Food Wednesday - Change!

Did you miss me?

It's been busy.

I'll just let you stare at this new look - and return later with something about food.

Something New

I've really been slack on blog posts the last few months. It seems all my spare time in the morning and evenings is consumed with writing (or agonizing over writing. On NOT writing, or researching for writing - or hiding from writing) and not much posting is getting done. I really want to change that - and I think I've come up with a good idea. I already write a daily "post" if you will.

It starts with jazz radio in the mornings. While I'm at the house, or on my way to work, I listen for a song that piques my interest. I've learned my memory skills aren't so great, so I try and write down the group/title as soon as it's announced. Which sometimes is a huge game in-and-of-itself, because they don't tell you who singing before or after each song. Oh no ... they wait until they're done playing four or five songs - and THEN announce. Sometimes in order - sometimes in reverse order. Then there's the added challenge of trying to figure out how to spell the name of the artist/song title. (Google search is my friend!)

When I get to work I try to find a video or sound clip of the song - or a little info about the group and lyrics. Once I'm educated, I write up my discovery and send it off. My friends aren't necessarily jazz aficionados - and I have no idea if they really try to listen to the music - or care about the song or not. But that's ok. The real point of the eMial is to be a starting point for our communication each day. Sometimes at the end I'll comment on what's on my mind, something that's coming up or something that's happened in the last twenty-four hours.

This blog is supposed to be the same sort of mechanism. A way for me to write about my observations. So I thought I'd try posting the daily song.

Today's song - Kyle Eastwood - Big Noise from Winnetka

Did you know Clint’s son was a bassist? Electric and upright. He and his dad look a lot alike. You can see here on this clip.

I like this recording better (click on clip feed to the right) because of the whistling. Rumor has it, it’s Clint. I dunno if I believe that. Here’s the original version with Bob Haggart and Ray Bauduc. Not to be outdone drummer extraordinaire, Gene Krupa also had a version. His had full orchestration, but I still love Haggart’s and Eastwood’s with the whistling.

Unfortunately Bette Midler did a version with lyrics.

This is the story of a young girl who was the Einstein of the dance. They called her Big Noise from Winnetka, against her no one stood a chance. Big Noise blew in from Winnetka, stole each fellow's heart and then, Big Noise blew in from Winnetka, Big Noise blew right out again.

Boys were sighing, their girlfriends crying, hearts were pounding when; The Big Noise dances, hence romances, it's just astounding when; Big Noise blew in from Winnetka, Big Noise blew right out again.

Stop! Look! Listen! Listen to the Big Noise. Stop! Look! Listen! Listen to the Big Noise.

I am the one they call the Big Noise. I got to dance my way to fame. I just blew in from Winnetka, that town will never be the same. Now I had my fun, and yet there's just one who's got me from the start. I'd love to conga a little bit longer but it keeps us apart. Exit Big Noise from Winnetka, enter Big Noise in his heart.

Big men move me out. Senors zonk me out. Zim zom zup ma ma. Big men boo bop ba, bah ba doo wop. Boodeeah baby boodeeah baby boodeeah baby. Boodeeah baby boodeeah baby boodeeah baby baby baby over 'n' out.

She loves the bass. She loves the drum. She loves to stay out late and dance the samba, samba, how she loves to samba, rhumba, salsa, limbo and pachenga. She's so restless she's on every guest list. None can please her. She'd say no to Ceaser. Teach me, why don't you teach me. Show me how to let go!

There she goes 'round again, up and then down again, in and then out. Hooo!

When Big Noise waltzes through the door the bouncer has to clear the floor, 'cause everybody wants to see the girl get down, the girl get down. And if you try to hold me tight, I'll disappear into the night. My lover's waiting home for me (she don't do that! She don't do that!)

Everyone's got a bit of Big Noise in his heart, everyone likes to toot his horn. I've been the Big Noise from Winnetka for so long, time for a new noise to be born. 'Cause I had my fun and yet there's just one who's got me from the start. Exit Big Noise for Winnetka, enter Big Noise in my heart.

Once she was pickin' up the big boys . . . Now I'm pickin' up my little kids' toys . . . Big Noise we miss you.

I think a better version is this one by Bob Crosby and the Bob Cats.

***In other news ***

When I walked into work this morning all our phone lines and internet connections were down. We're in the process of making some communication company changes here. It's amazing how I feel like I can't work if music isn't streaming, I can't read/send eMails, or surf the web for information. Of course - the part about the phones being out wasn't a big deal. We all know I HATE talking on the phone to begin with! However - we're all up and running now. *sigh*

Happy Monday everyone!

Man Oh-live, I'm Doing Twenty-five

• I WANT to write something here every day, but I am not.
• The sun is shining, my demeanor isn't.
• I had a "mystery meal" for lunch. It had pork, and onion, and milk, and allspice, nutmeg, and cumin in it. I have no idea when I made it, nor how long it's been in the freezer.
• My little brother got a job today *throws confetti*
• My BIG brother is sending me a bottle of wine to taste. It is from his friend's winery. I cannot wait to try it.
• I made this chicken dish for dinner back in January (or maybe February). I was going to write about it.

• I have been gone, or had company constantly since Dec. 26th. I was really excited about being home alone "for a long time" until my trip to Arizona in March. I am crap at keeping time. The last of my company left 2/16, I leave 3/4.
• Between company and traveling, I have hosted four dinners at my house.
• The Ragù Bolognese I made for my dinner group on Sunday from this blog was amazing. (as is the blog and her writing and photography!)
• I joined FaceBook under my real name. Who knew I'd recognize so many childhood/school friends. My but we were a (small) and close knit group.
• I also belong on FaceBook under MitMoi.
• I am struggling with my writing class. I guess that's good. It means I have a lot to learn.
• I got my haircut on Saturday. She styled it slightly different. It looked cute. THIS is what it looked like when I tried. :|

• I am crazy and have agreed to cook an "Ocho de Mayo" meal for 150 people. I will be using two days of vacation time to accomplish this feat.
• A friend from Paris, France is coming to visit me in May!!
• I am going to the St. Lawrence River in New York at the end of July.
• I don't know if I'll be doing ANY business travel this year. This is very, very, sad for me.
• Sunshine coming through the windows in my clean house makes me happy.
• I wish I were playing hooky there right now.
• Yesterday, when I was in an equally foul mood and told Jason, "Nobody likes me, I think I'll eat worms" he sent me these three links to make me smile. Only the first one made me truly smile. (ps: People like me ... I'm just not liking a whole lot of people back at the moment.)
• I helped out a friend recently. It makes me feel good every time I think about it.
• Another friend I haven't heard from for a while got back in touch. He says he's doing better now. I hope so - and that life treats him well.
• Heather and I share daily eMail correspondence. Not much, just a line or two. Her comments make me laugh out loud on a regular basis.
• My home laptop is FINALLY (3 repair visits for one orginal problem) fixed. HALLELUJA!
• There was something else I wanted to say, but I've forgotten.

• This is the cake I made for Valentines. Matzo Flour, Almond Meal, Lemon Juice, Lemon Zest, Lemon Curd, and Raspberries. It's kind of like sticking your tongue out at love. (tart, sour, and blowing raspberries)

Year Three

This is my third year participating in NaBloPoMo. The first year I participated because I thought “all the cool kids (a small universe of people I read) were doing it”. I was anxious to become “one of them” and have my name on the lips of the ether-world. What I found at the end of that first month was that not one “cool kid” noticed my presence and I did not garner terabytes of followers. BUT I’d found something much better. I’d found some discipline and my writing voice.

The second year of NaBloPoMo I found some new friends. Some I’ve stuck with – and some have slipped by the sidelines. My personal goal last year was to write shorter posts. (No – you didn’t miss anything, I didn’t meet my goal). A reoccurring theme by many participants was their desire to make their posts “more lofty”, or “thoughtful.” Perhaps that’s another way of say not so trite and self-centered.

The question, “Am I satisfied with what I write?” is something I’ve been mulling over for the past year. What do I write about? What content do I seek out to read on the net? Am I providing material I’d be interesting in reading? Would it hold my attention?

It’s true. I write about me. Does that mean I’m self-absorbed? Possibly.

I don’t really know what I’d write about if I didn’t write about me. I don’t feel compelled to stand on a soapbox very often. This doesn’t mean I don’t have strong opinions about spirituality, politics, the economy, and our government. It just means my positions on these issues rarely change when reading someone else’s ranting. I’m most likely to reevaluate my beliefs/positions after reading/listening to carefully written and crafted arguments. I’m not very interested in putting together that quality of argument to persuade an anonymous readership to change so I just keep my positions/thoughts to myself.

I flit between several communities within the blogosphere; those who write about family; those who write about food; and those who write about writing.

I’m deeply intrigued by the “Foodie” blogs and read an assortment religiously. Although I love cooking … and eating … and I’m passionate about good food, I don’t think I can call myself a “Foodie Blogger”. I write about far more than just food – and every time I think about tailoring my writing to this one topic I feel claustrophobic – and like a fraud. Really! What do I know about food? Only how to follow directions, put together harmonious menus, and make sure my guests enjoy themselves when they sit around my table.

Reading about writers and the agents, is like peaking through the fence cracks at baseball players during spring training. I would never presume to think I’m part of the community. Maybe someday I might feel confident enough to claim proficiency with this craft, but currently I am happy to be an apprentice and a fan.

My goal this year is to stick to the commitment. There are several commitments I haven’t maintained this year. Perhaps if I can lock in one, the others will follow.

My Love Affair

I’m not sure the exact moment I first fell in love. It’s definite I was far too young to have such mature feelings. As an older, wiser woman, I look back on my love affair and smile. It’s a “scotch-colored” memory for me. I review each memory gem, the distilled reminiscent-light is umber hued and slightly wavy. The same way my living room looks if I squint at it though a glass of scotch.

I’d heard about my soon-to-be lover before the meeting, but thought little of it. Nothing prepared me for the rush of love at first sight love. They didn’t tell me about the gravity loosing feeling of falling headlong into contentment. Minutes after meeting, I felt “at home” and as if “this” was where I should spend the rest of my life. I was sitting in the back seat of the ’62 Chevy II station wagon, when I caught the first glimpse of my love.

There he was – across the majestic doubledecker bay-spanning bridge. He was singing his siren song, heard only to the little girl in the backseat. Immediately I was dumped into his lap. This startling new sensation filled me. What was reality and what was fantasy? Who had made such structures, never before seen in my small town? Crazy square-tubes with water gushing out their ends, some tangled together, others perpendicular to each other.

And the people! Look at the people!

They were dressed like gypsies – their long hair and loose fitting clothing camouflaging their gender. My eyes opened wide with wonder.

But soon the car was rushing past – plunging down a hill – and out there – that huge lake with rolling waves? That I was told was the Pacific Ocean. She was a shy creature, peaking in and out of the fog at me. Her cloak of fog hid her enormity and I was brave enough to approach her on my own. She would always hold my love captive and I would always have to cross her to get to him, but she’s never been cruel to me the way some wives can.

Our first night together I experienced fire works. It was strange and thrilling, yet scary all at the same time. I didn’t understand why there was a dragon parading down the street, nor why the crowd of bystanders threw firecrackers at the passing dragon. But safe on my high perch of stacked newspapers I gazed down on the scene unfolding below me. Men dressed in pajamas swarmed past me banging on gongs and drums. Some of them even carried pitchforks to poke the dragon. I thought they were so very, very, brave.

When the parade ended we entered a small restaurant. There were tantalizing smells in the air and everyone looked different than my family. They were all shorter and had the glossiest thick black hair I’d ever seen. The paper lanterns hanging down from the ceiling and glass encased pictures of humpy bridges distracted me from choosing what I wanted to eat from the menu with all the funny looking pictures. But it didn’t really matter – the long day in my lover’s arms was catching up to me and unable to resist another moment I laid my head down in the banquet and my heavy eyes closed.

The next days as I became more intimate with my love I grew to adore all his idiosyncrasies. One moment his disposition was sunny, then next cold and cloudy. His mercurial temperament made it hard to make too many plans - because you never knew if he'd be hot or cold, placid, or temperamental. I discovered his garden - stretching from the sea to the city's heart. Like much of him, it had areas that were crowded and chaotic - like the sailing pond surrounded by small children launching toy ships - inter dispersed with oasis’s of tranquility. The spun sugar gingerbread draped hothouse - the rose garden mashed up against the museum of dinosaurs and art. What a crazy quilt of amusements.

Exploring him was a roller coaster ride, literally. Shooting up each hill - to stop and teeter on its crest - before dashing up the next .. until suddenly - the nose of the car hung over thin air, paused in its forward motion. After a moments pause to allow a clanging trolley to pass, we hurtled down, down, toward the next plateau. He wasn't all he seemed, sometimes he became secretive, twisting and turning, only to suddenly reveal a vista of metropolis. Elegant, thin buildings reaching skyward, as if to break free of his gravity lay below me. Some refracted light like broken shards of glass while others moved in and out of the foggy cloak.

Ohh, ohh to stay here with my love and never leave. That was my deepest wish. But all too soon that '62 Chevy crossed back over that bridge, carrying me further and further away from the dewy embrace of my guy. Looking out the back window I whispered to him, “Don’t worry San Francisco, I’ll be back, time and time again.”

Reading, Writing, Responding - AND Life too?

It seems writing and responding are overtaking my life these days. (Thanks NaBloPoMo ... we coudn't have done this for just 5 or 10 days?) I’ve been content to sit at home on my couch or in my bed, spinning yarns and responding to kind, interesting, thought provoking e-mails and responses.

Tonight I had several topics lined up. Then life intruded. A friend is determined to “widen” my social circle. I’m not too appreciative, as I think I have a wide enough social circle, and a very busy social life when I’m in town, thank-you-very-much. His contention is I don’t do “enough things with men”. (Because obviously all the men I work with, and the men in my reading group, and the men in the coffee group, and the men in my Sunday School class don’t count.) I counter by pointing out he’s the one who wants to start a social life and jump into the dating waters again – and is merely dragging me along to hold his hand.

Therefore tonight I am going to some hoity-toity bar, with a lot of superficial people, who I could care less about to mingle and find out they could care less about me too. (Aren’t you envious? Don’t you wish you were coming along too?) *pat, pat, pat on my back for bein such a great friend*

The advertised purpose of this get together is a beer tasting. This is good. I am easily bribed with alcohol. I like beer. Maybe it will make the superfluous people of the real world as interesting as the ethereal people I meet on the net.

I will report back. In the meantime, think kind wishes for me, ‘kay?

Vanity, thy face is MitMoi

Why journal? Why blog? Does anonymity aid or hinder the process? How important is honesty? Does consistency matter? Should the entries be consistently funny? Is angst appreciated?

At some point we all realize how we communicate best. Some people speak well, and need to “talk out their life”. Other people communicate thru artistic endeavors, painting, sculpting, songwriting, music. Sometimes it’s frustrating, because you WANT to say something, but you don’t know how to say it. Or perhaps it’s than you can’t put the right words together; it’s that you can’t even turn those feelings/thoughts into words. Perhaps action is the only way to convey what you feel. Running, throwing, kicking – something physical which releases the energy.

I’m a talking/writing communicator … many times I speak or write to figure out what I’m feeling/thinking. It’s not just my feelings that I work out in this manner … I frequently want to discuss concepts or programming resolutions with co-workers in my professional life. Somehow, by having to “say” something, my thoughts become ordered. Unfortunately, as my red-hair indicates, I speak/write first – in anger, hurt, or excitement … only to wish I had a recall button. But journaling or blogging offers some of those same opportunities, but with the added benefit of being able to review and revise before publishing.

So … now you know one of the reasons why I write. Either to lay it all out and make order – or to figure out how to correct what I conveyed incorrectly the first time. Over the years I’ve kept a journal. It contains infrequent musings since high-school. I think in the back of my mind I always thought I was writing for posterity. You know, it would be discovered some day – 80 years after my death, and the person discovering it would be fascinated to know what my life was like. They’d find out what I thought and felt. What my world was like – and how I navigated it from day to day. But the problem with that scenario? It required that someone find my writing.

Then along came blogging! How great, you write .. and people read! How fun is that? Not only do they read, but they comment. If they think you’re funny? They tell you so! Express something they can identify with? They leave a comment! Besides, many times I’d read what other people had written and I’d think, “Hey, I could have written that!” or “Yes, that’s happened to me too, I should blog about it.”

So I started this blog. And I posted … and I went to other blogs and commented. Surely if you comment, and leave behind a comment with a URL, they’ll come visit, right? Maybe not. But I kept posting … and waiting. Hmmm… no visitors. So then? So then …. I waited. Of course I post anonymously. ‘Cause I’d read enough to know people have gotten fired from jobs when their identity was revealed. And my work? A BIG part of my life … and my stories .. they mostly revolve around work. But if I’m anonymous, how do I invite my friends and family to read what I’ve written, since all my internet “friends” are ignoring me? So maybe I should tell just a few people?

And then … then, I became … self-conscious. Part of the freedom of being anonymous is I could express what ever I wanted .. without having to be worried about what “real world people” thought. Hmmm – the quandary. Anonymous … with freedom to write ANYTHING … or write undisguised?

Next comes the issue of honesty. It’s fairly easy for me to be honest when I’m anonymous, but with m idnity revealed and people I know and love reading what I write? Maybe I won’t write about things that would require a level of honesty that I’m unwilling to share face to face. Hmmm … maybe I don’t have anything to write today. Or the next day, or the next. Suddenly all those funny little stories and thoughts and emotions … are far to personal or unimportant to share. So nothing gets written for a day, or two, or that week, or a month … and how important is it to post something regularly? Important if you want to retain an audience, I think.

Part of my life is telling stories. It’s one of the reasons why I’m a good public speaker – I relate personal experiences – or make up amusing stories to illustrate what I’m trying to teach. But I tell stories outside of seminars and training sessions. I’m always saving up observations and incidents … to relate at a future time to amuse my friends and family. Often people have said, “You should write a book about all the places you’ve been and things that you’ve seen and that have happened to you”. Privately I’ve never thought I had what it takes to be a novelist. The more I read the blogs of published writers, literary agents, and wanna be writes, the more I’ve known I’m right. But if I’m gonna blog, which stories should I releate? Only the funny ones? The ones where my wry humor and acerbic wit are exposed?

Or do people want to read about the angst, the frustration, the confusion? And if they do? Why do they want to read those type of stories? So they can think, “Thank God my life isn’t like that?” Or perhaps, “And I thought “I” had it bad … but that MitMoi? Man – her life sucks!” Or do they read to see where it goes .. to add another beam of illumination to their own lives?

Next month, the circle I attend will talk about personal journaling. It will be interesting to find out who writes, and why they write. Is it private or do they share? Is it easy or hard? Are they consistent or sporadic?

In an attempt to be more disciplined in my posting, I have signed up to participate in National Blog Posting Month. We’ll see where it ends up.

NaBloPoMo

It's a commitment ... care to join me?