TWD - Blueberry Blankety-Blank Manger and Newlyweds

This week’s TWD is Blanc Manger, picked by Susan of Sticky, Gooey, Creamy, Chewy. I’ve never made Blanc Manger and I’m not sure if I have ever eaten Blanc Manger. I’m a big fan of all pudding like desserts - creme brulee, custard, panna cotta - so I was pretty sure I would like Blanc Manger.

The word "blanc" makes me laugh, however, because it is part of a running joke in our family. There is a type of champagne called "Blanc de Blanc" which is pronounced "blonk duh blonk" but my mother insists on pronouncing it "blankety blank." It has something to do with the champagne tasting dinners my grandfather threw during my parents’ engagement to determine which champagne would be served at their wedding. I’m sure no one got drunk during these dinners. Therefore, despite more than six years of French classes, I really want to pronounce Blanc Manger "blankety blank" manger because it’s funny.

Anyway. Frankly, I’m getting a little tired of red fruits and almonds in the TWD recipes, so I used blueberries for my Blanc Manger, copying from Jennifer of KPOW, who brought her mixed fruit Blanc Manger to book club on Sunday night. Next week, I hope to get away from almonds, particularly ground almonds, which proved to be my downfall in this recipe and last week’s recipe.

I didn’t take very many pictures of the process because there was nothing really visually stunning about the process, although the end result was very pretty. You can see the almond chunks that settled to the bottom and then became the top of the dessert.

Of course, after I made it, I read on the TWD that some people used almond flour. I had no idea such a thing existed and I will use that next time, if I can find it locally. With the almond chunks, the texture was like undercooked tapioca. But really good flavor.


I saw this recipe when I first purchased the cookbook and read the description right away to see how difficult it would be to make. I was floored by one of the statements in the description: this dessert is "beloved, particularly, I'm told, by newlyweds with no kitchen experience, because it is positively foolproof." There was something that really bothered me about that notion. I've been thinking about it all week.

I think it raises my feminist flag when I hear that because it relies on the 1950's concept that women marry young, only learn to cook to satisfy their prospective husbands and the husbands' work colleagues and families, and that upon getting married, adults' lives become stereotypical versions of the perfect home life.

Sure, that's probably true of some women who get married in 2009, just like it probably wasn't true of all women who got married in 1954. But the facts are that women (and men) are getting married later and most people who get married have lived on their own for some time before getting married. And most people find themselves in the situation of needing to feed themselves, wanting to feed others and entertain, and needing to know how to make a good dessert (or knowing where to buy one.)

Perhaps this is fueled by that streak of anger I still have about being unmarried and nearly 38. Granted, my life has taken a wonderful turn in the last year and marriage is in my future. But that doesn't immediately erase the 20 years of wondering and worrying if it would ever happen. In those 20 years, I had to grow up and be an adult without getting married. I had to learn how to feed myself on a budget without eating out every night, how to host a party, how to make a kick-ass dessert to bring to an office pot-luck, and how to manage a household on my own.

In all honesty, I had to stock a kitchen with tools without getting everything as bonus prizes off my registery for getting married.

But that's not all of it. Why couldn't it just say that this recipe is beloved by those just learning to cook or those newly discovering baking? Why does it have to play to a stereotype?

Look Me in the Face and Tell Me That

I believe you can judge a society by the way it treats it’s weakest members. Foster children are, in many ways, the weakest members of our society. They are taken from the only home they know through no fault of their own. They are brought at a moment’s notice to a strange home and a strange family. And foster families take in these children, who most often come to them with nothing more than the clothes on their backs and tear-stained faces. Foster parents take them in, protect them and love them, and take very little in return.

And now you are asking us to take even less and deal with even more. The effect of these budget choices mean foster parents like me will be unwilling or simply unable to take as many foster children, if any at all. These choices you are making are sending the message that foster children and foster families are not worth the compensation we receive for one of the most challenging situations any family will ever face. These choices convey the message that foster children are not as important as your children. These choices may be a quick fix to a very difficult financial situation, but the return you can expect to see will last for generations. Generations of families and children will be shown by these cuts that they are worth little to nothing.

If you are inclined to support or vote for these cuts, I invite you to come to my house and look me in the face and tell me you don’t care what happens to me or my children. Look me in the face and tell me why the weakest members of our society always must carry the heaviest burden.

There can be no keener revelation of society’s soul than the way in which it treats its children. - Nelson Mandela

Shame on you. Shame on all of you.

Congratulations!

I am eligible to take part in Illinois's Safe Driver Sticker Renewal Program. Or so says the notice I got from the Secretary of State's Office. I guess this means that instead of going to the driver's license place, I get to simply pay online and get a sticker to put on my old license.

But wait.

There are several restrictions and I am not eligible if any of several statements pertain to me. For example, I am not eligible if my driver's license has been revoked, or being held by court in lieu of bail, or if I have any condition that might cause a temporary loss of consciousness. In addition, you do not qualify if:

"Your legal name or gender has changed or you have lost your driver's license."

Perhaps it's just me, but the change of legal name or losing a license shouldn't be grouped in the same category as a gender change. That's kinda a biggie . . . so much so that it might just need it's own category.

Riddle Me This

So, if those two red-headed, facial haired, weird-ass hat wearing dorks on Mythbusters say we aren't supposed to take a shower during a lightening storm, how the hell am I supposed to get ready for work when there is a lightening storm from 9 pm until at least 10:15 am the next morning? You know, stupid Mythbusters men, there are some people in the world who have to get up every morning and shower and be presentable for a job that, unfortunately, doesn't involve getting to blow shit up for the fun of it.

And this is why I think being scared of thunder storms is just plain silly. I need to shower in the morning, whether it's raining red-headed pussies or not.

I Wonder What the Going Rate Is?

I saw this article this morning:

Accused Heroine Dealer Behind Bars
Reported by: WMBD/WYZZ News
Staff
Thursday, Apr 30, 2009 @07:40am CST

WMBD/WYZZ – PEORIA -- A drug bust lands a Chicago man behind bars in
Tazewell County.
Eddie Davenport was arrested Tuesday after police officers
found more than four grams of heroin in an East Peoria home.
Davenport is
charged with possession of a controlled substance and intent to deliver.

I wonder what the going rate on the street is for heroic women? I hope it is pretty high because brave women who display courage in the face of danger are in great demand right now.

Review of Two25

I was one of the bloggers that was not only invited to take part in the Blogger Dinner at Two25, but one of the few who actually attended. Never to be outdone, I actually ate at Two25 two Thursdays in a row, but this was based primarily on a miscommunication of my usual proportions, in addition to corresponding with people using two different email identities, and the general persistent clutter in my head.

Anyway, I was quite glad to eat twice at Two25 because it provides a better basis for my review. (In case some of you are wondering, I actually paid for my dinner the first time - I did not scam two comped dinners off of the joint.) Initially, I had wanted to eat the first week as an incognito restaurant-goer, but Katie blew my cover. I really liked the idea of comparing the food, service, and atmosphere when I go as a regular person and when I go as an invited potential food critic. However, unlike some bloggers who couldn’t be bothered to attend a free meal because of their "journalistic integrity," I never pass at a chance to eat out, whether I’m paying for it or not. And I’m sure that after you finish reading this review, you will know that I was not inappropriately swayed to gushing praise simply because they paid for one of my meals.

When I was first asked by Shane to come to the dinner, I asked him if he knew what he was getting into by inviting me to this dinner. I meant that in two ways; first because I have what some call a acerbic nitpicky way about me; and second, because I have a very different dining background that the average restaurant goer. I won’t expound too much on either one of those, except to say that the things that I noticed about Two25 that may be construed as criticisms are things that most average diners would not notice or care about.

And away we go . . . .

To make my evaluation complete, I ordered similar items both nights, but most not completely the same. So, at each dinner I had a before dinner drink, appetizer, salad, a glass of wine with dinner, entree, and dessert.

Service. The service was good both nights, but far superior at the "official" blogger dinner. Of course, that night, they had their "best man" Sam on the job and he did his job very well. I was also told that Sam was instrumental in choosing the wine list, which I was very impressed by, particularly because it included three Ridge wines. My only complaint about the service on the first night was that, even though I had ordered a glass of wine to go with my entree when I ordered the entree, the waitress did not bring the glass of wine to me until I was more than halfway done eating my entree. Wine goes with food and really becomes quite pointless if it isn’t there.

Before Dinner Drink. This is actually more a test of the bar than the restaurant and was one of the things I found lacking at Two25. I ordered a Cosmo the first time and a Gin and Tonic the second night. It is pretty hard to screw up at G&T, so that was fine. The Cosmo on the other hand, was not great. It arrived in a stemless glass (the wine was also served in stemless glasses, which is fine for a liquid that is not meant to be cold) and it was barely cool when I received it. Cosmos should be ice cold - the very best of them having a thin layer of ice floating on the top. Of course, the stemless glass didn’t help because the heat from my hand quickly eradicated any cold the drink possessed before it got to the table.

A Cosmo is a fairly common drink and easy to make. The bartender’s failure to make one appropriately speaks to either lack of experience or lack of good training. The next time I eat at Two25, I will probably skip any drinks other than wine.

Appetizers. The first night, the table had sauteed mushrooms and the second night, we had escargot. Both were good, not spectacular, but certainly good. The flavor of the mushrooms was nice but the presentation was lacking - it was really just a pile of mushrooms on a plate. The escargot were not in their shells, which I found odd, but were covered with a good sauce, toasted breadcrumbs, and bread. I thought the sauce was too garlicky (and I like a lot of garlic) and a little heavy-handed on the salt. I tasted another diner’s calamari and it was very, very good . . . not chewy at all and full of flavor. The calamari will be my appetizer next time.

Salad. I actually had the same salad both nights and I was glad I did for the sake of this review because something happened that is one of my pet peeves about salads. I had the Pear Salad, which is mixed greens, blue cheese, sliced pears, walnuts, dried cranberries, and strawberry vinaigrette. The first night, this salad was exceptional. Everything was fresh, the greens were dark and healthy, not a single chunk of iceberg in the bunch (iceberg lettuce should be the death of any restaurant charging more than $10 for an entree). I ordered it again the second night because it was so good.

Ahh . . . the old bait and switch. The same salad was horrible on the second night. The pears were too old, had dark spots, and had gone gritty. The greens were about half "real" greens and the other half emaciated iceberg, as if they had run low on real greens and tried to "pad" the salad with filler. Yuck. In my opinion, if you can’t make something up to the standards you aspire to every time, you should take it off the menu.

Entrees. The first night I had the Pan-Seared Duck Breast with a Lingonberry Chambord reduction, baby carrots, and potatoes au gratin. This was good, I ate the whole thing, but I’ve had much better. The duck breast was a little tough and chewy, although it had a nice crust of fat on it. The Lingonberry reduction was way too sweet, which must be pretty hard to achieve since lingonberries are fairly sour naturally. I like the interplay between sweet and savory, but this was too heavy on the sweet. The carrots were good, not overdone which is very important. The potatoes were also good, but lacking in salt or other flavor.

The second night I had the Rack of Lamb with red wine demi glace, steamed asparagus, and the potatoes au gratin. The lamb had very good flavor, although it was a little fattier than most rack of lamb I’ve had. The potatoes were exactly the same. I love asparagus and this was good asparagus, perfectly cooked so it still had crunch. The demi glace was minimally important to the plate flavor-wise. My biggest complaint was that the meal had clearly been plated for a long time prior to the lamb being added and sat under the heat lamps because the sauce had a faint skin on it. It didn’t destroy the good flavor of the meal, but it did put me off a little knowing my dinner had not been timed appropriately.

One of the best things about both entrees is that I asked for medium rare and I got medium rare. This is the make-it-or-break-it test for me and restaurants. Yes, I mean medium rare and when I get it, I am happy.

Desserts. The first night I had creme brulee, which in its most basic form is pretty hard to screw up. And this was good creme brulee - it had the requisite "break" when I tapped the sugar with my spoon. However, it was an exceedingly small portion made to look larger by placing it in a wide, but very shallow custard dish. I also tasted the chocolate mousse, which was passable. The second night, I had the caramel apple pie which was OK.

I have the following general comments about the experience.

First, the bartender needs to practice. The wine list is wonderful and the beer choices are probably the best in Peoria for this type of restaurant (too often fine dining restaurants eschew beer as some low-class drink. This is not so and I am glad Two25 understands this.)

Second, they need to get a better meat supplier. The duck and the lamb were both only OK, not great cuts of meat. The veal and steak I tried were also just OK. If you are going to charge between $24 and $42 for meat, you’d better back it up with some good meat.

Third, the menu is too long and trying to do too much. It should be considerably shortened and become focused on what the kitchen can do well. (As a side note, I noticed after writing this review that since we were there a week ago, the menu has been changed significantly. I hope a lot of thought went into this change.)

Fourth, they need a real pastry chef. The dessert menu screams "I was created by a professional chef who either can’t make desserts, doesn’t like desserts, or who didn’t take the pastry course in culinary school!!" There are chefs who are good at the dinner experience and completely lacking in the dessert experience. This chef is one of them. All of the desserts offered are things I could buy from the deli counter at the grocery store or make out of a box. Dessert is the last impression most diners get of a restaurant. I would hate to think these desserts are being used as that final message.

In conclusion, I think that most average restaurant-goers will have a good experience at Two25. Most people will not notice the things that I did and will come back again. I will certainly come back again, perhaps when they work out some of the kinks. It takes time to make a quality fine dining restaurant, particularly in a town like Peoria.

I Might Be Out of Words

I am disturbed by my lack of blogging. However, I am not going to be one of those bloggers who calls it quits only to have a huge burst of blog-creativity and then write some of their best stuff. Because, I'll tell you, every blogger who has ever said "that's it, I'm done" has come back for more. It's like crack. Or pastry. Or good sex . . . you can never say "I'm done."

Anyway, the reason I might be out of words is that I recently completed two major writing projects at work. Seriously - I've probably written in excess of 50,000 words in the last three weeks. I don't know why my caseload can't be more balanced. I would love to have a simple case, hard case, simple, hard, simple, hard, etc. but it doesn't work that way. I had these two giant things due at the same time and now I have a string of completely little things to deal with for the next month or so.

Of course, I complain and complain during the big things, but then I complain when I'm not super busy because I get bored without deadlines breathing down my neck. I'm the type of person who asks for more work if I have nothing to do at work. I can't stand to be idle, particularly at work.

All of that being said, I have a few random comments I'd like to make. In no particular order.

First . . . I think some people should learn to keep it in their pants. And by "it," I'm not referring to car keys.

Second . . . why is the river flooding on the riverfront such big fucking news? Yes. It sucks for the people who live and work on the riverfront, but is it really such a big surprise? Didn't you notice the river when you bought that restaurant space (or planned to build that museum)? It's kinda hard to miss, people. And do you know what rivers have been doing since the beginning of time? Flooding. And do you know what this river has been doing for at least the last 8 years (the time I've lived in Peoria)? Flooding. Seriously. Every. Single. Year. Sometimes more than once a year.

Why is it such a surprise when it happens again? I mean, nothing has changed down there. It's not like they are building up levies or walls or barriers or anything. I mean, they don't even bother sandbagging anymore. It's a RIVER, people. My grandfather taught me many things, but one thing was that you don't fuck with a river. OK, he didn't say it like that, but you get my point. And he was talking about the Mississippi River when he said it. Despite the fact that we are all humans and think we have the right to control everything, in fact, we don't and can't control Mother Nature.

And while I'm on the subject, no one is allowed to call this current flooding the "great" or "horrible" or "record" flooding of Peoria's history. Until you lived through something like the floods in Des Moines in 1993, you have no fucking clue what a great flood is. ALL of downtown Des Moines was flooded, including two of the three major hospitals. Every single government building was flooded. Power was off for weeks. There was no usable water for two months. It's been almost 16 years and some things still haven't returned to normal. Oh yeah . . . and people died. Until things get that bad, I really don't want to hear about it.

Third, just because you are writing something on the computer does not give you the right to turn into an illiterate moron. Seriously . . . can't we just make an attempt to use correct grammar and punctuation. Please? I mean, I get pretty hacked off when people misuse their, there, and they're, but I mostly keep it to myself. But, if you can't write a simple declarative sentence, why are you even on the computer? Your time would be much better spent taking some adult ed classes. Really.

Fourth, I don't get St. Patrick's Day. I mean, I get the fact that for most people, it is just an excuse to get shit-faced drunk and do stupid things. But, if you need an excuse to do that, I think it's time to take control of your life, do what makes you happy when you feel like doing it, not when it happens to be a time everyone else thinks you should do it.

Fifth, this week is the worst week to work in downtown Peoria. IHSA. Ugh. Not only do they screw up traffic and parking and take every freaking spot in every freaking restaurant over the lunch hour, they expect us people who are actually working for a living to rearrange our entire lives so their sorry-ass children can have their five minutes of high school fame before they go to college and realized that life is not high school and . . . really . . . high school doesn't matter that much.

Well. Look at that. I guess I didn't run out of words after all.

Enough Knowledge to be Dangerous . . . or Stupid - The Menu

*Read this post second, or you will miss the full nature of my brilliance!

I just thought of a few menu items that should be served at the 5th Amendment Bar & Grill. Now if these are on the menu, I might actually stop in for a bite.

First Amendment - The Freedom of Religion Fries

Second Amendment - The Right to Bear Chicken Fingers

Third Amendment - The Quartering of Soldiers Club Sandwich

Fourth Amendment - The Search and Seizure Nachos (first you search for the chips . . .)

Fifth Amendment - The I Plead the Fifth Garlic Burger

Sixth Amendment - The Right to Counsel Onion Rings

Seventh Amendment - The Trial by Jury Appetizer Sampler Platter

Eighth Amendment - The Cruel and Unusual Punishment by Horseshoe Sandwich

Ninth Amendment - The Retention of Rights Mozzarella Sticks

Tenth Amendment - The Power of the State Mini Tacos

I could only come up with food for the Bill of Rights, frankly because it is really hard to come up with catchy food items for the Thirteenth Amendment (Abolition of Slavery) or the Sixteenth Amendment (Income Tax) or the Seventeenth Amendment (Election of Senators), etc.

Enough Knowledge to be Dangerous . . . or Stupid

When someone is naming something, it usually helps to know a little bit about the name you are giving that something. For instance, if you are going to name a bar "5th Amendment Bar & Grill," I would hope you had actually read the Fifth Amendment before purchasing the giant billboard signs.

Most people know the Fifth Amendment as in "I plead the Fifth!" But here is what the Fifth Amendment actually says:

No person shall be held to answer for a capital, or other infamous crime, unless on a presentment or indictment of a Grand Jury, except in cases arising in the land or naval forces, or in the Militia, when in actual service in time of War or public danger; nor shall any person be subject for the same offense to be twice put in jeopardy of life or limb, nor shall be compelled in any criminal case to be a witness against himself, nor be deprived of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law; nor shall private property be taken for public use, without just compensation.

In other words, the Fifth Amendment covers the right to be indicted by a grand jury, the protection against double jeopardy (being punished twice for the same offense), the protection against self-incrimination, the right to due process, and the right to just compensation for property taken for public use.

But how exactly does this apply to a grill and bar?

Perhaps the owner was referring to his right to be indicted by a grand jury when his burgers aren’t cooked to order. In this case, a "grand jury" means a pack of hungry drunk Bradley students late on a Friday night. Or maybe he was referring to his desire to be protected from the double jeopardy he is facing by opening yet another restaurant in this location where every other restaurant has failed miserably in the past few years. (Just a hint, Mr. Owner . . . it's a personal right, not tied to a specific location.)

Maybe the servers are asserting their rights against self-incrimination when asked what is in the "special sauce" after an outbreak of food-poisoning is linked to such special sauce. Perhaps every tab kept at the bar is guaranteed to be correct in accordance with the patrons’ due process rights. And just maybe customers have a right to just compensation when someone steals their bar stool while they are in the bathroom.

Who knows. But what I do know is that I bet the waitstaff is going to get really tired of asking for someone’s order and being told, "I plead the Fifth!" I bet that will still be really funny when the 1,000th drunk guy says it on a Saturday night.

I Think I Have PTSD

Yes, it is true. I am suffering from PTSD brought on by eight years of a George W. Bush presidency. I had no idea this affliction had taken hold in my psyche until I read the news story that reported that Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg had been admitted to the hospital for pancreatic cancer surgery.

My initial reaction?

God FUCKING Dammit!! Great! Now she's going to retire and that baboon's ass Bush is going to put ANOTHER uber-conservative 50 year old white guy on the Supreme Court who will spend the REST of his FUCKING ivy-league, stick-up-his-ass, dumber-than-a-bag-of-hair, no-compassion-for-the-little-people, waste of a life fucking up our country, destroying what is left of the Bill of Rights, pushing his religious agenda, and generally making my life MORE of a living hell than it already is. I mean, REALLY. That excuse-for-a-president-of-BumbleFuck-school-board Bush apparently thinks packing the Court with people like Samuel Alito and John Roberts (who can't even get the fucking PRESIDENTIAL OATH OF OFFICE right) is the best way to have the Supreme Court of the United States represent the actual people of the United States because anyone with a vagina or non-white skin doesn't have any value whatsoever . . . .

Wait.

Wait a minute . . . .

And the clouds parted, and I realized . . . George W. Bush is not the President anymore.

And the relief washed over me like a warm rain in August. Ahhhhhhhhh.

Not that I want Ginsburg to retire. I love Ruth Bader Ginsburg. I've met her personally and she is a lovely woman with an amazing sense of justice, fairness, and reason. But now I don't have to live in fear of the day that either she or John Paul Stevens retires. At least for the next four years, we are safe.

Beware! The Music Geeks Cometh!

Yesterday and today represent two of my least favorite days to work downtown. Every year, there is some sort of high school music festival involving busloads of band and orchestra geeks and their teachers in downtown Peoria. Is it All-State? I have no idea, but they really irritate me.

Before you all get up in arms and call me a bitch (again), I will preface all of this by saying I am allowed to bitch and moan about music geeks (and call them music geeks) because I was, in fact, a big fat music geek myself. When you start playing the violin at the age of 3 and play every day for the next 20 years (except for the few weeks after my brother broke my arm), you have earned the right to make fun of the next generation of music geeks.

Oh yes, I was a BIG music geek. And because I played the violin, I naturally thought I was better than every other music geek in the world (because I was). I did every violin thing imaginable. I was a Suzuki violinist, so we had weekly lessons, monthly play days, and two weeks of violin camp every summer. I was in All-State Orchestra twice. I had a violin hickey from the first grade until I graduated from college.

So, I get these kids. I've been these kids. But I still find them fucking annoying. Walking down the sidewalks in packs preventing me from entering my parking lot. Walking through the parking lot preventing me from leaving my parking lot. (I swear to god, if that kid hadn't been carrying a cello, I would have tapped him with the front of my car. But, I have a soft spot for cellists, so I resisted.) Camping out eating lunch in the lobby of my office building. Taking up every available seat in the downtown area for lunch.

I do have some positive things to say about these kids, though. They don't jaywalk, which immediately makes them 10 times smarter than Bradley kids. They are fairly well-behaved considering most of them don't have parents with them. You don't hear about them trashing hotels and getting shit-face-wasted like the Basketball kids who show up in March. Plus, they are snappy dressers because they have to perform. I saw an entire carload of 17 year olds in tuxes this morning. How sweet.

And don't get me started on those Basketball kids. They are 100 times worse than the music kids. First, there are more of them. Second, they are here for longer. Third, their parents come with them and, if there is anything more annoying than High School jocks let loose on downtown . . . it's their parents.

Never Underestimate My Ability to Change the World

They cut down my really big wooden tree penis!! I'm pretty sure it happened this morning after I went to work because I'm pretty sure it was there on my way to work this morning. Who knew I had such power? I shall try to not abuse my great power and be kind to the little people and those who are much weaker than I.

Seriously, though. Can you imagine the conversation that occurred at the Park District's grounds maintenance office? I've been picturing it in my head for the last hour or so.

[The scene: Five guys are sitting around in the maintenance office at the Peoria Park District.]

Guy 1: Huh huh . . . hey guys! Take a look at this! [pointing to blog pictures]

Guy 2: Nice woody! Huh huh huh!!

Guy 3: Huh huh . . . he said woody!

Guy 4: Huh huh . . . she said penis!

Guy 5: Hey, wait. Doesn't that say it's on Park District property? Sweet!

[boss walks in]

Boss: What the fuck are you idiots laughing at?

Guy 1: Look!

Boss: Shit . . . that's on our property? Where? Does anyone know where?? Send out an APB on this really big wooden tree penis. We cannot have that sucker on our property!

[After some frantic emailing, the really big wooden tree penis is located. A plan is formulated. Under the cover of broad daylight and a neighborhood full of primarily elderly people, a lone man in a white truck approaches the really big wooden tree penis. Apprehensive about the effect cutting off a really big tree penis will have on his penis karma, he plans his attack carefully. Starting up the chainsaw, he completes the deed . . . quick and painless. He removes the really big wooden tree penis and throws it in the back of his truck. He returns to the Park District office and displays the really big wooden tree penis to be revered by all for evermore, evermore.]

I took pictures during my lunch hour and I will post them when I get home tonight. They cut off the entire penis, not just a portion of it to make it look less like a penis, but the entire penis, which I think was overkill, really. But you wanna know the best part?

They covered up the stump with snow!

Why was that necessary? As if covering it with snow (a substance that will melt in the next few days anyway) will hide the shame of a really big wooden tree penis formerly occupying a spot on Park District Property? Why else would they cover it up? To conceal their dirty deed from me? Well, it didn't work, primarily because there is sawdust all around the tree and tire tracks leading up near to the tree, and men's work boot prints all around the tree. I may be blonde, people, but I am not stupid.

But I remain in awe of my power and the power of my blog. I shall plan my next post very carefully, for you apparently never know what I can get people to do by just bitching about it.

Bwahahahahahaha!

Maybe It's Just Me

I drive by this tree every morning on my way to work. It is on Peoria Park District property and every day (and I mean, every day) I think to myself, "Either the Peoria Park District has some really creative tree-trimmers working or some really clueless tree-trimmers working."

OK - I'll be completely honest. Some mornings, I don't have complete thoughts like that. Some mornings, I just think, "Wow . . . that's a really big wooden tree penis."

And Now, a Report From Our Man Down Under

While reading my parents' local newspaper this morning, I saw the headline, "More Holiday Time Leads to More Sex." Intrigued, I read on. Apparently, in the modern age, people have more sex during Christmas and New Years. To assist in this important article, the author contacted a spokesperson from Trojan. His name is David Johnson.

In addition to Christmas and New Years, the spokesperson added:

"The long July Fourth, Memorial Day, and Labor Day weekends also produce spikes in condom sales, Trojan's Johnson said."



That's what he said.

Upon Further Refelction,

Perhaps I should stop purchasing children's books at the Dollar Store.

Dear Smart Car Driver . . .

I think it is absolutely wonderful that you have shown your green-superiority to the rest of us by purchasing a Smart Car. I think it is great that you can park your car at a bike rack instead of taking up one of my parking spaces. Frankly, I am jealous that you are using all of your excess gas money to buy Birkenstocks, clothing made from recycled plastic, and reusable tampons.

But I have one favor to ask. Just one little thing from this gas-car-driving consumer . . . .

Could you PLEASE drive the FUCKING SPEED LIMIT? I know you have a tiny electric car. I know it was a really, really big hill. I know it feels like you are driving a beer can with wheels and when I pass you in my Hyundai, the vibrations make it feel like your hubcaps are going to fly off. However, these things are not my problem.

What is my problem is you driving 30 miles per hour in a 45 mile per hour zone. Sure, I was feeling a little grumpy because I had just come from the mall where I had to deal with the drone-people who think they need to start Christmas shopping on NO-FREAKING-VEMBER 15th all because I promised my kid she could ride on the Christmas train. I take ownership for my part in this situation. I'm just asking you to drive the speed limit.

Or, like . . . five miles over the speed limit. THAT would be really nice.

Neither the High Road nor the Low Road

Sometimes, you read something or you hear something and you get pissed off. If you’re me, that happens fairly frequently. I have a very low tolerance for things I think are stupid or wrong or discriminatory or just plain ass-backwards. Sometimes, in response to these things, you want to write nasty emails, post nasty blog entries, or throw mud in the offending person’s general direction. Sometimes, it feels good to let it all out, to make your voice heard, to one-up the person who has offended you so.

And then there are times for being nice. My mother always used to say to me, "You know, you’ll catch more flies with honey than with vinegar." Well sure you will, but who wants to catch flies anyway? I really prefer to stalk flies with a rolled up magazine and smash them into teeny-tiny little bits while yelling, "Take that, sucka!!" And yes, it does make me feel powerful to kill something 1/100th of my size with overly-zealous force. So much so that sometimes, I do a little victory dance after I kill a fly. I’m not ashamed to admit it.

For about six months when I was 14 years old, my mother decided it was time to get involved in the Unitarian Church. We’re not a family of church-goers generally, and I was suspicious of this decision. She and my father attended the services and my brother and I went to Sunday School. As it turns out, she wanted to enroll me in Sunday School at this particular church because they had a very progressive sex education program. And when I say very progressive I mean that some of the things we talked about and viewed were my first experience with pornography.

Anyway, my mother didn’t last long in this type of organized religion. This is probably a clue as to how our family views religion in general. If my mother couldn’t stomach the Unitarians, she probably will never be able to be a member of any organized religion. She tried to belong, but she was too realistic for the granola-crunchy members, too smart for the new-age members, and too bossy for the church leadership.

Every service ended with members sharing some piece of good news about their families or anything, really. Our last Sunday in church, one of the other mothers of teenagers in the church stood up to expound on the virtues of her children. At great length. Little Tommy had scored a touchdown in football. Little Suzy was on the honor roll again. They had both won awards for creative writing, or art, or music or some shit like that. Everybody politely clapped (and rolled their eyes). Except my mother.

My mother blew a gasket. She marched up to the lectern and grabbed the microphone. She said, "I would just like to tell everyone about my children. They did absolutely nothing spectacular this week. They were completely normal. They haven’t won any awards and haven’t done exceptionally well in school. But I’m still proud of them. Thank you." She dropped the microphone and walked out.

Like I said, that was our last Sunday in church.

But I learned something from her behavior that day. Sometimes, you need to take a few breaths, count to 10 and NOT say the first thing that comes to your mind. Into a microphone. In front of a large audience.

But sometimes you do.

Bottom line . . . sometimes you feel like a nut, sometimes you don’t.

The question is, do I feel nutty today? Well? Do I?

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Nope. I still don’t know. But I'll tell you one thing. I don’t like being classified as a Mommy Blogger. I may be a mommy and a blogger. However, calling me a Mommy Blogger is like making cake using only flour and eggs. And it takes a whole lot more to make a cake. Particularly a Pointlessly Hypertechnical cake. Those are some damn complicated pastries.

Early Voting

I voted last night. I guess it was to take advantage of the early voting that is now available. I waited in line (for almost half an hour), was told for the fourth time my last name is misspelled in the system (and, yes, I am absolutely sure there is an R in my last name. Pretty sure it came over on the boat from Denmark that way. Thanks for asking again, though), and then cast my ballot. Actually, to be precise, my daughter cast my ballot because she loves pushing the buttons. We all got our "I Voted" stickers and were home for dinner.

It was a fine experience but I do not think I will vote early again. Sure, I only waited for half an hour and on voting day during the last presidential election, I waited for an hour and a half, but early voting left me feeling empty inside.

Part of the thrill of voting (and yes, I still think it is thrilling to vote - just to have a small part in the running of our country is amazing) is going home after voting to watch the television coverage. The direct link between my vote and the election results is right there, right away for me to experience. Last night was just a let down. I went home and wanted to see where my vote was in the rankings. Would my candidates win? Would it be close? How many stupid things will the commentators say? Will the clusterfuck happen in Florida again? Or any other state?

Without being able to watch the end of the voting process - the election results - it feels as if I was just pretend voting. I know they assured me every vote will be counted, but I feel as if I was just a half-assed participant. I wanted the immediate gratification of either knowing that, finally, our country is going to make a turn-around from the train wreck of the last eight years or that, it will continue on this track of destruction. I wanted to yell at the TV. I wanted to call all my friends and scream, "What is WRONG with people? Who could possibly vote for that idiot?"

Most of all, I want this election to be over. It has been a long campaign season filled with ups and downs. I am tired of the attack ads. I am tired of daily flyers in the mail maligning one candidate or another. I am tired of hearing from strategists and commentators and talking heads and people who apparently do not have jobs other than to appear on news talk shows during a presidential campaign. I am tired of looking at John McCain's face and hearing Sarah Palin's whiny-ass voice.

It is probably crystal clear who I voted for in this election. But, I will say there were two races where it was a difficult decision. The Gordan/Krupa race is a tough one because, frankly, I think one is a shell of a person puppet for her party and the other is totally under-qualified. I literally did not make a decision about the state's attorney's race until I was standing at the polling booth reading their names. I know both of the men running personally. They both have their good points and they both have really, really negative aspects. And, no . . . I won't tell you which one I picked.

I Wish I Was Congested

There are workmen in my office constructing some new cubicles or something. They are constructing these things right outside of my office door.

I don't mind the noise.

I don't mind the mess.

I don't mind that they have completely blocked my doorway.

I don't mind the mindless dumb-ass chatter.

I DO mind the skin-peeling, eyelash curling, fingernail biting, nasal passage burning BO.

One of these guys has the worst body odor I have ever, ever, ever smelled. I closed my door because of the body odor. The odor lingered in my office. I sprayed hair spray to cloak the odor. The odor broke through. I sprayed myself with Febreeze. The odor killed it and attached itself to my clothing.


I am THIS close to shoving kleenex up my nostrils.

Parade Politicking

The kids and I attended the West Peoria Fourth of July Parade last week. It was a great parade and the weather was beautiful. After they got over the eardrum-shattering sirens, they were all about the candy and fancy cars. I was more interested in the parade politicking.

Parades and Politicians always go hand-in-hand, and this parade was no different. Every possible political candidate was represented, if not personally walking in the parade. And they all have their own styles and gimmicks. Most had stickers, fliers, and candy for the kids. But some went a step further.

Joan Krupa gave out tiny bottles of bubbles, which was a good idea in theory but she should have tried to open one and get the bubble wand out before giving them to actual children. The bottles contained about one fluid ounce of bubbles, most of which poured out as I tried to remove the teeny-tiny bubble wand. They ended up in the trash, which caused much dismay with my children, despite the fact we have gallons of bubbles in the house.

Jehan Gordon gave out stickers and fliers. The stickers were smart, because my two year old slapped that sucker on her shirt within 5 seconds of receiving it. Hey, a sticker's a sticker, man. My complaint with Gordon was that she only personally greeted the senior citizens. She shook hands with the two seniors on my right side, skipped me, and shook hands with the two seniors (my next door neighbors) on my left side. I don't know . . . maybe she figures she has my vote because I am . . . young? A woman? Who knows.

But one politician exceeded the others in parade politicking by far - Darin LaHood. Of course, it must be in his blood or ingrained in his skin. But he got his name out there better than any other politician I have ever seen in a parade. The first smart thing he did was have his people come around before the parade started with plastic bags for the kids to put candy in. So, by the time any other politician got to us (particularly Lyons), we were already decked in Darin LaHood decoration.

Second, he also gave out stickers, which were promptly stuck under the Gordon sticker on my daughter's shirt. Third, he gave out balloons, which may have been more exciting than candy or stickers to my kids. (More about the balloons later.)

But the best was the Darin LaHood hand sanitizer. I kid you not . . . little bottles of hand sanitizer with a Darin LaHood label on them. It said something like "Let's Clean Up Crime in Peoria." It was ingenious!! I have been talking about that Darin LaHood hand sanitizer for days and showing it to everyone I know. It is going to take a place of prominence on my shelf of odd professional items, right next to my BOP stress ball.

My only complaint about the hand sanitizer was that the LaHood person (not Darin himself) who handed it to me said, "Candy for the kids, hand sanitizer for the moms." I hate that stuff. Why not say, "Hand sanitizer for the grown-ups" or the "parents"? Why are mothers always assumed to be more interested in their child's health or cleanliness than fathers? It reminds me of one of my least favorite slogans, "Choosy Moms Choose Jif." As if dads don't give a shit what their kids eat. Or if they're clean.

Anyway, is that bottle of hand sanitizer going to make me vote for LaHood? Well, no. Things like that make good conversation pieces, but won't influence my vote.