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Monday, March 31, 2003 ( 7:17 PM ) Girl Detective Spring cleaning; it's a disease The past two weekends have been a frenzy. I looked around the apartment I just happily passed the winter in and thought, "What a dump." There were winter clothes to store and spring clothes to resurrect, and laundry to do and stuff to clean and things to read and things to write... I suspect that springtime isn't just a season. It's like a Star Trek-ian worm that burrows into the subconscious of me and others like me and starts yelling: NOW! IT'S TIME TO CLEAN NOW, YOU DEADBEAT! YOU'VE SAT ON YOUR ASS ALL WINTER! GET MOVING!" Except that it's in my subconscious, so I don't hear it as a yell, I just experience it as a hyper-awareness of all the dirt and clutter that surrounds me. Just today, I read that a pillow that's five years old can have 10%-25% of its weight from dust mites, dead mite bodies and dust mite shit. Isn't that a happy thought? I live in a smallish apartment, so it's easy for it to fill up and feel crowded quickly. This happens with books, comics, clothes, pillows, etc. How are we going to manage with the incoming baby? Just don't know. Perhaps between then and now I'll finally adopt that Zen minimalism. Or at least the simplicity of the Danish modern look. But I'd have to pitch at least half our stuff. You know, right now, that sounds mighty tempting. | Sunday, March 30, 2003 ( 11:34 AM ) Girl Detective Pity the poor bunnies; they're screwed Because we are not the traditional homeowner types, my husband and I live in a downtown condo. This allows us both to walk to work. It also ensures that we will never, ever have to worry about shoveling the drive or tending the lawn. A bonus is that our building had a lovely, landscaped courtyard with full-grown trees that would burst with lilac blooms come springtime. It also had a full-sized, heated pool. As an entertaining bonus, there were also myriad squirrels, birds and bunnies that occupied our parklike courtyard. We could see them frolicking from our windows. Each spring and summer, I would keep a careful eye out for baby bunnies, and I was regularly rewarded. I am aware that for many of you homeowners, bunnies and squirrels aren't cute creatures, but rather pesky rodents. But that's the nice thing about living in a condo--I can still think they're cute because they don't eat my roses. You probably noticed, however, that I am using the past tense to refer to the courtyard. Last week, work began on the new, and presumably better, courtyard. Our building was built about 40 years ago; and the paving on the cement had crumbled after so many Minnesota winters, the trees had grown beyond anyone's belief that they could find sustenance to do so, and both the pool and the patio were leaking into (and perhaps threatening to cave onto) the indoor parking below. So the plan was born, the budget (and our new, much higher assessment fee--sigh) was set, and last week demolition began. One morning, when they were jackhammering up the cement, I could not only hear the construction noise everywhere in our place, I could feel it. The foundations of the building were shaking. The courtyard is now a sea of mud. The trees and shrubs have been chopped down, all light fixtures have been removed, and all cement is gone. So are all the bunnies and squirrels. I can't help but be reminded of Watership Down, and hope that the bunny warrens had some sort of advance notice so they could plan to move their community down by the river, just two blocks away. The two blocks, though, are across some very busy streets and through one imposing governmental building. I realize how namby-pamby it sounds to hope that the bunnies are OK. Let's face it. The dozers have plowed up their entire habitat. I'm surprised the courtyard isn't littered with little bunny carcasses. Whatever happened to them, they're gone. Perhaps they were dozed over. Perhaps they've escaped to a better life. More likely, though, they're wandering the streets of Minneapolis, terrified by the noise, dirt and chicken bones, wondering where the hell their oasis went. As I look out my window at the muddy wasteland, I wonder that too. | Thursday, March 27, 2003 ( 8:00 PM ) Girl Detective Some final notes on Germany Our visit was to the southwest parts of Germany--we stayed in Wiesbaden and visited Frankfurt, Baden-Baden, Heidelberg and the Black Forest. One of the features of many of the towns in these areas are the baths, or Baden. There are baths and fountains with the naturally hot mineral water from the area that first drew the Romans to Germany in the first place. I very much wanted to visit one of the baths--they're clothing prohibited and feature different baths of different temperatures. But when we looked up how hot a bath a pregnant woman may safely have, it was only about 100 degrees F. Paying for the baths hardly seemed worth it if I could only have a lukewarm one. So the naked baths will have to wait for our next trip. Before we went, I wasn't sure what to expect, but I knew that I was only visiting Germany because my sister lives there. I'd never had any other desire to visit there. If I could go anywhere I wanted, it would be back to London or Italy. So I was surprised by what I found. The countryside was lovely; and the food was of terrific quality, as long as one allows that it's mostly meat-and-potato based. One thing that I certainly wasn't expecting was that I'd develop an affection for the German language. I'd always disliked hearing it--it sounded harsh and unpleasant to my ears. Once I learned some of the words, though, I appreciated it. It is harsh--not flowing like French or Italian. But I found that I liked the stolidness of the words; and the way they felt in my mouth as I sounded them out. I found two particular favorites, one of which was Stau, which means traffic jam. Towards the end of the trip I was used it as a metaphor for the result of my overindulgence in traditional German food: intestinal Stau. Another one I liked was an adjective that my brother-in-law used and that a local Minnesota restaurant has in its name: gemutlichkeit. It means comfy, or charming. I never expected to enjoy Germany as much as I did. I would certainly go back to visit, perhaps exploring the northern part of the country. It was a nice reminder that when I don't have expectations, interesting possibilities can unfold. | Wednesday, March 26, 2003 ( 6:36 PM ) Girl Detective Some General Observations about Germany Music: I expected to hear pounding techno wherever we went and was actually sort of looking forward to this. Instead, we got the smarmiest of schlock pop. Sometimes it was American, like Toto, other times it was Germany. Altogether, it was dreadful. Women's fashion: As when I visited Italy last fall, I noted what women were wearing. Unlike Italy, though, I didn't detect any trends. Most women wore dark, baggy clothes that were practical but hardly stylish. A few women wore general European fashion, like Prada and Tod's. Many women had cropped hair often dyed a deliberately artificial color: burgundy, yellow, blue. Overall the one thing I saw many womean sporting? A baby in a baby carriage. They were everywhere. The baby carriages, if you're interested, tended to be the three-wheel jogger types or the more traditional-looking British pram types. Food: The food quality was quite high--higher in fact than what I had in Italy last fall. The bread especially was plentiful and (I was told) quite good--clearly freshly made on premises or close by. The sausages were tremendous: juicy, herb-filled and flavorful. Pork and other meats were plentiful. It was tough to find vegetables beyond a mixed salad, cabbage and potatoes. It would be tough to try to do Germany as a vegetarian. Weird personal habits: People stared at us. A lot. For no apparent reason. We weren't dressed differently than them, or behaving inappropriately. My sister told us that this is common. In her experience, many Germans are quite guarded about their business, but are very interested in yours. Cough, hack: Smokers were everywhere. Outside, inside. Whenever I left a bar, or shop, or coffee place, I reeked of cigarettes. Cleanliness: As I mentioned in yesterday's entry, the roads were in impeccable condition. City streets were also. Everything was very clean. Again in contrast to Italy, there was very little dog shit on the ground, and not much to worry about from pigeons, either. | Tuesday, March 25, 2003 ( 7:09 PM ) Girl Detective The Black Forest, and more On our second day, my sister, her husband, my husband G. Grod and I bundled into their car for a jaunt down the Autobahn to the Black Forest, and my husband discovered his favorite part of the trip: the GPS device in their car. With it, we mapped our trip, how long it would be, and a polite, British-accented female voice gave us directions as we went. Once, when we missed a turn, Grod asked, "Why isn't she responding?" My sister calmly answered, "Don't worry about it; she's thinking." The roads were all in impeccable shape, unlike our poor, pocked, Minnesota ones. The speeds achieved by the cars were truly impressive and car watching was fun. The autobahn was filled with BMWs, Porsches, Mercedes and more. We were doing about 90 mph, and several cars blew past us. This was all very entertaining until we saw the leftover mess of a car wreck off to the side: a car on its side wedged among trees with its top blown off. High speed is all well and good, till we saw the result of a high-speed accident. Yikes. We wandered a bit around Baden-Baden, which was lovely. The sky was clear and the daffodils and crocuses were in bloom. There were many elderly people taking a promenade, which my sister says is common in good weather. They certainly looked a lot more mobile than many of their American couterparts. Then we headed off to lunch at Zum Alde Gott, which I'd read about in Gourmet magazine. We chose the chef's amuse-bouche menu, made all the more entertaining because my sister's newly acquired German doesn't include menu minutia, so much of what we were served was rather a mystery. We had a goose-liver terrine, a gelled bouillabaise concoction, warm carpaccio of some white fish with grilled scallop, grilled some-other-white fish (wolf fish, maybe?), then grilled duck and duck liver over this incredible emerald green cabbage, grilled veal cheek and veal something, and finished with strawberry sorbet with pineapple. It tasted divine, and was lovely too--we even took pictures. After lunch, we drove further down into the Black Forest, which looked pretty green to me. We saw some ski slopes and some pretty impressive vertigo-inducing views from the road. Turning around to get back, we had a few hours' drive ahead of us, but were ably guided back by the GPS babe. It's certainly a handy thing to have if you're tooling about the country; I'm not sure I could rationalize needing one here in Minnesota. | Monday, March 24, 2003 ( 7:16 PM ) Girl Detective Up and Down the Rheingau Our first full day in Germany we drove north up the Rhine river. Every few miles there was a castle, or Burg. We climbed one to its top. Its previous owners had a seriously scary antler fetish; there were hundreds of pairs of antlers throughout, of all sizes. And while the weather outside was clear and cool, inside the castle was damp and chilly. I had a hard time romanticizing life in a castle surrounded by all those creepy antlers. A little further up the Rheingau, we stopped at Siebenburgenblick, which means seven-castle view. It was labelled a 45 minute walk; and it was a fairly serious hike. I had to stop a couple times to get my heart rate down to safe pregnant-lady levels. Even so, it only took us about 30 minutes and the view was indeed tremendous. Too bad my version of blogger (i.e. the free one) doesn't allow me to post pictures or I would share. We climbed a wooden structure that swayed in the breeze (that would be Siebenburgenblickturm or the seven-castle-view tower.) We only counted about five castles, but it seemed as if we could see all the way to the end of Germany. We passed the rocks of Lorelai, the legendary temptress who lured unwary shipmen to their deaths. In reality, it's simply a quite narrow passage of the river. I'm sure the boat guys made up the legend so they wouldn't feel inadequate when they bashed their barge. We crossed the river on a ferry then went back down the other side of the Rhine. At dinner, we discovered that Spargel season had begun. Spargel is asparagus, and in this case was white, not green. My sister and brother-in-law told us that Germany takes many of its in-season foods quite seriously, and that over the next month or so asparagus would be everywhere. Other foods that have sacred seasons include strawberries Erdbeeren, goose and some kind of fish at Christmas. We also tried the delicious snack food, Spundekaesen, a spicy cheese dip served with veggies and pretzels. I had my husband search for a recipe on line, then translate it for me. It didn't include amounts, so I made some up and the result was pretty darn good. Spundekaesen or German Spicy Cheese Dip 1 package cream cheese (softened, or soft cream cheese) 1/2 c. cream 1 T. ketchup 1 t. salt 1/8 t. pepper 1/4 t. paprika OR 1 T. Pickapeppa hot sauce 1 t. curry powder 1 clove garlic, pressed. Heat over low heat in non-stick saucepan using heatproof utensil to stir until blended. Serve with pretzels and crunchy veggies. | Sunday, March 23, 2003 ( 6:56 PM ) Girl Detective My husband G. Grod and I recently decided to go to Germany. One of my sisters lives there. We've never visited, and with a baby on the way in about five months (eep!) we thought we should make a big trip while we still could. Yes, yes, I know. Lots of people travel with infants. But not ones who are well-regarded by the rest of the plane. Plus, I'm a nervous flyer on my own. I'm certain that adding a small child to the equation would not help at all. We managed to find a great fare, so we made our plans just a few weeks ago. As residents of Minnesota, we are normally hostages of Northwest Airlines. Europe, though, meant that we could take our pick since we can't get there direct anyway. Based on a good experience last fall, we chose Continental. After our flight to Newark, we made our way to the connecting gate. It was mobbed. While we waited, they made a request for volunteers to give up their seats. As usual, first-class passengers were called first; then business class, people with kids and those needing assistance. Then something strange happened: they announced rows 20 and higher could board. Given how big the plane was, it seemed a strange thing to board so many people at once. The crowd surged forward, nearly overwhelming the entrance gate. The crew then clarified that our flight was still only boarding first and business classes--the row 20 announcement had been for the flight at the next gate. Yet no one moved back. The crew turned aside person after person who was trying to bully their way onto the plane. Next, they announced rows 40 through 45, which included me. The crowd surged forward again, many trying to get on the plane before their row was called. This was a tough crew, though. They refused each person not in the announced rows. The refused people, though, would not move back. If they couldn't move forward, they stayed put, clogging the entrance. I was amazed at this stubborn behavior till I remembered an excerpt from the book I'd just read on culture in Germany. It said that most Germans love order, except when it comes to queues. Then it's each person for herself. We weren't even on the plane, and I'd gotten my first glimpse into German culture. | Thursday, March 20, 2003 ( 8:54 PM ) Girl Detective I'm back; and I'm jet lagged. Where in the world was I? A few hints:
Tune in next week. I'll tell you all about it. Right now, though, I have to go to sleep. | ( 8:54 PM ) Girl Detective So much for the guest blogger, eh? | Thursday, March 13, 2003 ( 11:40 AM ) Girl Detective I'll be taking a break next week. I hope to have a guest blogger. | ( 11:37 AM ) Girl Detective I've never been able to deal well with background music. To me, it's always foreground music; I can't tune it out. So when I ran in Walgreens this morning, I noticed the song playing right away--Amazed, by Lone Star. Are you familiar with this song? If not, don't feel bad; it's a pop-country ballad from the last couple years. I'm familiar with it because I worked for a year as a wedding planner at a local wedding chapel. Couples could request special music to be played while they lit the unity candle. The song of choice for the year I worked there? You got it in one: Amazed, by Lone Star. The song isn't actually that bad. The words are sweet, the tune catchy, and the vocals pretty good. It is pretty standard Nashville-schlock pop, however, which is hardly what I usually listen to. So the first couple times that I heard it on PA systems in stores, I got confused--how do I know that song? It's not from a cd I own. Then it dawned on me; ah, the unity candle song. The next couple times I heard it, I felt lurkingly guilty for not hating such a cheesy song. Finally, though, today in Walgreen's I gave in to temptation and just sang along. It was pretty damn fun. | Wednesday, March 12, 2003 ( 10:13 PM ) Girl Detective Reading: this entry on a rogue toy blimp. I don't know why it's so hilarious, but it is. Watching: Say Anything Someone got here today looking for: "different type of yoga posture to help give you smaller boobs" | ( 10:09 PM ) Girl Detective Here's another pet peeve--using the word "bible" to connote a comprehensive, reliable reference text. There are a couple problems I see with this. First, it's overdone. I've noticed it mostly in cookbooks--Christopher Kimball, the lead guy on America's Test Kitchen and for Cook's Illustrated magazine, has written The Cook's Bible and Second, it's just not that clever. Or, it was clever the first time, like with Beranbaum's Cake Bible, but not ever after. It's like using a cool word--it works once, then suddenly everyone is using "brio" or "limn" and seeing things like this redundantly is somehow all the more horrible for how rare they were originally. Third, the Bible itself is hardly a comprehensive reference text. It's a hodgepodge of multiple authors that has been run through multiple translations over the years. Additionally, some of the stuff's true, some of it's not, like the story of Esther, which everyone knows isn't true, but got included into the "real" part of the Hebrew bible simple because it was so popular. Don't believe me? How similar are Esther and Ishtar? So the Bible, or whatever some people choose to call the Bible, isn't even a bible in the sense of it being a factual reference. The upshot? Just quit it, already. | Tuesday, March 11, 2003 ( 7:59 PM ) Girl Detective Several years ago, I taught some classes in basic grammar for students who were preparing to take standardized tests. The information I taught wasn't comprehensive, but was structured around the test in a need-to-know way. Interestingly, though, a few things have stuck with me over the years that when I've mentioned to people who are writers or editors, seem to impress them with the vastness of my knowledge. I've found it's rather useful to have a few little showy grammar tricks up my sleeve, and thought I'd share them. less or fewer?: Use less for something that's an amorphous amount, fewer for things that can be counted. She wanted less jello and fewer french fries. different from or different than?: Different from. I don't know why. I remember because from starts with an f, and different has two. who or whom?: No one uses whom anymore, but if you did, you'd be correct if you used it as an object not a subject. So if you can substitute I, use who; if me, then whom. And ALWAYS whom after a preposition like to: To whom am I speaking? He said that? To whom? 'til or till?: Till is the proper short version of until; it actually existed as a word before until. No need to use that silly apostrophe. it's or its?:It's is a contraction for it is. Only use it if you're contracting, not for ownership. Has the dog got the ball? Yes, it's in its mouth. hopefully: Everyone uses this incorrectly. It technically means "full of hope" rather than "I hope" as people use it. I entered the room hopefully, looking around for the man of my dreams. I hoped that he would be there. (Not Hopefully, he would be there.) | Monday, March 10, 2003 ( 7:05 PM ) Girl Detective I meet with a writing group once a month. Yesterday, one of the women in the group had a provocative line in her essay: "Passion only grows around what others set up, never from what I set up myself." I commiserated; I often can find drive in other projects, where I have deadlines or boundaries. Later, her words continued to resonate in my mind as I realized just how much of my life consists of invented boundaries--ones intended to instill a sense of forward momentum that I wish was there by itself. I keep this weblog. Therefore I write at least five times a week. I've started a weekly pregnancy diary so that I am motivated to write down my experiences. I take yoga classes at the gym, so I'm more likely to do yoga a few times a week than if I practiced at home. I wrote a novel last November, because I took the monthly challenge at NaNoWriMo.org. I'm taking a class now, "Working on your Novel", so that I edit that novel and it doesn't just loll on my hard drive, collecting metaphorical dust. If I analyze further, I have a job, so that I do something five days a week that earns me money and benefits. I can't decide if it's a good thing or a bad thing that I've continued to build this structure into my life. On the one hand, I recognize that if left to my own devices, I often fritter away time. These structures enable me to spend more time doing things that I like, such as writing, that I might otherwise not make time for. On the other hand, I am distressed by the realization that there is so little that I am passionate about that motivates me to follow it till completion. There is one thing, though, that I never hesitate over. In fact, it's the thing that often has kept me from doing many of the other things that I like and feel that I should do more of. It's reading. The irony is that over the past couple months, I've read just a few books. Most of my recent choices have been over 500 pages. But page count is not the only thing keeping me from reading. My writing, my editing, work and more--all these things that I've structured into my life on a regular basis--take up a lot of time. I'm torn; is it wrong to put these other things in my life when what I really want to do is read? Or have I come to know that reading alone, or primarily, isn't enough, so I put the structure in my life to make it more balanced? I'd like to believe the latter, but I have a lurking suspicion that my compulsive nature--or my attempts to invent one--may be smothering my passionate one. I'm sure the answer is that there's a happy medium between passionate abandon and discipline. The disturbing thing is that I thought I was doing a pretty good job with that balance. Now I'm far from sure. | Sunday, March 09, 2003 ( 6:48 PM ) Girl Detective Blogger has some trouble with my long lists on the side, so instead I'll try this periodically with the entries. Thanks toDancing Brave whose "searching" line I admire and have borrowed. Anyone who wants a mini-review of anything mentioned on the blog, just write. Reading: Diamond Age by Neal Stephenson Listening: Erasure, Other People's Songs, especially track #3 Watching: Too much CSI--I keep dreaming about murders Someone got here today by searching on the phrase: Silly Mormons | ( 6:37 PM ) Girl Detective Good Customer Service
I recently was notified that the Neiman Marcus semi-annual beauty event was approaching. How did I know? I received a flyer in the mail. Then another, then a third. All three were identical, though sent by different individuals from different beauty counters. Next I received a fourth flyer that was similar but different. Finally, I got a phone message. I got the message. I am a valued Neiman Marcus customer, there's a beauty event coming up, and dammit, they want my business. Some readers might remember how I swore off cosmetic gift-with-purchase purchases sometime last year after a particularly unpleasant experience. The Neiman's event, though, felt different. Here's how my rationalization went: There are several things I've run out of, or am about to run out of, or that must be crawling with bacteria since I bought them at last year's Neiman's event. Therefore, what perfect timing! I will go stock up on these items, nothing more, and get what I need as well as that cute bag of lovely goodies. Last year's trauma was at another store, which never has such wonderful gifts as does Neiman's. (Another thing that makes the Neiman's event so extraordinary is that if you spend $X you get a gift of a variety of products, but if you spend certain minimums at various counters, you can also get bonus gifts from those vendors. So there is the potential for multiple gifts, depending on how focused the purchases are among vendors.) I called to make an appointment with the woman who helped me last year. She said if I came in early--last weekend--then I'd get a bonus gift as well. I set up a time. I brought my list, and we quickly toured several of the counters, starting with Bobbi Brown for lipstick, gloss, eyeliner and mascara. Then we popped over to Laura Mercier for tinted moisturizer, concealer, eye shadow and lipstick. Next was Nars, for eye-makeup remover, blush and eye shadow. Finally, we breezed by Fresh, though they were out of the body scrub and lemon lotion--these would be ordered and sent to my home. The saleswoman told me that I could pick up my bag, which would have the gifts added, anytime after Tuesday, but that if I came in Thursday, she'd be there and could make sure I was taken care of. I dropped in Thursday after a long day at work, only to find that she'd already gone. Another woman insisted that she could help me, so she fetched my bag. I was tempted to check it while I was still there, but decided to wait till I got home. Disappointment awaited me. In the bag were my purchases, the general gift and only one extra gift from Laura Mercier--nothing from Bobbi, Nars or Fresh, and no extra gift for pre-shopping. I checked my receipt and I had not quite spend the amount for the gifts for Bobbi and Nars, but still, when I'd worked with this woman before she'd been quite generous with the gifts, even if I didn't make the minimum. The final insult was that the bag that contained the general gift had bright stripes--I preferred the one with brown. I was crushed, and reminded of exactly why I swore off this kind of thing last year. It cannot be healthy to be crushed over cosmetic purchases. Part of me said this was what I deserved for obsessing over cosmetics again. The other part said to give my salesperson a call and ask if I could exchange the bag. This is what I did. When I called, she asked if I'd gotten all the extra gifts. I said I had not, but the main reason I was calling was to see if I could trade for the other bag. I think she and I both knew this was not the whole truth, but she kindly let me keep up the charade and told me to come back in. When I went in, then, she gave me one of the biggest bags of beauty booty ever. It had the brown striped bag; the Bobbi gift; the Nars gift; a Molton Brown sample instead of (and much nicer than) the Fresh gift; the pre-shop gift that included Frederic Fekkai shampoo; the cutest fragrance miniature ever, from Lulu Guiness; and, best of all, the Creme de la Mer gift, containing four--four!--sample products. Do you know the sound that Homer Simpson makes when he drools? That was the sound I was making in my head. I was in beauty-gift heaven. I thanked her profusely, then went home to revel in the abundance. I'm sure there's some moral lesson or other to take from this tale. I'm too busy, though, enjoying my new purchases and gifts to formulate it. You'll have to draw your own conclusion. | Thursday, March 06, 2003 ( 10:10 PM ) Girl Detective If you've been reading for a while, you may know that I love food. I also have an inquisitive nature. These two things conspire to form a passion for seeking out and cooking the best food possible. One thing I twiddled with for a long time was the caesar salad. There are a million different variations, and a lot of them turn out well, others not so. After some experiementation, though, I'll share the best formula that I've come up with that has the added benefit of not needing raw or coddled eggs. Caesar Dressing (adapted from Cook's Illustrated) Juice from half a lemon (roll it on the counter before you slice and juice it--this pops all the little juice bubbles inside) 1/4 c. soft silken tofu 1/2 Worcestershire sauce 1 garlic clove, pressed 2 anchovy fillets, minced 1/8 t. powdered mustard 1/8 t. salt few grindings of pepper Mix all these in a food processor or with hand blender. While running, add in steady stream: 1/4 c. olive oil Store in glass jar, probably not more than 24 hours. This makes enough for four people unless you like your salad really goopy. Then double it. Toss dressing with romaine lettuce and generous amounts of parmesan reggiano grated with a Micro-Plane grater. | Wednesday, March 05, 2003 ( 9:29 PM ) Girl Detective Revenge of Sassy Boots I wrote yesterday of my empowerment through footwear. Today I've learned that moderation is important. I have another pair of sassy black boots. These have high heels and I bring them to work on days that I know I won't be walking around a lot. I wear my sturdy clogs to and from work, change there, and sometimes change during the day if I have to run an errand. Today, however, mistakes were made. I had to meet someone for a meeting out of the office. I was running late, so I didn't change shoes. I arrived at our meeting place, didn't see her, then worried that I had misunderstood exactly which Starbucks we were supposed to meet at. I then began the three block walk to the other possible meeting place, arriving not to find her and realize that my first choice must have been correct. So I then walked back the three blocks to my original (already a schlep from where I work,) got a juice, sat down, and then she arrived, fifteen minutes late. Now, several hours later, I am in pain. Severe pain. Limping pain. I will be wearing my practical clogs for the next several days. | Tuesday, March 04, 2003 ( 6:34 PM ) Girl Detective I promised news last week, so here it is. I'm pregnant--fifteen+ weeks along and expecting a little one in August. I've spent the past few months feeling tired and like I was gonna barf. Never did the latter, though, so I'm pretty thankful. My new writing project is a weekly pregnancy diary called Mama Duck. Check it out if you're interested. I've found that there are a LOT of things that people never told me about pregnancy. My other blog seeks to correct this lack of information. Warning: some people have told me they think Girl Detective is too much personal information. If this is you, then don't check out the pregnancy diary. | ( 10:58 AM ) Girl Detective Many people sing the praises of good-hair days, but I think there's a lot to be said for good-footwear days. It's amazing what a difference a good pair of shoes can make. Or in my case today, a good pair of boots. I'm not one of those women who has a thing for shoes. In fact, on the girly scale of things, I've always registered pretty low on shoe aptitude. I place too much importance on comfort. I have about three pairs that I wear consistently during winter--an ancient pair of Timberland boots for cold weekends, then I alternate between clogs and loafers during the week. Occasionally, I'll throw something different into the mix, though, as I did today. Today I'm wearing my knee-high, black Grip-fast boots. These are big, honkin' boots. They were a gift from my husband G. Grod several years ago. They have steel toes. I don't have many things that I can wear them with, but today my black skirt and fishnet stockings just cried out for them, so I heeded the call. The steel toes make me feel protected, and the boots even add a bit to my height. Also, they get noticed. I acknowledge that they're not for everyone, but the change in perspective has certainly made my day. I strode around today, rather than walked, and felt empowered and sassy. So if you're in the midst of the winter doldrums, consider breaking out a pair of shoes that hasn't seen air time in a while. It might just make your day. | Sunday, March 02, 2003 ( 9:23 PM ) Girl Detective There are things in life that seem like they should be simple, yet aren't. Hard-boiling an egg is one of those things for me. Somehow in my family growing up, I got the role of deviled-egg maker for holidays. So I've had more than my fair share of overcooked, undercooked, icky-grey-ringed and hard-to-peel eggs. Here, then, is my prescription for nearly foolproof hard-boiled eggs. Clean off a sewing needle (or in a pinch, a pushpin) with rubbing alchohol or dish soap, then poke a small hole in the fat end of the egg. Place eggs in saucepan, cover with an inch of water. Bring to boil, let boil for about a minute, or until pea-sized bubbles form. Remove pan from heat; cover. Let stand 15 minutes. With slotted spoon, transfer eggs to ice-water bath for 5 minutes. Starting with fat end, bash egg on counter, then roll around till shell is uniformly cracked. The needle hole should have punctured that pesky inner membrane that can make eggs so hard to peel. If all has gone well, you will have an easy-to-peel egg with a firm white and a creamy yellow middle. | |
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