Raise a Glass

December 31, 2010

As you all prepare for your fun New Year’s Eve festivities, I thought I might share the recipe for our favorite house drink, the espresso martini — a Fordeville specialty and party staple. 

Skeptical?  Yes, we’ve heard the protests and snickering before.  I’ll cut to the chase and tell you why you should try one:

  • You don’t have to be a martini person to enjoy it (but you do have to like coffee).
  • No, it’s not a chick drink.  We don’t make them all froufy with Baileys.  Keep reading.
  • It mixes two of my favorite vices:  very potent caffeine and very potent alcohol.
  • You don’t get all sleepy after a few cocktails.  Au contraire.  Way contraire.
  • No, it’s still not a chick drink.  Have one and then come back to me.

Back in 2004, while on vacation in St. Martin, we had a bartender serve these up and they were sublime. Since then, we’ve been on a quest to replicate his exact blend.  It’s easy to screw up — trust me, we’ve seen it done plenty of bad ways. P, ever the perfectionist, has spent a fair amount of time over the years tweaking the recipe to get it just right, during which time he has converted many family members and friends into believers (I’m looking at you, Markus).  So, in the spirit of holiday sharing, here you go.

Fordeville Espresso Martinis

First, wet your martini glass and put it in the freezer for a few minutes to chill it.  Then, combine in a shaker:

  • 2 oz very strong coffee or espresso
  • 1 oz espresso vodka
  • 1/2 oz Kahlua
  • 1 oz vanilla vodka

Shake with ice.  Serve very cold.  Yield:  1 drink.  Don’t operate any heavy machinery.

OK, now I want one, but I’ll wait a few hours.  Enjoy, and Happy 2011!

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Filed Under: Food & Drink, Holidays 5 Comments

Auld Lang Syne

December 30, 2010

“What does this song mean? My whole life, I don’t know what this song means. I mean, ‘Should old acquaintance be forgot?’ Does that mean that we should forget old acquaintances, or does it mean if we happened to forget them, we should remember them, which is not possible because we already forgot?” — When Harry Met Sally

2010, I don’t want to part with you.  You were good to me, and I am so grateful.  With you, I saw all of this happen:

  • We moved out of the city and became suburbanites.  Although P claims I left claw marks at the Lincoln Tunnel when leaving my city life, I couldn’t be happier in our house.  This also meant my return to driving a car — fellow motorists of NJ, sorry about that.
  • Our daughter went from sweet little infant to crazy, climbing, mind-of-her-own toddler who is (in a genetically inexplicable turn of events) obsessed with shoes and bags.  And cute as hell every step of the way.
  • Our son rolled with the change of moving homes and two new schools.  His imagination exploded and I love to hear his stories unfold every day.  He also mastered potty training (OK, so it took almost all of 2010 and cut years from my life, but in the end, we got there).  And, in a trend that I expect I’ll continue to report in upcoming years, he continues to be obsessed with trains.
  • Fordeville came to life in this very space.  A very big development for me, even if only four or so people read it (thanks, Mom, and three random car buffs who came here accidentally after googling “De Ville” and promptly left).
  • And, most importantly, our loved ones are healthy, our friends are dear to us, we are both employed and life is good.

Did bad things happen?  Sure.  Dramas, change and general chaos reared their ugly heads a fair amount but I can’t complain.  Really, I can’t.  And although my grandmother passed away this year, we were grateful for the long and healthy life she had.  Grateful for getting to see her that last day.  And grateful that she did not suffer.

So, 2011, I see you peering around the corner.  And I won’t lie to you — I am hesitant.  I don’t like change.  And, in a freakish but entirely true admission, I don’t like odd-numbered years and am especially afraid of prime numbers.  I prefer my numbers even — from passcodes to roulette picks, you’ll rarely find an odd, and certainly not a prime, number from me.  I can’t explain it but please know that 12 months of 2011 is freaking me out a bit. 

Anyway, filed under “things I cannot change,” I will have to embrace 2011 soon enough, or at least cordially shake its hand until we get to know each other a bit better and see what’s in store.  I resolve not to list any formal resolutions but here are a few things I’m thinking about tackling to make 2011 a good year.

  • Be greener.  I can’t promise any homegrown compost or swear to a minimalist lifestyle but I will say goodbye to plastic bags forever, be more conscious of consumption and think about other easy and meaningful ways to stop being an eco-terrorist (yes, that means the end of my beloved 1.5 liter Poland Springs bottle habit).
  • More tech stuff, please.  This was the year of the Facebook, the FourSquare and the Fordeville for me (the tweet was 2009), as well as the loss of my Apple virginity via iPhone and, now, iPad.  Pretty good progress.  But let’s see what’s next (Tumblr, I’m looking at you) or how to make these things work together better.  Or how to wed my gadgets into better “make life easier” co-existence.  Because this seems stupid.  
  • Be less digital  — sometimes.  Whatchoo talkin about Willis?  You just said to amp it up next year.  Yes, but I’ve got to step away from the online life when I’m with my kids.  That whole balance thing — never was my strong suit.  Being more present for them is something I can’t imagine regretting someday, even if I do miss your awesome tweet, email or Facebook post in the meantime.
  • On a related note, I will slow the fuck down (also, see “clean up my language” under past failed resolutions).  This year was 500 mph.  Every day.  The breathing room was little to none.  And though I’ve always thought that I thrive this way, maybe I don’t.  Because the sad truth is that I am missing things that are right under my nose.  And not just paying a bill on time because I can’t find it (again).  I mean the real stuff that life is made of.  Note to self in 2011:  Stop missing it.
  • A return to current movies, books and music — ones that don’t revolve around toddlers. Enough said.
  • Cook more.  By “cook,” I mean the use of the big appliance on the bottom, not the one with all the buttons and the rotating dish on the top.  I know how, trust me — I just, well, went 500 mph too often. 
  • Oh yeah, and get in better shape.  I’m not out to lose a bunch of weight but just be a more fit person.  Make the time for it regularly instead of that ad hoc run. (Running for the train in heels doesn’t count anymore.)

So, 2011, that’s what I’m thinking.  I hope you have good plans for me too. Let’s try to get along for the next year because, prime number fear or not, we’re stuck with each other for a bit. 

How about you guys?  Anything you want to unofficially resolve to do?  Don’t worry, I won’t hold you to it.

Happy New Year to you and yours.

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Filed Under: Family, Friends, Holidays, Tech Bits, To-Do Lists Extraordinaire 15 Comments

Transitions and Distractions

December 27, 2010

I have always found it difficult to transition out of big events. Or even just weekends.  I get the Sunday night blues pretty easily and find that first day back to the office after Labor Day to be such a sad marker to end the summer.  So you can imagine what the end of Christmas does to me.  Yes, even after all the craziness, planning and exhaustion, I do love the season and it’s hard for me to let it go. Well, this year I had two sizeable distractions to redirect my mind from boxing, gift receipts and clean up. 

First was the Great Fordeville Vomitfest of Dec 26. I’ll spare you the gruesome details — I think you get it (but remember the pie-eating contest scene in “Stand By Me”?) — and suffice it to say that my husband and son were hit hard and fast.  There was much laundry and Lysol involved.  I ‘m not yet ready to declare victory that the baby and I were spared but here’s to hoping. I felt like a Death Row inmate waiting for my day in the chamber to come.

And then there was the blizzard, or as the Twitterati called it, Snowpocolypse. I think we have just over two feet of snow here. But I enjoy this stuff. I get all sucked into the ongoing Storm Watch news coverage and just love how peaceful and pretty it is. But, then again, I’m not at an airport, going into labor or seeking out emergency dental work. I’m just home cleaning up after the puke aftermath, decontaminating with the zeal and care of a HazMat team. My poor husband, who emerged from 20 hours in bed to find we had moved to the Polar Ice Cap, is now recovered and, I suspect, missing our days in the city when we were not responsible for any snow clearance.   Does anyone have a snowblower we can borrow?

So with all of the unexpected activity of the last 36 hours, I didn’t get a chance to be sad that Christmas is over, though I have sought solace in the presence of massive leftovers.  But it was a great day, and my first large-scale family dinner went pretty well overall. The top things I learned (I realize these don’t apply to everyone):

–Getting dinner on the table always takes longer than you think.  Always.
–Load ’em up on appetizers (see dinner timing warning, above).
–A lot of planning ahead goes a long way.  I sound 80 but whatever.  It really helped to have a plan.
–This falls into the camp of highly obvious and probably just my problem, but you need more than one pie server.  Why do I own only one ? It’s unclear.  I love pie. And people love to bring pie.  My bad.
–Above all, and listen carefully here: Never, ever believe someone who says that he’s not sick, but he just ate something bad. Especially if that person has you over to his house on Christmas Eve.  Because, really, that person has a highly contagious stomach virus that will ultimately take out seven of his own relatives just 24 hours later.  Yeah, I’m a little bitter.

But enough about post-holiday vomit.  Back to the merriment recap.  Here are some photos of the big day.

I wish I had a better shot of the Christmas Eve luminaries that lit our entire street.  It was gorgeous.  A long-standing tradition in the neighborhood but it was our first year here, so we were stunned by the end result.

The kids all dressed up and ready to party — or tear open gifts.  And con endless amounts of junk food out of our relatives.

I thought I could pull off “retro/sparkly” with this centerpiece idea but it ended up looking a little tacky/cheapo instead.  After a few cocktails on Christmas, I think I described it as Martha Stewart hitting the crack pipe and unloading a CVS discount aisle into vases.  Oh well, I tried.

I’m not a girly girl but I do love a fancy holiday dress on my daughter.  And this one I adored.  She was twirling around in it all night and I really had a few moments when I knew I never wanted to forget how she looked this Christmas at 17 months old and loving life.

After hours of adoring his new Thomas the Train tent, my son passed out and said goodnight to Christmas right there.  Too cute.

The puking men bounced back, ate food and began the formidable task of shoveling.  Notice the height of the snow next to my 3 year-old.

And I’ll leave you with this — because nothing says blizzard like a baby stuffed into a sumo-like snowsuit and deposited atop a large drift.

Now, back to the business of shoveling, transitioning out of 2010 — and finishing the Christmas leftovers.

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On the 8th Day of Christmas

December 21, 2010

I’m not a horrible procrastinator but I do cut things pretty close (yes, there’s a difference) — there just isn’t much room for error or regrouping.  I have lists upon lists, divided into sub-lists, and that keep me on track.  If something unexpected goes awry, though, the wheels can quickly fall off the wagon.

And so comes the tale of  how a certain home furnishings company almost pushed me over the edge of holiday sanity yesterday.

We’re hosting 20 people for Christmas dinner.  I’ve never done this before — we always lived in an apartment in Manhattan and simply didn’t have the space.  So while I was excited to have my hostessing debut this year, I hadn’t planned on a massive work deadline basically killing any and all Christmas productivity last week.  I’m behind, let’s say.  But that’s OK — I keep adjusting my lists to put us back on track.

So it was yesterday morning when I said to P that our new area rug for the dining room should be arriving any day/minute.  After months of back-order waiting, it was to have shipped on December 13.  P raised a suspicious eyebrow and thought maybe it was a good idea to check on the shipping status of said rug.   I was sure it was just on the slower end of arrivals due to holiday shipping volumes.  We still had four business days to receive it.  That’s an eternity in Fordeville Productivity Time (as the race to purge the basement continues, almost approaching reality show levels of entertainment).

You can see where this is going.

Let me back up a minute.  You know when you find the *perfect* item for your home and you’re just dying to get it in place?  That’s how I felt about this rug.  I loved it.  I knew it was going to look fabulous.  Silly but true.  And we needed it, not only for acoustic purposes (hardwood floors + 2 toddlers = hearing loss) but also to finish off the dining room where 20 people will be sitting on Saturday for Christmas Dinner. 

Again, you can see where this is going.

I called the company around lunch time yesterday, order number in hand.  A very nice, if not overly mellow, woman named Marilyn typed it in.  Awkward pause.  Then, a far too casual and sort of disbelieving:  “Oh, wow, look at this.  Nobody called you?”

Blood pressure rising.

I assured Marilyn, whom I was quickly starting to dislike, that nobody had called me.  It was at that point that she said this:  “Looks like that rug won’t be shipping until May 30.”

Excuse me? 

I was pretty good, I must say — maybe because I was experiencing denial, as I saw no room in my sub-lists for “purchase new area rug for dining room that you will like just as much and have it arrive by Christmas.”  No dice.  Surely Marilyn was wrong.

Nope.  May 2011 it is.  She felt a little bad, but not at all approaching the level of “let me do something to make this up to you” that I needed in that moment.  Marilyn, you sort of suck.  And I think you are on too many meds because you have a dulled sense of compassion and urgency.  You are also oblivious and  numb to my impending freak out session — which I will try very hard not to take out on you.  But I think I hate you because I have nowhere else to direct my anger right now.

Now I am thinking irrationally.  I know nothing about rug-making but, let me assure you, this was not some custom-loomed Persian magnificence that I ordered.  It was a nice area rug from a large American home furnishings company that sends a catalog to each of you on a regular basis.  I also know nothing of the production chain process in retail.  But somehow my line of questioning toward Marilyn took this turn:

“Well, I’m confused.  Why May?  How can it take that long?” (Mentally,  I added: “Is someone flying to the Far East and hand weaving these — a person who won’t start doing so until, say, mid-March?”) 

Crickets.  Sorry, Marilyn, I know you can’t answer these questions.  It’s not your job to trace my almost-rug’s origins and production path.

I try begging.  Maybe there is just one rug left somewhere they could send to me?  Just because I can’t find time to buy another.  Come on.

Uh, no.  May 2011.

Fine.  At this point I muttered something about  her company ruining Christmas.  She said, distantly, “Oh.  I’m sorry.”

Look, I know I’m being dramatic.  I don’t *need* the rug.  This is not what Christmas is about.  I get it.  Before you tell me to have some perspective and think about, say, Rwanda, I assure you, I am well-aware of how stupid my disappointment is.  I’m pretty sure that my 20 guests won’t walk in and demand to know why I don’t have a dining room rug.  But I’m Type A and I like things how I like them.  And I don’t like adding to my well-crafted lists unexpectedly — especially on December 21.

And clearly Marilyn’s place of employment became the cathartic outlet for my holiday stress.  We all have one.

I gently suggest the following to my nemesis Marilyn:  “How about this?  How about if I find another rug of yours that I like, in stock, you send it to me overnight with no shipping charge.”

Marilyn thought that was a fine idea.  How novel.  Maybe she can use that sometime in the future, being in customer service and all.

In the end, it wasn’t about the rug.  I get that.  We all have our holiday breaking points and anything can set them off.  And I know if left myself just a little more breathing room, a little more leeway for things to not go smoothly all the time, this stuff wouldn’t get to me.

Anyway, I resolved not to spend too much time fixing the whole situation.  It just wasn’t an option if I wanted to have food on the table Saturday and stocking stuffers for my kids.  I took 30 minutes, scoured the Internet and found an almost-identical rug — in stock at a location near our house (read: no crazy overnight shipping).  And, at half price (thanks, Santa — or karma)! 

P is picking it up today, and I will think of Marilyn not-so-fondly as I walk over it and inevitably spill all kinds of things on it this Christmas.

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Filed Under: Holidays, Project Colonial, That Which Drives Me Crazy 4 Comments

Santa’s Sandwich

December 16, 2010

{Photo courtesy NYC Food Guy}

I was thinking about Christmas traditions.  This, of course, brings my mind to cookies (it’s easy for me to bridge quickly from any given topic to baked goods). Did you all leave milk and cookies for Santa as a kid?

We didn’t.  In our house, we were raised to leave Santa an Italian hero on Christmas Eve.  Seriously.

If you’ve never had a real Italian hero, well — that’s a whole other discussion for another day (and you have my sympathy, by the way).  But my mom used to make them a lot when we were kids, mainly because my father loved them.  She piled up the meats, the cheese, some shredded lettuce, oil and vinegar.  Amazing.

So how stupid were my sisters and I not to put the pieces together?  It’s like a basic 2nd grade workbook problem:

  • Dad loves Italian heroes. 
  • Santa loves Italian heroes. 
  • Dad and Santa were under the same roof Christmas Eve. 
  • Therefore, Santa must be…
  • (Come on, girls, you can figure this out)

Nope, we were clueless.

Maybe my parents billed it that Santa couldn’t run on cookies all night and needed a real meal (or sandwich) at some point in his travels.  Maybe it was about food for the reindeer.  But, if I’m really honest with myself, I don’t think they had to sell it at all.  I think we just believed them because leaving that Italian hero on Christmas Eve was what we always did.

 And that’s what I like about tradition — you don’t question it because it’s just the way it’s done your family.  It’s not until we’re older that we compare notes with the real world and realize that our way might have been wonderfully different, a little quirky, pretty naive or — in some cases — just a bit off kilter (see Competitive Post-Thanksgiving Gaming).

But I like the story of Santa’s sandwich and, as my kids grow up, I wonder what variations we’ll bring into our own Christmas traditions — and whether I should buy some sopressata, cheese and a 6-foot roll this week.

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Filed Under: Family, Food & Drink, Holidays 9 Comments

Toy Story Redux

December 13, 2010

Greetings from Pre-Holiday Crazytown.  Surely you’ve been there, or perhaps you are even visiting right now.  My stay here will last about two weeks, during which time I may implode.

Big work deadlines.  Hosting 20 people for Christmas.  A not-really-decorated house.  An intimidating shopping list.  And more big work deadlines (bah humbug, Corporate America).

If I did yoga, this would be where I’d insert some appropriate term to describe how I should be clear, calm and focused.  Instead I just had my third cup of coffee and wish I still smoked cigarettes.

In my travels through this land of madness, I went to Toys R Us on Friday night.  No, I wasn’t thinking clearly.  Yes, I regretted it immediately. 

But there was an upside.  In my sort of punchy and way overtired state, I really got a strange kick out of some of the toys on the shelves.  Let me break from my insanity for a few minutes to share some of my amusement.

Item #1:  Barbie Glam Vacation Jet.  So, for those of you who wondered how Barbie fared coming out of the recession, don’t worry.  She’s living large and travels exclusively by private jet now.  I guess she ditched the motorhome of my childhood years, moved on to the convertible and then either met a very handsome multi-millionaire or did a hard-core renogiation of her contract with Mattel.  Either way, well played, Barbie.  And if you’re wondering who the brunette is on the packaging, it must be her new and opportunistic BFF who has latched on to the jet-setting lifestyle.  Or one of the Kardashians.  (As for Barbie’s whereabouts, those are her feet on the far right-hand side of the photo — I couldn’t get the whole box in the shot — but she is sipping drinks in the cabin with her seat definitely not in the upright position). 

Item #2:  The McDonald’s Drive-Through Center.  First of all, it was news to me that McDonald’s has a whole line of toys.  So, not only can you get this fabulous set, but you can also really pimp it out with a host of fast food and other accessories (the cash register and, of course, the McFlurry maker) for the full Golden Arches experience.  Trust me, I’m not all sanctimommy when it comes to fast food, but this just seems, well, a bit off.  I don’t need my toddlers knowing about the McRib just yet (I fear it myself).  Or a deep fryer.  Maybe it’s just me.

Item #3.  The 100% Official Simpsons Super Donut Factory.  Doh!  Now we’re talking.  I could make a case to bump an Easy Bake Oven from any kid’s list in favor of this find.  I’m waiting for them to add the Kwik-E-Mart toy that produces Squishees.  Next year, Santa — please!

If you guys have others to add, please share.  I need the entertainment. 

And now back to my regularly scheduled chaos.

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Christmas Music Confessional

December 10, 2010

It’s true — I love Christmas music.  But that’s not the confession — the confession is that some of my favorites are cheesy.  Extremely cheesy.  And I know I’m not alone — it’s just something nobody talks about openly.  A dirty little secret, if you will.

But, look, I think we all get a pass when it comes to Christmas music.  And I’ll go out on a limb and tell you my favorites if you tell me yours.  Deal? 

(This is feeling like a precarious one-way agreement right about now, but I’ll go ahead and trust you to play fair.  Here we go.)

  • I’ll start out safe and lead with John Lennon’s “Happy Christmas (War is Over).”  This song kills me.  Tears — every time.  Gorgeous and sad and sweet.  As long as John & Yoko weren’t singing it naked in bed — that would ruin it for me.  If you want to veer this song into cheesy territory, it’s just one remake away with Neil Diamond’s cover (I’m not a fan of that one.  Trust me, I can do cheesy — as you’ll soon see — but I need the original in  this case).

 

  • “Do They Know It’s Christmas?”  As a child of the 80s, I won’t even bother apologizing for loving this song.  It’s my birthright.  I remember my sister getting the 45 single (gulp) and we played it over and over.  And the video — Sweet Jesus.  I. Loved.  It.  My friends and I would make sure we knew which artist was singing which part and we especially held our breaths for the killer solos by Simon LeBon and Bono (the latter still being my favorite part of the song).  I just looked online at the full Band Aid roster of singers and I think I feel my leg warmers falling down.  Kool and the Gang?  Really? YouTube Preview Image

 

  • Apparently nobody comes home for Christmas and there are all kinds of ways to sing about it.  In that theme are two of my favorites — similarly titled yet very different songs:  “Baby Please Come Home for Christmas” and “Christmas (Baby Please Come Home).”    Both of these have multiple versions, but on the first song I like the Eagles and the Aaron Neville covers the best.  On the second, there is no comparison to the old Darlene Love version  — but the U2 version is also great.

 

  • Veering further into total holiday depressive mode — I love, love Joni Mitchell’s “River,” even if it makes me want to jump out of a window in utter despair.  And — cheesy alert:  There is a little-known remake of this song that is sung by, of all people, Robert Downey, Jr.  Apparently, he sang it during one of his guest spots on Ally McBeal and it’s fabulous (the cover, not the Ally McBeal episode).  The man can sing — and I just love him overall, so there’s that.  Say what you will.

OK I’m saving my truly cheesy favorites for last.  And I’m really hoping someone is going to come to my defense on these. 

  • I can’t even talk to you if you can’t get behind Dan Fogelberg’s “Same Old Lang Syne.”  No, I’m not joking.  “Met my old lover in the grocery store — The snow was falling Christmas Eve…”  Yes, that one.  Fucking kills me.

    • ?

And, finally, some real risky choices to tie this up.  Strangely, both of these last two songs have the same name but are entirely different.  So, under the category of “All I Want for Christmas Is You”…

  • This one is a family favorite but not terribly well-known, unless you are one of the five global members of the Vince Vance & the Valiants Fan Club.  I have no idea what else they sing — I think they are a country outfit — but what a great song, released in 1989.   It’s got a twangy, sort of retro feel.  And it’s pretty cheesy.  Bring it! ?
  • Lastly, yes, I’ll say it.  I love the Mariah Carey song.  I know, I know.  Cheesy.  But I’m owning it.  I’m not typically a Mariah fan but there is something about this song.  It reminds me of the old Phil Spector Wall of Sound  (and if you don’t know what that is, then you have no business shaming me for my song choices — that’s a fair deal, I think).  And after all the other downer songs I listed, it’s nice to have an upbeat, (almost) happy one in the mix.

So there you go — those are some of my holiday favorites, in no particular order.  Honorable mention to The Ramones’ “Merry Christmas (I Don’t Want to Fight Tonight),” Ella Fitzgerald/Louis Armstrong’s “Baby It’s Cold Outside” and The Beach Boys’ “Merry Christmas Baby.”  I may add more later.  But in the meantime, who’s going to play nice and tell me theirs?

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Filed Under: Entertainment, Holidays 18 Comments

Short Circuits

December 6, 2010

My brain is short-circuiting today. Not one full and coherent thought has been produced. So, I’m sorry, but all I’ve got right now are a bunch of disjointed and not terribly important nuggets. Or maybe more like morsels, since I keep thinking about baking.  You know, holidays and all.  Or just Mondays in general.

I’ll stick with food for a minute (well, forever).   You may remember my quest to visit Eataly.  Well, I went and it was fantastically odd. 

Would I do my grocery shopping there?  No, not at $32/bottle for olive oil.  But I’ll gladly return to consume their wine and eat delicious cheese.  In fact, I’m going back next week — after all, it wouldn’t be a fair assessment without hitting the gelato.

Moving on to religion, naturally (shouldn’t it always follow cheese, wine and ice cream?).  My in-laws informed us over the weekend that the church where we were married in Manhattan has been bestowed the distinct and apparently rare-ish honor of Basilica status. What this means will take a better Catholic than me to explain but I do love Old St Patrick’s — lots of history there, both for New York City and for Fordeville. Plus I think our marriage might be more binding now. I told P now he’s really stuck with me. You don’t mess with Basilica vows.

Back on the fury ranch, my commentary on AT&T’s inability to carry a decent signal was apparently not an anomaly.  Today, Consumer Reports came out with the results of their survey on wireless carriers, where AT&T came in dead last.  The PR gal in me felt pretty bad for my flack counterparts in their shop — those are surely not fun questions to field from the press — but not without some Schadenfreude.

OK, we’ve covered food, church and phones — I think we’re good for now.  Sorry you had to be on the receiving end of my randomness. Let’s hope full brain functionality and thought connectivity is restored tomorrow.  Maybe I need a baked good to get me back on track.

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Filed Under: Entertainment, Food & Drink, Places Near and Far, Tech Bits 1 Comment

To The North Pole, Via NJ

December 3, 2010

My son is a serious train nut.  All day long, he talks of pistons, buffers and coal tenders — words I never breathed before he was born but now have a prominent place in our house.  He obsesses over which trains to couple together, which engine will make the delivery to the quarry and which one  will bring the children in the passenger coaches, over the mountain, to the party (whose party, he hasn’t said).  He wakes up thinking about this stuff.  It’s pretty hard core.

And while Thomas & Friends are his usual trains of choice,  he also loves The Polar Express.  So, off we went to ride the New Jersey version this past weekend.

The whole set-up is really cute  — it’s an old train (a diesel engine, as my son will specify) on a railway line that they run for special occasions, like the Thomas ride we took over the summer.  For The Polar Express, they had the cars all decked out with Christmas lights and decorations.  A lot of kids — and some parents — wear their pajamas.  The audio version of the book plays over the speakers and they have folks come through the cars and serve the kids cookies and hot chocolate.  Santa comes through each car too and the kids even get the little bell from the elves. 

It’s all very sweet.  And waaaay too long. 

Two hours is an eternity to hold any kid’s attention under the age of five.  And, since I was far from the only guilty party bringing small kids to this event, you end up with a train full of very antsy, very impatient kids once the novelty has worn off.  Our son was pretty good — mostly out of train intoxication — but bringing the baby (she’s 16 months) was like being on a flight around the world without buying her a seat.  Our bad.

While she was deciding what damage she could do (to the train and to us), our son, armed with his copy of The Polar Express book, followed along with the story — perfectly content. 

Until his sister went after his cookie.

She’s tough, but he prevailed — and (some) order was restored.  He got a shiny new train from the gift shop to occupy him for the remainder of the never-ending ride.

And the 16-month old ran the aisles with alternating parents, until she (and mostly we) finally tuckered out a bit.

What a trip.  We may, in fact, have gone as far as The North Pole — or so it seemed.  Great in concept, long in execution. 

Oh, and for the suggestion box:  Put some wine in those hot cocoa cups for the adults.  Because surely we’ll make the same trek next year in the name of holiday tradition — and parental amnesia.

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Filed Under: Family, Holidays, Places Near and Far 2 Comments

In Search of a Signal

December 2, 2010

Dear AT&T,

As a long-time customer, I thought I would take this opportunity to point out there is an island in your alleged service area that you might want to look into.  It’s not that big — about 13×2  miles — so I guess I can see how it has been seemingly ignored all this time with virtually no signal for service. 

But there are a lot of people crammed onto this small-ish island.  1.6 million residents, in fact.  Add in commuters and tourists and you’ve got over 2.5 million people on the island during most work days.  Yep, there’s commerce here too — with lots of big shiny buildings.  It’s pretty busy, I’d say.

And you know what?  Many of these people want to use their cell phones, their email and gaming devices of choice.  Every day.  Reliably.

Back when I first became your customer in 1996, with my first cell phone (antenna and all), I didn’t expect much in terms of coverage.  In fact, we only used our cell phones sporadically then.  We weren’t texting and certainly I didn’t have email on my phone.  But that’s when I got my cell phone number that I have retained to this day.

I moved on to a Blackberry when my then-employer told me to do so, circa 2001 or 2002.  How cool was that?  I could talk *and* have my work email on the go (which quickly went from novelty to life-changing curse).  And there was a big wheel on the side of this device to scroll up and down — very cutting-edge at the time.  I had plenty of emails that didn’t go through, attachments I couldn’t open and a ton of dropped calls.  I was used to it, though it became increasingly puzzling, as everyone on the island seemingly had a similar device in their hand.  Hm.

Now I have an iPhone.  I debated this long and hard — I really did — and, in the end, I signed your mandatory two-year service contract in exchange for this device.  Funny, though, when I think about a contract, it implies a two-way agreement to me.  So I’m curious — what’s your obligation under the terms of this alleged contract?  Because my iPhone does all kinds of cool things — as long as I don’t try to talk on it or receive incoming data on a timely basis.   And I’m starting to get a headache from looking at that spinning orb all the time that indicates my wait for data to load.  But it sure is neat otherwise.

I was looking at your coverage map online and it’s odd because this island is color-coded under “Best Coverage.”  And yet this morning I nearly threw my iPhone across the room because I couldn’t get a simple web page to load (again).  But I did hear a crazy rumor recently — or perhaps it was just urban legend — that some people have witnessed a full five bars on their signal icon!  I had no idea it went beyond three.  Is this new?  I guess that’s encouraging progress, for a small island like this.

My frustration is my own fault, really.  I let my loyalty to my cell phone number drive my purchasing decisions over the last 14 or so years.  I held out hope that you’d improve your service because, well, I figured you’d just have to by sheer open marketplace competitive principles.  Apparently, that’s not so.  (Well played on that iPhone monopoly, by the way — at least for the time being.  Verizon — can you hear me now?)

Anyway, you may want to send one of your people over to look into this.  There are plenty of bridges, tunnels, ferries and even heli-pads that allow easy access to our island for a service call.  Just give us a four-hour window and one of us locals will be here to meet you — as long as we can receive your call, text or email.

Signed,

Ready to Hang Up for Good

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Filed Under: Entertainment, Places Near and Far, Tech Bits, That Which Drives Me Crazy 6 Comments