemary, or even some kind of tomato-basil-mozzarella twist.

Cooking with potatoes is nearly foolproof. Trust me. I'm a big ol' fool. It is really, really hard to mess up potatoes. Don't think of them as evil anti-Atkins blobs of death. Think of them as a wonderful blank canvas, just beckoning you to add a whole lotta something. Tabula rasa*. Don't be shy. Worst case scenario? You go a little crazy with the salt or the hot spice. But that's ok, because (1) you can rinse well and feed to any resident Labs** or (2) regroup, pull out another $5, and start over.

*Blank slate.

** Or compost, but compost won't kiss you back.

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Usefulness of the day: Free donut with beverage purchase from DD tomorrow. Fun fact: far fewer calories in a Boston Kreme donut (280) than a multigrain bagel with light cream cheese (500).

Also, print out this coupon for a free pair of panties from VS. Tomorrow only.