Food For Thought

Today, Mr. Oz sent me this interesting Op/Ed piece from the NY Times. While I enjoy a good burger and an occasional steak, I am also very aware that in pursuing our gastronomy of meat we humans are, well, not extremely humane. What really struck me in this article was the way in which the author describes his experience observing the unique personalities and character of the farm animals he grew up with as a child. His commentary on the familial bonds displayed by geese was particularly touching.

As a child I spent some time on my grandparents farm and saw the cattle, chickens and ducks they raised for food. These animals were always (as far as I could tell) treated well, given lots of space to roam, were fed and sheltered. I guess the life they had, albeit brief, would be considered a good one. A part of me is comforted by this. Now, I think about where my food -- particularly the meat on my plate -- comes from and I cringe. This editorial gave me pause to reflect further on my own humanity and what I choose as my nourishment. I don't profess to be among the converted to a strictly vegetarian diet. Remember, I love a juicy burger! However, I'm going to be more aware of the choices I make and try to do my part to reduce the pain and suffering of soulful creatures. I do believe all life is precious and should be used wisely and with compassion.

I promise to write about more lighthearted topics in the days to come. Seriously. Just wanted to share. Free range chicken here I come!

My Color Is Pagoda Blue

In my quest to recreate the Oz household space and infuse a little freshness into our palette and surrounds, I've been getting input and creative inspiration from friends and colleagues alike. Comments have ranged from "why don't you just sell everything and start over" to "all you need is a new tea kettle." I'm looking for something in between -- a happy medium that doesn't require me to burn all of my worldly possessions but also amounts to a noticeable improvement. One of my trusted advisers turned me onto this web site called Apartment Therapy. I've only spent a few moments checking it out, but am already loving it. Lots of cool ideas and tricks to make an old space feel new again.

While I was perusing I spotted a link to Colorstrology. It's a Pantone thing where you select your birthday month and they it spits out what color you are. Apparently I'm Pagoda Blue. "Deep and meditative, this color signifies wisdom, truth and optimism." Hurrah, I say. Hurrah. All the things I strive for in my life all wrapped up in this gorgeous blue, emerald type color. Who would have known this was MY color? It also says that wearing Pagoda Blue can help promote tolerance and understanding. This has been my problem all along. I'm not wearing Pagoda Blue dammit. I must find myself some sweater, shawl, wrap or pair of shoes in this color ASAP.

I'm curious to know what color you are in the Colorstrology my friends. And, once you have identified your color, do you agree with its assessment of you and your characteristics? Let me know. Also, if you have any home decorating tips, I'm all ears. Let me have it.

Rockin It Out With Princess Sushi and The Gang

Last night my childhood dream came true. No, I did not run away with Andy Gibb -- God rest his soul. Nope. My OTHER childhood dream came true. I played drums, bass and sang lead in a rock band. It may not come as a surprise to you, but we -- as a technologically advanced society -- have evolved from board games and cards to a new form of all-family entertainment. Move over Monopoly and cribbage with your dusty old dice and your paper and pencil score keeping. You are obsolete, done, finished, SO over. The new thing for all the cool kids these days is to gather around the warm glow of the X-Box 360 and participate in, what I can only describe as, a cross between karaoke and joining your own cover band -- Rock Band baby, Rock Band. If you have ever fantasized about being Axl Rose or Flea from the Red Hot Chili Peppers (and might I add, "ick" on the latter and "scary" on the former), this game is for you.

I am pleased to report, that Mr. Oz and I absolutely LOVED it!

Our good friends Jenny and Ryan broke out the hospitality and the console to deflower the Rock Band virgins that we were. Oh we rocked their fine Woodbury casbah kickin out a mix of old school hard rock, punk and Seattle grunge. I'm not ashamed to say that I provided some vocal stylings to the likes of Soundgarden's Black Hole Sun and Radiohead's Creep. Yeah, I did. I also might have played drums on a rendition of a classic Who song, but who's bragging? Mr. Oz crooned Rush's Tom Sawyer. Thanks be to Princess Sushi and Senor Sushi for the good eats, great fun and wild tunes.

Some pics of "the band." Mr. Oz working the bass. Princess Sushi on guitar and that's JoJo Fries doing her best Simon Le Bon. No autographs please.




I am officially sold. Now, we just have to find Rock Band for the Nintendo Wii and we're all set. Everyone is invited over to our house of Rock Band part deux when we get it. Rock On!!

Segway Superstar

Desperately hanging on to the dregs of summer yet welcoming the morning chill of fall, I spent the day with my fellow co-workers on a Segway. After a brief lesson, a few minutes spent trying on our helmets and a comical safety video that was not unlike those high school drivers ed movies (i.e. "Blood on the Highway") of yore, we were off on our tour of the historic St. Anthony Falls stretch of Minneapolis. Although I can't speak for everyone, I personally had a great time cruising on my "human stick" checking out the magical mystery sights of the Mississippi River, the old mills (now converted into expensive downtown condos), the Stone Arch Bridge, new Guthrie Theater, Boom Island and Nicollet Island.

There were a total of 13 Segwayers, including our two tour guides and I'm sure we were a sight to behold for any passersby. Forming our single file line like obedient school children, stiff armed and tightly wound, we all attempted to stay up right, not tip over or hit one of the path runners who came our way. Apparently, if you wanted to purchase an actual Segway for personal use it would set you back upwards of $5,000 to $9,000. This got me to thinking about who buys these little gyroscope fed pieces of machinery. I guess I have seen some police driving Segways on downtown, pedestrian beats. I could also envision some uber rich CEO type -- probably from a high tech firm of some sort -- tooling around a warehouse style office space on a Segway. But who else? Little old ladies who are too hip to be caught dead on a Rascal? Teenagers or college kids hauling ass across campus? The Segway is far too expensive for the social security dependent, Medicare crowd, not too mention the risk of grandma falling off and shattering a hip. Aye Carumbu! And what kind of college student can afford such a lavish mode of solitary transport? The average 22 year old wants a sporty car with 17 inch rims and a Bose sound system to pump the bass.

With all this talk of sustainability, environmental protection and alternative forms of energy, we really need to take another look at the Segway as a platform for transportation of the future. BUT, there needs to be significant changes made in order to market this to the masses. For one, we need some passenger room. I want a Segway side car or trailer hitch. Then you would have to trick it out with a rag top, flames and fuzzy dice. A hot sound system and a hydraulic lift and you got yourself a mean ride my friends. Pimp my Segway beeatch!!

I think I've just struck upon a way to revitalize the US car manufacturing industry. Screw the hybrid cars. Lets get on the Segway Superhighway. It may not be fast or flashy, but it sure is fun.

Word.

The Great MN Get-Together

Tonight Mr. Oz and I participated in a much beloved annual ritual known as the Minnesota State Fair. For two weeks in late August, thousands flock to the fairgrounds in St. Paul to check out a bust of the dairy princess carved in butter (this is not a lie), baby animals at the petting zoo, pickles the size of your head and all manner of people gazing. Like many others, we went to partake in the phenomenon of food on sticks. If its a food and it can be stuck, you'll find it at the fair. Dude, we did some damage and I have the belly ache to prove it. Here's a quick run down of our fair going agenda: 7:01pm -- arrive at the side gate, pay our $10.50 per and skitter inside. The startling scent of farm animal, grilled meats and greasy mini-donuts hangs in the smoky and dusty air. 7:23pm -- we spy our first stop. The granddaddy of all fair food stands. It's the foot long corn dog people and NOT the Pronto Pup stand. I must put my foot down on this. Corn dog = delicious. Pronto Pup = a foul imitation meant to lure us into a false sense of fair complacency. Don't be a victim.




Two please and slather them with ketchup and mustard. Yummy.


7:40pm -- oh man, we see something new. Never tried this one before but have heard good things about the bacon on a stick. At Fat Bacon they serve up a huge slab of thick cut fried bacon that is dipped in maple syrup. Mr. Oz loved it. I gave it a BIG thumbs down. flabby bacon just doesn't do it for me. Next time, crisp it up my friends.
7:48pm -- trying to get the taste of that nasty bacon out of my mouth, we promptly proceed to the cheese curd stand and order up a heaping heap of melty, salty, greasy, battered, gooey cheese parts. Hells yeah!


7:55pm -- Oh god. I think I feel sick. Couldn't finish the cheese curds as they started to cool and congeal into a rubbery mess. 8:04pm -- I'm THIRSTY! Ahhhh. Sign me up for some cold, frosty root beer!

8:15pm -- What's that over there? Do I see roasted corn on the cob? Why yes. Yes, I do. Buttery goodness.


8:16pm -- hanging out next to the Grandstand taking in the musical stylings of, well, some guy with a guitar. Don't know who it is. Who cares. We are only here for the stick food.

8:17pm -- Teriyaki Ostrich on a stick. Uhmmmm. Pass.



8:23pm -- Swinging back through. Gotta get a bucket of Sweet Martha's fresh baked chocolate chip cookies. They pile 'em high forcing you to eat several just so you can get the lid on it. So good it will make you cry. Or is that the first pains of stomach cramps. 8:35pm -- We are SO outta here. Waddle back to the car and moan. Another year at the State Fair and it was accomplished in record time.

We made it home just in time to watch Barack Obama accept the Democratic party's nomination for president. While some may disagree with me, I think this guy is going places.

I feel sick.

Pro-Nap

After a particularly rough week I took advantage of half work day Friday and high tailed it home to start my weekend early. Once home, I couldn't resist the siren call of my bed. The soft, yet firm mattress. The blanket. The comfy, cool sheets. Damn you bed. My will was weak. I jumped in and proceeded to take a 2.5 hour nap. That's right. Middle of the day. Straight up. Half open mouth, drool on the pillow. Hard core nappin y'all. It was so delicious. Sweet nap nectar. As I roused myself from my afternoon slumber, I realized a few things. One, is I'm getting SUPER old. Once upon a time, a summer half day meant early happy hour. Let's get the party started and keep it rolling until Monday morning. Not anymore. Now, I'm like a few short years away from hitting Denny's for the 4pm early bird dinner specials. I was starting to feel really bad about this when I decided that everything old is new again. This is where I stuck upon my second realization of the day. Here it is . . . I'm bringing back the nap and it isn't just for the senior citizens anymore. Retro napping people. Brilliant!

Harken back (yes, I used the word "harken!") to days of yore. Consider your childhood when you were forced to to take naps in the middle of the day? When did this ritual stop? Who decided we should no longer take naps? I'm going to start a movement to bring back the nap. The adult nap. It's on. I say no more falling in line with these arbitrary social conventions and dropping the nap time just because we have jobs and go to school and carry on the day-to-day business of running the world. We shouldn't pander to the powers that be and quit our beloved naptime. Who's with me? Who's in? You in?

I think I need to start a group on Facebook, petition Obama's campaign to add this as a plank in the Democratic platform. Maybe I'll make a sign and head down to the Republican convention and protest the anti-nap coalition. You know the anti-nappers are Republican, don't you? They have to be. Oh, but you have to know that McCain is a secret napper. He's like 80 years old. Oh, you know he's napping.

To Everything, Turn, Turn, Turn

I've been watching a lot of the Olympic television coverage these days and can't seem to get enough of it. The swimming events have been particularly riveting as Michael Phelp's glides his way to a first ever eight gold medals in a single Olympics. There is a lot I could write about on this topic. The Olympics brings out the competitor in me. I find myself getting up, standing in front of the t.v. and cheering loudly as racers push toward the finish in a nail-biting fashion. I'm also dumbfounded by a strange surge of national pride that courses through me as I watch. This is, well, strange. I normally find nationalism fairly deplorable as it tends to ignite an "us versus them" mentality leading, inevitably, to fracture, war and bitterness. But enough on that positive note.

What I've come to realize about myself is I have this need to assign events significance as it relates to time, seasons and lifestages. So, for me, the Olympics is an every four years, get stuck to the t.v., feel patriotic, relish the competition of sport kinda deal. I love it. It is also one of my signals that summer will soon be over and fall (and snow) are right around the corner. The MN State Fair is another one of those end-of-summer signs. You know when you start seeing advertisements for the fair that Labor Day will be here before you know it.

When I was young, I marked the end of summer as the time when my dad hit the farm fields and harvested grain. He would take off early in the day and swathe and gather wheat until the sun set and darkness fell. I fondly remember waiting for him to get home so the whole family could sit around the table listening to the adventures of his day -- what machinery broke down, how many rows did he cut, how many bushels did it take to fill one truck bed. These moments were also marked by our enjoyment of fresh produce from my mom's garden. We would be more than content slicing a garden tomato still hot from soaking up the August sunshine and eating it with nothing more than a sprinkle of salt and pepper. There is just something about straight from the ground food that cannot be compared to the stuff we now get in grocery stores. As I recall, these home-grown tomatoes had a taste I could only describe as a combination of warm and cool, slippery with a sweet tang that left the back of your tongue zinging and buzzing.

I'm reading the book Animal, Vegetable, Miracle by Barbara Kingsolver. In it, Kingsolver writes of her family's move from Arizona to Virginia to live on a farm where they raise and grow all of their own food. Her narrative spans a year of vowing to eat only locally. The book is amazing in both its poetic quality and the way in which Kingsolver documents the inextrincable connection between time, the seasons and what it is we eat. I won't spoil the details but will say that both the end of summer here in MN and this book have inspired me to eat better and truly grab hold of the variety of summer food bounty that surrounds me. I must add that my other inspiration was Mrs. Scribble who has planted a big garden of her own and is already busy picking, washing, and canning her own vegetable miracles.


With all this inspiration floating around me, Mr. Oz and I hit the St. Paul Farmer's Market this weekend on our own morning adventure.



















It looked to be over one downtown city block of fruit, flower and vegetable stands and neither the amount nor the quality of produce disappointed. We strolled from stall to stall checking out the wares of these family farms and came away with our own mini-harvest of corn on the cob, green beans, green peppers, tomatoes, beets and raspberries. Visions of late night al fresco dining danced in my head. Not quite sure what I'm going to do with those beets, but I'm sure I'll think of something. Maybe I'll plan a big summer vegetable feast to celebrate the conclusion of the Olympics, State Fair and summer!