tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-70677513141006118432024-03-14T03:12:11.767-07:00The Ameri-BlogFrom Homelessness to Housewifery.Colleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08300672898232459898noreply@blogger.comBlogger19125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7067751314100611843.post-17188957915625606082009-05-21T12:48:00.001-07:002009-05-21T13:03:51.782-07:00Vacuum, Freeze, Cook<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEYk2DJTBFGWUvp9qyHSBRultXM95S14W2hh73Yj9udu-xSrlZfat429WKA2eu-Xw3suFyFH5urCRE3fRyzGjgnx0VasBniqMwH93dyqospD9xD3WsYypDdSECDfmwM7BtJ-WHXOAM-TM/s1600-h/DSCN0033.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEYk2DJTBFGWUvp9qyHSBRultXM95S14W2hh73Yj9udu-xSrlZfat429WKA2eu-Xw3suFyFH5urCRE3fRyzGjgnx0VasBniqMwH93dyqospD9xD3WsYypDdSECDfmwM7BtJ-WHXOAM-TM/s400/DSCN0033.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5338367429138142002" border="0" /></a>Yesterday, we discovered this little hand pump you use with special Ziploc freezer bags to create a vacuum seal. The little system was under $5, so entirely worth it in my book. It also seems that because you suck the air out through a little hole and zip and unzip like usual, the bags are also probably totally reusable unlike most vacuum sealing stuff. This meant that I had an opportunity to cook and freeze vast quantities of food. So I did. Yesterday, I made at least five pound of ravioli <i>by hand</i>, as in without a pasta maker. After five hours of rolling, I've determined I definitely need one. But, I now I have a ton of homemade pasta all frozen and ready to go for a quick meal. I used Martha Stewart's <a href="http://www.marthastewart.com/portal/site/mslo/menuitem.fc77a0dbc44dd1611e3bf410b5900aa0/?vgnextoid=0c39e788eba71110VgnVCM1000003d370a0aRCRD&vgnextfmt=default">carrot pasta recipe</a> and substituted as necessary. I ended up making spinach pasta and sweet potato pasta. I stuffed the spinach with feta cheese and more spinach; the sweet potato was stuffed with ricotta/mozzarella or sweet potato. It ended up being five bags with about 4-6 servings in each bag because The Breadwinner and I have little tummies so our serving sizes are pretty small. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBjnB-_Mf7cr3p87QAUd76ZKqenOqP14fHfnNpU4Tl6nv_nPRPpSWmAjz55YcbgPjhRsgDj1rTSb5OGhGAq7eeeGWMzewbYgiwq3vN2D4X1qG0byIahBU6l923dwPFghc_shDMBJ9VyFw/s1600-h/DSCN0034.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBjnB-_Mf7cr3p87QAUd76ZKqenOqP14fHfnNpU4Tl6nv_nPRPpSWmAjz55YcbgPjhRsgDj1rTSb5OGhGAq7eeeGWMzewbYgiwq3vN2D4X1qG0byIahBU6l923dwPFghc_shDMBJ9VyFw/s400/DSCN0034.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5338367432202176354" border="0" /></a><br />Today, I made a bunch of single-serving pizzas with whole wheat pizza dough. They ranged from totally plain cheese pizza to spinach/ricotta/chicken/feta. This means that all together, this pile of food should provide about 30+ meals (or 15 if we're both eating). The ravioli just needs to be boiled, the pizza thrown in the toaster oven for about 20 minutes. <br /><br />Part of my motivation was that I had an interview to work at a camp this summer, which means leaving the Breadwinner alone for seven weeks! It's just comforting to know that there's always something to eat no matter how busy she is. <br /><br />My next mass freezing plan is burritos!Colleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08300672898232459898noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7067751314100611843.post-10480978479844386012009-05-05T11:46:00.000-07:002009-05-05T12:53:11.833-07:00Bread and Butter<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2eY2yiuyfiBXWLLZY-CRdOCqWs1gpYUMljHK6FslPhzlBCmwJJPUT18YAhxr3gIjWZLLvgp1FuVfrv3pF6vmWeQeU8qwZY6HP5Y3bzaB2bh4X6MfhPyD-wxJBYVX58C3sb_FbcQ0KXt0/s1600-h/DSCN0012.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2eY2yiuyfiBXWLLZY-CRdOCqWs1gpYUMljHK6FslPhzlBCmwJJPUT18YAhxr3gIjWZLLvgp1FuVfrv3pF6vmWeQeU8qwZY6HP5Y3bzaB2bh4X6MfhPyD-wxJBYVX58C3sb_FbcQ0KXt0/s400/DSCN0012.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332419956269735778" border="0" /></a>Yesterday, I began the day by making butter from the fresh cream we purchased at the co-op in Burlington on Saturday. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSrPPjTWV1agfQUaWE6TCbDIiIfF6aJMO5dUim2j4uZnStbN5iu0Em43LP0VWlMBQfmPejgjlcWv89kYIw-_-z-vDpjOPsPnqsbE5JfxGosXidpPUa4LyCcmr9LqhVsKkFatoynzNTKQo/s1600-h/DSCN0013.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSrPPjTWV1agfQUaWE6TCbDIiIfF6aJMO5dUim2j4uZnStbN5iu0Em43LP0VWlMBQfmPejgjlcWv89kYIw-_-z-vDpjOPsPnqsbE5JfxGosXidpPUa4LyCcmr9LqhVsKkFatoynzNTKQo/s400/DSCN0013.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332419951926457762" border="0" /></a>Step 1: Pour cream into a jar with plenty of space, preferably a jar that has been in the fridge to make it nice and cold. Fresh cream tends to separate so it blocks up at the top.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh271pjwLgtx40YScCx5J99KX7epOCEDm-JLI-c-_m7MqNtOq0axHM9sidspGhGltr44mB9jYSHWAgDAL73yq_v1lIYMonZzVZpAAgaiN8jsPb0ISSR7jMTKOGTDjHgJ3gaRvLAUJWASkg/s1600-h/DSCN0014.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh271pjwLgtx40YScCx5J99KX7epOCEDm-JLI-c-_m7MqNtOq0axHM9sidspGhGltr44mB9jYSHWAgDAL73yq_v1lIYMonZzVZpAAgaiN8jsPb0ISSR7jMTKOGTDjHgJ3gaRvLAUJWASkg/s400/DSCN0014.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332419243435589266" border="0" /></a>Full jar of cream, ready to head on to step 2: shake shake shake. And shake. And shake.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtp63tvpjEaPDAIwgAd2vLEL9uQ1VsIEP_vSG4pcX3Lp7i0kTyfB_qt6fI4OfIR8ZhdNJMNq3f2XyCCQW3SqWRvdFn4MwULZ_lppPXXkRWQKEfo7pI6oET052M5gOnLxJfT78hZ_WmKCY/s1600-h/DSCN0015.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtp63tvpjEaPDAIwgAd2vLEL9uQ1VsIEP_vSG4pcX3Lp7i0kTyfB_qt6fI4OfIR8ZhdNJMNq3f2XyCCQW3SqWRvdFn4MwULZ_lppPXXkRWQKEfo7pI6oET052M5gOnLxJfT78hZ_WmKCY/s400/DSCN0015.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332419239341618978" border="0" /></a>Eventually, you'll end up with what looks like whipped cream (shaken, not stirred). That means you're about halfway done and should do step 3: put in an agitator. I usually use a baby spoon, bottle cap, or marble. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitc3Gppb7zSwhr0ejcPpy82Xeajosj0jbNNLFojfnFV-OaHEg6lbfA2n2IfW6K8OtoXs18aJTe0bAMuw9qZkcYSzppNnphuCPLbd8WE7qlSbH_Km4zpVoTFZtGzN7TN_kw9NgrCr3NZm0/s1600-h/DSCN0017.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitc3Gppb7zSwhr0ejcPpy82Xeajosj0jbNNLFojfnFV-OaHEg6lbfA2n2IfW6K8OtoXs18aJTe0bAMuw9qZkcYSzppNnphuCPLbd8WE7qlSbH_Km4zpVoTFZtGzN7TN_kw9NgrCr3NZm0/s400/DSCN0017.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332419234615876098" border="0" /></a>You know you're almost done when the milk starts to separate from the butter. Keep shaking until you have separated as much as possible. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK86VyRe-1PiAPZkW3C79OndR9NTFaNYm8xVv36uEPmGZOvZKSnXyPjOmcudug5lPLmuPO9KldhAjjoFZAIVt5JLCSsKCBHZ5MjiL1AWoJI7UswGmCpWFn3pIO9BHF4bhr2bRtzFr2xqc/s1600-h/DSCN0018.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK86VyRe-1PiAPZkW3C79OndR9NTFaNYm8xVv36uEPmGZOvZKSnXyPjOmcudug5lPLmuPO9KldhAjjoFZAIVt5JLCSsKCBHZ5MjiL1AWoJI7UswGmCpWFn3pIO9BHF4bhr2bRtzFr2xqc/s400/DSCN0018.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332419230383361762" border="0" /></a>Eventually, you'll have clearly defined milk and butter.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj26yw1k_tAuQMRET7QtUeD_qT4O5H_zt5EWNHIzqRJ65Q6oW5Bw6UwAaHxfRfW4ilqe2N_FaqN87mnWracXjkZof4KDQmYbkG7cmp-8QBEmK_Y6f6KnXFYGjp9lEll5d4mN3MLCv3HsUM/s1600-h/DSCN0019.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj26yw1k_tAuQMRET7QtUeD_qT4O5H_zt5EWNHIzqRJ65Q6oW5Bw6UwAaHxfRfW4ilqe2N_FaqN87mnWracXjkZof4KDQmYbkG7cmp-8QBEmK_Y6f6KnXFYGjp9lEll5d4mN3MLCv3HsUM/s400/DSCN0019.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332419230072353058" border="0" /></a>Step 4: pour off the mik. <br /><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilnIzi8__1ehL6X_hZeW10eZFaqLXJ2nGsp7s78_n3SgG41od85j_ho-8zj168Mr2ZhENCVfWyTzLia7-jj2_m7KZOoyhL4jtj3vC3XKXWapMt4TrCV1BPZfsltpai94Nq25gIiBdjXow/s1600-h/DSCN0020.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilnIzi8__1ehL6X_hZeW10eZFaqLXJ2nGsp7s78_n3SgG41od85j_ho-8zj168Mr2ZhENCVfWyTzLia7-jj2_m7KZOoyhL4jtj3vC3XKXWapMt4TrCV1BPZfsltpai94Nq25gIiBdjXow/s400/DSCN0020.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332416458463237218" border="0" /></a>For my last step, I mix in some olive oil to keep the butter spreadable even from the fridge. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfYp84LCMkTtXDxzZnbyOPQpPNvuXQupUO_zqHVcdrW83VoS6uymLXrCFTKN3c0eSj7HZv3mjdXGpVTybcqPlBsapHgUDjpTAPwq74hCmgZEoSalEgmhTvxJQSvFYEDYK1FthNDfvUcXA/s1600-h/DSCN0021.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfYp84LCMkTtXDxzZnbyOPQpPNvuXQupUO_zqHVcdrW83VoS6uymLXrCFTKN3c0eSj7HZv3mjdXGpVTybcqPlBsapHgUDjpTAPwq74hCmgZEoSalEgmhTvxJQSvFYEDYK1FthNDfvUcXA/s400/DSCN0021.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332416453098305890" border="0" /></a>Onward to the bread. This is the starter I made the night before. It's not bubbling very much but I didn't have time to wait around for it to develop more. The recipe, obviously, comes from Martha (<a href="http://www.marthastewart.com/recipe/multigrain-boule?autonomy_kw=multigrain%20boule&rsc=header_1">Multugrain Boule Recipe</a>). Instead of King Arthur unbleached all-purpose flour, I use KA's new white whole-wheat flour. And of course, I use KA for the regular whole-wheat too!<br /><br /><a try="" href="http://www.blogger.com/%20%20%3Ca%20onblur="><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBIlgBuFmoak_FaNUTKQaYERV7Juyhj9FxW_45ICTmyWxcp2Jvzcjde105BrF8LsNz5zesC2E-bbZa65nWZ6F16OET2tVTAp4vPCPOkMvCBnBIHPT-5GMWtsm6ecKA2dS1KuFIZN7MkP0/s400/DSCN0023.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332416451136081746" border="0" /></a>I cheat. I never mix my dough ingredients separate from my starter, but I've never had a problem. In addition to all the yummy stuff you're supposed to add (sesame seeds, sunflower seeds, flax seed, and wheat germ) I also added wheat bran and poppy seeds. I also substitute whole wheat flour for rye, so's to not die from my allergy. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm7c3QA97AVSWI1UsYmsg9b4oz59B9BN7sRY8p8768_qVunnijQUPzCw8jgA7jwht2tyjlTGqq6XhvMMUx-6sl288nL4yfjF5HkxtPfce-K537IvWrx3bD29YldzeUYLj5oUoZxu-Ejck/s1600-h/DSCN0024.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm7c3QA97AVSWI1UsYmsg9b4oz59B9BN7sRY8p8768_qVunnijQUPzCw8jgA7jwht2tyjlTGqq6XhvMMUx-6sl288nL4yfjF5HkxtPfce-K537IvWrx3bD29YldzeUYLj5oUoZxu-Ejck/s400/DSCN0024.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332416447606976018" border="0" /></a>After it's all mixed up, it's ready to sit for a little while. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh42ffKMXdG1bzCF-Uf7rQTZLskK5YaFDH-G3gRCJ8Ep8hbfKppvVqr2X-p1kffiY9g_O4xEwm8fX75s2TWoGWpakkKoXA5XskSThRch7uo_QKyvedfnj9HRQJvRE_s38pvjKJ7aq9mexY/s1600-h/DSCN0025.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh42ffKMXdG1bzCF-Uf7rQTZLskK5YaFDH-G3gRCJ8Ep8hbfKppvVqr2X-p1kffiY9g_O4xEwm8fX75s2TWoGWpakkKoXA5XskSThRch7uo_QKyvedfnj9HRQJvRE_s38pvjKJ7aq9mexY/s400/DSCN0025.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332416442381525458" border="0" /></a>After much kneading, you get a nice supple dough.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv__8Vb5htDwJ899YBdLty48IFA4w3Dz16-2-XMk8w5YA41GLzJJZFP_SaLTkMvR9ZALJ1-5h4DhyUWXWU5dlfh1Jgw7p1BhhDX3E1HluO85h4uiOJf2Wyu1dGNRFmzCVJvVO2olXw9TY/s1600-h/DSCN0026.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv__8Vb5htDwJ899YBdLty48IFA4w3Dz16-2-XMk8w5YA41GLzJJZFP_SaLTkMvR9ZALJ1-5h4DhyUWXWU5dlfh1Jgw7p1BhhDX3E1HluO85h4uiOJf2Wyu1dGNRFmzCVJvVO2olXw9TY/s400/DSCN0026.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332414114040749618" border="0" /></a>I don't have a round enough bowl, so I always end up with a kind of flat bread because the final rise is restricted by the shape of the bowl. But here she is, ready to get X'ed and go in the oven.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB3tSWuAxqKUR_-FKIpMCpYNbp78oR6hLzkda879RA5LgPz5CeHySt2mUXj0Ro_41x6KqapdoIvJ4ykxv-U5BMsU6XwkDXJqsfFAcPXgFcPbGg-EshRX6q9Z5XRLgzmqITzs2OD2MAfzA/s1600-h/DSCN0027.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB3tSWuAxqKUR_-FKIpMCpYNbp78oR6hLzkda879RA5LgPz5CeHySt2mUXj0Ro_41x6KqapdoIvJ4ykxv-U5BMsU6XwkDXJqsfFAcPXgFcPbGg-EshRX6q9Z5XRLgzmqITzs2OD2MAfzA/s400/DSCN0027.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332414118617502786" border="0" /></a>I apparently could not resist eating it before taking a picture. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0ak0HnlfY9GxfHIzP6wy2tBqqC_tyI65TfnDmmkGH4Ox07ASnMyZigw2eTJ5bFwRL0GGJBczbrZdpXZs-Ai2JWtemqMr_xX7BzKJR3hu5Qef3O14IS1-76K_HqaofIIkSpSD5BY2rqdQ/s1600-h/DSCN0028.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0ak0HnlfY9GxfHIzP6wy2tBqqC_tyI65TfnDmmkGH4Ox07ASnMyZigw2eTJ5bFwRL0GGJBczbrZdpXZs-Ai2JWtemqMr_xX7BzKJR3hu5Qef3O14IS1-76K_HqaofIIkSpSD5BY2rqdQ/s400/DSCN0028.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332414125101011506" border="0" /></a>After the Breadwinner cleared off the table last night, I set about making French toast this morning and realized that the table (aside from the Lactaid and the Starbucks coffee) looks straight out of the '50's. What you can't tell is that one of the eggs is actually a soft green color. Omnomnom green eggs.Colleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08300672898232459898noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7067751314100611843.post-52420580699883833872009-04-29T07:27:00.000-07:002009-04-29T08:20:03.853-07:00Make Mine Scrambled With Lots Of Butter!Or The Scienciness of Cholesterol<br /><br />Flashback 100 years, to Russia in 1908. M. A. Ignatovsky is totally screwing with nature in the name of medical research. His subjects: Fluffy Little Bunnies... with a taste for flesh!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://pythonline.com/files/pythonline/images/MontyPythonKillerRabbit1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 350px; height: 214px;" src="http://pythonline.com/files/pythonline/images/MontyPythonKillerRabbit1.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br />Well, not exactly. Our buddy Ignatovsky decided to see what would happen if he fed animal protein to bunnies. The rabbits developed atherosclerosis, the hardening of arteries that is linked to heart disease. He concluded that if the bunnies got rock hard arteries from eating protein, then protein must be at fault. Five years later, a similar experiment was done to rival Igny's. A group of doctors decided that this time, our fluffy friends would gorge themselves on cholesterol. They found that the rabbits had fat and cholesterol deposits in their hardened arteries, thus cholesterol, not protein, must be to blame for their atherosclerosis. <br /><br />The flaw in this experiment: <b>Rabbits are herbivores</b>! <br /><br />In nature, rabbits would never consume <i>any</i> cholesterol because it comes exclusively from animal products and <b>rabbits don't eat animal products</b>. Their little vascular systems don't know what to do with all this added cholesterol because they are not meant to process it. They are essentially poisoned. The best part of this conclusion is that according to Dr. Uffe Ravnskov who wrote <i>The Cholesterol Myth</i>, "These deposits do not even remotely resemble those found in human atherosclerosis." Awesome. I totally buy it now, don't you? Rabbits eat a ton of cholesterol instead of alfalfa and get a cardiovascular problem in no way similar to human heart disease, thus cholesterol causes heart disease! Ya' see my infallible logic? <br /><br />Okay, let's keep going and look at the human experiments on cholesterol. Feed a bunch of actual omnivores, who are meant to process cholesterol, foods high in cholesterol and see what happens. How 'bout eggs and milk? Sounds good. But to make sure that we get the results we want, let's dry them first and feed people powdered milk and eggs in which the cholesterol is known to become oxidized and be unhealthy. This was the logic behind the major studies that "proved" cholesterol causes atherosclerosis. Real food was not used, industrial "food" was. Who in their right minds would think that the damaged cholesterol in dried milk and eggs is the same as the whole cholesterol in real milk and eggs? Certainly not the author of <i>The Heart Revolution</i>, Dr. Kilmer McCully who says, "Pure cholesterol, containing no oxy-cholesterols, does not damage arteries in animals." <br /><br />I could detail fifty more years of questionable science in which researchers pointedly eliminate populations that do not confirm, or in fact negate, their hypothesis that cholesterol causes heart disease. But it's not necessary. I'll just give you one fun anecdote about food scientists and their scienciness (scienciness is to medical experiments as thruthiness is to journalism). We are told, according to nutritional guidelines that we should eat no more than 300 milligrams of cholesterol a day. Why is that? In 1968, there was some serious scienciness going on. A bunch of food scientists argued what the maximum amount of cholesterol one should consume daily was; many were against setting a limit at all. In the end, it came down to the fact that the average person eats about 580 mg per liter of blood. So... what do they do with this fact? "Eh, let's just half that." To make it even, they called it 300 mg. This has nothing to do with any actual tests or experiments related to how much cholesterol your body can absorb, it is simply an arbitrary number. It's not even halving the total cholesterol intake of the average American. Remember, 580 mg was the amount <i>per liter of blood</i>. The average person has 5 liters of blood in their body. That means that the average amount of cholesterol consumed in 1968 was 2,900 mg. They were essentially using scienciness to tell people to cut their cholesterol intake by 1/10th based on the early twentieth-century scienciness that we saw earlier. Eggs, the poor devils, were pretty much out since one already contained nearly a day's dose of cholesterol all on its own. <br /><br />Cholesterol, itself, is not the bad guy. In fact, cholesterol is in your body to help repair it. Cholesterol is found in the gunk that helps heal injured arteries. Nina Planck, author of <i> Real Food</i> (the book that got me started on all of this in the first place) makes a really great analogy. If you see lots of firefighters at a fire, do you assume that they caused it? If you see lots of cholesterol in a damaged artery, do you assume that it causes damaged arteries? <br /><br />Again, I could keep going for a long time, but the important thing is that <i>real</i> food is good for you. Industrial food is bad. Real milk and eggs do not cause atherosclerosis, powdered food products do. The first heart attack in the US wasn't until 1912 . I promise you, people were eatin' a lot of cholesterol before 1912, it was just natural and none of it was oxidized. Toss your powdered milk and gulp a big glass of raw whole milk. After all, it does the body good.Colleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08300672898232459898noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7067751314100611843.post-5657894229129795312009-04-20T11:06:00.000-07:002009-04-20T11:16:52.364-07:00A Most Productive Day!This morning I got up and ate breakfast while watching last night's Desperate Housewives. I finished off the show while working on a knitting project that I was afraid would fall to the bottom of my stash as yet another UFO. I checked for jobs and found some new potential summer employers (if they're hiring). I showered and went to tackle the kitchen. I did the usual: dishes, counters, stove top, fridge, and swept. Since Monday is Mopday, I bleached and mopped the floor. Next, I tackled the same in the bathroom and scrubbed the toilet. I picked up the living room and bedroom then vacuumed. I started the process of taking down the Christmas Tree (apparently we decided that since Jesus has risen, we can put away the tree). I printed out some recipes that I use all the time, cut them to card shape, and laminated them. <br />I'm taking a break to continue knitting then I'm taking the sewing machine to the shop, climbing, and coming home to make dinner. <br />Tomorrow is Tuesday, the day I usually soak the aluminum rings below the burners and lift up the stove top to clean inside. After that, I'll handwash the rags and finish taking down the Christmas tree. Hopefully, I'll pick up the sewing machine and start work on new pillows. <br /><br />Again, I say, anyone who thinks being a homemaker isn't a full time job has never done it.Colleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08300672898232459898noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7067751314100611843.post-5138422289533565752009-04-18T08:00:00.000-07:002009-04-18T08:12:30.973-07:00Real Food: LiverwurstI've been reading this book about "Real Food" and how industrialized foods lead to poor health. The argument is simple: Americans who eat industrialized "health" food are found to be far less healthy than those who eat traditional foods--thus industrialized foods (soybean oil, white flour, all things "refined") are likely to blame and not traditional "unhealthy" foods (like butter, beef, and saturated fat in general).<br /><br />My plan to becoming a healthier person actually involves eating way more meat. In Korea, I was going through a kilo of chicken by myself a week. This meant roughly three cuts of chicken breast a day. Also, for the first time in ages, I was consuming a lot of milk--not skim milk because they didn't have it, but real milk, often fortified with DHA. I felt good. I wasn't exhausted all of the time, I slept well, and I steadily lost weight despite consuming more fat than I used to. Most importantly, I was not eating a lot of refined sugar, flour, or oils. So I know that this works for me.<br /><br />Today we are going grocery shopping and I plan on loading up on animal products and when they become available, a ton of local products too. Local means not only lower carbon-footprint but also higher immunity to local allergens and diseases. Om nom nom local. Today, we're going to buy our meat at the meat market instead of the supermarket. Local eggs from the co-op. If I could find local, grass-fed, raw milk, I'd be on top of that too.<br /><br />What I look forward to most about today's shopping: liverwurst.<br /><br /><img style="width: 447px; height: 334px;" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/2/2e/Liverwurst_slices_on_bread..jpg/800px-Liverwurst_slices_on_bread..jpg" /><br /><br />As kids, we ate a lot of liverwurst. At the time, it was just some sort of sandwich spread and I thought nothing of it. Due to my family's pretty epic New England meets Long Island accents there were a lot of words that had no meaning to me because I didn't actually understand them. I knew that grapes grew on the gray-barber not the grape arbor. We put libahwuhst on our sandwiches, didn't everybody? As I grew older, I read the label and discovered that we were eating some sort of liver paste. Unacceptable. When my dad joked with his friends that the first solid food he fed us was liverwurst I was mortified. I considered it one of the many ways in which my dad chose to torture us throughout childhood.<br /><br />As it turns out, liver is traditionally a child's first solid food because it is rich in iron which is lacking in breast milk. Granted, liverwurst is not exactly organic calf's liver, but it's liver nonetheless. Cassady says in response to this news, "Our father, the accidental parent." <a href="http://www.nutritiondata.com/facts/sausages-and-luncheon-meats/1479/2">Nutritiondata.com</a> (one of my favorite websites) has this to say about liverwurst's health properties:<br /><i><br />The good: This food is a good source of Protein, Riboflavin and Iron, and a very good source of Vitamin A, Vitamin B12 and Selenium.<br /><br />The bad: This food is high in Saturated Fat and Cholesterol.</i><br /><br />A lot of what I have been reading praises the virtues of eating saturated fats--after all, these are the fats that we have been surviving off of for millenia not industrialized trans and polyunsaturated (processed omega-6, in particular) fats. So, is it just me or does the good completely outweigh the bad?<br /><img src="http://www.quitehealthy.com/nutrition-facts/food-labels/label079111.gif" /><br /><br />Additionally, on the glycemic load scale (0-250) liverwurst gets a 1. A 1! You want to stay generally under 100 a day and some foods are up near 250... liverwurst is a 1. It is considered a "complete protein" because it has a balance of amino acids. Om nom nom liverwurst! I am also a fan of its high levels of B-12 because some time in the near future I want to have strong, healthy babies. Most importantly, this is not a food that was brought to my attention as a "health food" or a miracle of real food, just an average food that I decided to look up the value of. It is simply a real food that I grew up on. Strip off the layers of Little Debbie, Fritos, and diet soda--what are some of the real foods that you grew up on that are surprisingly beneficial?<br /><br />(Next up: wheat germ or coconut)Colleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08300672898232459898noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7067751314100611843.post-8661914431901026192009-04-17T08:16:00.000-07:002009-04-17T09:24:30.481-07:00SubversionTonight is Take Back the Night at Plattsburgh and I am ashamed, as a Smithie, to say that this is the first time I will have ever gone to a TBTN. The Breadwinner asked me a few days ago to make us shirts or stencil something for it. I've been thinking about editing the feminist uprising stencil that I've been putting on all sorts of subversive things (pink aprons and onezies). Maybe I could put knitting needles or a duster in the hand. And then I realized how many people would be offended, how many people I'd have to explain it to. I spend so much of my life explaining and justifying myself to other people because I fall between the cracks of every group of which I find myself a part.<br /><br />A) Smithies: In reading an alum blog about cutting the Ada Comstock program, I noted an alum writing about having more impact than she would have if she had taken the wife/mother path that was generally open to her in the '60's. Right. I get it. Wife/mother should not be the <i>only</i> option for a woman. But am I wasting my Smith education by wanting to become a wife/mother? Am I not having a greater impact? I want to raise my children using all of the knowledge I gained at Smith. I want my daughters in a rainbow of colors not just pink; I want my sons to learn how to change a diaper on their own baby dolls. They will not watch a Disney movie without me by their side to pause and explain how it negatively portrays women. And because I will inevitably be raising my children with another woman, they will see women taking care of all aspects of life from setting the table to fixing the leaky faucet. They will not see any difference between men's work and women's work in our home. What better way is there to ensure that feminism is alive and well than raising children in a feminist household? <br /><br />I guess I am using Smithie and feminist in the same way, so I might consider both in this category. Additionally, if being a wife/mother makes me happy, isn't that what life is all about? Why is my happiness so offensive to some women? The feeling I get when I finish knitting a stuffed animal for a baby cannot begin to compete with any satisfaction I would get in "the workforce." Yes, I am financially dependent upon someone else. But that person is also dependent upon me for many aspects of life like food and happiness. Why is it that people think having money to offer makes someone dominant in a relationship? If you care about someone and work with them at making a life, you will make it equal, no matter what the distribution of wealth. Wealth does not equal power. <br /><br />B) Queers: While sixty years ago I would have been a model queer, I'm definitely less of one now. I am coming to terms with how I fit into queer society. I do not believe in two genders. I am offended for all the people close to my heart who can't whenever I need to check M or F. Nevertheless, I'm a pretty content femme. I <i>myself</i> don't tend to subvert gender norms but I am known to describe people as: "Oh, he's one of my closest friends! He was my exgirlfriend." I don't get tongue-tied when I say genderqueer pronouns. So why is it that when I talk about liking butches I am so full of shame? Plus, the whole aforementioned thing about wanting to be a wife/mother tends to rub a lot of the queermos in my life the wrong way. <br /><br />C) Femmes: While I'm at odds with being queer because I consider myself a femme/housedyke, I don't quite fit in there either. I don't shave my legs. This is a big thing to a lot of people on both sides. Some people think it's gross and that it makes me look manly (bad femme). Some people are offended that if I could, I would do so and thus perpetuate the unrealistic standards of beauty that The Man sets for us (bad queer/feminist/Smithie). I would because I prefer not to be stared at, that simple. I don't like to stand out; I don't want to always have to explain myself. Sometimes, I even want to "pass" for straight just to feel comfortable and safe in a hostile world. Ideally, no one would stare at my hairy legs and this would not be an issue, but the bottom line is that I can't shave my legs because I have a skin condition and I get infected sores when I do anything to remove my leg hair. Additionally, I am in a relationship with a non-butch. If we're sticking to butch/femme of the 1940's persuasion, I fail at being a femme. This is all so funny to me because I remember how offended I was when I heard someone refer to her sexual orientation as being a "femme lesbian." I thought how ridiculous, how outdated, how <i>offensive</i>. But here I am, trying to fit in and frustrated that I can't be a total femme or a total fuck-it-all queer. <br /><br />D) Atheists: I don't believe in God, gods, or any variation thereof. This makes me an atheist. This makes me part of one of the most hated groups in society. In my own life, I've had a much harder time being accepted into society as an atheist than I have as a homo. Religion is a choice and sexual orientation is not, it seems. I don't really understand this argument entirely since I certainly did not decide one day that I was never going to believe in God. The whole idea was just up there with the Easter Bunny and Santa Claus to me since I was a young child. So how can I be an atheist who regularly attends a gathering that is considered "organized religion"? Because friends meeting isn't about God or baby Jesus and it makes me feel good. It's about people and living a peaceful, healthy, positive life. That's it. But try explaining that to my die-hard atheist family members or friends who think that I'm somehow leaving them. <br /><br />E) Friends: I have so much crap. I want to have less, I really do, but I get emotionally attached to so many things and I just end up owning so much more than I need. "Everything you own that you don't need is stealing" plays in my head every day. But I should be able to forgive myself for this because that's what life is all about, forgiving and seeing the good. I have trouble with that in the people closest to me (including myself) and total strangers. I have trouble remembering that the people at the gym who get me all enraged <i>are people too</i>. <br /><br />This is where I write a paragraph summarizing how I just feel out of place in every aspect of life but now that I've written this whole rant, I feel like I can think of so many friends who fall between the cracks of every subculture they are a part of. No one fits in a box and the world is not made of simple dichotomies. M&F, Gay&Straight, Butch&Femme, Feminist&Mysoginist, Atheist&Jesus Freak, Red Sox&Yankees. It just ain't like that. So when you're thinking someone is a "bad feminist" think of all the ways you are a bad Red Sox fan before passing judgement.Colleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08300672898232459898noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7067751314100611843.post-42486555274720647312009-04-17T06:12:00.000-07:002009-04-17T07:34:50.092-07:00Do These Shoes Make Me Look Canadian?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAaXkjCQTdY8gKnSRvImQhDtVcIpTNTZkG_f4VcvGhm1mv2QzpgZX0eUzWWRTk5ShLmreCAMtP7Mb9gKGyMPUJGRDnLX7bgdUMiA_JaA_1RqP9iYyJhhZuq9njYSTWVxzRz4MLgDBKGQA/s1600-h/DSCN0187.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAaXkjCQTdY8gKnSRvImQhDtVcIpTNTZkG_f4VcvGhm1mv2QzpgZX0eUzWWRTk5ShLmreCAMtP7Mb9gKGyMPUJGRDnLX7bgdUMiA_JaA_1RqP9iYyJhhZuq9njYSTWVxzRz4MLgDBKGQA/s400/DSCN0187.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325649417421799410" border="0" /></a>While I was couch-surfing at Smith, Miranda introduced me to the Smith climbing wall. A few years back, I had gone with KT and Nicole to the climbing wall at SUNY Cortland where I could not get up the wall and destroyed my arm muscles. For some reason, I still thought it was amazing. I decided that I would start going to the climbing wall at Smith. And then I decided I should eat some snacks instead. Two years later, I found myself addicted to the climbing wall. I think it's because I'm generally a lot more fit and spry than I used to be, so it's actually easier now. I love the Smith wall and the way that they have so many vertical paths, with a user-friendly Taco Bell rating system. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCIV9bqBCEsx43ZocWKUTtSKE6mlw-fN56-LavaOZFoyR3O18Ij7oUpDkNbjhAwcf_6TZG2lFMrxrG4Z4Qse3Afd4mECpNq_ZYBQlyV1PH3iQvx68DUTo31ZxBbXyDNi3_4tSql7cznuk/s1600-h/DSCN0188.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCIV9bqBCEsx43ZocWKUTtSKE6mlw-fN56-LavaOZFoyR3O18Ij7oUpDkNbjhAwcf_6TZG2lFMrxrG4Z4Qse3Afd4mECpNq_ZYBQlyV1PH3iQvx68DUTo31ZxBbXyDNi3_4tSql7cznuk/s400/DSCN0188.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325649411990958962" border="0" /></a>I remember reading a short story in English class sophomore year of high school just after my grandmother had died that was about the first experience of death. When you first experience death, when your grandma dies and you go to your first wake and funeral, you always remember it. It becomes your basis for judging death. It's what it should be like. And that's how I feel about the Smith climbing wall. It is my basis. I judge every other climbing wall in comparison to Smith. I don't care if the wall I'm at is three or four times as large, if it doesn't have a ton of rated vertical climbs, I'm so disappointed by it. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt_x2R201hZqdryLpx5R42HWNEhxAjr4N_w6xsxiafKdOjYRHzPNrLVTpFJxcPnnXv-_2tsvsOqV2ny3ZQk66y0l9OchPX9xZQGTiL-4JuRei562Sx8b3dNRdmsPljOeB2b7TblB_AXxo/s1600-h/DSCN0185.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt_x2R201hZqdryLpx5R42HWNEhxAjr4N_w6xsxiafKdOjYRHzPNrLVTpFJxcPnnXv-_2tsvsOqV2ny3ZQk66y0l9OchPX9xZQGTiL-4JuRei562Sx8b3dNRdmsPljOeB2b7TblB_AXxo/s400/DSCN0185.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325649408071069634" border="0" /></a>This is the Smith wall with my friend Kristina climbing and I believe a girl bouldering on the left. The red and white lines are the bouldering lines. Bouldering is climbing horizontally without being attached to the ropes. It is by no means my favorite way to climb.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVBWxNQgDxuMoujhDCCtH9c5MGy1iwoDGAH2RDI2_uSPua8-i9OjT7AMZTrIN7Pby1koRJJeq16Er8uHg3LQkL-ddxxfFoftY-Rq2CPfWnM7WvyuLHBYyMj3Kf1OxA6-WnExRFDzfZOyA/s1600-h/DSCN0125.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVBWxNQgDxuMoujhDCCtH9c5MGy1iwoDGAH2RDI2_uSPua8-i9OjT7AMZTrIN7Pby1koRJJeq16Er8uHg3LQkL-ddxxfFoftY-Rq2CPfWnM7WvyuLHBYyMj3Kf1OxA6-WnExRFDzfZOyA/s400/DSCN0125.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325649406173109906" border="0" /></a>When I went to visit Lauren in New Paltz, we went to the climbing gym in town. It was pretty huge, but still not Smith. They also gave surprisingly few instructions--especially on how to belay, which is why it's a good thing they had me as the belayer clipped into the floor. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVLqRlPBPwgUDrfadZRG2amz_U8bK8JVy7kUCHjSo6xFiXRitaZrf-eSiBUBvU4QmsZAhy3Vs4B_OqU8EhkbVV1yjmyCafXl8HY52vUtwngoNzLoRGtTXP08j3UX2Rd5fDUjS1idM629M/s1600-h/DSCN0128.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVLqRlPBPwgUDrfadZRG2amz_U8bK8JVy7kUCHjSo6xFiXRitaZrf-eSiBUBvU4QmsZAhy3Vs4B_OqU8EhkbVV1yjmyCafXl8HY52vUtwngoNzLoRGtTXP08j3UX2Rd5fDUjS1idM629M/s400/DSCN0128.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325649398514497186" border="0" /></a>Another thing that gets me is when I cannot tell the difference between a bouldering traverse and a vertical climb by the tape. When you climb the wall, you don't just use any holds, you try to climb only the holds in a particular path which is marked by colored tape. At Smith, at the bottom of a rope there is a guide to all of the paths--what color the tape is, what the name is, and what its rating is. I have not really experienced this anywhere else.<br /><br />But now it's time that I get used to my new climbing wall at the Plattsburgh gym. Generally, I'm an optimist and a pretty cheerful person, but the Plattsburgh gym can beat that out of you. This is primarily a bouldering wall so there aren't too many vertical climbs and a lot of the time, it is difficult to sort them out from the bouldering routes. Also, it's populated by a lot of boys. Blegh. Getting into the climbing wall is no picnic either. When you go to the sign-in desk at the gym, you are bombarded with stimulation. The desk faces just the wrong way so that you cannot hear anything they are saying through the din of gym machines. Because they thought it was a good idea to put the pool on top of the gym, the gym is always a cool 85 degrees as well. The desk has up to seven people behind it, all of whom are folding towels except for the one person pointedly ignoring you. When I first got shoes for the wall, they asked me what size I needed. Knowing that climbing shoes almost always come/are labelled in European sizes I asked for a 37. "We only go up to fourteen" he replied. <br />"Well, uh, what kind of sizes are they? That's not the way climbing shoes are normally sized."<br />"It is here in the States, Ma'am."Colleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08300672898232459898noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7067751314100611843.post-92143794645415615792009-03-28T10:03:00.000-07:002009-03-28T10:47:11.291-07:00Higher Ground Parties Part I: Winter's a Drag Ball<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikc55xxHnUiJBf7d9pk26lNqpA6B2p_9-RckPWOK1MVzPWatDeUMWFlK0Ta-i_R_6o1vZW5yA07IMiSiLgDLUUjh4M1Wd3107KTPorRoybePwXDmVOkrLPc6rQ38swiBCz7NqVRO9MqtQ/s1600-h/DSCN0018.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikc55xxHnUiJBf7d9pk26lNqpA6B2p_9-RckPWOK1MVzPWatDeUMWFlK0Ta-i_R_6o1vZW5yA07IMiSiLgDLUUjh4M1Wd3107KTPorRoybePwXDmVOkrLPc6rQ38swiBCz7NqVRO9MqtQ/s400/DSCN0018.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5318290972772086098" border="0" /></a>Around Valentine's Day, I had been couch surfing in Northampton, staying with people in Tyler primarily. When it came to V-Day weekend, I was a single curmudgeon who did not want to do anything until a new friend invited me to spend the weekend with her in Burlington, Vermont and go to a drag ball. This seemed preferable to staying at Smith and I was ready to go exploring beyond Western Mass. She took me up to Burlington on Friday afternoon and I fell in love with the mountains on the drive up. On Saturday morning, we wandered around downtown and I thoroughly enjoyed the city. On Saturday night, the drag ball happened. Above is Kristina dressed as a drag queen--and because it's Vermont, she needed to try the outfit with snow boots.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9yUalANfldUc3Bqz-XiqggAaxnWRyPaC_DAh_kQrnTP6Tp67lSq_LQUBz0Z6M0hZYjYVVxDYBjF394VODu_TPgnWcXDNJ_PhAgVHZ-wByUXEe9Sc8_nznTE6a-SDurw37pJ_hcuDLZWg/s1600-h/DSCN0020.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9yUalANfldUc3Bqz-XiqggAaxnWRyPaC_DAh_kQrnTP6Tp67lSq_LQUBz0Z6M0hZYjYVVxDYBjF394VODu_TPgnWcXDNJ_PhAgVHZ-wByUXEe9Sc8_nznTE6a-SDurw37pJ_hcuDLZWg/s400/DSCN0020.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5318290970142174146" border="0" /></a>Grease, Brokeback, and the prom, oh my!<br /><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7FHOxhp55kf33Oewd9IIeGlddImKL2nYqTJrCtncKnv09i5rLRTpDpZtm6zciGSP6dpQh8sznlUU-65SQQ96tCIkLPsiQqb_fJWHD6Oi3Sr1DlDADg2ONxO4VFzJSGuS7ergRFf9c1n4/s1600-h/DSCN0022.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7FHOxhp55kf33Oewd9IIeGlddImKL2nYqTJrCtncKnv09i5rLRTpDpZtm6zciGSP6dpQh8sznlUU-65SQQ96tCIkLPsiQqb_fJWHD6Oi3Sr1DlDADg2ONxO4VFzJSGuS7ergRFf9c1n4/s400/DSCN0022.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5318290960773148946" border="0" /></a>I decided that I was James Bond. Thanks to Meesh's contribution of suspenders and a bow tie, my tux jacket totally became a tuxedo! Good thing I was dressed as James Bond because I needed my stealth skills for a bit of light breaking and entering that night.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3rKR-GIFA7iFQGq-WSoic-kDjO2I6HKCgiuHJ9Qy5lPeHUBo-svkwG-dTq9s2RUMWcHB432uErPwhns_H60H5Le5Bl4TC1G0UGi-xT96t-e_BThTQX9h0BcjvwJOskAyayrlvDctxLDA/s1600-h/DSCN0025.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3rKR-GIFA7iFQGq-WSoic-kDjO2I6HKCgiuHJ9Qy5lPeHUBo-svkwG-dTq9s2RUMWcHB432uErPwhns_H60H5Le5Bl4TC1G0UGi-xT96t-e_BThTQX9h0BcjvwJOskAyayrlvDctxLDA/s400/DSCN0025.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5318290956660994178" border="0" /></a>Chin-dancing! When we got to Higher Ground for the party, we wandered around the venue and eventually found our way into the little room where they were actually playing dance music. <br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgczoAmCyGPRvzSYD1vnA7lY0xjGlhvt1VRkEfHFKlhvZK__GdxhACE5OiECmjx0MsJ_v-lRXZysNKmgyCKxhn__7mdrB8UySvs0lDl6WB1yLJhaFxUpuBKXIRJP5IiOZXcDxWRzvGP4F4/s1600-h/DSCN0026.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgczoAmCyGPRvzSYD1vnA7lY0xjGlhvt1VRkEfHFKlhvZK__GdxhACE5OiECmjx0MsJ_v-lRXZysNKmgyCKxhn__7mdrB8UySvs0lDl6WB1yLJhaFxUpuBKXIRJP5IiOZXcDxWRzvGP4F4/s400/DSCN0026.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5318290942791438162" border="0" /></a>So we danced.<br /><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaGVbjulBDDHJrpeh5Npcdsv8811LmRBWmLZpsGc3hE2g6CcRh6rEJETyhc9YKl96RLIqntlId7s4kSBTwrIXCWmEI8eu02ilev-pl6bVtn3v8X3sSHvYXG8K_zaPWTPAlSG4GVuKzIPM/s1600-h/DSCN0027.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaGVbjulBDDHJrpeh5Npcdsv8811LmRBWmLZpsGc3hE2g6CcRh6rEJETyhc9YKl96RLIqntlId7s4kSBTwrIXCWmEI8eu02ilev-pl6bVtn3v8X3sSHvYXG8K_zaPWTPAlSG4GVuKzIPM/s400/DSCN0027.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5318287821147698418" border="0" /></a>No, seriously, my only dance move is to turn my head at oblique angles.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnJBrrjCf4V5d9HmdRylQHN9sICJsaXNPlRz1En9xVttMFObMrpf4yz97Yz2f985Z_yqOMsq6rEcFXtLde5u15EJv4AUr9937XlUkqA0cCqtMqvR6sSLWqCAoapCMOJCTz3N_h2NxjwtE/s1600-h/DSCN0028.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnJBrrjCf4V5d9HmdRylQHN9sICJsaXNPlRz1En9xVttMFObMrpf4yz97Yz2f985Z_yqOMsq6rEcFXtLde5u15EJv4AUr9937XlUkqA0cCqtMqvR6sSLWqCAoapCMOJCTz3N_h2NxjwtE/s400/DSCN0028.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5318287815060903010" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWiHLmlkReS1VJvBijZd-z-qh4TPXwA46kg-SOcMNxMeNnNjpODP0y11MSquB3-yLahE_Msn20ZC15_e6Y-pSWVX5QNqBS1Q-riEa_u9psh1zVhgVe5B5hzIw4gmm8of7FFNsK2PK6h94/s1600-h/DSCN0030.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWiHLmlkReS1VJvBijZd-z-qh4TPXwA46kg-SOcMNxMeNnNjpODP0y11MSquB3-yLahE_Msn20ZC15_e6Y-pSWVX5QNqBS1Q-riEa_u9psh1zVhgVe5B5hzIw4gmm8of7FFNsK2PK6h94/s400/DSCN0030.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5318287812907022610" border="0" /></a>I wonder what's going on to the right.<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJXmZOugvtaVbnIgcz1oPqYtza3eQnousKpDL7p_sWVjR5Dsut-eT9T-5HwtcgUeYsArjcCSfgQ8_N0HSQZlxpL7crnjMohqhhny_rX88FsIIFFeHieKtVEcwjtFEVAOh6k8N5c0bA9p0/s1600-h/DSCN0035.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJXmZOugvtaVbnIgcz1oPqYtza3eQnousKpDL7p_sWVjR5Dsut-eT9T-5HwtcgUeYsArjcCSfgQ8_N0HSQZlxpL7crnjMohqhhny_rX88FsIIFFeHieKtVEcwjtFEVAOh6k8N5c0bA9p0/s400/DSCN0035.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5318287808512182866" border="0" /></a>Introducing: The Breadwinner! On our way back into the big room because the little room was full, Meesh ran into her friend from camp whom she hadn't seen in many years. "Take a picture of me and Chuck!" was my introduction to the Breadwinner.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNr6s629Hl1u6LJFP62KUsRYD_OrDKrL0PBBYYEeEk16yw4rC_ccmS2D0pGUDhWNd0aLoJQHNV1KHcqcnrGhFd4RSLKf0PCisyJ7Q9xbJ7sbIfbTZTR1xQdfo5e80RycM0YQAuF8z3V-4/s1600-h/DSCN0036.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNr6s629Hl1u6LJFP62KUsRYD_OrDKrL0PBBYYEeEk16yw4rC_ccmS2D0pGUDhWNd0aLoJQHNV1KHcqcnrGhFd4RSLKf0PCisyJ7Q9xbJ7sbIfbTZTR1xQdfo5e80RycM0YQAuF8z3V-4/s400/DSCN0036.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5318287802157685842" border="0" /></a>James Bond meets Brokeback Mountain.<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhSOGmbTBP7CMYmY79vXRynlMkPhwJJKGyrDLgYAzF_IQYUuEiosm7g76erak4xuIGK70QD_B5h-arC7vd6zMoxwSiuyxSNxwTvaBUL-RZpDjmYYp2aYu6XJx-N-0qfG3ZrolxcbNaII8/s1600-h/DSCN0037.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhSOGmbTBP7CMYmY79vXRynlMkPhwJJKGyrDLgYAzF_IQYUuEiosm7g76erak4xuIGK70QD_B5h-arC7vd6zMoxwSiuyxSNxwTvaBUL-RZpDjmYYp2aYu6XJx-N-0qfG3ZrolxcbNaII8/s400/DSCN0037.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5318286720531551330" border="0" /></a>Those fish were actually coming from a drag queen's 3-foot-tall head piece. Those of us under 5'2" kept getting fished in the eye all night. Aforementioned drag queen also had a knack for finding my ankle with her stilettos.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo3XHr5OXnlbb7BAoZVeJgOktrtBx2P4E92zYQ3iUsBzcGnraaYOQhXh6RBfUh5FMkmGmbC_Ongi8CapXfwfUn8Xivwzi8pNwdHCBqUI3D2cZINXXCupuL3hL2bMYVccy6-BXppV_dbUI/s1600-h/DSCN0042.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo3XHr5OXnlbb7BAoZVeJgOktrtBx2P4E92zYQ3iUsBzcGnraaYOQhXh6RBfUh5FMkmGmbC_Ongi8CapXfwfUn8Xivwzi8pNwdHCBqUI3D2cZINXXCupuL3hL2bMYVccy6-BXppV_dbUI/s400/DSCN0042.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5318286720713071794" border="0" /></a>Sometime around now, I went into the bathroom and saw a woman I assumed was dressed as/looked like <a href="http://dykestowatchoutfor.com/">Alison Bechdel</a> (only my favorite writer <i>ever</i> whom I saw speak at Smith once but was too fangirl nervous to actually ask her about why when she changed publishers, her books went from HQ to PN, which implies a de-queering, in my opinion). I made a dumb joke to her about the lack of toilet paper. So dumb, in fact, that I have erased it from my memory, I just know that it happened. She smiled and washed her hands, then left the bathroom. Later on, I found out that she was at the drag ball (a post on her blog which she has mysteriously deleted). Which means that I said something stupid <i>to</i> Alison Bechdel. Alas.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivuN7CjmZRmsASv-NX_sEh2V0q-ITfI2Q4qhJms-sOwT8eYCmC9pLvsZ0rWYHvUbtZPTzLRlRp7gvJAeT8-WCrX-5z7SJ6L_srBLc1VfZPzJW9cRsugze-3In6LS6hW6JxLtbudkjl0Vc/s1600-h/DSCN0045.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivuN7CjmZRmsASv-NX_sEh2V0q-ITfI2Q4qhJms-sOwT8eYCmC9pLvsZ0rWYHvUbtZPTzLRlRp7gvJAeT8-WCrX-5z7SJ6L_srBLc1VfZPzJW9cRsugze-3In6LS6hW6JxLtbudkjl0Vc/s400/DSCN0045.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5318286715268411298" border="0" /></a>I spent a lot of time imagining what I must be saying or explaining in this picture. "<i>Ya see, first ya take it by the tail and, are ya' followin' me?</i>"<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcMbtWf-ExESU_BA6w9JViFxbI0IL9pebiLDC7JwqsiIvTuIXXisdGc-HeoJ0_tC3IUG9sabRurXym39IT2bRsQYKlMApdQikvsWuCRxopsz96QhlfoWY4C4Ki_6w0q9IA-BMSfSKCnNE/s1600-h/DSCN0047.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcMbtWf-ExESU_BA6w9JViFxbI0IL9pebiLDC7JwqsiIvTuIXXisdGc-HeoJ0_tC3IUG9sabRurXym39IT2bRsQYKlMApdQikvsWuCRxopsz96QhlfoWY4C4Ki_6w0q9IA-BMSfSKCnNE/s400/DSCN0047.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5318286711385324482" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBtZgag2fvDZccvHjg5UXi82xb3_r7x2rBOiQjMqenKVjxM-9FudpkIJfsJNGWtRcGq3XWorf7dwGmqz9k9feUibV-yq_plyaA9yTIeHLb7jTAZSIHKOtnd9xJX_BjGi8830J7CG4BTKc/s1600-h/DSCN0048.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBtZgag2fvDZccvHjg5UXi82xb3_r7x2rBOiQjMqenKVjxM-9FudpkIJfsJNGWtRcGq3XWorf7dwGmqz9k9feUibV-yq_plyaA9yTIeHLb7jTAZSIHKOtnd9xJX_BjGi8830J7CG4BTKc/s400/DSCN0048.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5318286705671768626" border="0" /></a>And the rest is history.<br /></div>Colleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08300672898232459898noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7067751314100611843.post-44477602283938985392009-03-27T06:02:00.000-07:002009-03-27T06:50:33.672-07:00An Email to Gov. Jim DouglasI'm not feeling too eloquent this Friday morning. Nevertheless, there are too many things going on in my head to not write.<br /><br />A few days ago, The Breadwinner mistook a post on a friend's Facebook about the same-sex marriage bill in Vermont passing through the state senate for it passing in general. We did a little dance before we realized what had actually happened. Since then, I have been checking Google news for "Vermont gay marriage bill" every few hours. I was heartbroken when I read that the governor would veto the bill if it got to him. No one knows whether it will pass if it has to come to an override of the veto. So, why does this affect me so much, sitting in my apartment in a small town in upstate New York?<br /><br />It all feels so familiar. In the spring of 2004, I knew that I was moving to Massachusetts for college. I feverishly watched the judicial battle over same-sex marriage in Massachusetts while cities like New Paltz and San Francisco chose to grant marriage licenses to same-sex couples. I didn't really care what happened across the country due to gay-marriage fever. I cared about Massachusetts. I cared that I could get married where I would be living for the foreseeable future (at that point, I was certain I would never leave). My GSA advisor, unbeknownst to me at the time, was actively taking part in attempts to bring same-sex marriage to the forefront on Long Island. I couldn't have cared less. I was leaving and I had a sense that Long Island and New York State would never change. I knew I would never be back.<br /><br />Five years later, I again find myself living in New York, knowing that soon I will move back to New England. I will live in Vermont as soon as possible. Again, we are told that <i>oh, you know, New York might have a gay marriage bill up this spring... it'll probably happen</i> by Schumer and Bloomberg. Granted, Schumer's change of heart is nice, I doubt it will lead to any actual change in New York. From where I'm sitting in the North Country, where teasing bangs is still fashionable and the check out lady at Hannaford doesn't know what to make of a same-sex couple simply buying groceries, I'm skeptical. <br /><br />Yet, just across Lake Champlain--so close you can practically see it from here, I see hope. On Sunday, we went to Burlington's very small Friend's Meeting. During announcements, a sweet old lady stood up and began, "This might be the greatest announcement I ever get to share," and I assumed she was going to tell us that she was a grandmother. I was wrong. "This weekend, my partner and I were united in civil union." Later on, she also spoke about where the push for same-sex marriage in Vermont was the weakest, about calling reps and getting the word out. I sat in this small room, surrounded by the warmth of so many supportive people who asked questions about how to help and contributed their own ideas.<br /><br />I have never stayed for Fellowship at any Meeting, but The Breadwinner and I stayed that day. We introduced ourselves, talked about what we are doing in Plattsburgh and how we hope to move to Burlington soon. Another woman saw us headed towards the door and turned to the person she was speaking to, saying, "I'll be right back, I need to talk to them before they go." She welcomed us to Meeting and was very kind. She took a few minutes to get to her point, but did say it outright, "Here, I don't think anyone could care if you're gay or straight, everyone is welcome here. Please do come back." The fact that this woman went out of her way to make sure we knew we were wanted at this Meeting made me nod my head and say, "We need to live here." Of course, in Northampton, there were so many queer families at Meeting, no one thought it necessary to say that sort of thing. But it means more coming from someone outside of the queer community, in a setting where there are queer people but we are by no means a force to be reckoned with. <br /><br />I knew in 2004 that I wanted to move to Massachusetts. I cried and cheered when gay marriage became legal. Now, I know that I could always live in Massachusetts, but I think the small state atmosphere of Vermont is pulling me in. In pictures of Vermonters crying in the state house, I recognize someone I went to the drag ball in Burlington with. At the co-op on a Sunday morning, I can see people who were spandex clad at the queer super hero dance party the night before. I can see queer families, hockey players, and rock climbers. I can see the mountains and the lake. I know this is where I want to get married and raise a family. So, while I am still not one of your constituents, I ask as a <i>future Vermonter</i>, please don't veto this bill, Mr. Governor. <br /><br />Sincerely,<br />The Breadmaker<br /><br />(<i>Yeah, I actually sent as much as I could--given the character limit--to the governor.</i>)Colleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08300672898232459898noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7067751314100611843.post-16274912377330203912009-03-26T18:35:00.000-07:002009-03-26T18:54:18.587-07:00The Couch-Surfer Does Reconstructive Surgery<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-zOdy62napw_9tSwPbNEtTIi1Iusa4qJoRzEd0_TOokfAaArR1cDIL9riL0Wd3QLV5bVLUu5CQdT7VRJZcJMDqm9yN25-GnQ5LYw2_ZFCJQG4gc2XPcQfJfzdzuGtTJgIShfFqsGcZ_0/s1600-h/DSCN0002.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-zOdy62napw_9tSwPbNEtTIi1Iusa4qJoRzEd0_TOokfAaArR1cDIL9riL0Wd3QLV5bVLUu5CQdT7VRJZcJMDqm9yN25-GnQ5LYw2_ZFCJQG4gc2XPcQfJfzdzuGtTJgIShfFqsGcZ_0/s400/DSCN0002.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317676696955178690" border="0" /></a>The couch in our living room had the saggingest springs I had ever encountered. The Breadwinner had put the top of a Rubbermaid tub under the cushions to try to keep you from sinking right to the floor. Today, in intense frustration, I decided something must be done. I figured we could get rope and effectively make a hammock under our cushions. I cut it open and figured out how it would work. Originally, I had hoped to staple-gun the rope to the wood, but the staples didn't hold. Instead, I used the springs as the framework for my netting. In order to keep the rope tight, which was <i>not</i> easy, the Breadwinner helped Gorilla tape the rope in place. Once we went perpendicular to the springs, I used the remaining rope to go parallel, then perpendicular again. In the end, we created an only <i>kind of</i> saggy couch. <br />"That was the best $15 couch repair, <b>ever</b>," said the Breadwinner.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoQmwk49XuPTh5kDLFPW5Oa2b4FFTTyBvvhbgAaZeTtia20PgJGqbzdrfep7ZnHIAKqWCIP7v5QXLXhQItAxTr_kh0oChG4pkzGaqeamrpNUlUgpgu5jpYAvl5tR-dT4UJHh76J32syA4/s1600-h/DSCN0003.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoQmwk49XuPTh5kDLFPW5Oa2b4FFTTyBvvhbgAaZeTtia20PgJGqbzdrfep7ZnHIAKqWCIP7v5QXLXhQItAxTr_kh0oChG4pkzGaqeamrpNUlUgpgu5jpYAvl5tR-dT4UJHh76J32syA4/s400/DSCN0003.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317676704981982722" border="0" /></a>Also, I decided to use our otherwise useless top sheet to make a temporary slip cover for the couch until we can get fabric to recover the couch in a classier fashion (another chance to use our new staple gun!). <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRylQepYElsGUIMozY22cJwPAriWh77q8ekyAQTanfGCNp6x1lKbxkNxA85PvsVlqb2LItXDA8Q4rsuYIBri6Ub-nLjIQwqrRT43ZXjxr48_m0QiFoAk2DZPbjdv3ed-WZdN8tEa4HuoU/s1600-h/DSCN0004.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRylQepYElsGUIMozY22cJwPAriWh77q8ekyAQTanfGCNp6x1lKbxkNxA85PvsVlqb2LItXDA8Q4rsuYIBri6Ub-nLjIQwqrRT43ZXjxr48_m0QiFoAk2DZPbjdv3ed-WZdN8tEa4HuoU/s400/DSCN0004.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317676703231258418" border="0" /></a>Repaired couch gets a big thumbs up.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuovcLErI-C-DEupoEwxE7fpj0kzxwm7IkazaWdPh8OCkOqZiSBWccQSQHcIzr0A1LfbG9zjftg8uuZt2QrGdODZ-3XE-QHAajBU36X-NojBAF6AMpKcFxCNKMikGWSR0h82cX7bSMXZg/s1600-h/DSCN0001.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuovcLErI-C-DEupoEwxE7fpj0kzxwm7IkazaWdPh8OCkOqZiSBWccQSQHcIzr0A1LfbG9zjftg8uuZt2QrGdODZ-3XE-QHAajBU36X-NojBAF6AMpKcFxCNKMikGWSR0h82cX7bSMXZg/s400/DSCN0001.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317676694541013538" border="0" /></a>And this is just because it needed to be posted! Idgy is trying desperately to escape The Breadwinner's grasp after she got a nice bath yesterday. We couldn't put a dirty turtle into a clean pool!Colleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08300672898232459898noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7067751314100611843.post-89132070540805111172009-03-25T13:13:00.001-07:002009-03-25T14:48:03.945-07:00Cleaning Windows and Organizing the New Apartment<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV9DN0NoaMHZRa1muAkHGvDKPfCpXakuz_IrW3yiSR2qlKF5qeTxusgOhQNTb7PJrPa4bOGcf972OwONYCTzaEvnBK4Ja2Jnwlf7hu8VUlk4CGCQ_YIGBdh4YRMpCzWu10tGj6sICnNHA/s1600-h/DSCN0029.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV9DN0NoaMHZRa1muAkHGvDKPfCpXakuz_IrW3yiSR2qlKF5qeTxusgOhQNTb7PJrPa4bOGcf972OwONYCTzaEvnBK4Ja2Jnwlf7hu8VUlk4CGCQ_YIGBdh4YRMpCzWu10tGj6sICnNHA/s400/DSCN0029.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317239096305520642" border="0" /></a>Today it was a nice day for spring cleaning. Well, every day of my life is kind of like spring cleaning. One of today's tasks was cleaning the windows--of which there are many. Unfortunately, only one is over a porch so I could clean the outside too. We live at a big intersection with a stop light so all of the exhaust makes the windows really gross.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB7HQdcWjl0fLPuJLlRumSokahuyYDGX54zsAuq14UGI6IzqvK-08fKeiFUu4gdne1aLDGUNj8mjuvOduCgHuum1kDG_2vehpT0vqaNmqSgtvC9DcruxEmaFAMrSlCIJd558Vff_HtMvY/s1600-h/DSCN0030.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB7HQdcWjl0fLPuJLlRumSokahuyYDGX54zsAuq14UGI6IzqvK-08fKeiFUu4gdne1aLDGUNj8mjuvOduCgHuum1kDG_2vehpT0vqaNmqSgtvC9DcruxEmaFAMrSlCIJd558Vff_HtMvY/s400/DSCN0030.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317238115238441650" border="0" /></a>But I got outside and scrubbed as best I could. We have at least one streaky-clean window!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8RHZR_3E0-djvk24k5WtkYe-O1gPqsZ3UDcoIGF8iI31xNbyBowtRiSAuViHo-37UbmA9HghZO2vwmpF3iYqn6GkSJYRj7Xi4FYM3ka4CkwgAUZgwchb6I1Gd-HxfkYMS9M-1s2iMj-0/s1600-h/DSCN0031.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8RHZR_3E0-djvk24k5WtkYe-O1gPqsZ3UDcoIGF8iI31xNbyBowtRiSAuViHo-37UbmA9HghZO2vwmpF3iYqn6GkSJYRj7Xi4FYM3ka4CkwgAUZgwchb6I1Gd-HxfkYMS9M-1s2iMj-0/s400/DSCN0031.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317235969474333234" border="0" /></a>The Breadwinner's job was to move the different layers of glass up and down from the inside. She also sat with her phone at the ready to dial 911 in case I ended up off the roof. Always good to have a spotter. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcA6kva2MinVMAtIcpYMSaBoZTRn8mf0EKo_ZesCVS1isCTWpz4HNSUmgz7FlFTmyBl-L_EDyvI_YQY7Q3xStGbOulGP5AeJujdyYTJkPRMMXXaUmZJNvyd3priQiSgBnylqctO6XY13I/s1600-h/DSCN0032.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcA6kva2MinVMAtIcpYMSaBoZTRn8mf0EKo_ZesCVS1isCTWpz4HNSUmgz7FlFTmyBl-L_EDyvI_YQY7Q3xStGbOulGP5AeJujdyYTJkPRMMXXaUmZJNvyd3priQiSgBnylqctO6XY13I/s400/DSCN0032.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317235505224466098" border="0" /></a>This is the big intersection where we live. A big intersection for Plattsburgh, that is.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUksHoTw7m6Ji1vPewZmiesbQ78ADsId-svGp58Ym1QoUYrSEO6WX24kM7ieWO-o7kmG7a70oBO1w8DKTJNPtbHNClIG2vWgUObrPoG7Xhyphenhyphent8P2qqAKLEP_icQ1MyJEabUCuSjhU5hTjo/s1600-h/DSCN0033.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUksHoTw7m6Ji1vPewZmiesbQ78ADsId-svGp58Ym1QoUYrSEO6WX24kM7ieWO-o7kmG7a70oBO1w8DKTJNPtbHNClIG2vWgUObrPoG7Xhyphenhyphent8P2qqAKLEP_icQ1MyJEabUCuSjhU5hTjo/s400/DSCN0033.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317235160559386962" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAqI4gxkDQ4iME2ElttQo-Fs2wmO1hw6UNPzR7ooCJ7bslaOlNJDJe-rYt93rl0d5f3nUuQYZorDpktAaoXaIXzGrxZyvk1Sg2DwDlJJUvf05cwk1igu20We_zYe3-DKw-c0QzsPsKrnE/s1600-h/DSCN0002.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAqI4gxkDQ4iME2ElttQo-Fs2wmO1hw6UNPzR7ooCJ7bslaOlNJDJe-rYt93rl0d5f3nUuQYZorDpktAaoXaIXzGrxZyvk1Sg2DwDlJJUvf05cwk1igu20We_zYe3-DKw-c0QzsPsKrnE/s400/DSCN0002.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317234584839728450" border="0" /></a>I cannot take credit for this one, but I am proud of The Breadwinner for coming up with it:<br />We buy a lot of bulk foods (rice, beans, lentils, barley, on and on and on) and we were storing them in their bulk bags in a big bin that we had to dig through every time we wanted to cook something. Being a big Camp person, the Breadwinner had a ton of Nalgenes which we now have lined up on a shelf. We still need about 30 more for all the different bulk bags we have, but hopefully I will get my glass jars up from the Island soon.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKVKPFehrhyyNW0Nw-oHI_es878bMgDesAOZEAvLMts1uEPqkzVyk0fAOqtWbTUPnKQe_p4L22Zw35jjZCqrMpeX6IQ3PZyLY9l1m1deu87v3tkFdnRWcGUEdyIATLDfAwlJZjSCZ07UA/s1600-h/DSCN0004.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKVKPFehrhyyNW0Nw-oHI_es878bMgDesAOZEAvLMts1uEPqkzVyk0fAOqtWbTUPnKQe_p4L22Zw35jjZCqrMpeX6IQ3PZyLY9l1m1deu87v3tkFdnRWcGUEdyIATLDfAwlJZjSCZ07UA/s400/DSCN0004.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317234208607361522" border="0" /></a>This is our bedroom! I hung up the tapestry and put the ridiculous duvet cover on the bed. Suddenly, it was much more homey! Also, I'm proud to say that I make the bed every morning. If we both weren't so opposed to top sheets, I probably would not because of the extra step.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3ssfMFa-BSH97aBALT8TqOstlCHRBV-EsGJPh96urRJK_RE1Rc76F80vrEtmDCBgUMl3ZOrxd2s3IJ0d1wfr-xaXFWLV_5PKG9awqAndkqUvxk6f2M-zZ40F926qhGW-ZLDhNXUvC03k/s1600-h/DSCN0006.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3ssfMFa-BSH97aBALT8TqOstlCHRBV-EsGJPh96urRJK_RE1Rc76F80vrEtmDCBgUMl3ZOrxd2s3IJ0d1wfr-xaXFWLV_5PKG9awqAndkqUvxk6f2M-zZ40F926qhGW-ZLDhNXUvC03k/s400/DSCN0006.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317233732696751922" border="0" /></a>This bit of organization is my doing:<br />All of this used to live in a 3-foot-high pile on my side of the bed. I purchases 12 crates, wire ties, and two closet shelves. After an hour of construction and umpteen hours of sorting, we have hers-and-hers clothing storage that takes up surprisingly little space and will be easy to reuse/rearrange when we move!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi5AdaEYzPUq7IZedzBXVH6QPa6YZUtxtnJpr5Y_rlqOZwWeX0IqDO6J5hRhD21OsQ1R-wcba0hTMH2aN_YZB-wXC3So1PmgItwNMowgLf6TKLwa1dRvgWtEBOi0UDJSszrIZULUPhTw8/s1600-h/DSCN0008.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi5AdaEYzPUq7IZedzBXVH6QPa6YZUtxtnJpr5Y_rlqOZwWeX0IqDO6J5hRhD21OsQ1R-wcba0hTMH2aN_YZB-wXC3So1PmgItwNMowgLf6TKLwa1dRvgWtEBOi0UDJSszrIZULUPhTw8/s400/DSCN0008.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317233353866524482" border="0" /></a>Also in the bedroom is the turtle pool. No, it's not supposed to be opaque but the filter isn't working properly.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO9EhW7bjsfbCU0Ml9QFrLvRUN1mFekdWo0u6C2YXXWFVVjHbLY9-YtYV92B9L8wKlrKRqpIhD5YR_A8onhyphenhyphenVl8iaczim22kJwLgiDk1OCOXk7bDRe5UeqzPrLlFsibLYx1jvMEJAPF0E/s1600-h/DSCN0009.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO9EhW7bjsfbCU0Ml9QFrLvRUN1mFekdWo0u6C2YXXWFVVjHbLY9-YtYV92B9L8wKlrKRqpIhD5YR_A8onhyphenhyphenVl8iaczim22kJwLgiDk1OCOXk7bDRe5UeqzPrLlFsibLYx1jvMEJAPF0E/s400/DSCN0009.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317233016623814930" border="0" /></a>The Breadwinner is big into crafting and likes the idea of organization. She just needs some help in implementation. I will consider this the "before" picture and hope to soon have an "after." If only I had a before-the-clothing-storage-unit photo!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZlBgzsAd9M1ps6CWFbCCkbE2d_yztfjJTsAG8QI70CuuLFHwOZSWAiXa_cAISkylH11tMAMhrJfsw9R2GyhEkVJE8hpWkyYpy77VLIG7YQdz0pLpJt8MmtK36NDsLbScr3F1W_Ms-WCI/s1600-h/DSCN0010.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZlBgzsAd9M1ps6CWFbCCkbE2d_yztfjJTsAG8QI70CuuLFHwOZSWAiXa_cAISkylH11tMAMhrJfsw9R2GyhEkVJE8hpWkyYpy77VLIG7YQdz0pLpJt8MmtK36NDsLbScr3F1W_Ms-WCI/s400/DSCN0010.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317232338942007458" border="0" /></a>The one thing on this side of the room that is organized: my wool!<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4g1vJhuqM9Di26DBxhZ9C1pL4_BcWSySL8_bo6H6gFhb7DxfKxZiCU1FtIHwwMlMsxQuusyqKMCBy_jm6XGkkp1dJZsDkYYCjo9gNM8bp7RrkRi4dDMjsxAqToiNInx3S29ex28lVs14/s1600-h/DSCN0011.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4g1vJhuqM9Di26DBxhZ9C1pL4_BcWSySL8_bo6H6gFhb7DxfKxZiCU1FtIHwwMlMsxQuusyqKMCBy_jm6XGkkp1dJZsDkYYCjo9gNM8bp7RrkRi4dDMjsxAqToiNInx3S29ex28lVs14/s400/DSCN0011.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317230099888779202" border="0" /></a>Some more "before" messiness.<br /><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtGcJA3EQkGIGK7jfyShAUH6W86Ll3y3s9ZrtCn9EI7L7Ff-asLM1Tb45K8BhF3B35sOQlEkBGIKKFuESmJd3NnVKvNF1JKRJLjp99oRabx9zgBCdDoZB90cqoVQEEtkOaNag_As_fN5Q/s1600-h/DSCN0012.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtGcJA3EQkGIGK7jfyShAUH6W86Ll3y3s9ZrtCn9EI7L7Ff-asLM1Tb45K8BhF3B35sOQlEkBGIKKFuESmJd3NnVKvNF1JKRJLjp99oRabx9zgBCdDoZB90cqoVQEEtkOaNag_As_fN5Q/s400/DSCN0012.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317229222105646802" border="0" /></a>This is my epic To-Do List. I scratch off a few things a day. I definitely have enough to keep me entertained until I find a job!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEickLeFwtbnHbAqXiA2T_mPVCgxOs_LO4pnXH4LyT7I8UvJP0Eh-JpdJZdwGLHfK0laDvNm1xCmrsiDiUZtMvUTD1i4H72-pPh2O4YVPzLNl5rNWlXtOKMmioU1LXkvpq7a2iaNPQf-vOU/s1600-h/DSCN0014.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEickLeFwtbnHbAqXiA2T_mPVCgxOs_LO4pnXH4LyT7I8UvJP0Eh-JpdJZdwGLHfK0laDvNm1xCmrsiDiUZtMvUTD1i4H72-pPh2O4YVPzLNl5rNWlXtOKMmioU1LXkvpq7a2iaNPQf-vOU/s400/DSCN0014.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317228895865663010" border="0" /></a>This picture is misleading because I actually did not really clean the turtle pool. That was all the Breadwinner. I will wash all the dishes in the world but I am having none of that turtle business.Colleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08300672898232459898noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7067751314100611843.post-37246583730789130172009-03-13T11:29:00.000-07:002009-03-13T11:45:16.547-07:00Bomboloni-OM NOM NOMI decided a few days ago that I really wanted homemade doughnuts and after searching Martha, I picked out <a href="http://www.marthastewart.com/recipe/spiced-sugar-bomboloni?autonomy_kw=italian%20doughnut&rsc=header_1">Spiced-sugar Bomboloni</a> which are a type of Italian doughnut.<br /><img src="http://images.marthastewart.com/images/content/pub/blueprint/2007Q4/bp103323_1107_donut_l.jpg" /><br />I didn't really notice in the photo that it basically looks like zeppole (mmm, New York carnivals!). I had to use whole wheat flour because I am terrified of the possible moth situation in the while flour. That's right. The moths are STILL around. I don't understand how this is possible. We didn't have moths in West Street until the spring of '07, then all of sudden they were everywhere. And two years later, they still follow me. Anyway, you can look at Martha for the real recipe, I just want to post my pictures and talk about what happened/my discoveries.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLfx5RvPEQC18a-jxocWmr0cGO40AjMRXmYvmhnr_XvJjEbqETX2-kXQ82R90OlZTXpDyaGTwtGvUKq8odL3gpxRDKW8ff-GiKKvpbv1lO7xdi4OYza7w7_xbiHbR5mOXAISNXoFg97t4/s1600-h/DSCN0005.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLfx5RvPEQC18a-jxocWmr0cGO40AjMRXmYvmhnr_XvJjEbqETX2-kXQ82R90OlZTXpDyaGTwtGvUKq8odL3gpxRDKW8ff-GiKKvpbv1lO7xdi4OYza7w7_xbiHbR5mOXAISNXoFg97t4/s400/DSCN0005.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5312743327754377074" border="0" /></a>The recipe said to roll out the dough to an inch thick and use a circular cutter. I didn't have one so I just cut it with a knife. While the first doughnut was cooking in a few inches of oil (flipping after about 4 minutes), I realized that this was probably not the best method for making the doughnuts. I decided to just roll them with my hands into dough balls (hence the zeppole effect). They cooked much better this way because the first doughnut turned out tasty but very burnt on the outside and a little raw inside.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpY224KHqEDIxM_ThF4kvZBro5v0Jpg0zwo4K6K7Vwz_MYT0UCrZKXkE3tbYW3PpXUBYfLtEfYV7Rx3HdwRCTxHzHCeN1vQeA96h36Bx8Gx5v75x9G1JlNLWOh0PcMQEH7_txrvVLwB7A/s1600-h/DSCN0006.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpY224KHqEDIxM_ThF4kvZBro5v0Jpg0zwo4K6K7Vwz_MYT0UCrZKXkE3tbYW3PpXUBYfLtEfYV7Rx3HdwRCTxHzHCeN1vQeA96h36Bx8Gx5v75x9G1JlNLWOh0PcMQEH7_txrvVLwB7A/s400/DSCN0006.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5312743323185528866" border="0" /></a>My next three hand-rolled doughnuts turned out much better. I used powdered sugar instead of fine crystal sugar because I decided to accept that I had made zeppole instead of bomboloni. Nevertheless, I spiced the sugar according to the directions (nutmeg, cloves, cinnamon, and ginger) which I was not a huge fan of.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXGM53GTub-6GaCmZ8kp9eZ5M8WBO0pHbwGXKPfxJNtH4FFPScQzckkhKBEQvpL3taBzQqNWu298BFA8aWxzfeMh_OJszDza01Iqavv1vpiCMOncA4JniIoa3I5UuL7DAy3PiVCgIvyxY/s1600-h/DSCN0009.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXGM53GTub-6GaCmZ8kp9eZ5M8WBO0pHbwGXKPfxJNtH4FFPScQzckkhKBEQvpL3taBzQqNWu298BFA8aWxzfeMh_OJszDza01Iqavv1vpiCMOncA4JniIoa3I5UuL7DAy3PiVCgIvyxY/s400/DSCN0009.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5312743313133149650" border="0" /></a><br />I made some more yesterday and thought that it would be a good idea to put a filling in the middle that didn't need to cook because I was still having problems with the inside being under-cooked. What better filling than chocolate?! I wrapped the dough around some chocolate chips and rolled it tightly closed. It was absolutely delicious and the chocolate was perfectly melted in the middle. Due to my desire to put peanut butter on everything, I added some to the top. I think next time I will try to fill them with peanut butter and chocolate.<br />The moral of the story: bomboloni=meh, zeppole=amazing and best when made with a filling!Colleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08300672898232459898noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7067751314100611843.post-24240459878823605452009-03-13T10:56:00.000-07:002009-03-13T11:21:07.747-07:00Places My Stuff Has BeenI've lost count of how many places I've slept in the past two months and this is a very, very small sample of all the places my stuff has been. I'm thinking I should name my suitcases so I can say "Here's Julio in Lauren's apartment." I just can't think of good names for them.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAOTZS3Jg3ZN5H2apk4_NbX0G77N6wibSwFZni946-euEdisbEg12js8Zpupt_B2LmRFt9NPc9Iw6SsG4bNTuNSlh3MxvbIuIMDst5-jQmWwLVoePXGfIJsKy4SPf_DMlMgSeoaGwfTOo/s1600-h/DSCN0064.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAOTZS3Jg3ZN5H2apk4_NbX0G77N6wibSwFZni946-euEdisbEg12js8Zpupt_B2LmRFt9NPc9Iw6SsG4bNTuNSlh3MxvbIuIMDst5-jQmWwLVoePXGfIJsKy4SPf_DMlMgSeoaGwfTOo/s400/DSCN0064.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5312734570308107458" border="0" /></a><br />So, only Mama Pajama is really visible in this picture, but I needed to record being at the 4-H Center in Chevy Chase, Maryland for the first time in five years--making me feel very much like a scholar. This was where I stayed January 14th and 15th.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ5PFF3yf-Hs8cngOa6wiGu3QG_iCZkOerRnQqB57mv-5cfcnc-D1W3wi9cggb0reh02UkKzVhaHBsHbNfJW_J2JJW1o6pfWYeUIEIGC2nYuiG0NSzAzrwkB1M2T8u4aVM6DjV4Lo4pW8/s1600-h/DSCN0175.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ5PFF3yf-Hs8cngOa6wiGu3QG_iCZkOerRnQqB57mv-5cfcnc-D1W3wi9cggb0reh02UkKzVhaHBsHbNfJW_J2JJW1o6pfWYeUIEIGC2nYuiG0NSzAzrwkB1M2T8u4aVM6DjV4Lo4pW8/s400/DSCN0175.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5312734563953310386" border="0" /></a>This was all of my stuff a while later hanging out in Erika's room in Duckett at Smith in Northampton, Massachusetts on February 10th. Between the first picture and this picture I stayed in Tyson's Corner, Virginia then downtown DC then with Harris near West Falls Church, Virginia. I then hopped a plane and stayed in Enfield, Connecticut for a while, followed by some time in Tyler House and Chapin House at Smith, back down to Connecticut, then to Erika's room.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhczrRUzaQ34yhKHe6mI2WelmsLQtJuhyzqBWA8eI4ZaJV7CqRZnd2ug0KstUp9BnpMvdzobDx7_GjWv1kA7-PppOAjfTYJ_U02bPzxucr5z_rahZ5zBpYKecfS-tIoTFyeni_p7hWJzCs/s1600-h/DSCN0004.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhczrRUzaQ34yhKHe6mI2WelmsLQtJuhyzqBWA8eI4ZaJV7CqRZnd2ug0KstUp9BnpMvdzobDx7_GjWv1kA7-PppOAjfTYJ_U02bPzxucr5z_rahZ5zBpYKecfS-tIoTFyeni_p7hWJzCs/s400/DSCN0004.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5312734559958614754" border="0" /></a>Next, I moved over to stay in Tyler between Katie and Kristina's rooms so my stuff lived in the second floor hallway. I then went with Kristina to Burlington, Vermont, then back down to Smith to spend one more night at Tyler.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjtD5hV8qfGbLm4gKl1Psr72Qv7Vq6ibbC51kKppwA3OiceF6rp5p8T2M7LCVU9SKq-58Q9elafCb7twVMwIovLC4HXwCVxYfmPAYCqeXTEVvXbL872iq524yIdzKoAv1jz0XfxFjgaqU/s1600-h/DSCN0064.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjtD5hV8qfGbLm4gKl1Psr72Qv7Vq6ibbC51kKppwA3OiceF6rp5p8T2M7LCVU9SKq-58Q9elafCb7twVMwIovLC4HXwCVxYfmPAYCqeXTEVvXbL872iq524yIdzKoAv1jz0XfxFjgaqU/s400/DSCN0064.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5312734556297285778" border="0" /></a>Then I took my bad-self over to stay with Caitlin in Jamaica Plain.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT8OVAcCDjjcli9Qa9KVC2LJ9L48BK65QUe74rgjph4IVgW3BUS9Lfo-PcV57gtfoPIvk0ohjjaAPWfqBQ2TD7iIsvM0MIHiqlA-gTtvwn0YIwKbTy_PbZY8bXSDjbYM6dB-PSvyYxKQw/s1600-h/DSCN0101.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT8OVAcCDjjcli9Qa9KVC2LJ9L48BK65QUe74rgjph4IVgW3BUS9Lfo-PcV57gtfoPIvk0ohjjaAPWfqBQ2TD7iIsvM0MIHiqlA-gTtvwn0YIwKbTy_PbZY8bXSDjbYM6dB-PSvyYxKQw/s400/DSCN0101.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5312734543601720194" border="0" /></a>From JP, I went down to Philly to visit with the Spellers and Rachel Brown, then up to Plattsburgh to stay with Cassie. Though this is not really a photo of my luggage, you can still see her in the background.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_MFLEblpjq_GeAzXvYa-fBjPrMrsi9ARipNRKDw5DyMKRnQeiyomfeo4nla-8EL_6U3zqnT_vJlLwD0NA2nmwoKcNikebB0Xfit0jPo4Pj8-Od-_ckwNKGrEiy_EZdeupyXW1i4aNqa8/s1600-h/DSCN0130.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_MFLEblpjq_GeAzXvYa-fBjPrMrsi9ARipNRKDw5DyMKRnQeiyomfeo4nla-8EL_6U3zqnT_vJlLwD0NA2nmwoKcNikebB0Xfit0jPo4Pj8-Od-_ckwNKGrEiy_EZdeupyXW1i4aNqa8/s400/DSCN0130.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5312738186581683906" border="0" /></a><br />From Plattsburgh, I went down to New Paltz to stay with Lauren and leave my stuff in a messy pile in the corner of her yoga room. And now I am at my mom's house on Long Island until Monday when I head back up to Plattsburgh! Ooof! That was a lot of moving about. But now I have to figure out how to pack all of my stuff that I want to live with into two suitcases to bring on the train.Colleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08300672898232459898noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7067751314100611843.post-57845210183534770282009-03-09T16:00:00.000-07:002009-03-09T17:55:33.727-07:00"About the Author" circa age 16While searching for an old notebook (in stacks and stacks of old journals--ever the writer) among the smoky contents of black garbage bags that hold everything from my life that was saved from after the fire, I stumbled upon my "Literary Anthology." This was a traditional assignment given to juniors in Southold High School. Mine is full of The Ghey and general anti-establishment ranting. Poems include: "The new american Dream," "I see you crying," "What is a Republican?" "Dear Mr. Bush," "Two Weeks of Marriage" (about a crush during GYLC), "Everything Begins and Ends in." (about the war in Iraq), and "Little Girls" (about gender-stereotypes). While it's all incredibly 16-year-old, there is one part of my anthology that I still read and think, <i>Man, I was awesome!</i> <br /><br />This was my about the author page:<i><br /><br />Colleen Ryan Heaney is<br />Sixteen-years old, for now.<br />An actor, a writer, and a superhero.<br /><br />I <3 the 1920's, women's studies, English, politics, peace, computer graphics, photography, creating, and music.<br /><br />I am incredibly adolescent,<br />I'm waiting not-so-patiently for this to change.<br />I am everchanging.<br />My myriad of outward appearances over the course of 3 years can vouch for that.<br />Southold is not my hometown, but I've made everyone think so.<br />Being a superhero, I take on extra-extracurriculars.<br />Because of this, everyone knows me.<br />I could get away with murder, but I pick my battles.<br />I'm old for my age.<br />I've learned a few of life's little secrets early.<br />Thoreau swore me to secrecy.<br />I used to be shy, but now I'm mostly and open book.<br />My skeletons sit on the front porch.<br />Why hide who you are?<br /><br /></i><br /><br />There are a lot of little jokes in here--as well as little hints of my writer's voice that seem to never change. At the time, I was obsessed with mixed-metaphors and thought, when used consciously, they were hilarious. I still, knowingly, put a period in the middle of a sentence and continue it with a capitol letter for emphasis. Seriously. I do it all the time. I don't know why, but this just made my day.Colleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08300672898232459898noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7067751314100611843.post-65628692908539105802009-03-06T08:21:00.000-08:002009-03-06T09:10:25.770-08:00Hosts on Photobooth<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJgU5czUSXSgdr5Q-eSUOCK9BOsgceSu0FvrPq4Mksuh1KrypP0Ep_FIR79ek2nbiPxAObgnw9zpTaoPcDAojaZ5qNPwrj_cHLLly56nJu6xWJUQUi6qSQItVasHs6LhW38vJDOz1VAog/s1600-h/Photo+110.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJgU5czUSXSgdr5Q-eSUOCK9BOsgceSu0FvrPq4Mksuh1KrypP0Ep_FIR79ek2nbiPxAObgnw9zpTaoPcDAojaZ5qNPwrj_cHLLly56nJu6xWJUQUi6qSQItVasHs6LhW38vJDOz1VAog/s400/Photo+110.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5310118188970503778" border="0" /></a>Katie and I built a fort on her bed in Northampton, Massachusetts. That or I found a purple canopy in the free box and then made her let me put it up over her bed--it could be viewed either way.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5xBBvVx3DklSY0SZgLTDVfROqrJP3vJEUC8yNZ-CERwAOTXGkhHcoMFHh-lj6d3UI-WZRCNqqQBbgu3tQAc0ofInDGQIH1EXXujF6PE-B1n2z_rC_0Vbqpc73WcaVdGJPZw_3GH15wcs/s1600-h/Photo+111.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5xBBvVx3DklSY0SZgLTDVfROqrJP3vJEUC8yNZ-CERwAOTXGkhHcoMFHh-lj6d3UI-WZRCNqqQBbgu3tQAc0ofInDGQIH1EXXujF6PE-B1n2z_rC_0Vbqpc73WcaVdGJPZw_3GH15wcs/s400/Photo+111.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5310115980551004498" border="0" /></a>Caitlin and I in Jamaica Plain (Boston), Massachusetts.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNEYoPOxmli1y-XnBYUUnU1FmwADVpKPxY1EfeX9rUprtyOAVKnDH89X0d9OjaQ6FRGolyqlYtfN-yRCIclx1zzatuH8ZhvZscUBucqltBa7_UcbD_QoDx0s10Xtqjq1yh7VU9F8t_qX8/s1600-h/Photo+112.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNEYoPOxmli1y-XnBYUUnU1FmwADVpKPxY1EfeX9rUprtyOAVKnDH89X0d9OjaQ6FRGolyqlYtfN-yRCIclx1zzatuH8ZhvZscUBucqltBa7_UcbD_QoDx0s10Xtqjq1yh7VU9F8t_qX8/s400/Photo+112.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5310115973809225202" border="0" /></a>This was the day she got into the Peace Corps and much celebrating was done!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGA60oYhdLADmAPyucTWq0Bwurq1r0Z5NCEEdK7pKS0WKpZ3TrfLZ-0qf0-JHKTyeM_h4Zfr04GPKDJB2dcucQEx0HHDX17Vo7dwwhGzbAWKRKimHJG7keM2i9n9xYU42sWuovhyphenhyphenMblxg/s1600-h/Photo+113.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGA60oYhdLADmAPyucTWq0Bwurq1r0Z5NCEEdK7pKS0WKpZ3TrfLZ-0qf0-JHKTyeM_h4Zfr04GPKDJB2dcucQEx0HHDX17Vo7dwwhGzbAWKRKimHJG7keM2i9n9xYU42sWuovhyphenhyphenMblxg/s400/Photo+113.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5310115971032051746" border="0" /></a>Moseph and I at his (and Annr and Rachel Brown's) apartment in Philly.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy6xnlVEpJqNHrrhkmqX9S45___V736DljP8QBo_3u_vU3jnxLxCOEBQiu0VZHo3wv1-8gNvSmKVL9Z44XRwwvpmQD_zmqJtjJjs6wGjYHRR4gb0I3wD_4T1NbbX8GYtdMsNRRIIfD3zs/s1600-h/Photo+48.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy6xnlVEpJqNHrrhkmqX9S45___V736DljP8QBo_3u_vU3jnxLxCOEBQiu0VZHo3wv1-8gNvSmKVL9Z44XRwwvpmQD_zmqJtjJjs6wGjYHRR4gb0I3wD_4T1NbbX8GYtdMsNRRIIfD3zs/s400/Photo+48.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5310115962882788946" border="0" /></a>Cassie and I in Plattsburgh, New York.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTci8OrY_vNW6HLC5QMvC8j-cZKDAvz7AIeg6zKydixZX02URMI63A2KNm2twpYMFdRPdFIVsZ46P8Jte5oPBQqucblNaJS6HeW_6RG64auACnizRWOvcBG4KgaCYi1h6doR1UaEpfsCA/s1600-h/Photo+61.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTci8OrY_vNW6HLC5QMvC8j-cZKDAvz7AIeg6zKydixZX02URMI63A2KNm2twpYMFdRPdFIVsZ46P8Jte5oPBQqucblNaJS6HeW_6RG64auACnizRWOvcBG4KgaCYi1h6doR1UaEpfsCA/s400/Photo+61.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5310115957618350962" border="0" /></a>Everything is classier in black and white.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiS_I4dvrG9Qr5A-pDNzk96Wsu3B3F7lVuUZctN9V59tjYwDx2-lwp0Uc0bZXSGUE1Y1HwU8TRE2khbnXzPFbFUqF9O9k0E0qyJmV3r2x-BVumaidDU6oVojl4l_uXjCcz9ow5BCBi7w0/s1600-h/Picture+3.png"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 346px; height: 272px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiS_I4dvrG9Qr5A-pDNzk96Wsu3B3F7lVuUZctN9V59tjYwDx2-lwp0Uc0bZXSGUE1Y1HwU8TRE2khbnXzPFbFUqF9O9k0E0qyJmV3r2x-BVumaidDU6oVojl4l_uXjCcz9ow5BCBi7w0/s400/Picture+3.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5310120788061180818" border="0" /></a>Not sure this counts, but it's too good not to include. Cassie and I on Skype while she's in Plattsburgh and I am in Philly.Colleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08300672898232459898noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7067751314100611843.post-19349647044705737222009-03-05T10:09:00.000-08:002009-03-06T09:10:51.973-08:00Planning out a St. Patrick's Day Feast!To my new lady-friend, St. Patty's is on par with Christmas. I plan on making up quite a little feast because her mother will be visiting us. As usual, I am perusing <a href="http://www.marthastewart.com/">Martha</a> as well as <a href="http://www.notmartha.org/archives/2008/03/17/happy-saint-patricks-day/">not martha</a>. Of course, I want to create the standard fare of corned beef and soda bread. However, a criticism I have often heard is that Irish immigrants rarely ate beef because they could not afford it. I thought back to a conversation I had with my dad about what my grandfather used to eat when my grandmother went away to teacher training. I'm not about to seek out headcheese and turkey drumsticks but I think I am going to go in the turkey direction. Based on mine and Cassie's love of rosemary, I'm thinking of roasting a turkey breast with rosemary and thyme. That sounds vaguely Irish, right?<br /><br />As for other dishes, there will, of course, be <a href="http://www.marthastewart.com/recipe/irish-soda-bread-living?autonomy_kw=irish%20soda%20bread&rsc=image_1">soda bread</a>:<br /><img src="http://images.marthastewart.com/images/content/pub/ms_living/2009Q1//mld104519_0309_sodabread_l.jpg" /><br />Though I think I will use currants instead of raisins. Hopefully, this summer I will pick some currants off our bush in my father's yard so that I can dehyrdate them for future soda bread endeavors. I imagine my own great grandmother plucking the little red berries from the same bush to create her own jellies and breads.<br /><br />I'm also thinking of making salted new potatoes and brussel sprouts (cabbage if I can't find the sprouts). Another story my father often tells about my Irish ancestors is how my great grandmother would keep a pot on the back of the stove and all of the leftover from the week would go into the pot then be cooked down until you could drink them through a straw. For this reason, my father avoided going to his grandmother's house on Friday nights, when she usually served her gourmet leftover porridge. I think I'll stray from this tradition for my St. Patrick's day dinner and just boil the potatoes and greens until they're a little soft and salty.<br /><br />For dessert, who could resist a <a href="http://www.marthastewart.com/goodthings/stout-and-ice-cream-float?backto=true">black and tan</a> in which the "tan" is actually ice cream? Bring on the stout float!<br /><img src="http://images.marthastewart.com/images/content/pub/ms_living/2008Q1//mld103100_0308_float_l.jpg" /><br /><br />I cannot wait to begin cooking this... in nearly two weeks. Planning out dinner weeks in advance might be a sign that I could do with at least a part time job...Colleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08300672898232459898noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7067751314100611843.post-45102358507289296322009-03-05T06:12:00.001-08:002009-03-06T09:11:19.154-08:00Couch Surfing, Part II: Pet Surfing<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs6OvjveGd6iaF0jWAxnBqgECClpXVN1zWJrJ9xQ7rSI_js1-wV94E61IfNt5OXvZ_oZjICIWCcaVgg0qYjOjEzpAP2fn8b5uH-uyAYpiEEa5MLk_Ck2OBQtNdqq0BINVqYCI5diDtQWU/s1600-h/Photo+109.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs6OvjveGd6iaF0jWAxnBqgECClpXVN1zWJrJ9xQ7rSI_js1-wV94E61IfNt5OXvZ_oZjICIWCcaVgg0qYjOjEzpAP2fn8b5uH-uyAYpiEEa5MLk_Ck2OBQtNdqq0BINVqYCI5diDtQWU/s400/Photo+109.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5309707702605550594" border="0" /></a>When couch surfing, one often encounters residents of the four-legged persuasion. This leads me to another couch surfing rule and since I've lost track, I'll say it's Couch Surfing Rule 37: be friendly to your host's pets. Hosts appreciate this and will be much more likely to invite you back. Above is Nada in Connecticut, laying with her head in my lap.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIrIvVQMsIxgE9KK4iTtuzLhcPKl1PZtngpFm282tJtD6G1aRam0iNyT97lvazzFqFAo_oNJEJf4NTiHM2PRVJFuUrlmih-SO6k2GDNT_501aw7vJdaN1Z5kNRa7ztwYH-S-n5HVZzDkc/s1600-h/DSCN0088.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIrIvVQMsIxgE9KK4iTtuzLhcPKl1PZtngpFm282tJtD6G1aRam0iNyT97lvazzFqFAo_oNJEJf4NTiHM2PRVJFuUrlmih-SO6k2GDNT_501aw7vJdaN1Z5kNRa7ztwYH-S-n5HVZzDkc/s400/DSCN0088.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5309707715143672578" border="0" /></a>Mona and Tigershark live with Mo, Annr, and Rachel Brown in Philadelphia. They don't normally get along very well, but I managed to capture them spooning!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_9bQw_tExIIMbGBoizpv6Q5qhQHcAn6JRPFbFT4-kcGZ59gyG7duvQv0aH7RbOtFwbppxT10TYT5KCPoQfkp6fpdxpzDxTss27eYbrcQpb6X8pvuSooak-yKjyyZaDZiePjVQqGvLtgw/s1600-h/DSCN0101.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_9bQw_tExIIMbGBoizpv6Q5qhQHcAn6JRPFbFT4-kcGZ59gyG7duvQv0aH7RbOtFwbppxT10TYT5KCPoQfkp6fpdxpzDxTss27eYbrcQpb6X8pvuSooak-yKjyyZaDZiePjVQqGvLtgw/s400/DSCN0101.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5309707725134670290" border="0" /></a>Imogene calls Plattsburgh, New York home. She is fed by Cassie but she's the kind of independent thinker who would definitely not consider someone her owner.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEima-bqdu5JjZhMDt6-zINmapg4tG4qIaIQNCfrx1qjq73CmK6N13WlT6IreFopVzslRSyFLfWqhd8i7BKQQne-1dcGYIKSfIFzvQNJE5h7qL4NIy4Gu0JeQbeRIuPNk-YHSqigh5O7U9E/s1600-h/DSCN0102.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEima-bqdu5JjZhMDt6-zINmapg4tG4qIaIQNCfrx1qjq73CmK6N13WlT6IreFopVzslRSyFLfWqhd8i7BKQQne-1dcGYIKSfIFzvQNJE5h7qL4NIy4Gu0JeQbeRIuPNk-YHSqigh5O7U9E/s400/DSCN0102.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5309707731237527122" border="0" /></a> She's quite a large Red-Eared Slider. She's about 30-years-old!<br /><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-MLU_-EDnOYP2ZywDk-Pv5xMkDU76VMrN1kHiwWBLHEu86gOymYjFG3al12fS5I7BnQTJMYlasKZiG_KflZbiWpgDwpWNZab1wRkCoiip4aBtWAbOj9jl0U6CqjvqXUodao7FLXJgnOE/s1600-h/DSCN0109.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-MLU_-EDnOYP2ZywDk-Pv5xMkDU76VMrN1kHiwWBLHEu86gOymYjFG3al12fS5I7BnQTJMYlasKZiG_KflZbiWpgDwpWNZab1wRkCoiip4aBtWAbOj9jl0U6CqjvqXUodao7FLXJgnOE/s400/DSCN0109.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5309707736887613058" border="0" /></a>She's not the brightest and is completely unaware of a little bit of pepper hitching a ride on her shell.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7ncAyqHqt7-NzeeS45VHTOzWwRJfrl_GZZJRwzJNaY_CqqvNJxohYvKco9G3ezEvEa5NqkF5lFwysME6Y5XvdTNkNaYOBCm53KA-R_HiXf98EsFJQLr4JLDd00esjtRSM2DSqVo1JWU8/s1600-h/Photo+114.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7ncAyqHqt7-NzeeS45VHTOzWwRJfrl_GZZJRwzJNaY_CqqvNJxohYvKco9G3ezEvEa5NqkF5lFwysME6Y5XvdTNkNaYOBCm53KA-R_HiXf98EsFJQLr4JLDd00esjtRSM2DSqVo1JWU8/s400/Photo+114.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5309708324816440802" border="0" /></a>Moose lives in New Paltz, New York with Lauren and her many housemates. Moose is a very affectionate cat who laid in my arms like a baby last night. Though, he also tried to sleep on my face the night before.<br /><br />Expect more silly themed photo blogs about couch surfing!Colleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08300672898232459898noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7067751314100611843.post-6975108426249196432009-02-02T12:24:00.000-08:002009-02-02T12:49:55.764-08:00PYIC: an Introduction<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6PUI-fMjJgdAo7hg9UrQMwjGvOlEbroNk7sdIrsKOWhP73dbv7JnPyPqHu0FCgjXzJxSwlCdxIpj4Lr6HYOvF3sGOPIzKOA1fc27H4D8GOsuY27uyi96wEchBy5mfpOpHP0Qk0KNq0Go/s1600-h/DSCN0104.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6PUI-fMjJgdAo7hg9UrQMwjGvOlEbroNk7sdIrsKOWhP73dbv7JnPyPqHu0FCgjXzJxSwlCdxIpj4Lr6HYOvF3sGOPIzKOA1fc27H4D8GOsuY27uyi96wEchBy5mfpOpHP0Qk0KNq0Go/s400/DSCN0104.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5298299008028819026" border="0" /></a>Above is me and itty-bitty Al Gore. Seeing Al Gore speak was just par for the course during the Presidential Youth Inaugural Conference, for which I was a Faculty Advisor. I did this through the same company that I worked National Young Scholars Program for this past summer. The hours were long, sometimes allowing us under four hours of sleep a night, and the logistical planning was sub-par but we got through and I think most of us had really wonderful experiences.<br />I was entrusted with the education of a group of 28 high school students, most of whom were freshmen with a single senior in the mix who was a great sport. We were intended only to have two hours of actual curriculum with them--and of course a good portion of this was supposed to be spent on ice breakers. However, our site lead was really amazing and had us lead a Presidential Group Meeting on the first full day of the conference and let us pick which PGM curricula we would teach in our next two meetings. While fourteen-year-olds are not my choice age group (particularly ones who do not believe in global warming), it was worth the experience.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDudok8btnC6oHWfkjiKnkU_YA5hiEsGcwRiz8z0Hx6JPGUvLN4UNe8MfHMORlOsPStCpBhwnAH-MJ-9DmB87F8oFCUMF3MLG4_8v3zPI7ir7R0C9IFAGBklXDeLDAo13BdKoasXpnGF0/s1600-h/taft.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 315px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDudok8btnC6oHWfkjiKnkU_YA5hiEsGcwRiz8z0Hx6JPGUvLN4UNe8MfHMORlOsPStCpBhwnAH-MJ-9DmB87F8oFCUMF3MLG4_8v3zPI7ir7R0C9IFAGBklXDeLDAo13BdKoasXpnGF0/s400/taft.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5298304275291993362" border="0" /></a><br />At our three conferences (Presidential Youth Inauguaral Conference, Junior Presidential Youth Inaugural Conference, and University Presidential Inaugural Conference) we had a total of 15,000 students. At PYIC, we had 7,500 students. In our Presidential Group/Housing Site we had the most students in any one place: nearly 800 scholars comprised the Taft Presidential Group. My co-workers in Taft were all amazing. Anytime we were out and about with PYIC, Taft was the group that took the initiative to get things done. Though a lot of people left the conferences incredibly frustrated, I think we were all proud of what we had done together. Fingers-crossed that I'll see many of them again this summer for GYLC in China. The Westpark Best Western in Tyson's Corner will always hold a special place in my heart.<br /><br />(Westpark Taft image from my housing lead, Kristan Corcoran)Colleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08300672898232459898noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7067751314100611843.post-9842745904520312842009-01-31T20:06:00.000-08:002009-01-31T20:30:03.678-08:00Couch Surfing, Part ISince the beginning of January, I have slept in ten different places. These range from friends' beds, to parents' houses, to conference centers, to hotels, to cushions on floors. For the past week, I have been a couch-surfer. I am looking for jobs in Western Massachusetts and it seems much easier to do this from the area than from Long Island. This way, if I actually get an interview, I can easily get to it. Though it has only been a week, there are some rules I am learning:<br /><br />1) Bring your own towel. It would have been much easier if I had and I feel like I wouldn't be crossing an awkward line.<br />2) You can sleep two nights in one place Monday-Wednesday, but three nights Thursday-Sunday.<br />3) If the person who is hosting you has a significant other, you may feel like you're invading even when they don't.<br />4) Air mattresses can easily be moved from room to room.<br />5) Make a list of who offers to host you and prioritize by sleeping arrangements--linoleum floors at the bottom.<br />6) Try to see your friends before you stay with them so that they get a chance to say how great it would be to have you on their floor.<br />7) Spend a lot of time in public spaces during the day--this makes you feel less of a burden.<br />8) Make friends with your friends' friends.<br />9) Be charming and positive.<br />10) Sleep whenever your host wants to. If they go to bed at 10, you go to bed at 10.<br /><br />And now for the oops moment of the week:<br />Apparently, air mattresses are not meant to be left inflated for a few days. One of my closest friend's had been hosting me, but to give her some space, I ended up taking the air mattress from her room down the hall into her friend's room. Sometime during the night, I discovered that the air mattress was slowly deflating. I woke up later to discover that I was sleeping with air all around me, but none underneath me. I was effectively sleeping directly on the floor. I did not get up, I did not complain--I just tried to roll over and think of Korea. So rule number 11 is: deflate your air mattress every day and re-inflate it every night.Colleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08300672898232459898noreply@blogger.com0