Call Me. This Week, Anyway.

When I was a little tyke, I remember spending a lot of time at the car dealership. My dad had what many would consider an addiction to cars. He didn't have a lot of cars at once, he would simply trade each vehicle in after a short year or two. It seemed like we were always at the car dealer, and it was the most boring experience of a young girl's life. If only I'd known how to knit back then. Anyhoo, on one car-trading-in occasion, the dealer asked my dad a trivia question. Which three-letter word contained no vowels? The letter "y" didn't count as a consonant, and it was a word in English. Dad had a week to figure it out, and the guy would give him $100 if he got it right. My boredom was gone. My brain was buzzing the rest of the day. What was that word? Would dad have to read the entire dictionary to get the answer? I don't want to date myself too much, but we were literally decades from internet trivia assistance. How was he going to find that answer?!

Who would spend an entire week on trivia these days? Who would spend more than a few seconds? It's no longer a matter of who is clever and witty. It's now about who can get Wikipedia or IMDB to load faster. Daily trivia challenges are officially losing their fun factor. I'm certainly guilty of the Google quick fix. Fewer and further between exist the late night calls from friends and family, desperate for my specific music knowledge. I love helping someone win a bet over which rock star wore what outfit in which video!

But not this week.

Starting yesterday, I've decided that for one entire week, I won't Google the answer to my trivia challenges. I will look for it in tangible literature or phone a friend. So get ready for the call. I need all of your brains. I'm challenging you to do the same. In turn, I'll be your pop music lifeline. If you hum a bar, or describe a lyric, I can tell you which Men At Work song you're thinking of. So call me!

Farewell, Johnny Castle (For Those in the Know)

When I was in elementary school, I hear about the "25'ers Club." The nightly news reported on a group of women who had gone to see this movie, Dirty Dancing, 25 or more times in the theater. These women were squandering their money on movie tickets when they could easily wait for it to come out on video. And what a stupid name for a movie!

And then I saw it on HBO.

The sight of Johnny Castle in the employees hangout, his unbuttoned tuxedo shirt and tight black pants got my attention. When he motioned our girl next door to join him on the dance floor, I was hypnotized. When he taught this bumbling watermelon girl the most basic of Dirty Dance moves (you know the pelvic thrust I'm talking about, ladies), it pretty much sent me right into puberty.

The first 10 times I watched that movie, I didn't even know what "knocked up" meant. I thought Jimmy beat the crap out of Penny. I mean, she looked like she'd been beaten when Johnny lifted her up off the floor of Kellerman's kitchen. This movie taught me about virginity, adultery, abortion, lust, the American caste system, and the fact that if you are special enough, you don't have to be super hot to have a super hot guy fall in love with you. It's got to be one of my top three sexiest movies, and there's not even any nudity!

It's incredibly cheesy to the outsider. I'm not here to convert anyone. But there was never a more dashing Patrick Swayze role. Ghost was a pretty good movie. Red Dawn? He's a badass. But I know I belong to a generation of girls who grew up hoping they could have a Mickey and Sylvia moment with a boy from summer camp. We all want a chance to try the lift. We wanted a man who would put his job and reputation on the line to stand up for our honor. This is a sad day for girls who love Johnny Castle. So keep the jokes mum while we mourn the loss of our dream guy.

Not a Matter of "If" But "When"

Much like motorcycle riding, using a mandolin produce slicer is just an accident waiting to happen. I'll spare you the photos of the actual injury. Because, well, there are no photos. I think it's more horrifying to explain the laceration in gory wordage. No, I wouldn't want you to do that to me, so I'll just gloss over the gross stuff, and focus on the funny moments from today.

All I was trying to do was cook bacon, section my grapefruit, cut four days worth of celery and carrot sticks, make 4 salads for my future lunches. Simultaneously. My new mandolin makes it so easy to cut my cukes, I just didn't know how far down it had gotten before the tip of my right thumb became part of the slicing fest. Yes, it came with a plastic guard. No, I wasn't using it. And neither would you. The cucumber was about a foot long when I started. I was hypnotized by the perfect green medallions floating effortlessly into each Tupperware. How could I have known I was down to a quarter inch when magic was happening in my kitchen?! As my dad pointed out later, it takes either a dummy or a kitchen musician to cut oneself with the mandolin. I, the latter, was obviously sucked int0 the beautiful rhythm of sliceyness.

Once I realized the not-so-minor nature of the cut, I walked briskly into the bedroom, told Marky, "I cut my thumb and I think it's bad and I don't think I can look at it," and he jumped out of bed. For a minute or two, we passed from delusion (all it needed was a bandaid), to delusion (maybe we can superglue it), to delusion (I can drive myself to the ER, where they'll just put superglue on it, and it will be a cinch to pull out my insurance card using only my index and forefinger), to the final realization that I was debilitated and Marky had to cancel his client to drive me to the damn ER.

Saturday morning, it turns out, is the perfect time for an emergency in Chicago. Nary a soul was in the ER, and I got right into triage. The first nurse simply dipped my finger in a mild cleanser. When I told the doctor I was the victim of my own recklessness with a mandolin, she raised her eyebrows and practically yelled, "I will always use a guard with a mandolin because of all of the crazy injuries I've seen in the ER from them!" My fault. I admit.

The nurse that gave me a tetanus shot asked what happened. Figuring he'd give me the same spiel, I just said, "Mandolin."

"Really!" He answered, stepping back.

"Oh, is that a sarcastic 'really'? Have you seen a bunch of people like me?"

"I have never seen a mandolin injury!" Fascinated, he pantomimed holding a ukelele and continued, "Now (looking at his hands), were you strumming, or picking when it happened?"

Laughing at this ridiculous idea, I explained to him that there is another type of mandolin, but lacerating one's thumb during a Medieval madrigal would have been far more interesting way to spend a Saturday morning.

The irrigation process should really be called the "irritating process." That's when I finally gave them my man card and asked for the lidocaine shots. Living through the pain of the shot immediately afforded me a fresh new card. What a gruesome experience. I'm not one of those people who hate needles in general. I do however hate large, slow moving, audible needles that shoot out burning substances repeatedly. Soon I was numb, and the doc came back to stitch me up. The lidocaine helped, but I could still feel a little pain when she sewed the flap back on. But I look at it the same way I look at a tattoo. It's a memory, and the pain is part of that memory. I will remember it when I think of carelessly slicing a cuke.

My thumb got a little hat that looks like something out of an L.L. Bean catalog. You know, the snow hat with the little braids coming down from the ear area? I could knit circles (literally) around that sterile white gauze. Imagine a variegated green thumb cozy! If only I had the dexterity to knit, I'd be on it in a heartbeat. Obviously I'm not the first to do this, and I won't be the last. My dad also suggested I market them to the OXO company as a companion piece to the mandolin. I mean, it's gonna happen. You might as well do it in style.

The Bree/Brie Project

After watching Julie & Julia on Friday, I couldn't possibly bring Fritos and onion dip to the party we were invited to on Saturday.

I went to Harvest Time for my usual produce, and there they were. Purple figs in season and on sale! I'm not much of a fig person, but I do have this baked cheese stuffed fig recipe in my pocket. It's ridiculously easy and always a hit at get-togethers. So I bought the figs. We went to Whole Foods to get some cheese, and there I found green figs. We consulted the cheese guy (who whistles beautiful harmonies to the hard rock radio station blaring in the back of the cheese dept), and he immediately suggested brie. Well of course that would work. Brie goes with everything. Last time I made this recipe, I stuck to only very mild white cheeses, and was thrilled when he suggested a stinky blue cheese, and strong smoked gouda. He then admitted that he'd never eaten a baked fig with cheese. I promised to bring him the leftovers. Empty promises. I knew there'd be no leftovers.

You really don't need a lot of cheese to do this. We bought way too much, but can you ever have too much cheese in the house? Side note: Marky and I have cut out dairy (except for the occasional creamer in the coffee) for over a month. The cheese in the fridge is calling to me. All you have to do is spray a cookie sheet with oil, cut each fig in half, scoop the guts out with a melon baller, and place a chunk of cheese in there. Only scoop out a small section. If you go crazy scooping, your fig will disintegrate in the oven, and you want some of that purple color to frame the cheesy goodness. Also, just like filling muffin cups, use a little less than you think you need. These figs can turn into a real mess if you have cheese bubbling over the sides. Aw heck, if you want a crapload of gouda, go for it.

When every fig is filled, place the cookie sheet into a hot broiler, and keep an eye on it. I didn't let this batch get terribly brown. I just warmed them until the cheese melted. If you have a not-so-trustworthy broiler like mine, you could take it a step further and brown the tops with a créme brulée torch.

Try this with your fave cheese. We've also used goat cheese, mozarella, and cheddar. It's a lovely seasonal treat, and a crowd-pleaser.

How I Learned to Love The Draft

And to think, I almost didn't ride my bike today!

I caught up to it just past Wrigleyville (after scaring the pedestrians--they deserve it for walking backwards, drunk, into oncoming traffic), near Irving Park. There in front of me was a braid. From beneath a blue Specialized helmet cascaded a thick rope of light brown with generous streaks of silver. At the bottom of this 18 inch monster were gentle curls, as if the woman attached still felt the need to express some femininity. I'm not saying the woman in front of me was rough or manly, she just exuded woman power. Her age, I would guess, was 50. 55? No makeup. Simple pink t-shirt and khaki shorts, sturdy legs, and rippling triceps. They rippled. That's usually a word reserved for bulky trainers, or Olympic swimmers--physiques which she didn't possess, but I can't think of any other way to describe it.

We were still at this stop light at Irving, and after all of 15 seconds, she had already become my hero. I decided I needed a name for her. Jane Goodall. No, that's already taken. How about Dian Fossey? Dian went ahead on the green, and I stayed behind her. I learned from Wii Sports Resort that you can reserve power by "drafting," or riding right behind someone. That's probably a more useful device when traveling 40 mph, but I liked riding behind Ms. Fossey. At the Wilson light, I really wanted to tell her that she was a great alpha bitch, but I thought she might get offended. I mean, what if she was a granolian nun? Do those exist?

We passed Carol's Pub, approaching a difficult intersection. I have a tough time here, because there's a park to the west, traffic coming at you in four directions, wily children, and distracted parents parallel parking quickly because they're late for the game. This is an intersection where pushy bikers make careful bikers look bad. Many a cyclist flies through without hesitation. A mother with a stroller walks west as myself and Dian slowly creep north. The mother slows her pace, protecting her cub. What would Dian do? I'll tell you. She came to a complete stop and gave that mommy the go ahead. At this point, I decided Dian was a childless hippie woman who dedicated her life to helping orphans learn about nature. She didn't care about the new liquor and candy tax hike because all she eats is twigs and berries. While we waited for the stroller, I examined Dian's legs, free of spider veins and cellulite.

We rode on, passed young bikers, male bikers, road bikes, we were unstoppable. I knew this trip would be over soon. The urge to tell her she was a badass was overwhelming, but I couldn't express myself perfectly without the aid of my pottymouth. Would she be the type of woman who has a great recipe for oatmeal cookies? Or does she know how to change the oil in a 65 Mustang? Maybe she watches French documentaries. Oh, the fun times we could have together! But at the intersection of Clark and Ashland, near Gethsemane nursery, I almost lost her. For some reason, I let myself get hung up behind a very noisy Harley Davidson at a red light. Not Dian. She curled right around that large hairy man, and took advantage of the unspoken bike rules of the road, carefully advancing through that pesky red.

The stale green at Clark and Ridge was in my sights. I would have a chance to express my gratitude and admiration for Dian's braid, and legs, and ability to accelerate through a yellow light. This was it. A full, rush hour red light complete with green left arrows, and I said... I said nothing. There was room for both of us in the turn lane. I could have easily sidled up to her and at least said, "Nice pace." No, I chickened out. I was on the fence a little about going straight to the gym from work, but Dian pushed me in the right direction when I saw her bolt northward. My jaunt was done, her journey had probably only begun.

Go alpha bitch badass, go.

Stop Thief! Or, Just Go For It. Whatever.

Salads.  I've been really good about them.  I've also been trying to avoid buying lunch during work, because it's a real drain on the wallet.  So I schlep a piece of fruit and Tupperware of salad in my backpack, haul ass to work on my bike, and rush to get it in the fridge before it all wilts.  I keep a bottle of dressing in the work fridge all the time, and enjoy it when lunch time comes.  

Lately, though, my dressing has been dwindling.  It seems I'd get a few good squirts from a large bottle, and then poof!  It's gone.  For this reason, I quit buying nice dressing, and just going for the plain Jane Italian stuff.  Still, it moved like hotcakes.  Who was doing this?  I moved the dressing to a different shelf, and the entire bottle disappeared.  I needed a cheap, creative solution that didn't involve labeling, spitting, or a rent-a-cop.   I assessed my newest bottle of Italian dressing and decided to use that which was most obnoxious about modern groceries.  

The safety seal.  

That previously aggravating little blister of shrinkwrap/rubber/PVC, whatever it is, would be my rent-a-cop.  "But Crafty, how can you enjoy your Italian dressing if you leave the safety seal intact?"  I'll tell you.  I'll cut through that first blue seal on the cap, unscrew it, open the safety seal about halfway, and pour some out.  Then (learned this on MacGruber), I'll replace the seal, and screw the cap back on.  The first person who pops the top on the cap won't be able to get any dressing out, because the safety seal will prevent it!  Ha HA!  Surely after squeezing, struggling, and eventually failing, the perp will move on to an easier mark.  

A couple of days went by, and my plan was working beautifully.  I got to enjoy my dressing for more than a week, and I was feeling confident that my bottle would survive until I used the last serving.  Then the perp revealed him/herself.  I won't name names.  We'll call him/her "Blank."

  

While I sat on the couch knitting through my lunch hour, Blank walked in with a salad.  I was really only watching with my peripheral vision until the shaking started.  Shaking, lunging, struggling.  Then muttering.  "What the?  What is wrong with this thing," Blank murmured.  Blank then tried to unscrew the cap, but it was too tight.  Perps like Blank typically have no upper body strength, due to their lack of morals.  Rather than intervene, I watched in horror.   

"Give it up, Blankie.  Move on to another bottle," I thought.  As if there were no witnesses, Blank raised the knife and stabbed.  

"Urgh!" The dressing seemed to sigh.  Blank stabbed again, mercilessly.  "You win," my poor defenseless bottle whimpered.  Blank threw the weapon in the sink and squeezed the exhausted Italian dressing on his/her salad, which was probably stolen, too.  

There is no stopping lunch time larcenists.  It takes something stronger than a plastic seal to curb that behavior. It takes a defensive move like purchasing 175 1-ounce portion cups with lids.  I fill those babies up with delicious expensive dressing at home, and pop one in my daily salad.  No mess, no theft.  When a coworker recently complained to me that someone ate his chicken salad sandwich right out of the fridge, I asked him if he'd written his name on it, or had a special lunch bag to deter such offenses.  His answers were all no.  When I offered to knit him a sandwich cozy, he laughed it off as ridiculous.  

Amateur.  

For The Love of Concerts

It was tough, but I pulled the memories of 50 concerts I've seen. I guess I don't go to enough concerts, because I had to dig pretty deep to get this list together. Lists tend to bore me a little unless there is a nugget of information included. I will list 50 concerts and a fact about each. And I tried my best to list the order in which I saw them.

1. Ronnie Milsap - I was about four. Mom says I fell asleep and Ronnie Milsap kissed me on the forehead at the end of the concert.

2. Cyndi Lauper - Saw her once when I was 8, once when I was 28, and once again at 31.

3. Huey Lewis - 5th grade. I screamed so loud, the guy next to us plugged his ear.

4. Faith No More - 9th grade, Mike Patton suggested the audience "Jerk. Off. To. The beat," and my stepfather was horrified.

5. Robert Plant - Same concert as above. I had absolutely no appreciation for the rock royalty I was witnessing.

6. Nelson - Had tickets, but the show got cancelled. I was so ready for this concert, I feel like I saw it.

7. Deep Blue Something - College. I had a broken foot, and wanted so badly to go see them sing "Breakfast at Tiffany's." I started to limp out after that song, as did several other audience members. DBS turned the lights on and reprimanded the exiters, calling us Hootie and the Blowfish fans.

8. Robert Earl Keen - Age 19, at a 21 and up concert in a small bar in Santa Fe. Stepdad had to sign a waiver, but ordered me a rum and coke when we got to the table.

9. Eagles - Again, had tickets, but concert was cancelled. When the Eagles rescheduled months later, I listened to the show on the grassy field outside the NMSU football field.

10. Ian Moore - Opening act for the following two. They were out of tune, but I still love them.

11. Bryan Adams - Honestly, one of the tightest bands I've ever seen. Surprisingly, when Bryan sang, "Got my first real six string---------" very few people in the audience could finish the line for him.

12. Rolling Stones - And finally, the headliner. This was the VooDoo Lounge tour, and it was great, but I was really unfamiliar with their music before this.

13. Harry Connick, Jr. - Harry invited a male audience member to dance on the stage with him. The crowd went crazy, and Harry decided to let about 20 other people up there, too.

14. The Monkees - Mom took me to see them in Las Vegas, where I got an autographed novelette signed by Micky, Davy, and Peter. Then I saw them again in Las Cruces, when they performed for the Miss Teen USA Pageant.

15. Brian Setzer at Conan O'Brien taping - In line for Conan in 1996, we overheard that there was a former member of "Cats" on the list. When we sat down to watch, much to my surprise, I saw an obscenely plaid jacket backstage. I knew at that moment, we had heard the tail end of a rumor gone wrong.

16. Davy Jones/Bobby Sherman - Diablo stadium. I touched Davy's hand.

17. Fleetwood Mac - 1997, Houston, with my brother. Chris scored the tickets secondhand by telling a guy that his little sister played "Landslide."

18. Willie Nelson - Sandia Casino with Mom. He played EVERYTHING with no stops in between. His little sister banged away on the piano, and her long tresses obscured her face thoroughly.

19. Liquid Cheese - Great local ska band in Las Cruces. You cannot help but dance the whole night.

20. Arrogant Sons of Bitches - I think these guys opened for Liquid Cheese at El Patio? They were fun, and played a Radiohead cover that was totally rad.

21. Ten Tenors - no, not three, TEN! - Donnie, Megan and I (and possibly a few others I can't remember) went to see this Australian group in El Paso. They went from Puccini to the BeeGees seamlessly.

22. Bob Schneider - Ashlee forced me to go see this guy at Schuba's. I wasn't interested. Until the moment he stepped onstage. Possibly the quickest I've ever fallen in love with a performer. Ask Ashlee to do her impression of me dancing, looking over my shoulder, and smiling at her the first time I saw Bob. Subsequently saw him at Martyr's, Double Door, and the Metro.

23. Jason Mraz - In 2003, Donnie called to tell me Jason Mraz would be performing near him in Cleveland. I happened to have a couple days off. I jumped in the car and drove alone from Chicago. Jason was magical, although his audience, I could have lived without.

24. Raul Midon - One of Jason Mraz's openers. Blind R&B guitarist/singer. We waited outside the concert to meet Jason, and after about 20 minutes, here walks Raul with his assistant. He had mentioned that he was from New Mexico during the concert, and we shared our New Mexicanness with him. He stood and sweetly talked to us for a long time. Jason never came out, but we didn't care.

25. Ben Lehl Band - Hot Cakes. That's all I have to say.

26. Lyle Lovett and his Large Band - 2004, Marky came to visit me in Chicago. Jonathan, Ashlee, Marky, and I sat in the grass at Ravinia for Lyle. I got my first chigger.

27. The Roots - Rieckelman and I drove 1 1/2 hours in the torrential rain to Milwaukee to see Summerfest. We stood on the bleachers, and the rain was so bad it was like taking a shower. That's probably why the guy next to me got completely naked.

28. JC Chasez - 2004, Isaac came to visit Chicago, and we saw JC at the House of Blues. JC, screwed up the words to "Dear Goodbye," blaming it on his mom's presence in the audience. It was adorable.

29. Maroon 5 - Adam Levine traded places with the drummer, and they performed "Highway to Hell."

30. John Mayer - Headliner for Maroon 5. Stage lighting so beautiful, I wanted to cry. Chum Chums smuggled a cigarette into the Pan Am and shared it with me.

31. Gogol Bordello - Bar none, the worst show I've ever been to. Don't lay a trip on me. It SUCKED. We walked out after one song.

32. Robert Bradley's Blackwater Surprise - Robert Bradley is a dirty old man. First show I ever saw at the Double Door.

33. Joseph Arthur - Got to the concert VERY late--only heard the last song. Second show I saw at the Double Door.

34. Persistance - 2005, Andy's Jazz Club. Before I joined the band.

35. Etta James - Ravinia. She doesn't have the chops she used to, but it was great to hear her live.

36. Tom Jones - When Tom Jones walked out on the stage after Etta, the place got a little hotter. He was solid as a rock.

37. Linda Eder - Did you know that people walk up and put quarters on the stage throughout her show?

38. Bernadette Peters - Bernie's husband died just days before this show. I don't know how she got through "Being Alive" without collapsing.

39. Everyday People - A friend at work turned Kelly and me on to this Austin band. "I'm a regular nine to fiver, a coffee and cream survivor." That's us!

40. Rodriguez - Sheppy and I saw this show on October 28th, 2006 at the Sav-Mor Lounge. They played the entire Thriller album.

41. The Swell Season - This was the first time I had fun after Marky got sick. I felt simultaneously guilty and exhilarated. It was like going to church. I lost my nerve when Glen Hansard asked the audience if someone would be willing to come on stage to help him sing the song from "Once." I'll never forgive myself for passing up that oportunity. Glen is far and away the most gracious performer I've ever witnessed. He said "Thank you," probably 43 times.

42. Jamburglars - Chum Chums and I saw the tail end of Danny and Scott's band at El Patio after seeing "Enron: The Musical" at NMSU.

43. Mike Doughty - 2007, Marky and I sat in the upper level of the Vic and enjoyed being adults. "Fort Hood" is really great live.

44. Tegan and Sara - Their music has never made much of an impression on me, but their banter is hilarious. One of them admitted she had diarrhea for an entire year.

45. B-52's - A main attraction at the True Colors tour. They did all the favorites, and Kate sounds and looks great.

46. Bumpus - Matt suggested I see this band for the backup singers. I told Kelly, and she jumped at the opportunity. We saw them at Martyr's, and I can't wait to see them again. I talked to one of the backup singers after the show, and got completely starstruck. Kelly had to talk for me.

47. Tina Turner - FINALLY, MY IDOL!!! United Center, October 2008. I bought tickets for me and mom as a surprise. Chris and Monica got tickets for me as a surprise. Oops! We all went together and successfully scalped one of the extra two tix. Tina was outstanding. I cried through the first four songs, and was thankful no one saw.

48. Liza Minnelli - I finally saw Liza at the Venue in Horseshoe Casino in Hammond, Indiana. She is masterful at phrasing. And she sat on a stool for most of the performance, wearing a headband.

49.Elton John - My first time at Wrigley Field. Won the tickets at a karaoke contest (I was the only contestant, so I never actually had to sing anything). His sunglasses were very demure, with a simple rhinestoned "EJ" on each lens.

50.Billy Joel - Same concert as above. I fell in love with "Zanzibar" this night. Billy swatted at flies all night like a lunatic. He was one of the most engaging performers I've seen. He let his roadie sing "Highway to Hell." Deja vu.