Today is yet again deadline day at Washington Life, which means that it is again “binge my face off and moan about it to my colleagues” day. The culprits were cheddar goldfish and Smartfood popcorn, because when stressed, I seem to cure my ails with powdered processed cheese. So while editing a contribution from Oliver Stone, I munched and munched like empty calories are a panacea for my ails. Luckily, when I stray, there is my amazing gym to kick my butt back in shape.
I realllllllly appreciated my gym, Tenley Sport and Health, this winter during snowmageddon. I logged so many miles on that indoor track I was beginning to feel like a gerbil on a spinning wheel, but I was happy to have something.
Another thing I love about my gym are the characters there. There are some really marvelous individuals that sweat it out in Tenleytown and it always adds to my overall workout time. Why stop doing planks when you can watch a man put a medieval looking leather cage on his head, attach a weight to it, and do neck exercises? It’s better than going to the circus.
Then of course there is the insanely thin woman who always wears white and does swimming motions although she is not in the water; the “so you think you can dance” gal who literally does Tae Bo while she is on the stairmaster, kicking her limbs out like she’s in a Chorus Line; and the “meaty muscle brothers” who like to lift an amazing amount of weight, once, and then high five each other for roughly 15 minutes while flexing in their borderline spandex outfits. And those are just my favorites.
It’s really the characters that make anything great. My gym in Hong Kong had a man who always dressed like Elvis. He went by “Chelvis,” Chinese Elvis that is. If he were here, I would never leave. Oh well, head cage man will have to do!
I miss having a man like this at my gym...kept me sweating it out for hours.
God Bless the 80s and the amazing TV and films that punky decade produced. I think back to all the TV I’d watch over at my grandparents house — Dynasty, The A-Team, MASH, Fantasy Island — do they even make shows like that anymore? Whereas now our youth’s role models are characters like Foofa and Dora the Explorer, children of the 80s looked up to folks like Mr. T and Alexis Carrington (or at least I did). In fact, as a kid my favorite question to ask people was, “Would you rather drink a glass of Mr. T’s sweat or his pee?” (I always opted for his pee; though I don’t know why on earth guzzling urine seemed 100 times less gross than his nasty sweat.)
ANYWAY. One movie in particular has really come back to haunt me — the 1985 classic — Pee-wee’s Big Adventure. I think I have now watched this film around 20 times. Not because I’m suddenly developing a fetish for puny men in tight suits and red lipstick, but rather, Pee-wee’s Big Adventure is the only TV Ollie will watch. And by TV, I mean iPad, he refuses to look at anything on a big screen (which is strange, but probably good).
I don’t know exactly how this obsession got started. I think one day I just happened to sit Ollie in front of Netflix on the iPad while I threw a load of laundry in and next thing I knew, I heard Ollie trying to imitate Pee-wee’s nasally “Hehehehh” laugh. The rest is history. Now Ollie cries if I try to put Elmo on to occupy him while I take a quick shower and screams in fury if I try Sesame Street on YouTube. All he wants is “Pee-pee” — no other fictional character will do. Is this good? I doubt it, but sometime’s a girl’s gotta shave her legs or make dinner!
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.
While I don’t watch a lot of TV because I sadly don’t have enough time (ggrrr journalism), one show that can really entertain me for hours is The Bachelorette. Since I also have a love for anything on Lifetime or chick flicks overflowing with estrogen, this doesn’t come as a huge surprise.
There is something that my feminist side really likes about the Bachelorette. I mean she has her own man harem. Isn’t that a lovely turn of events? The whole thing seems very girl power to me. What is more liberating and empowering than a dozen boys with nice pecks getting drunk and fighting over you?
This week Ali, this season’s bachelorette, and the gang were in Turkey and she found out that one of the contestants, Justin “Rated R” Rego, had not one but two girlfriends in his homeland of Canada. Gasp! Oh well, Ali has a zillion other guys to choose from. But even more fun than watching the show was talking about it at work today. Here are some of the choice tidbits of our conversation:
Washington Life Ali (not to be confused with the bachelorette of course): “You know people are calling her the ‘fat-chelorette.’ She’s gained a little weight being on the show. Course no surprise there, all they do is drink.”
Kevin: “Do they all have to get tested before going on the show?”
Ali: “On the new one they do. They don’t want any Hep B in the house.”
Kevin: “Ahhh, I suppose a hepatitis outbreak would be bad for the network. I hear 40 percent of Americans have that H disease.”
Ali: “Whatever, my favorite is Roberto.”
Me: “No! Chris L! The sensitive gardner who lost his mother.
Kevin: “What’s the name of that annoying one? You know, the weather midget.”
And all this joyful banter while we are on deadline. Only the Bachelorette could inspire us so!
Tis a tough life being the Bachelorette, always having to put your clothes back on and all.
Here is Ali with my favorite contestant, Chris L, a sensitive landscaper from Cape Cod.
On Saturday during the drive to West Virginia, Craig and I got into a very deep meaningful conversation about men’s underwear. That’s how we roll on the weekends – we discuss the meaning of life, nuclear disarmament and the intricacies of undies.
I can be rather picky when it comes to what’s going on in the underwear department, both for myself and for Craig. For him I like ‘em tight. Solid colored boxer briefs so snug I can barely take them off. Yes, he may have to sacrifice breathing or walking like a normal human being, but isn’t it worth it?
As we glided towards the Maryland/West Virginia border, Craig started laughing like a crazed country boy, remembering a story from his Leigh, Nebraska days. ”Are you sure you want to hear this,” he kept asking while cackling down the highway? “Are you really sure?” At this point I was frothing at the mouth, ready to drown myself in the Shenandoah River if he didn’t start talking.
“Well, when I was 15, 16 I used to wear leopard print briefs. You know, to impress the ladies. All the guys did!” All the guys did? Impress the ladies? My oh my what is going on under those overalls in small town America? “You mean Michelle?” I asked referring to his high school girlfriend. “And by all the guys, you mean the whole Leigh High School football team was roaming around in leopard print?” Craig laughed still zooming down the highway. “Well, Chad had a pair! So did Mark, but we called him Boog. And he was a bigger guy too.” By this point I’m laughing so hard I think I might asphyxiate myself from the hysterics. But Craig just keeps going. “This one night when I was 15, I got so drunk that I ended up on my front lawn in nothing but those leopards. And I could barely walk. I think I was crawling.”
As I reflect back on all the underwear I have owned in my life, I just don’t think I have anything to match the ridiculousness of Craig’s leopard briefs. But there is always next weekend.
This is kind of what I imagine Craig looked like in that underwear. Man oh man I wish he had pictures.
Growing up in Erie, I considered 60 degrees a hot day. In fact, if temps there reach above 53 you can count on everyone in the entire city busting out shorts and flip flops. As a young kid, I clearly remember one rare time when it was 101 degrees and I sincerely thought the whole town was going to be boiled alive. Maybe this was because my dad told me, “We’re all going to be boiled alive!!!” or maybe it was because Erie never really got that hot so I wasn’t used to temperatures so high. I guess what I’m trying to say is that I was raised as part-Eskimo and being in extreme heat really screws with my mind.
Add that to the fact that I am five months pregnant and, well, it’s just a recipe for being sweaty and miserable. And I’m not usually a sweater! Even with my last pregnancy, the heat bother me at all — and I was waaaay more pregnant in the summer since I was due in August rather than November. But this time around, I’ve actually been toying with the idea of writing a book called, They Never Tell You About the Swamp Ass: Secrets About Pregnancy You Should Know just because, well, who knew butt cheeks had so many sweat glands?
So that’s where Mr. Carrier comes into play. He invented AC back in the early 1900s and I praise his name. I love the fact that I have air conditioning to cool me off. I mean, I don’t really mind the heat if I’m submerged in water, but because let’s face it, I’m a human and not a submarine.
"What'chu talkin' 'bout, Willis?" Apparently, the joys of the first chiller.
Everyone has their vices and mine is definitely the Internet. Some people while away the hours in front of the TV, some play Solitaire, some shoot guns, others read — I waste 99.9% of my time online researching things like the giant clown face on the abandoned buildings in Asbury Park, New Jersey (a seriously fascinating and creepy place!) or how to cook kelp noodles into a lasagna until you can’t tell you’re eating seaweed. Every day it’s a different subject and I honestly wonder what people did before their every random question could be answered in mere seconds online. Is that what people used encyclopedias for?
In fact, looking in my Google web history, I found some real gems when it comes to my Internet use. A few examples:
“Why are dogs’ butts so gross?”
“72-34″ (note: yes, I am dumb at simple math)
“How to churn your own butter”
“goat’s blood and satanic rituals”
“do they remove your guts when performing a c-cection?”
“electric dog collars and children”
“deep fried pickle recipe”
“Wiccan spells for full moon”
…And these are just for the last couple days!
I think everyone should turn on their Googling history and then take a step back and a have a deep look at themselves. These search terms make me think that I may be a learning disabled psychopath with a yen for culinary arts and a slight case of hypochondria. Eyes may be windows into the soul, but a gander through your browsing history seems so much more insightful.
So, I have this thing with West Virginia lately. I seem to have forgotten all the questionable fashion and dental hygiene that comes out of Appalachia and focused only on things like the Blue Ridge mountains, farm to table restaurants, and really cheap real estate.
A few weeks ago I went to a press breakfast put on by the West Virginia tourism office and man oh man did they sell me on the place. Of course they were also delivering an organic pancake feast, but pishposh. What a state it is! Mountains and rivers and un-yuppie-a-fied towns all within a short drive from Washington. One of the organic farmers we met with even invited us down to his farm for a hootenanny this weekend, but sadly I couldn’t fit in the four hour haul. Craig and I decided to head to the much closer northern corner and discovered Shepherdstown, the oldest town in WVA.
Shepherdstown is storybook adorable because the pile of bricks was put up in the 1700s. And it’s also surprisingly kind of hippyish. I had a vegan sandwich with vegan potato salad for lunch and then spent the afternoon explaining to Craig that hippies do shower, they just prefer to look like they don’t. It’s coooool when you’re a hippy, I explained, my 15-year-old Birkenstock wearing self goading me on.
After spending a few hours in WVA, we realized we were five minutes away from Antietum and all the ghosts roaming the once bloody battlefields, so we headed over. What’s weird about a battlefield is how peaceful it is. I mean the bloodiest campaign of the Civil War was fought at Antietum, shouldn’t there be some leftover blood and guts or just some live ammunition you have to walk around? I felt like I should have brought a Williams Sonoma picnic basket and lounged around while sipping a mint julep.
It’s a pretty part of the world out there and it made me wonder why oh why I spend my days trapped in a city. One more of those WVA press breakfasts and I’ll be blogging from a hut in the Blue Ridge mountains!
The main building of Shepherdstown. Today there was a nice hippy flea market on the front lawn which was really confusing Craig. He is from Nebraska thus does not understand hippies. I chose not to tell him that I once decided James Taylor was my spiritual husband and I opted not to wear shoes for most of 1995.
Craig on the battlefield. It's sooo peaceful there. I was tempted to meditate or take a nice nap.
My requisite ridiculous battlefield photo. In Gettysburg I chose a cannon, for Antietum I went with the classic fence pose.
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.
The other day at one of our many recent trips to Home Depot, Grey and I encountered a pushy-as-hell elderly couple. In fact, the senior duo tried to barrel me over while I was standing in line holding Ollie. But if there’s one thing everyone should know, it’s don’t fuck with a pregnant lady — especially in 100 degree weather. Since I thought these folks were trying to cut me in line, I wasn’t going to take any geriatric bullying. So when the woman said to me in a snotty voice, “Move. I want to get by” I simply replied, “You may be old, but I’m pregnant and holding a large baby. No.” Then I stood my ground. I thought I really showed her.
But then a few seconds later, Grey and I saw the couple scoot around a closed off check out lane and waltz out of the store without having paid. It then donned on me why they were in such a hurry: they were old people shoplifters!!! Unfortunately, by the time we realized what this ancient twosome was doing, it was too late and the senior bandits had made off with a booty of home improvement supplies. This really disappointed me because if there’s one thing I love to do, it’s tattle. I would have loved to bust that couple in the act of their thievery and maybe even take out the old lady’s knee caps with a billy club. Sometimes, I feel like I missed my calling as a police officer.
So when I got home I started researching Citizen’s Arrest (a concept that absolutely fascinates me, by the way), and was surprised to realize that in the state of Delaware, you can actually do this. Plus, they have this special tip line to report crimes where you can collect cash rewards for valid tattletaling. Of course I immediately programmed the number into my phone and I can’t wait to call. Watch out criminals!
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