Category Archives: commentary

Monster Movie Matinee

Does anybody remember last Saturday when I went adventuring and got a good three posts out of one afternoon? Well, that was then, this is now, as the man said (I think if was in some movie or other).

Saturday I did not feel well. The adventures I had planned, I put on hold. The most Mohawk Valley thing I did was to drink my morning coffee out of the Dyn’s Cider Mill mug. I love that mug.

Saturday afternoon I intended to take it easy, and my husband Steven graciously agreed to take it easy with me. I suggested we watch an old movie, King Kong from 1933 with Fay Wray. After all, Saturday afternoon, monster movie matinee, what could be more appropriate?

I made some popcorn. Alas, I’ve eaten all of the bag I bought at Dyn’s, so no local connection there. I pop my corn on the stove, in oil, and melt real butter to put on it. Yum. Then it lasts me a few days, because I eat some, then wash my hands so I can crochet. That’s how I roll.

Our video of King Kong was purchased by me a number of years ago (seeing that it is a video, some people already guessed that). I got it at a good price from Avon, of all places. A lady I work with sold it; this was later than my own ill-fated attempts to be an Avon Lady. We don’t pop it in very often. Steven is not usually anxious to watch King Kong. All of Fay Wray’s screaming gets on his nerves. I confess, I like her better in Mystery of the Wax Museum, where she has more character and more gumption, but you can’t have everything, after all.

For being all about beauty and the beast, the movie is fairly anti-woman. From the start, the movie producer is disgusted he has to hire a girl for his next picture. He can make a swell picture, he says, but the public wants a girl! OK, he’ll give them a girl. Enter Fay Wray. Cue the handsome first mate to tell her women are nothing but trouble, especially on board a ship. I have to wonder if there ever really was a superstition about women on a ship. Women used to sail on ships all the time, whenever they had to cross an ocean. But in old movies, you’ve always got some old salt saying women don’t belong on a ship.

The movie isn’t so hot from a race relations point of view, either. There are a lot of black actors in the picture, but they’re all savage natives. About all they get to do is beat drums and run away from the big gorilla.

But what do I want from a movie made in 1933? It was entertaining, I admit. Oh, one more beef: at the end (sorry to give away the ending, but you really should have seen this one or one of the remakes by now), the man says, “It was beauty that killed the beast.” No it wasn’t! It was getting shot by an airplane and falling off the Empire State Building! Hello! Sorry, just had to say it.

Registration Rigamarole

Having started running again (see previous posts), I thought I’d better register for the Boilermaker before it fills up. The cap is 14,000 runners, and they are more than halfway there. Yikes!

Previously, I went to the Distance Runners Hall of Fame, filled out an application and wrote a check. The hardest part was navigating the one-way streets in downtown Utica (that would have made an awesome blog post; I love that section of Utica). I knew I could register online, but I prefer in person adventures. The Hall of Fame website did not even list their hours (that I could find; we all know I’m not very bright about the internet), but they had a place where you could submit a question, so I did.

I was pleased to receive an email the next day, disappointed to learn that I had to register online, and a little embarrassed for the emailer, because she spelled “through” “threw” (just goes to show, spell check does not solve all problems). (But that was not as bad as a boss I heard of who sent an email about somebody being out with “ammonia” and, when called on the error, bristled, “I used spell check!”)

With a resigned sigh, because I am not internetly adept, I typed in boilermaker.com. It seems they have contracted with the Active Network Inc. (active.com) for registration. A paragraph bragged about how this company utilizes firewalls and encryption to make sure our information and credit card numbers are safe.

I clicked on it, clicked that I was a New York State resident, then settled down to read the lo-o-o-ong waiver I had to sign off on. I almost didn’t read it, because I knew I was going to sign it, because I wanted to run. Only, they rather sternly (or do I read too much into a typeface?) stated that by signing I guaranteed that I read and understood it. I don’t like to be too much of a liar (although when I do it, it’s called fiction). I guess I was partially truthful, because I skimmed it and understood part of it. Basically, I think I promised not to sue, even if they did something wrong. Well, that made sense. 14,000 runners, the Boilermaker people don’t want folks suing them for medical bills over turned ankles because they didn’t clear away the discarded paper cups (although I’m sure they meet the reasonable man standard on that one. Hello! 14,000 runners!). But do they need to go on and on about it? I suppose they do.

The waiver went on for even longer when they started talking about the things I wasn’t going to sue active.com for. After the earlier boasts about how secure they were! Oh, I know, CYA (Cover Your Ass; who says you don’t learn anything in college?). Then they went on at some length about California jurisdiction, where the company is based.

So. Our proud, grand, LOCAL tradition has contracted with a California company for its registration. I understand Active is a huge, reputable company; that they register many races; and with 14,000 runners the Boilermaker perhaps needs the expertise. Still, I am Mohawk Valley Girl, and I wish it were being done by somebody local (is there anybody local? Come on, Utica! Start a company!).

Be that as it may, I signed the waiver and drove on.

They wanted to know my last Boilermaker time. There was no space to put, “Oh, just send me a grey number; I run with the masses.” I guess with 14,000 runners, they don’t have time for everybody to be a wise ass. Luckily, Steven had written down my last year’s time on a poster my niece had drawn for me on the occasion.

I had to check twice that I did not want a training t-shirt. That made for some amusement when I went to “review registration.” I saw “I am not purchasing a training t-shirt,” then two lines later, “I AM NOT PURCHASING A TRAINING T-SHIRT.” Just like that, upper/lower then all caps. As in, “I SAID, I’M NOT PURCHASING…” etc. I know, it takes so little to please some people.

Active.com offered me three months of magazines for free. That was tempting, but as I read on I saw that if I did NOT call and cancel they would automatically charge the subscription price to my credit card every year till I did. If I subscribe to a magazine, I want them to ASK me IF I want to renew. I don’t like this automatic stuff; Homey don’t play dat.

Still later I was offered a trial membership to active.com. It was the same deal: free for three months, then automatically charged to my card. I said it before and I’ll say it again (because I like saying it), Homey don’t play dat.

At last I got the registration completed. Oh, how I missed driving somewhere and doing it in person! Some love to do everything on line, but I prefer people (I know, that is so 20th century). I’m sure the Boilermaker people had very good reasons for doing registration this way, probably having to do with those 14,000 runners I find so intimidating.

The important thing is I am registered for the Boilermaker (got my email confirmation today). I seem to remember last July getting three posts out of not running. Already I’ve gotten over 800 words out of registering. The sky’s the limit!

Mid-Week Middle-aged Musings

It was Wednesday when I realized I had completely missed Middle-aged Musings Monday. Cue jokes about Middle-aged Memory (I can’t remember any myself).

Part of my problem is that I worked last weekend (both days) and plan to work this weekend (at least one day), so the days of the week are kind of melding together into one long, tired lump. But I’ve blogged about the Overtime Blues before; I don’t think I have anything new to say at this time (although I expect to feel less blue about it when I get my paycheck).

Another problem is that, being middle-aged as I am, time seems to move a lot quicker than it ever used to. Was it Monday again already? And yet, at some points of the day, time moves as slow as ever, as in, isn’t it lunch time yet? Come to think of it, when Friday means something to me, it seems to get here awfully slowly as well. So forget that time moving quickly thing; I don’t know where I was going with that anyways. My sister Diane says time is relative, but not our relative. So you see.

Well, there were two time related musings (just to review, as an aid to my Middle-aged Memory). Anything else about time while we’re on the subject? My watch is set on military time. I don’t know why I like to do that, since to this day I look at 17:52 and have to think, “OK that’s 5:52.” This isn’t just since the army. I’ve been using military time since my first horrible job at Burger King in the early ’80s (that’s 1980s, wise ass). The time clock was military. Wow, that was a long time ago (another timely observation).

I’m thinking some readers may find this a lame post and protest, “Hey! It’s not Friday yet!” I say, don’t remind me, especially since Friday won’t really be Friday till next Friday (see Overtime Blues, above). However, that being the case, I may not be into Lame Post Friday in two days. I’m thinking I didn’t do a Lame Post Friday last Friday either (see Middle-aged Memory, above). So think of this as your little helping of Lame for the week. Happy Wednesday.

Valentine Wine

I was delighted to attend the Valentine Wine Tasting at Vintage Spirits in Herkimer, NY last Friday.

I started my sampling with a Charles de Fere Blanc de Blanc Brut. I knew that blanc de blanc was a sparkling wine — having also been made aware that the correct term is “sparkling wine,” because champagne only comes from a specific region in France. I’ve probably noted that before, but I must trot out my sophisticated wine knowledge whenever possible (and by “sophisticated” I mean I say it with a little sashay). Friday I learned that blanc de blanc is made from the Chardonnay grape. This gave me a chance to air the one other thing I know about wine.

“Is it aged in stainless steel or in oak?” I’ve discovered that I only like Chardonnay aged in stainless steel.

Bronson explained to me that the champagne method entails aging in the bottle. Boy did I feel silly with my stainless and oak sashay. I explained to a couple of other tasters about my little bit of Chardonnay knowledge and how foolishly proud I am of it.

“I was at a gathering once where they had Chardonnay in a box and I was all, ‘Is it aged in stainless or in oak?'” I gave myself a snooty tone of voice, making fun of my own pretensions. “Somebody said, ‘It’s aged in cardboard! Drink it!’ So I did.”

They were amused. It’s my favorite Chardonnay story.

A lady that started tasting after me asked how long you could keep champagne — uh, sparkling wine. Bronson said indefinitely, as long as it was not opened. I said that was good, since I’d had a bottle in the fridge for a while now. Bronson said that wasn’t so good; the vibrations could make it lose its bubbles. I asked if it would get skunked like beer if I un-chilled then re-chilled it. Bronson thought not, but I think I’ll go ahead and just drink that champagne soon. No point in taking chances.

The lady also told us about an old bottle she had acquired. She hadn’t known to store it on its side at first, so she was not sure if it had kept well. She also couldn’t quite make up her mind on an occasion to open it. I told her about Open That Bottle of Wine Day, which I heard about on NPR one time. A couple of wine aficionados had so declared a certain Saturday for just such a situation.

“What day is that?” she asked.

“I don’t remember,” I confessed. It had been a long time ago, and I had not had such a bottle at the time. However, we agreed that it would be acceptable to declare one’s own Open That Bottle Day.

I tasted a number of wines that earned my favorite accolade of “yummy.” I purchased a Chateau Blouin 2009 Bordeau. I learned that all Bordeaux are blends, and I tend to like blends (this could be dangerous: me acquiring more wine knowledge). I went home and declared it Open the Bottle I Just Bought Day.

Vintage Spirits is located at 246 Mohawk St., Herkimer, NY. Phone number is 315-866-6800. You can get on a list to receive emails about upcoming tastings. Maybe I’ll see you there!

Returning to the Run

I know I said I’d talk about the wine tasting today, but Saturday I went running for the first time in two months. I really want to make my post about that.

I’ve been meaning to start running again for some time (actually I never meant to stop, but these things happen; we rarely live up to our ideals). For one thing, I need to make an irrevocable decision and send in my registration for the Boilermaker soon. They are reaching their limit quickly. But it is easy to put these things off, especially in the wintertime. I’m pretty sure that as long as I start by March I can get myself into good shape. Still, it’s not good to leave these things till the last minute.

It was warm early on Saturday, when I was at work and when I was performing various runnings around with Steven and/or Tabby. By the time I’d reached the end of my gyrations it had gotten colder and I had pretty much decided that next week would have to do (yes, I know, some of you are shaking your heads or your fingers at me for wasting our warm days earlier this month; please refer to my earlier parenthetical comment about living up to ideals).

When I got home I thought better of my timorous decision and searched out a pair of leggings, my long-sleeved ARMY t-shirt and a pair of winter running socks (they do make such a thing; they’re awesome). My running shoes were not far to seek since they also serve as my dog-walking shoes. I found a hat and selected a sweatshirt.

I explained to Tabby that I would be back. Tabby is always ready to walk out the door with one, but she does not enjoy running with me. I don’t let her stop and sniff enough. She looked at me reproachfully, and I set out.

About ten steps from my house I thought, “I can rock this.” By the end of my street, I was pretty sure I could not. However, one thing I have learned is to keep going anyways. It may not become easy or fun, but at least I can put the time in. I had thought to run twenty minutes if possible. Now I thought I’d see how it went. “Just run,” I told myself. “However long you run, that’s something to build on.”

So on I ran. The air was cold. My throat did not like it. I’ve never been able to do the in-through-your-nose-out-through-your-mouth trick, because my nose is usually too plugged. It was soon running. Had I remembered to put a fresh tissue in my pocket? Of course not. An old skanky but still usable one was there (sorry to gross anybody out; I’m going for accuracy here). After a good honk, I tried in-through-your-nose. Not so much. Still, these things keep you occupied for a couple of blocks and that’s no small thing.

I saw a pair of underwear on the grass between the sidewalk and the road. It reminded me that I had to do laundry. Speculation on how it got there occupied me for another couple of blocks. I saw what I thought was a wet patch in the sidewalk up ahead, then realized it was shade from the house across the street. I found that as I ran down the street, the sun would hit me in between the shadows of the houses. I had to observe that the shade in the summer is more of a relief than the sun in the winter. Still, we take what we can get.

I ran for twenty-three minutes. Tabby graciously walked a ten minute cool down with me. Then I almost forgot to stretch. Did I mention it had been two months since I ran? Ah well, now I have something to build on. And perhaps subjects for future blog posts. Stay tuned.

Getting Ready for the Weekend

I started my weekend, as reported, with a Valentine Wine Tasting at Vintage Spirits in Herkimer, NY.

Now, I could have gone straight from work. The tasting began at 4 p.m., I usually hit Herkimer by 3:50. That’s only ten minutes I would have had to dawdle or otherwise occupy myself. Then I could have tasted wine all blue collar in my steel toed work shoes and BDU pants. I opted to go home and shower first.

I confess, I dressed a little fancy for the occasion. Not exactly on purpose. See, I don’t have many clothes that fit and not all of those are clean at any given time. The only covering for my legs I could find were fancy pantyhose. I can’t hide fancy pantyhose under a long skirt. I put on my red Lands End t-shirt dress, which is knee length. It’s short sleeved, so I sought a pullover sweater to wear.

That entailed pulling down numerous sweaters from the top shelf of the closet in the second bedroom. We really need a step stool, I thought, for just such an emergency. Then I thought about how seldom I wear my sweaters and decided not to bring up the matter to Steven (he’ll read about it here, but I can’t worry about that now). I left the rejected sweaters in a semi-neat pile (and by “semi-neat pile” of course I mean “in a heap”) for later straightening.

I put on some black beads and found three earrings I liked (I have three holes and my earrings almost never match) (I wore the black elephant, purple spangly cat and twisted Black Label beer can, in case anybody was wondering). My wedge heeled black clogs completed the outfit, and I found my teal raincoat to wear over it. A warmer jacket might have been more appropriate, but I figured as long as I was looking pretty I might as well go all the way. As it turned out, I was actually plenty warm (I know some of you nicer readers were concerned).

As I got into my truck (cautiously due to the skirt and heels) (I love the image of driving a pick up truck in skirt and heels), I reflected that some might think this an elaborate get-up considering I was going to a liquor store taste wine and straight back home afterwards. As I write about it, I reflect that some may think it is a silly thing to write a whole blog post about. However, I am equally sure that some of my readers will find this fun and perhaps get a chuckle out of me and my fancy pantyhose (I have another pair to wear today). To those people, I blow you a kiss. To the others, folks, this is me. What you see is what you get. I’ll talk about the wines tomorrow.

There’s Stuff To Do Here, Too!

The other day a co-worker pondered, “To work or not to work this weekend?”

I asked, “What fun things do you have planned if you don’t work?”

Well, he did not have anything specific in mind; he thought he might take a ride to Syracuse. “Syracuse has so much more to offer.”

Of course Mohawk Valley Girl could not allow this to stand unchallenged, so I said, “There are things to do around here!”

“Like what?” I knew he would ask that.

“For example,” the only thing I could remember offhand, “H.A.L.O. is having a sock hop this Saturday in Mohawk.”

“Do they still have sock hops?” This led to a discussion of sock hops, ’50s clothes and another co-worker’s sense of fashion. I went back to writing yesterday’s post, which is what I had been doing before. But now I’ve got some leisure, I reflect on the question: what all can one do in the Mohawk Valley this weekend?

Personally, I intend to start my weekend with the Valentine Wine Tasting at Vintage Spirits in Herkimer on Friday. On Friday or Saturday I could stop by the Indoor Farmer’s Market at Clapsaddle Farm on Otsego Street in Ilion (I’ve blogged about that numerous times). Representative Richard Hannah is holding office hours in Frankfort Saturday afternoon (OK, that’s probably not the kind of excitement my co-worker was looking for). The sock hop I mentioned earlier is preceded by a spaghetti dinner.

That’s just off the top of my head. I could look in the Herkimer Telegram or Utica OD and come up with more. The area also offers numerous restaurants and clubs. I guess I’m not much on clubs, but I’ve blogged about several area restaurants. I hope to cover more.

I suppose it’s true that a larger area such as Syracuse will offer more restaurants, stores, events and attractions. And my idea of fun is not for everyone. After all, I am happily entertained by a walk with my dog. A sock hop, spaghetti supper or other fundraiser is a delightful evening for me.

What’s wrong with that? My co-workers may have raised their eyebrows at the sock hop idea, but I bet they would have a fun time if they showed up. I say, look at what’s available where you are at. You just might be surprised at what you find.

Superbowl Snacks

I thought I was without a blog topic today when I remembered: I had threatened to blog about my Superbowl snacks.

I had purchased some fake crab meat with the intention of making cocktail sauce, heavy on the horseradish for my sinuses. Some prefer shrimp for such a purpose, and sometimes I do too. This was a crab meat kind of week — cheaper, perfectly tasty and actually a little easier on the stomach (seafood purists will please not make gagging noises; just repeat to yourself: to each his own, as the old lady said when she kissed the cow).

I use my mother’s cocktail sauce recipe, which I believe she got from this giant cookbook she has had since she was first married. I don’t know what the cookbook is called, because the first and last pages are long gone, but if I ever see one like it at a garage sale or used book store, I will buy it. It has everything! I could write a whole blog post just about that book (oh, there’s a good idea for the next time I’m stuck).

The other snack I made was a hot wing dip which I planned to serve with untoasted whole wheat pita wedges, to be softer on my still cracked tooth (as of Sunday; it’s fixed now). I got this recipe from a bottle of Frank’s Hot Sauce one morning a couple of months ago when we were having breakfast at Philly’s Breakfast House (just for a little local connection). I wrote it in my ever present notebook.

I did not cook with wine on Sunday, because I intended to drink beer later for sentimental reasons. My grandmother on my father’s side was always a big Giants fan, and she loved her beer. I remember many Sundays at Grandma’s house with Grandma enjoying a beer and rooting for the Giants. I was going to have a beer and root for the Giants in her memory.

However, I did cook with crime. It’s all very well to watch the Superbowl for Grandma, I did not care to watch the all day coverage (which I’m sure some people enjoyed very much). I knew Snapped was on Oxygen in the afternoon. A further perusal of the guide on digital cable showed me a few episodes of Dateline on ID on Investigation Discovery. Then I remembered Weekend Mysteries on HLN. I gasped with delight when I saw not one but two episodes of Dominick Dunne’s Power Privilege and Justice. I love that show!

So I watched crime and crocheted, then jumped up to cook during commercial breaks. It was a delightful way to spend the afternoon. I will include the recipes, in defiance of possible copyright laws, in case anyone is interested. The cocktail sauce recipe is jotted down in a notebook I bought at the Dollar Store in Augusta, GA in 2000 (seriously). I had a habit of calling Mom every time I wanted to make cocktail sauce and asking her to read me the recipe. Finally I put the by now fairly crappy notebook in with my recipe books. And now there is a page torn out of a recent notebook with the hot wing dip recipe joining it.

Cocktail Sauce

2 TBS horseradish
3/4 C ketchup
3 TBS chili sauce
2 TBS lemon juice
dash tabasco

No further instructions are written, but I’m sure you get the idea. I go heavy on the horseradish and tabasco (sometimes substituting whatever hot sauce I happen to have on hand), light on the lemon juice.

Hot Wing Dip

8 oz cream cheese, softened
1/2 C bleu cheese dressing
1/2 C hot sauce
1/2 C crumbled bleu cheese
2 C diced cooked chicken

Place cream cheese in deep dish, stir in other ingredients. 350 degrees for 20 minutes.

Middle-aged Meanderings

I know, I said Mondays would be Middle-aged Musings Mondays. Well, on all my breaks at work I sat with a notebook in front of me and mused. And was not amused. I may look at those paragraphs later and find some perfectly usable stuff, but today I don’t like it. So I’m going to talk about the nice walk I just took with my schnoodle, Tabby.

It was a beautiful day that felt like spring. Warm and sunny, not too much breeze. I still had on my BDU pants from work but changed out of the steel toed shoes into my yellow-laced running sneakers. The “goth” jacket my sister-in-law gave me (her grandkids call it that because there’s a skull on it) and a black toque completed my crazy old lady outfit. We set off.

I tried to go a different direction from the one we took yesterday, but that put the sun directly in my eyes for the foreseeable future. We turned around. Now the late afternoon sun cast a long shadow in front of me. I looked tall and solid with a little pinhead. I guess that was the toque; otherwise I would have seen my spiked hair.

Tabby wanted to turn down Main Street. She likes Main Street. I noticed a house that still had artificial poinsettias in the window box. It was a white house with red trim, so it fit. A car a little ways ahead of us pulled into a driveway to turn around. The young man driving was moving pretty fast but luckily saw the cars coming and did not pull back out too quickly.

The sun was now to my right, so when I got between buildings I looked to the left to check out my shadow again. A little more proportional, but still fairly tall and pinheaded. Later we went by the big glass windows at Working Solutions. Now I could see my real reflection. Hmmm, kind of dumpy. Oh well, one can work on these things. At least my head looked normal sized.

We walked through the little park by Basloe Library and made our way toward Meyers Park. Tabby wanted to do a lot of sniffing. I indulged her while I waited for traffic to clear at the four way stop. A cute little white dog was in the park with his people. We people exchanged greetings, but the dogs did not seem too interested in each other.

It was a very pleasant Mohawk Valley walk, although I suppose I could have done more Monday Musing. Oh well, there’s always next week.

Middle-aged Musings Monday

OK, here’s my new thing: Middle-aged Musings Monday. I do love alliteration.

As I drove to work this morning (I’m sitting in the break room prior to my shift, writing this), I was thinking about all my potential topics for today. I had a pretty good weekend, Mohawk Valley-wise. Nothing really inspired me. Then the phrase Middle-aged Musings came to mind.

Of course, “middle-aged” is problematic. How do I really know I’m in the middle of my ages? I could die tomorrow. That would mean I was middle-aged at 24. I sure didn’t feel middle-aged at 24, although at least one young man worshiped me as an Older Woman (you may thing “worshiped” is a strong term, but leave me alone; it’s my memory). I pretty much feel middle-aged if not downright old these days. This is not a bad thing. I have experience and I have perspective. And I’m rocking the grey hair.

The nice thing about Middle-aged Musings is whatever I say works. With Mohawk Valley Girl, I think some posts are more on topic than others. One could argue, and I do, that everything technically works since I am in the Mohawk Valley as I write it (with a few notable exceptions; one must visit relatives after all). I believe I’ve hashed out the Mohawk Valley thing before. Sorry to repeat myself; I brought it up to compare/contrast with my new topic.

OK, so far I’ve mused about the fact that I’m going to muse on Monday. Largely due to the fact that on Monday I feel I have no muse (you knew I was going to make that pun sooner or later). Oh dear, I hope the Monday to Friday thing isn’t going to start kicking my butt now!

See, I went from retail hours to day shift, Monday to Friday. Heaven! I love Fridays once again. I had to be wary, though. I’ve gotten burnt out on Monday to Friday jobs and learned to loathe Sunday. I tried to solve that problem by not watching 60 Minutes (oh, that ticking clock!). These days I usually watch Snapped on Oxygen on Sundays — they often have a marathon. I love Snapped so much it makes Sunday an enjoyable day. And I don’t mind my job, so no creeping dread has so far spoiled my enjoyment.

There is that bad moment when the alarm goes off and I realize there are five days to get through before I can sleep in again. I have not found a cure for that except to get up anyways and apply coffee. Once I’m over that moment I like being up early. For one thing, if you get up early enough during the week, 6 or 7 am feels like sleeping in on the weekend.

I like my Monday Musings idea. I think it will help me ease into the week and make Monday a more enjoyable day. And along the way, I hope I manage to amuse.