Wow wow wow, who knew a weekend of Americana could be so therapeutic. I feel like I could live off hay rides and 4000 calories a day. After two days in southeastern PA, I am basically a Mennonite. Or at least I understand a bit more about them besides just, “no technology!!!! Ahhh!!!”
Here is what my Fourth was filled with: The Kutztown Folk Festival (complete with hoedown, Irish folk dance, fiddle playing families, sheep shearing, Mennonite lecture, vintage farm equipment tour, and ox roast), Reading Phillies baseball game, good old fashioned fireworks, and roughly enough food to feed a family of five Mennonites for a week.
It was probably the most Americana-filled two days of my life. And of course the icing on the cake was that today we drove around the small towns just north of Lancaster, which are almost 100 percent Amish/Mennonite. Craig and I had a fit every time we saw plain clothes hanging on clotheslines or boys in straw hats biking by. We honestly tried to be as respectful as possible, but it was like we had never seen a horse and buggy before.
When I think about what it’s like to get an email every minute or blow out my hair every morning, I’m rather tempted to say adios technology and hello windmill. Until then, I’ll just venture to the hills every now and again and remember that there was life before the iphone.
PS – this post is dedicated to Stacey and her awesome fear of the Amish.
Craig manning the Ox roast. You know, just another Fourth of July tradition.
The most patriotic horse in America is clearly to be found at the Kutztown folk festival.
Oh that hat! But even better, the woman in the bonnet holding a club. If that's not scary enough, check out the tattoo on her arm.
Mennonites at the fair. Craig and I also listened to a lecture on the history of Mennonites for a good 15 minutes. So basically I am ready to give up J. Crew clothing and all electronics for five minutes a week.
Last year I was in Lima, Peru for the Fourth, which was wonderful but about as American as a cricket match. So I’m thrilled to be here this year, and not only here, but on my way to Kutztown, PA, the land of sheep shearing and Mennonite weddings!
As a kid, I spent many a Fourth at a local park nearby stuffing my self with barbecued meats, painting my entire face red, white and blue and trying to knock adults into a dunk tank. Then of course, as I grew up around DC, we would load into my mom’s Volvo station wagon and head to the National Mall to sit elbow to elbow with tourists and ou and ah at fireworks. It was a bit like a patriotic mosh pit, but I remember thinking the fireworks where the coolest thing that ever hit our skies.
Later in life, I would head down to the Mall with friends to watch the fireworks somewhat intoxicated. I think I may even have waded into the Reflecting Pool Forest Gump style once or twice, but I still thought the fireworks above the Washington Monument were amazing.
This year, I’ll be waving my flag in good old Kutztown which I’m just thrilled about. I never really appreciate how nice our flag is like I do on the Fourth. So thanks to the ghost of Miss Ross and thanks to Kutztown. I’m not there yet, but I already know that this little town will provide me with one of the most memorable Independence Days ever. Happy Fourth!
The babe behind the stars and stripes. Little did she know that her creation would inspire the fashion below…
A nice American flag jogging ensemble! Who wouldn’t want to sweat it out while also being patriotic.
Say happy 4th of July everyday with this striking gown!
The most famous stars and stripes bikini we have seen in a decade - the fake Palin bikini babe shot. It may be photoshoped but she does look very patriotic (and gun crazed).
The dog days of June, July, and August always remind me of summers in Erie as a kid. And of course, summer just wasn’t summer without trips with my friends to the local candy store for our daily sugar fix. For those of you non-Erieites, The Nut Hut, other than holding the title for best-named establishment ever, was also a place where one could go to buy everything from Necco Wafers to Cajun peanuts. Imagine: a teeny tiny mom and pop shop that actually stayed in business with their highest priced item being chocolate-covered macadamia nuts. It still boggles my mind. Was the nut market in the 80s and 90s huge in Erie or did penny candy sales hold revenues steady for the store? I guess it’ll be a mystery since I have no clue where the proprieters of our little childhood Xanadu have ended up (if they’re still alive — they were pretty old even 20 years ago) after the store closed.
The Nut Hut was on a little strip of street next to a bike shop, a magic store, a coin emporium, and a diner (Avanti’s) that, in addition to serving breakfast all day, also sold ninja stars and machetes. Yes, old school Erie was eclecticism personified. But of all the stores a which I’ve ever shopped, The Nut Hut holds a special place in my heart. I’d go there with my three best buddies: Julie, Katie, and Sarah (on bike, of course) and we’d browse the bins of candy with the intensity of a bride choosing her wedding gown. I’m sure it was creepy as hell to watch us.
I remember I always went for the traditional candy — Double Bubble or candy cigs — while Katie liked the trendy stuff — Chick-o-Sticks and Cowtails. Sarah bought the hard shit — pixie sticks and Jawbreakers — while Julie just favored the downright nasty — lime popsicles or black licorice. Then the four of us would take our loot back to my clubhouse or a neighbor’s driveway and stuff our little sweaty, sunburned faces — all the while making summer memories that still stick with me (as I’m sure, all the preservatives from our sugar bounty).
PS: I wish I had a picture to go with this post, but sadly, all my old pictures are still packed away in a box somewhere due to our move. Plus, I scoured the Internet looking for shots of the old Hut, but I can’t find more than a Facebook mention or two about the place.
PSS: The recipients of this note are Vera and Tom (if I can even hunt them down), but this post is dedicated to the memory of my best friend, Katie, who passed away seven years ago today — gone but certainly not forgotten.
One thing about working in journalism is that you receive sooooo many press releases. Some of them are ridiculous, like the almost daily memos I receive from The House of Magnets (dear magnet people, I don’t want to buy a magnetic baseball emblazoned with my face!) or the ones from Todd at Spread the News that are always trying to get me to write about hand sanitizer or a $1.99 pocket purse hook.
Those, I sadly have to delete even though I know some poor copy writer spent a long time putting all that info together. Then, every now and again, I get a press release that makes me very happy. “What a ridiculous piece of knowledge!” I’ll declare. “I would never have known about this world’s largest rubber band ball exhibit/hot celebrity currently on the Hill/Mennonite pie bake off if it hadn’t been for a press release!”
One such press release just cemented my 4th of July plans. I was sitting quietly at my desk when I received one encouraging me to attend the Kutztown Folk Festival. And from that well put together press release I learned that the festival would be a great place to spend my stars and stripes day, after all, it was going to be filled with the Pennsylvania Dutch. And what else you ask? Well here are just a few of the highlights:
“Enjoy the sounds of our strolling Sauerkraut Band”
“Our reenactment of an actual 19th century hanging has stunned audiences for years.”
“A festival tradition is the ox roast where a 1,200 pound ox is roasted on a spit over a bed of coals throughout the day.”
“Hoedowning, By the Miller Family and Sheep Sheering!”
All this a mere three hours away! Sign me up. So that’s what I did. Thanks to a press release, Craig and I will be spending our 4th of July the old fashioned way, with a fake public hanging, parades, Civil War reenactments, bald animals, and a quilting bee. I have a feeling my Independence Day Naked Thanks entry just might be my favorite one yet. Yeehah!
Here are some folks dressed up for the Kutztown Festival. I think Craig and I might have to buy some new digs for our adventure!
Here is the Ox Roast master at the festival! Even though I gave up meat, yet again, I feel like it would be a crime not to partake in this odd feast.
I love carbs. If I were on the Atkins diet, lives would be lost. I would be horribly grumpy and would have no friends and no athletic ability. So that’s why I can justify the insane bread binge I went on today. It was like I was a little girl living in a flour-free nation who had never seen bread before. And to top it all off, I filled my trough of carbs with broccoli cheddar soup, even though I gave up dairy. Basically I am weak.
This all started at 10 am when Kelly, Ali and I all turned around from our desks and declared that we must have carbs and they must be in the shape of utensils. I mean it really is a brilliant idea when you are in a glutinous mood – eat everything on your plate, and then eat your plate. Because just one simple meal is not enough. So when the clock struck 12, we piled into the oven on wheels previously known as a car (It’s a 103 here!) and headed for the land of bread crack, Panera.
Someone should have filmed us for a documentary called, “the road to obesity,” or “is bread the new black?” or just “Girls behaving badly…with bread.” Thinking back on it, we were a bit like starved animals pecking on a carcass. Now, it is possible to get soup at Panera in a normal non-edible bowl, but we didn’t do that. And though the bowl is made of bread and they give you the top of the roll too, we also ordered an extra side of bread. WHY????????
After the lunch of delicious fatness, I tried to get Kelly to stop at my house so I could change into something more comfortable, as my stomach now looked like I was having twins. But I made myself suffer instead. Tomorrow, will be an ode to celery and water. Goodbye bread bowl. Till next time when my love for carbs demolishes my common sense.
Here "I" am enjoying my breadbowl. Basically, I would live in this amazing carb ball if I could.
My cravings for hot foods just keep getting more intense. However, the good thing is, I’ve rediscovered Atomic Fireballs, the cinnamon candy from my youth that used to take me an hour to eat because I had to have a glass of ice water to rinse my tongue every few seconds. Now of course, I’ve practically burned off all my tastebuds with my fiery pregnancy food choices, so a Fireball only takes me 10 minutes to eat, but what else dessert lasts you a quarter of an hour for less than 50 calories? I think I’m on to something here…
Considering during my first pregnancy I gained upwards of 55 pounds, I’m thinking it’s a good thing I’m going lite when it comes to sweets. Whereas last time homemade s’mores were my best friend, this time around I’m trying hard to be a little more careful with my calories. I just keep remembering the final weigh in, when the doctor’s scale settled at 183 lbs — as in, I was a mere 17 pounds away from being a double deucer! I’ll never forget Grey’s response: “Holy shit! That was my college playing weight!” Yeah, thanks. I think I prayed for a bus to fall out of the sky and land on his head at that point.
It’s funny though, I feel like being pregnant is the only thing that can get me to amend my evil ways with eating. As much as I talk about my crazy hog longings, I really do try to be healthy when I’m pregnant. I mean, the last thing I want is my little turkey to pop out this November with a half-eaten Five Guys burger in his hand. Plus, now that Ollie is so aware, it’s getting a bit impractical for me to sit down and stuff my face with a sleeve of Oreos; he’d want to do it too and who wants to pass those kind of bad habits on to their kids!?
Today I had the best tea in my entire life. It was frothy green tea served in a shallow Japanese bowl by an elegant woman in a kimono. But even better than that, it was at the residence of the Embassy of Japan and was made by the son of the current Omotesenke tea master. This is basically like being made tea by the grand lord of planet earth. He is descended from a family of tea masters that goes back to the year 1522, so you know, they are pretty good at making tea.
Before I drank said tea, I was able to watch a full traditional Japanese tea ceremony in the residence’s tea room, which was really a once in a lifetime kind of afternoon. I had another once in a lifetime afternoon when I was in Shanghai a few years back and let some Chinese kids swindle me out of $80 at a tea tasting. The thing was, I knew they were ripping me off and spouting out lies, but they were so charming about it that I kind of enjoyed myself. Plus, I figured it would make a great story later, being cheated by tea hooligans and all.
When I am not in an embassy or being swindled in China, I like to sip my tea at Ching Ching Cha in Georgetown. Located right next to the Pleasure Place and their subtle, “YOU MUST BE 18 TO ENTER!!!!!!!!!” sign, Ching Ching Cha is like a little island of serenity smack dab in the hustle of the very popular hood. Everyone who works there is of ambiguous age and has skin that radiates health. It’s like they are made of vegetables and sunshine or something. Of course, when I’m there, I figure if I eat and drink enough, I will walk in looking like a dehydrated elephant and leave beaming and bright. So I do. I drink so much tea that I spend the rest of the day peeing, eat enough kale to kill all the high fructose corn syrup I have ever consumed, and pray that one day I will be described as “of ambiguous age.”
Here "I" am at Ching Ching Cha - my favorite tea joint in DC that just happens to be right next to the Pleasure Place. Sex and detox all in one.
Today I trekked up and back to NYC for the greatest holiday since Christmas…the Loving Day celebration! Loving Day is a holiday my brother created as part of his master’s thesis at Parsons. It celebrates the right to love across racial lines as first set forth by the Loving vs Virginia Supreme Court Case in 1967. Before 1967, interracial marriage was still illegal in fourteen states. What! Yup, forty-two states over the course of American history outlawed interracial marriage at one time or another.
Of course in our day and age this seems absolutely crazy, but a clause that prohibited “marriage of a white person with a Negro or mulatto or a person who shall have one-eighth or more Negro blood” was removed from South Carolina’s state constitution in 1998. Yes, 1998. It wasn’t enforceable because of the Loving Supreme Court case, but it was still on the books until ‘98. Alabama had a similar one until 2000. So it seems we still have a bit of a ways to go.
Ken’s idea was to have Loving Day celebrate the right to love, and I think irregardless if you’re in an interracial relationship or not, it’s great to have a day that celebrates love and being in love. Loving Day was featured in Time magazine on Friday and has been getting amazing press in the Washington Post, BBC, NPR etc. But the celebrations, like the one today in NYC, are the very best press. There’s free beer, free burgers, and baby can you ever feel the love.
A great photo from the NYC celebration.
The view from behind the DJ today.
My wonderful friends from Vassar, Jamilyah and Keisha, were kind enough to come to Loving Day and gossip with me. I miss them!!
Something about being pregnant makes my usual cravings for spicy food kicked up a notch. All I want (besides Whoopee pies) is hot food. And because I don’t really have many recipes for spicy dishes besides the typical curry or hot wing concoction, I’ve pretty much just been dousing all of my food in Sriracha sauce to give it the kicked up flavor I dream about.
While Frank’s Red Hot is my husband’s hot sauce of choice, Sriracha is way more my speed. Grilled cheese, turkey meatloaf, pizza, pad thai, crab cakes, eggs, tacos, shrimp, raw veggies, in hummus — OMG — the rooster sauce goes on EVERYTHING. I’ve gone through almost a whole bottle this week alone just trying to use up all the random crap in our cupboards before we move this weekend. Who would have thought tuna salad would be good with chili sauce, but it is! Raisins and Sriracha? I’ll let you know…
I pour so much on my food that my tongue burns and I get that tingle in my toes that comes with the first few sips of red wine (which is a great substitute since I can’t drink for the next six months!). My cheeks turn rosy and I feel like I’ve just jogged around the block a couple times. I’m not kidding when I say it gives me a runner’s high without having to move a limb. No time to exercise, you say? Just squirt some Sriracha on your cheeseburger and you’ll be good as gold!
I love Sriracha, but getting a tattoo of the stuff is going too far, even for me.
Ah, Memorial Day. Cookouts and flags and parades and in Washington, Rolling Thunder roaring their hogs down your street. Yup, it’s a bikers’ paradise in DC and I’ve had a grand old time observing the interesting fashion, a.k.a leather vests and eagle crests the size of dinosaurs, that go along with it.
But in my attempt to be more thankful this year, I try to actually think about what the holiday I am stuffing my face on actually means. And today while I attempt to make fried chicken, I also want to think about America’s fallen heroes and their families. I started Googling Memorial Day to learn a bit more about when it began (May 30, 1868), and I came across an article in the Washington Times about Barack Obama personally writing letters to the families of fallen troops.
As the article explained: “Ms. Merz [mother of fallen] said she was struck by the personal tone of Mr. Obama’s letter, which arrived before the official correspondence from Congress, and she wasn’t sure whether they were his words or those of a staffer. When told by The Times that Mr. Obama writes the letters himself, she said the words became more powerful. ‘It says to me that he, too, will be paying attention to more than just the numbers, but the real stories,’ Ms. Merz said.”
Obama also wrote letters as a US senator and would send families of Illinois service members a letter and a flag that had flown over the Capitol. While in office, President George W. Bush also sent personal letters to every family of the 4,000+ troops that died. 4,000 letters? Wow.
Maybe it’s because Stacey and I are now very emotionally attached to letter writing, but this was the most touching thing I read today. So here is to presidents past and present who understand the power of the pen and the sacrifice of the families of the fallen.
The power of the pen. According to the White House, copies of the letters are preserved for historical archives. Would one do that with an email? I think not. Nothing says personal like letter writing, especially for something as important as honoring our service members.
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