Category Archives: humor

Yummy and New Yorky Wines

I have a new way of attending wine tastings on a Friday. I work out at Curves with my friends Phyllis and Kelly, then we go to the wine tasting in our sweaty workout clothes. Friday we went to one at Vintage Spirits in Herkimer, NY.

Bronson was already pouring the wines when we got there. This time he was assisted by a lovely young woman with long blonde hair. I later found out this was Alyssa, a representative of Empire Merchants North, one of the distributors Vintage Spirits deals with.

When I pulled out my little zebra striped book to take notes in, somebody said, “Ooh, she’s a professional.” I kind of tarnished that reputation when I pronounced the first wine “yummy,” and I completely obliterated it when I described another as “New Yorky.” As they say, I gotta be me.

The first yummy wine was The Skinny Vine Mini Moscato. Alyssa told us it was only 95 calories a glass. It was semi-sweet. I thought it would be a good middle-of-the-road wine for a gathering.

The New Yorky wine was Red Tail Ridge Chardonnay, from a Seneca Lake winery. Bronson described it as “lightly oaked,” kind of midway between a California chardonnay (aged in oak) and a French chardonnay (aged in stainless). I sometimes get a little oenophile-ish over chardonnays. It’s not my favorite wine, but I seem to know more about it. I taste a lot of differences between the different aging processes, so it is more interesting to me to taste than, say a pinot noir or cabernet sauvignon that I’m pretty sure I’m going to like.

Phyllis pronounced the Milbrandt Vineyards Riesling, from Washington State, refreshing. We all liked the Mumm Napa Brut Prestige.

Two pinot noirs were offered, Red Tail Ridge and Chateau St. Jean. Both were very good; the Chateau St. Jean was more smooth. That was my favorite wine of the day.

I also liked the Four Vines Petite Syrah, but decided to purchase the Chateau St. Jean. That was one of the ones distributed by Alyssa’s company. I asked her if I could mention her in my blog post. She said I could if I had nice things to say.

“In real life, I can say cutting things about some people,” I said. “But in my blog, I like to keep it positive.” I hastened to add that there was nothing negative to say about her or her company anyways. She was very friendly and helpful, even pouring samples of wines that her company did not distribute.

Another lady at the wine tasting (another regular, like me) vouched for my blog being positive.

“You read my blog?” I was quite delighted.

The wine tasting was a great deal of fun. Phyllis, Kelly and I may go on more wine tasting adventures. Stay tuned.

Vintage Spirits is located at 246 Mohawk St., Herkimer, NY. Phone number 315-866-6800.

But It’s Not Really Friday!

I don’t like to do Lame Post Friday when I have to work on Saturday. Lame Post Friday is my fun, relaxed post which I make in anticipation of the weekend. For those of you just tuning in, it usually involves random observations and half-baked philosophy.

BUT I don’t think Friday is really a Friday when somebody (me) has foolishly agreed to work BOTH weekend days. What was I thinking? Oh, I know what I was thinking: I was thinking make some more money and let the manager think I’m a team player, that’s what I was thinking. Let’s just leave that alone, shall we?

I’ve been having a fairly stressful week. Today, as I was feeling bad about the most recent stupid mistake I just made (never mind what it was; take my work for it, it was STUPID), the phrase occurred to me, “It’s not the end of the world.”

What a useless thing to say! I wanted to answer myself, “OF COURSE it’s not the end of the blankety-blank world! If it was the end of the blankety-blank world, I wouldn’t worry about it! NOTHING matters at the end of the blankety-blank world! This sucks BECAUSE it’s not the end of the blankety-blank world!”

Then I thought, “This might be some good half-baked philosophy for Lame Post Friday. Too bad it’s not really a Friday and I don’t intend to do a Lame Post.” I actually don’t know what I thought I was going to write about, but I entered my day determined not to write a Friday Lame Post.

As I worked, I continued to half-bakedly philosophize about things people say to make you feel better and how ridiculous some of them are. I pondered: are these people sincerely trying to make you feel better or are they just spouting platitudes to make themselves feel superior? A little of both? I reached no definitive conclusion, but did not worry too much about that, because, as I said, it’s not Lame Post Friday.

And then I realize, it’s after 6 p.m. I have to get to bed at a reasonable hour. I’d like a glass of wine. I can’t think of another damn thing to do than to write some kind of Lame Post.

So here you have it. Almost 400 words of Lame It’s Not Really Friday Post. I have, in fact, a good blog post to write for tomorrow, and I hope to do at least a couple more blogworthy things. Stay tuned, I may be less lame in the near future. Happy Friday.

Not a Bored Meeting

I usually don’t write about my Ilion Little Theatre meetings, either Board of Director or monthly dinner. One reason is that I’m not sure if the people involved would like to be mentioned in a blog post. I mean, it’s one thing to stand up on stage in a play or even work backstage. In those cases, your name gets put in the program or even in the newspaper (spelled right or wrong). It’s already public. Meetings might be considered… less so.

By now some of my nosier readers may be sitting up by their monitors, wondering if they are going to be made privy to what goes on behind closed doors. Unfortunately, I do not plan to write anything that exciting, but I hope to come up with something at least mildly entertaining.

Last night (Wednesday) I arrived at The Stables, Remington Avenue, Ilion, NY, only slightly late for the 6 p.m. meeting. One board member could not be there because he had recently had surgery (was that a HIPPA violation to mention that?).

“If he was really dedicated,” I said, “he would have had his wife push him here in a wheelbarrow.”

I don’t know if anybody else remembers, but when Iraq had its first democratic elections, one old woman was pushed for miles and miles in a wheelbarrow just so she could vote. To me, that sets the standard.

“He might be at tomorrow’s dinner meeting,” someone said.

“In a wheelbarrow?” I asked hopefully.

As we continued our meeting, cast members of Rented Christmas kept walking by and going into rehearsal. Soon we heard the sounds of vocal warm-ups: “La la la la LAH la la la laaah!” (It sounds better than it looks.) Our president, who is also in the cast, shared with us a couple of cute stories about the younger cast members.

At the end of the meeting we had to sneak through rehearsal to get tables and chairs to set up for Thursday’s dinner meeting. Some of the cast was lined up across the stage singing Christmas carols. I sang along, but quietly. I have a terrible singing voice.

So I guess the main point of today’s post is to plug Rented Christmas. The singing I heard sounded pretty good. The story is heartwarming and family friendly. I personally look forward to seeing it. Performance dates are December 21, 22, 23, 28, 29 and 30. For more information visit Ilion Little Theatre’s website at www.ilionlittletheatre.org or their Facebook page.

Irony in the Life of a Blogger

So there I was, sitting in front of my computer with no blog post written, no topic in mind, and Firefox was taking its sweet time coming up. Welcome to Wuss Out Wednesday!

I have, in addition to limited brain cells, limited time in which to tax them. I have a special board meeting of the board of Directors of Ilion Little Theatre at six. I had to work out, which I did. I had to eat supper, which Steven nicely cooked. I had to shower, which I also did (I’m sure that comes as a relief to many).

Yesterday’s blog post was kind of dull. I even apologized for the dullness when I posted the link to Facebook. My sister tactfully suggested that it was perhaps a full life, so I had no time to think of things creative. I said no, it was dull. Well, there was that play I was in last weekend, otherwise I would have had time to watch more cheesy horror movies to write about.

The irony is not lost on me. Just to be sure, I will spell it out: My blog would be better if I spent more time at home, sitting on my couch. Because I was out in the Mohawk Valley participating in creative endeavors, my blog is boring.

I think that’s FUNNY! I’m going to stop having such an interesting life tomorrow. Well, Friday at the latest (tomorrow in fact I have the dinner meeting of Ilion Little Theatre as a whole: good food, a little wine, great company, oh yeah, I’ll start being boring again Friday). In the meantime, feel free to point and laugh (as some of you frequently do) (you know who you are).

Well, We Enjoyed It

I had intended to come home from work and run, thus providing myself with a blog post and some exercise. Well, apparently today at work I lifted with my back not my legs and something hurts. I’m thinking rest and ibuprofen will put things to rights but did not feel up to anything faster than a walk. Fortunately, I had a dog who was anxious for such a thing and a husband who did not mind accompanying us.

I put on a long sleeved shirt under my sweatshirt and a knitted toque (once again, rhymes with spook) on my head, left on my BDU pants from work but switched out my steel-toed work shoes for sneakers. I like to take a walk in the evening dressed like a crazy old lady. My only regret was that the temperature made the toque better than the actual crazy old lady hat.

It was chilly, a grey, gloomy evening. Just what I like. As we walked, I wondered if I shouldn’t have put on my insulated sweatshirt instead. Steven had sensibly worn a coat. Oh well, too much trouble to turn back. I would suck it up.

Tabby surprised me by walking all the way down Bellinger Street to Meyers Park rather than turning left on Church Street and making for Herkimer’s Historic Four Corners. After she did her business opposite the park, I turned us into the park, so I could throw out the poo in one of the handily located trash cans.

One of the houses opposite the park still had pumpkins on the porch, one with a face carved in it. It looked in pretty good shape. Sometimes the jack-o-lanterns get really scary looking after Halloween when icky black stuff starts to grow inside them. Another house had extensive cobwebs on the porch as well as some pumpkin decorations hanging up and colored ghosts on sticks in the yard. I do like to extend the Halloween season (as evidenced by my desire to keep watching cheesy horror movies).

After the park I suggested we walk up Prospect Street. Steven remarked on garbage scattered on a lawn. He said our street looked like that and he wondered if it was some ill-mannered drunk.

“Oh, no, it was a wind storm,” I told him. “I lay there in bed listening to it. It sounded like a freight train (excuse the cliche) in the distance, then when it got closer I could hear the trash cans blowing around.”

Apparently Steven slept through it.

When we got to Church Street, Tabby tried to pull us to her favorite Four Corners, but I said no. We continued up Prospect Street to German, then back home.

It was, as you may have guessed, a rather uneventful walk. We enjoyed it a great deal as Steven and I spent the whole time chatting. I do like to talk to my husband. I’d like to say we were plotting Mohawk Valley adventures for future, better blog posts, but I can’t lie. However, I will do my best to entertain more betterly next time (“more betterly” is the technical term).

Just a Common or Garden Vampire

Spoiler Alert! I’ll try not to give away the dramatic conclusion, but I am pretty much going to tell you what happens in this picture.

I have to confess that I am not as fond of the horror movies made after 1960. Could it be the color film which is so much less atmospheric? Could it be the increasingly graphic quality of the violence (don’t even get me started on the body count slasher flicks of the ’70s)? In any case, it was in some trepidation that I sat down to watch Dracula: Prince of Darkness (1966).

I noted that it was a Seven Arts/Hammer Production. Hammer, I learned recently, was a British company that became somewhat renowned for its horror movies in the ’60s. On consulting one of his movie books, Steven informed me that this movie was the sequel to Horror of Dracula. I imagined we would be able to follow the plot in spite of having missed the first installment. I was right.

The movie opens on a life and death struggle between a vampire and some guy. We never find out who the guy is, but he triumphs and the vampire eventually crumbles to dust in a not bad special effect for the time. My guess is that this is how the first movie ended, which I certainly like better than the whole movie being a flashback telling us how we got to this point.

So call that the prologue. The real movie starts with an old woman chasing down some sort of funeral procession starring a beautiful young blond girl. I thought she looked a little like a young Cybil Shepherd. That reminded me of her eponymous sitcom where her character was a actress who would have been grateful to get a dead body part.

The anchor guy in the procession carries a wooden stake, and the procession leads to a pile of sticks. Apparently they are going to stake the young woman and burn her JUST IN CASE she is a vampire. And that is the first “Waaait a minute” moment in the film. If she was a vampire, wouldn’t she be crumbling into dust from the daylight? No matter, these guys are taking no chances, despite the old woman’s protests that her daughter deserves a proper Christian burial.

Enter a monk on a horse with a shotgun, who stops the whole thing, insists the girl be buried, but does not stick around to see it carried out. We don’t see it carried out either, but I think it was done. Anyways, that was just more background: the vampire is dead but people still fear him.

Next we’re in a tavern where an upper class guy is doing what looks like a fraternity party chug-a-lug with the lower classes. His sister-in-law disapproves but his wife thinks he’s cute and, besides, “We can afford it.”

When the monk (I can’t capitalize it or you’ll think I’m talking about the Tony Shaloub show on USA) shows up, hollering at the crowd for being such superstitious louts, he meets the upper class foursome: two brothers and their wives on vacation to improve their minds.

The monk, refreshing himself with mulled cordial and hiking his robes up to warm his backside at the fire, invites them to come stay at his monastery. At any rate, they mustn’t go to Carlsbad, where they originally intended, and if they do they must stay away from the castle.

Hmmm…. Where do you suppose they’re going to end up?

How they get to the castle is less “Waaait a minute!” than “Oh, PLEASE!” Nobody but Disapproving Sister-in-Law is the least bit disconcerted that they find themselves dropped off at the castle by runaway horses, their luggage mysteriously brought upstairs, and dinner ready to be served by a singularly creepy servant who appears to be the castle’s only inhabitant.

You know, I’m all for mysterious things happening in horror movies. And I’m even OK with going with the flow and having an adventure. I KNOW that if these people would have sensibly gone to stay at the monk’s house it would have been a dull movie. But I think these people took things entirely too far.

In a rather gruesome scene, one of the four gets sliced open in order to bring the vampire’s ashes back to life. Apparently the creepy servant carefully preserved them in a funereal-looking box.

And you know, I think they missed a bet. Have you ever tried to sweep up ashes? Heck, even sweeping ordinary household dirt you don’t get it all. You know how it is: you sweep, sweep, sweep it into the dustpan, then you scatter around the last little bit that you just can’t get. And then some of it stays on the broom or in the dustpan. There’s no way that entire vampire would have been there!

Actually, come to think of it, he wasn’t. As Dracula, Christopher Lee has no lines. Was this so the producers wouldn’t have to pay him as much, or were Dracula’s vocal chords still stuck in the cracks between the flagstones where he met his end? Points to ponder.

Be that as it may, the movie continues with another member of the party lured to her doom. Of course she becomes a vampire, which improves her personality as well as her hair-do. Eventually the other two are fleeing for their lives.

They meet up with the monk again, who tells them how to kill a vampire. Did you know you could drown a vampire in running water? I didn’t. I thought it was sunlight or stake through the heart, although you can temporarily chase them off with garlic or a crucifix.

I was a little disappointed in the movie. For one thing, it didn’t really seem like Count Dracula. He just seemed like any common or garden vampire, and he didn’t even have that big a part. He was scary enough when he was onscreen, although as with many movie monsters, he moved too slowly. Perhaps I should cut him a break on that one, though. After all, he was only ashes just that morning.

But he was not onscreen enough. It took forever to get him brought back from ashes and even then he didn’t spend nearly enough time chasing his victims to suit me.

But perhaps I ask too much. At any rate, I have another Christopher Lee Dracula movie on my DVR, probably a sequel to this one. I’ll watch it and report on whether he gets a little more personality or at least the use of his vocal chords.

In My Defense… I Have No Defense

I was totally going to have a Wuss Out Wednesday yesterday. Then I recklessly told everyone at Curves that I was going to write about voting. True, none of those women read my blog and so would not know if I reneged. Still, it seemed a perfectly good blog topic with an expiration date. I went for it.

So now here I am on Thursday with no name for a stupid post (too late for Middle-aged Musings Monday, too early for Lame Post Friday) and no post other than the one I have written many times before (but with variations, or do I flatter myself?) about Why I Can’t Write a Blog Post Today.

I have the Overtime Blues at work. On the brighter side, this leads to the Payday Greens, which in turn helps Financial Condition Red. Just to use a little colorful language, which they say goes over well in the blogosphere.

With the Overtime Blues comes not much time and being too tired for Mohawk Valley adventures. Last night I attended a meeting of the Board of Directors for Ilion Little Theatre. Not so blogworthy. Tonight I have a pick-up rehearsal for Strike Story, followed on Friday and Saturday by performances of same. Blogworthy, but I’ve written about it before. What else can I say? Perhaps I will think of something for tomorrow, so my Friday post will not be lame.

I could blather on… who am I kidding? No I can’t. I am out of words about having no words. But I am over 250 words, which I consider sufficient to call it a post. I have to go find some black pantyhose for my play. Hope to see you Friday.

It’s All About the Sticker

Yesterday at work, a co-worker was ranting on and on about why vote.

“Nobody has ever given me a good reason!” he declared more than once.

“I intend to write a blog post about it,” I told him, rising to the challenge.

“Nobody has ever given me a good reason!” I don’t think he was listening.

“Blog post! That’s a good reason!” Oh, I know there are a lot of reasons and anyone can feel free to give me a lecture on civic duty at any time via “Leave a comment.” I wasn’t trying to make a reasoned argument, I was trying to shut him up. It didn’t work.

Be that as it may, yesterday Steven and I voted. I was quite frankly hoping somebody would make a funny joke as we waited in line, because that is the kind of thing I like to include. However, there were no lines and no jokes. Well, I made a joke against myself when we couldn’t figure out at first which door they wanted us to go in. I get all self-deprecating at times like these.

They did not offer us “I Voted” stickers. I did not realize that until later, and it was of some concern to me, because I remembered that if I wore my “I Voted” sticker to Curves the next day, I would get put in for a drawing. I like to be put in for a drawing.

At Curves the next day (today), I sadly shared the loss.

“I didn’t even think about it till later,” I said.

“I looked for them, but didn’t think to ask,” another lady said.

“I asked; they didn’t have any,” a third lady said. “They said, ‘Those paper ballots cost us two bucks, we don’t have any stickers!'”

We all expressed our disappointment. The lady that owns Curves said anybody who voted could put in for the drawing, the stickers were not important. Then she found us all stickers that said, “I did it!” So we got our stickers after all.

If you were hoping I would say who I voted for or even express an opinion on the importance of voting, sorry. I think I have mentioned before: Mohawk Valley Girl stays off politics.

Happy Birthday, Tabby!

I have mentioned our beloved schoodle, Tabby, in many posts. I even seem to remember telling the story of how she came to us. If that is true, I shall now repeat myself in honor of her birthday: How We Got Tabby.

Back in 2007, Steven worked with a fellow whose mother worked for the Velvet Dog, a dog grooming place we still patronize (and sometimes blog about). The mother was fostering this little dog whose original owner could no longer care for her. She would have kept the dog herself but had “five dogs too many” as it was. Did Steven know of anybody in need of a dog?

“Steve needs a dog,” piped up Steven’s other co-worker.

“She’s a sweet dog,” said the first co-worker. They cleverly showed me a picture of her when I stopped in.

“Oh, she’s part poodle,” I said right away, and they explained “schnoodle,” schnauzer-poodle mix. It’s fun to say, and it turns out fun to live with.

Hmmm… this story does not seem nearly as exciting to me now that I’m typing it in. It is much more interesting to me to take Tabby for a walk and write about that.

Oh, but that makes me remember to say a word about her name. Tabby. Steven and I did not name our dog after a cat. Her original owner named her Tabitha. I think the only person who ever calls her Tabitha is a neighbor of ours, a very nice older gentleman. Obviously one would call her Tabby. Or Tabbers. Or Tabber-dog. Or, as my mother calls her, Tabbykins. More formally one may call her Tabby-Tababbby the Schnitzel Schnoodle, but I don’t think anybody has.

And now I’m getting silly.

For her birthday, Tabitha received Schnausages in a Blanket (Schnausages for a schnoodle! Steven is a genius!) and a squeaky pig. She likes them very much. She wagged her tail when I informed her that I had written a blog post about her. Happy Tabby’s Birthday, everybody!

Not Whistler, Western

In my quest to DVR movies to watch and write about later, I came across The Kansan (1943) starring Richard Dix.

Richard Dix, astute readers may remember, starred in the Whistler movies I have enjoyed so much. This one did not look like a Whistler movie, however. The word “marshal” in the description made me suspect it was a Western. Still, Richard Dix. It might be worth a watch.

Then I saw that it also starred Albert Dekker. Dekker was the subject of an episode of Mysteries & Scandals, cheesy show we used to enjoy during the early ’00s. He had a rather sordid private life and died under mysterious circumstances, either a suicide or a kinky sex game gone wrong. Of course, this has nothing to do with the movie, even as backstory. For heavens’ sake, the man was an actor. His personal life and death are separate things from any characters he may have played. Still, it added a little interest to our viewing.

Dix plays a stranger who happens to come to town just as a bank is being robbed. Apparently banks were always getting robbed in the Old West, which strikes me as odd considering almost everybody carried a gun and the tellers were NOT instructed to just hand over the money. Hard luck on depositors, since these were also the days before FDIC. But I digress.

It seems there is a shoot-out in which Dix saves the bank’s money but is himself injured. He wakes up in the hospital and is informed that the town has just elected him marshal. I guess this was also fairly common in the Old West. I seem to remember a similar thing happening to Cleavon Little in Blazing Saddles. Oh, and to James Garner in Support Your Local Sheriff.

Dix had been just passing through but decides to say a while after meeting the lady who owns the local hotel. I have to wonder what it is like to be so pretty that men change their entire career path before they even ask for a date.

It should come as no surprise to anyone that the new marshal in town soon discovers that things are not what they seem. It turns out the banker (Dekker), who was instrumental in getting Dix the marshal gig, is pretty much the main bad guy in town, although technically the law is on his side. There is a love triangle among the banker’s brother, the hotel owner and Dix, but this does not cause as many complications as I thought it would.

In pre-show commentary, Ben Mankiewicz said you could check off Western movie staples as you watch: stranger in town, cattle stampede, bar brawl, climactic gun fight. He left off hooker with a heart of gold, as did the movie, but I guess you don’t always have one of those.

It is actually a pretty entertaining flick. The plot moves right along and there is excitement along the way. I know I usually like to talk about bad movies in this space, the cheesier the better. However, I had a busy weekend and only had time to watch one movie. I thought it would be a little silly to turn it off because it was good. I’ll look for a bad movie next time.