Thursday, July 09, 2009

Growing Pains

I wanted to be a journalist ever since second grade.

The interest started with poetry I wrote in Mrs. Sadler's class at Maple Dale Elementary. Can't remember the subject of my prose, but I have a feeling it had something to do with fossils or Mothers Day. Just a guess.

That's when I discovered some people in this world make a living stringing words together. Sure, some folks balance ledgers or mend broken bones. Others litigate in courtrooms or drive buses.

My little eight-year-old self dreamed of putting pen to paper and telling stories - be they mine or someone else's.

Through the years, I meandered through school papers, eventually snagging a columnist gig at the University of Kentucky. I loved seeing my words and thoughts in print (I must admit, the byline was pretty cool, too). I also dabbled in college radio, digitally splicing bits of audio, writing scripts and voicing in a nearly soundproof room, my lips just inches away from a massive, fuzzy microphone cover.

Radio wasn't my bag, baby, and though I got such a high from writing for print, my heart coveted another vocation.

Television.

Flash forward a couple years. I was producing the 6 P.M. news in Lexington, KY, listening to police scanners, reading wires and developing breakouts to flesh out the lead story. It was flashy journalism, writing to moving pictures and soundbites, but I was still getting to tell a story.

Even if they were in 25 second fragments.

I started noticing changes six years ago.

We revamped the station website, and suddenly producers became responsible for not only managing newscasts, but posting stories online. AP wire copy or internally generated pieces, we were instructed to get content on the web as often as possible. The sense of urgency regarding the internet wasn't there yet in my shop (hell, some folks in the newsroom outright refused to post their stories online), but we knew it was something we ought to stick with to see where it went.

There were no web content producers in Lexington, KY as far back as six years ago.

A couple years later, I made my way to a Cincinnati TV station. The newsroom had web content producers and began streaming newscasts live online. All the while, stations across the country started losing revenue to the great unknown - online news.

It wasn't enough to compete against the shop across the street, or the 100 other stations on cable/satellite, we were now vying for viewers who had the chance catch all of their news from a computer.

Over time, some newsrooms started struggling with the growing behemoth of online news. Losing advertising revenue (this was years before the current economic crisis), many newsrooms started downsizing. There was talk of some stations cancelling newscasts.

It was like a womb painfully stretching to accommodate the evolution and growth of its progeny.

Sometimes progress hurts in the short term, but it forces us to adapt and develop the tools needed to face the future.

I don't know if the same analogy applies to the massive layoffs that unfolded at the Cincinnati Enquirer yesterday and today, but I am really trying to find the glass-half-full in all of this.

The city's biggest news operation lost some good journalists this week, people who wanted to tell stories for a living.

From one journalist to another, I hope they continue telling stories.


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Let the Memorials Continue All Week Long

Hitler finds out Michael Jackson is dead.

This is pretty hilarious.




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Tuesday, July 07, 2009

Raw Deal -or- Procrastination

Folks, Cincinnati cops are running plates (ed. note: turns out they are).

That's the only explanation I have for what happened tonight.

What I'm about to share with you is a bit revealing, and perhaps a bit of insight into my personality. And I'm okay with that - because I pride myself on being self deprecating, if not genuine and real.

Shit happens, and I do my best to take my lumps in stride. Life is one big learning experience, and also perhaps a test of wits and will, and with every moment I am trying to learn something, discover gratitude and move on to greener pastures.

Tonight is one of those moments.

I enjoyed a lovely evening with a friend of mine - cocktails, opera, wine - when my friend pulled on to my street and we discovered flashing lights worthy of a triple homicide.

We approached the red and blue flickering glow when my stomach sunk a little bit.

Surely not - right? Surely they weren't after me?

Folks, it doesn't matter how much volunteer work you do, and you get no brownie points for choosing a career with more noble intentions and less lucrative awards.

We all have to play by the rules - and that means paying your parking tickets.

Yes, I said parking tickets.

I racked up a few parking tickets and made the unfortunate decision to take someone's advice. This individual explained that I could wait to pay the individual tickets (each ticket amount doubles after seven days), and instead pay a collective fee on the City's amnesty day. On this day, the City allows residents to pay fines reduced to the collective face value, instead of the doubled amount due for each late ticket.

You've heard of Amnesty Day at the library - this person insisted the City of Cincinnati offered amnesty day for tickets, too. This individual generally knows what he or she is talking about, so I decided to take the advice and wait for the day when the city offered it's citizens a break.

In this rough economic time (Have you heard? The City of Cincinnati is operating on a $20 million deficit for 2009, and is expecting a $40 million deficit next year), I imagine the City is striving to boost it's revenue any way it can. That means encouraging people to spend more money downtown - and it also means collecting as much money as it's owed.

The city ain't got no money - so it's scrounging through the cushions to find what jingle it can.

Enter Kate the (not so?) Great.

I approached the cruiser with the flashing lights with a, "Hello! I think you might be towing my car." It was a polite greeting - I didn't think they were towing my car - I knew they were towing my car because the tow truck already had it's chains on the tires of my 9-3.

The police were polite - and for that I'm grateful. There's no reason to treat anyone with less than courtesy, unless you face a disgruntled attitude - and despite the unpleasantness of the situation, I offered manners and even a smile or two. I am impressed the police did the same - it not only goes against the stereotype, but contradicts other experiences I've had with men who carry guns.

Anyway.

There I was, watching the only asset to my name (you should see my 403-B and my IRA... the car is likely depreciating more slowly than they are) get wheeled away on a flat bed truck to a fenced-in parking lot on Spring Grove Avenue.

For some reason - I don't know why - I am okay with this. I will chalk it up to my Pollyanna attitude.

The police officer ran down my expected charges. Once I pay out the parking tickets, the towing fee and an $8-a-day impound charge, I'll be able to retrieve my car. The police officer said this would likely be in the neighborhood of 600 bucks.

Because there's nothing more I'd rather spend $600 on than our fine City of Cincinnati.

That tidy sum is about half of the take-home pay for a decent City job, and I guess it's my fair share of what's needed to keep Cincinnati afloat.

I guess I'm just a little disappointed that I got nabbed.

Some people only say they're sorry when they get caught doing something wrong. I'm not necessarily sorry, I'm just surprised they picked *me*. In my former life as a news producer, I used to run stories about people who ran into trouble with the law because they had something like 45 outstanding tickets.

Not six.

I've done the math and have figured out when I can get my car out of "hawk."

It looks like I'll be riding the bus for about a week or so, and that's fine with me. The ride will be a great time to reflect on life and all the gifts I've been given.

Besides, I have a great book I'm reading, and I never have time to indulge in a page or two.

See you on the bus!


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We Remember The Time


Monday, July 06, 2009

Summer Sisters

I could eat mashed potatoes every day of my life.

I have no idea if my affinity for the starchy pomme de terre is ingrained in my genetic code – what with my Irish and German ancestry – or if I am just a fan of any concoction that involves butter (never margarine), salt and a little cream.

Whatever the case may be, mashed potatoes are my deserted island food of choice.

Tomatoes just might fall behind as a close second.

At the height of season, there is no better vegetable (okay, okay, it’s a fruit) to serve as the symbol of summer. Tomatoes, in all their juicy, red glory, soak up the sun and pay it forward with fresh flavor and fleshy substance.

Tomatoes can taste clean, sweet, salty and savory depending on the variety, making this beauty the belle of the backyard garden ball.

Perhaps the best part about tomatoes is their versatility. Stew them down and you’re well on your way to a homemade red sauce. Pull them off the vine a little early and fry them up green and firm (I like to put a little seasoning in my cornmeal and fry them up in bacon fat – it’s the next best thing to being south of the Mason Dixon line). Slice up a beefsteak and place it atop Dad’s Famous Burgers, or serve up round medallions of your favorite Heirloom with fresh mozzarella.

Just like potatoes – a tomato’s possibilities are endless.

One of my favorite, no-fuss dishes for summer celebrates the tomato and it’s other Summer Sisters. Try it out and tell me what you think.

Summer Sister Pasta

1 lb box of rigatoni pasta
4 large tomatoes, diced
2 medium zucchini
½ Vidalia onion, finely chopped
¼ cup fresh basil, hand shredded
2 garlic cloves, minced
¼ cup and 1 tablespoon extra virgin olive oil
Parmesan reggiano, shredded to taste
Salt and pepper to taste
  • Slice zucchini lengthwise into strips
  • Pour 1 tablespoon evoo in sauté pan and cook zucchini until tender. Season with salt and pepper if you prefer. Be sure not to overcook, as zucchini will become limp and mushy
  • Remove zucchini strips from pan and chop into smaller pieces
  • In a large mixing bowl, add chunky diced fresh tomatoes, zucchini bits, onion, basil and diced garlic. Toss thoroughly and place to side
  • Prepare pasta according to directions on box. Drain, keeping pasta in pot
  • Add veggie mix to pasta pot, toss with remaining olive oil and shredded parmesan. Season with salt and pepper to taste and serve

Enjoy!

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Saturday, July 04, 2009

Miss Independent



America and I have a lot in common.

We're both 30-something, independent chicks celebrating a life bursting with freedom and ambition.

Granted, she's got 200 years on me, but I imagine that America and I are quite similar, being that I'm a Bicentennial Baby and nearing my own 33rd birthday.

We both get into disagreements from time to time, but maneuver through such sticky situations with utmost diplomacy. Push us to the edge, though, and we'll drop the hammer.

America and I are driven and seeking success in a variety of ventures. This focus can sometimes make life lonely. Like me, America doesn't really have a worthy partner-in-crime.

Sure, Great Britain tries, but for all his class and English refinement, he's a bit on the shrimpy side and sometimes insists America would be nothing without him.

And we all know that's balls.

Some news out just yesterday gives pause to happenin' chicks like America and me. A new study shows people who have a partner or spouse during their middle ages are more resistant to developing dementia or Alzheimer's disease. Apparently people scored better when they were married at midlife (around 50, according to this study) than if they were solo.

The way America and I are going... we could be in for a future of lost memories and cognitive decline.

But today, that worry takes a back seat to celebration.

America and I will celebrate our Independence Day with parades, cookouts and sparklers. I intend on soaking up my corner of America on the seat of a scooter, cruising around the Queen City (another great, independent lady) and scouting out some of my favorite neighborhoods.

Life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.

I dig it.
*** *** *** *** *** ***
You can celebrate the 4th of July with some of the coolest people around at this year's parade in Northside, a funky-hip neighborhood just north of Downtown Cincinnati. The eclectic crowd will sail down Hamilton Avenue beginning at noon.

Hope to see you there!


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Friday, July 03, 2009

Na na na na, na na na na

...hey, hey, hey.

Goodbye.


Some say a criminal indictment is eminent.

Others say she's plotting a (uber premature) 2012 run for the White House.

I welcome Sarah Palin to take on the latter - the GOP would be bat shit crazy to annoint her as the party's effort to take on Obama.

Bat. Shit. Crazy.



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Summer Pie

Splayed out on the couch like a beached whale, I decided it was time to get something to eat.

But what?

My hangover headache had my synapses bouncing overtime - Do I want Fatburger? How 'bout Subway? Mio's? I was torn between getting my act together and hitting the road for a bite from a neighborhood establishment or calling a benevolent place that offered delivery.

Mouth watering, I perused no less than 10 restaurant websites, weighing price points and palate payoff factors. After about 30 minutes of delay, I decided to go with the walkable, ol' neighborhood standby, Dewey's.

I started my meal with a side salad - the seasonal Strawberry and Macadamia Nut variety, including a mix of field greens, blue cheese and a raspberry poppy seed vinaigrette.



As I recall (I was so famished I inhaled this course), the salad included four or five strawberry halves. They burst with the classic flavor of summer, but were a bit soft around the edges, implying they'd been washed and cut hours ago during morning prep. No matter, the rest of the salad worked - the macadamia nuts were a great surprise - crunchy, salty and a perfect balance to the Maytag bleu cheese. I wasn't a fan of the dressing. It was thick and creamy - I'm guessing it was bottled and made thick by the emulsifiers added to prevent separation of oil and vinegar.

On to the pie.

Now, Dewey's Edgar Allen Poe pizza is my absolute favorite 'za. The conglomeration of kalamata olives, massive, whole clove roasted garlic, feta, mushrooms and chunky diced tomatoes is nirvana on a crust, and I order it every. damn. time. - even though the scent of garlic pours out of my pores for a good 24 to 36 hours after ingestion.

Tonight's offering was a great way to get intimate with Poe. The tomatoes are placed on the pizza after the bake, ripe and juicy jewels and an ace pairing with the goat cheese and it's more chalky tones. I devoured my slice in minutes, savoring the soft roasted garlic cloves and the punchy burst of the kalamata olives.

But what of the other half of the pizza?

Firmly believing variety is the spice of life, and I hemmed and hawed over whether I'd order half Poe half Green Lantern or Socrates' Revenge. Instead, I selected the seasonal variety, Dr. Dre, complete with peppers, onions, chicken, bacon, jalapeno peppers, tomatoes and a side of parmesan peppercorn ranch dressing.



I was a bit hesitant about the jalapeno peppers, wondering how they'd sit in my somewhat delicate stomach (also brought on by last night's debauchery), but decided to order this variety as planned by the good folks at Dewey's. The Amish chicken was tender and juicy, and the little salty bits of bacon gave this pizza a complex set of flavors. Rather than drizzle the dressing on top of my slices, I dipped my crust into the ranch dressing, surprised by how much I liked it's flavor.

The folks at Dewey's know good pizza, and they also know good customer service. At 5:15, the Oakley dining room was already packed, a fleet of servers zipping around and taking care of tables full of families and couples. I stood at the register, waiting a few more minutes for my take-out order, enjoying the views of the glassed-in kitchen. One of the hostesses asked me if I wanted a compliamentary soda while I waited for my pizza, and later offered paper plates, napkins and plastic flatware for my to-go order.

I didn't have the guts to tell her I was taking the pizza home to dine solo.

At least I don't have to share the leftovers.


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Wednesday, July 01, 2009

Scared But Okay

Somebody was watching me while I was in bed last night.

The night before, I brushed off my suspicions, ruling it out as an overactive imagination. I read my book, turned out the light and called it a night.

Last night I heard him clear his throat.

There I was, reading about Louis XIV when I heard the same sounds of feet shuffling. Again, I thought it was a figment of my imagination, but then I heard him cough a little bit.

*scary*

I carefully turned off the light and laid still, wanting to see if I could hear distinct footsteps walking away from my window. Thankfully I didn't. Unfortunately, what I heard next was even more scary and aggressive.

My doorbell rang.

At 12:30 in the morning.

This time, I didn't yell my classic, Excuse Me!! Instead, I shouted, "Who the hell is there? I'm calling the cops."

But I really ran to my bathroom and hid. Then I called Jos.

Because he's a man. Because he's single (and thereby doesn't have a family or spouse I would wake up and disturb in the middle of the night), and because he has a Glock 9 among other weapons.

Joseph, being the calm voice of reason, told me to call the police and then call him back.

"Okay," I said between tears. "Do I call 9-1-1 or do I look for the local number? Is this an emergency?" I was scared and wanting to do the right thing, and that includes reserving 911 for people who really need it.

I talked to the dispatcher then stood on my front porch in the rain, wearing hastily-thrown on jeans and a cashmere sweater, looking for someone who would make me feel a little safer.

Two Cincinnati Police officers arrived in separate cars about five or six minutes after I placed my call.

They dodged the drizzle and walked around to the back of the brick apartment building, looking for any signs of my Peeping Tom. The officers came back around to the front of the building and asked to take a look inside my apartment.

I must confess at this point in the post that my apartment looks pretty disastrous. I'm not going to share all of my indiscretions, but needless to say, my abode isn't in shape for house guests.

The police gave the hovel a quick look around and surmised that perhaps I needed better drapes to cover the cheap blinds provided by the apartment management.

Great.

New drapes are going to protect me from this freak?

Now my brain is processing other safety elements - motion sensor lights, dogs, alarm systems - and wondering how I am going to install these elements or take care of them (well, that part is mainly for the dog option).

I am exhausted today, I feel a little defeated and am more angry than frightened that some slimy schmuck had the power to disturb my confidence and sense of safety.

Dick.

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Monday, June 29, 2009

Making Ends Meat

Everybody's cutting back these days.

For some - it means scouting out the best happy hour deals in town, for others - it means buying less fresh produce and more beans and rice.

Months ago I blogged about my childhood misinterpretation involving a common euphemism used to discuss budgeting and stretching a paycheck. I thought Ends Meat was something families had to eat when they couldn't afford steak or chicken breasts or ground beef.

Little did I know that making ends meet does, indeed, involve tailoring your dining and cooking habits to something that is both palatable and practical.

Enter Angel Food Ministries.

I first heard about AFM a couple months ago at an office retreat. I work at one of Cincinnati's largest non-profit organizations, a place that is committed to financial stability among other priorities. I have aspirations for financial stability of my own, and was grateful our organization invited an expert to share ways we can all save money and grow wealth. (ed. note: AFM is not related to my employer in any way and does not receive funding from my employer).

AFM happens to be a place where anyone of any income level can buy a hearty supply of groceries for $30 or less.

The non-profit, non-denominational organization is dedicated to providing grocery relief and financial support to communities across the country. There are no qualifications, minimums, income restrictions, or applications to participate.

Participants call up a host church to place an order. Orders include perishables, dry goods, meats, dairy, produce - enough food to feed a family of four for a whole week - and a box of food costs only 30 dollars. AFM says they're providing the average family $65 worth of food for less than half the cost.

Sounds great, huh?

The July menu Signature Box includes ribeye steaks, a lasagna dinner entree, boneless chicken chunks, broccoli, rice, milk, eggs and other items.

AFM also offers a Seniors/Convenience Box with pre-packaged meals ($28) and an Allergen-Free Box ($25). You can even buy a Seafood Box with six pounds of seafood for $35.

What a deal.

Sometimes I am looking to stretch a buck, and the continuous rising prices of groceries have me considering which sacrifices I'll make as I cruise through the aisles toward the checkout register.

I checked online to see if I had any host sites near my neighborhood, and was thrilled to learn there's one less than two miles away from my home.

Angel Food Ministries accepts food stamps and features recipes and cooking instructions right on its website. It also says it offers its clients "restaurant grade" food items, never seconds or day-old products.

I've already scouted out the options and plan on ordering a "Signature Box" and am eyeing the "Latin Flavors Fresh Fruit and Veggie Box."

Who's coming over for dinner?

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Saturday, June 27, 2009

Jeni's in Columbus

People of Cincinnati, you're gonna hate me.



I am proud of our hometown, what with our rolling hills and spectacular tradition of good food.



Screw what the Texans say- nobody can beat our chili.



And our goetta is a special treasure I secretly want to keep for ourselves.



But (this is the bad part) if you want the best ice cream in Ohio, I'm afraid you have to head two hours north of The River.



Ms. 5chw4r7z and I are taking a round-trip jaunt to Akron as I type, and she was kind enough to offer a restroom break in Columbus.



The restroom happened to be at Jeni's Ice Cream in the Short North.



No complaints on my end.



This place is amazing.



Lambic Cherry. Grapefruit Hibiscus. Riesling Pear. A lavender flavored concoction. This place really pushes the envelope where ice cream flavors are concerned.



And it works.



I went with a trio of half scoops - Goat cheese with roasted red cherries, Thai chili and Queen City Cayenne.



The first was like a cheesecake made with Wisconsin cherries. Fantastic. Very summery and refreshing on a day when you feel like you could sweat the equivalent of your body weight.



The second involved toasted coconut, a locally made peanut butter and a hint of chili powder. Again - score. It tasted like my favorite Bangkok Bistro dish minus the noodles and whopping bill.



The third - a tribute to Ohio's southern most city (and our chili). Chocolate, cinnamon and lots of cayenne kick. The heat on this one was a slow burn- only after you swallow do you realize your tongue is burning. The only other ice cream I had that was this "hot" was a wasabe version that once came to the newsroom. Everyone was afraid but me.



What can I say - I'll try anything once.



Including Ohio's best ice cream.



Can't wait to see what the next bathroom break offers.

Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry

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Thursday, June 25, 2009

The One

She made a request for two sparkly gloves.

Not really knowing the magnitude of the pop star's talent or celebrity, Nana asked her neighbor to stitch up the two gloves because she wanted to make her granddaughters happy.

We were children of the 80s - Brig and I.

We wore Jams (never brand name - always some generic version my mom picked up at a junky outlet mall in Kings Mills) and jelly shoes (don't know if those had a brand name version - any version dished out blisters). We liked drinking juice boxes and eating Chicken McNuggets.

Michael Jackson was a part of our soundtrack.

I had a "Ken" doll of MJ, complete with the glove and a red, sparkly jacket adorned in gold rope and other militaryesque elements. Brigid got a MJ tape one year for Christmas - I think it was the same year I got Madonna's Like a Virgin.

I would stand in my bathing suit, home after a hot summer day at the pool, desperate to get in a few minutes of MTV before my parents made me change the channel (they weren't too fond of some of the more provocative videos on the "new" network), loving any chance I could get to see Beat It, Thriller and the rest of what would come to make an A List playlist on any iPod.

Thriller was the best selling album of all time - and you only have to listen once to know why.

The beat that can induce a racing heart. Dance moves ingrained in our collective memory. The quasi-falsetto voice that imparts sensitivity and gentleness.

Every girl loved Michael Jackson, and every boy wanted to be him.

Kids our generation bought clothes that looked like Michael Jackson's. We practiced the moonwalk in the full length mirror until our moves were good enough to display at the school dance. We wore high waders and white socks.

Michael made us switch to Pepsi - if for even a brief, shimmering moment.

Ask anyone and they'll have a favorite Michael Jackson song. For some it's the obvious Thriller. Others love PYT, Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough or even Man in The Mirror. I am a Billie Jean kind of girl. That hot drum action, synthesizer and Michael's background wailing is enough to get me to be the one, "who would dance, on the floor, in the round."

Over time, things changed.

Michael became ever more eccentric, picking up pet monkeys, Elephant Man bones and friendships with Macaulay Culkin. He slept in pressurized oxygen chambers and married the daughter of the King of Rock 'n Roll. His fashion sense swayed to the other side of the pendulum.

Wacko Jacko dove head first into plastic surgery.

Through it all, many of us held on to hope he would muddle through the chaos and crank out the next Rock With You or Black Or White.

His days turned dark - mired with accusations of child molestation, child endangerment (for the dangling-the-baby-on-the-balcony episode in Berlin), and financial woes. MJ's nose started falling off. Some wondered if all these troubles were the product of a stolen childhood and the pressure of success and carrying the family's burdens at such a young age.

We will never really know the truth behind some of Michael Jackson's struggles.

Part of me wonders whether we really even need to know in the first place.

Michael Jackson is a legendary musician of unparalleled talent. Michael Jackson is a father. His spirit surpasses his earthly existence, made indelible through vinyl, cassette, CD and iPod playlist.

Michael Jackson will continue to make girls (8 to 48 and beyond) squeal on dance floors at school dances and bat mitzvahs and weddings and nightclubs.

Michael Jackson will live on forever in many hearts. Mine chooses to remember him as a music icon, a man who stacked the deck with classics for the 80s.

Regardless of your opinion of Michael Jackson or your age, it's hard for anyone to disagree with his talent and sheer star wattage.

Even my 70-something grandmother could recognize the international phenomenon that was Michael.

Brig and I never did get those gloves Nana asked the neighbor to make for us.

No matter.

I have plenty of memories.

The kid is not my son, indeed.

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Bad Blogger

I've been a bad, bad girl.

Not only do I rip lines from Fiona Apple songs to set up a blog post, but I also have apparently forgotten to blog.

My heart, my soul and my neighbor's unlocked wifi greatly regret this discrepancy.

The Blogging Gods have offered up sizeable window of free time this Thursday evening, and I intend on giving you all a little more of what you've been dying to read.

*smack*

You know you want it.




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Monday, June 22, 2009

Wealth is alive in Cincinnati

Spotted: Carl Lindner on his way home.

Wonder if he was just as impressed by my '01 Saab.

PS everyone cool has a vanity plate.
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry

Note: Apologies for calling Carl "Charles" when I first posted this... Something got lost between my blogging-via-BlackBerry and downshifting onto the ramp at Smith Edwards. I guess the brain can process only so many functions...



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Thursday, June 18, 2009

Take A Good, Hard Look At The Mother Fucking Boat

I must have won the "Good Time Lottery."

The day after my vacation, I'm set to ride on a 36-person yacht cruise on the Ohio River. My friends and I are sailing to Riverbend to enjoy the sounds of the Symphony and dine on tantalizing treats created by Chef Sean Daly of Hugo, who be on the boat to prepare dinner-by-the-bite.

As Andy Sanburg has suggested, I'm bringing a pashmina and my flippy floppies with me.

T-Pain will not, however, be joining me for this junket.




No doubt, next week will be tomato soup and Netflix.

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Tuesday, June 16, 2009

Ristorante Tuscany - Desert Springs Resort

Someday I will go to Italy.

I will have a boyfriend/fiance/husband/lover who will join me on an adventure to discover frescoes, fine wine and the romantic songs made for gondola rides. We will labor over hours-long meals punctuated by the fruits of the earth, all while watching the sun go down into the sea.

Until that time comes, though, I am just as happy to go to "Tuscany" with dear friends.

Sweet and I decided to enjoy a leisurely meal Saturday evening at the J.W. Marriott Desert Springs resort in Palm Desert, CA. The resort comes with all of the trappings you'd expect at a luxurious, sprawling complex complete with golf courses, pools (there are nearly 20 of 'em on the property) and other luxurious amenities. We decided to take advantage of the gondola ride to make the "long" journey from the hotel to the Ristorante Tuscany.



(editor's note: this photo shows me this strapless dress needs far more minding than I realized).

I did a bit of recon on the restaurant prior to our reservation and discovered it was Restaurant Week in Palm Desert/Palm Springs. Score! I was anxious to sink my teeth into some top rate dishes for (not quite) a pauper's price.

We were ushered to a beautifully appointed table in the middle of a dining room complete with trickling fountains, beautiful drapery and windows looking out onto the "lake," swaying palm trees and expansive golf course. The walls are covered in trompe l'oil, depicting frescoes and other luxurious painting.

The tricked out surroundings were just a taste of what was to come.

The dining room was staffed by a fleet of people who were charged with appeasing our every whim. More prosecco? Coming right up. Another slice of the black olive bread? But of course. The bread was dense with a hard crust and full of bits of black olives, a spot-on flavor to enjoy when sopping up the EVOO and 25-year-old aged balsamic vinegar.

Both Candace, er, Sweet and I chose the fresh mozzarella starter for our Restaurant Week 3-course meal.



A huge piece of fresh mozz was drizzled in Tuscan EVOO and the same aged balsamic vinegar we enjoyed with our bread. Heirloom tomatoes and micro basil greens sat atop two slivers of crustini. In the photo above, Hawaiian Pineapple on the left, and Cherokee Purple on the right. The tomatoes popped with the salty, seasonal flavor you expect during the height of summer.

But, wait! You say. Summer's not even here yet. It's still spring.

Well, yes. But in So Cal, summer and it's sweltering heat have definitely arrived.

I went back to Tuscany to dine a second night and ordered the same fresh mozz appetizer, discovering the crustini wasn't as crisp as I enjoyed the first time around, making me wonder whether these tomato/crustini pieces are pre-assembled during the kitchen's afternoon prep time. If that's the case, it's a bit disappointing as tomatoes-and-crustini is a simple thing to make as each diner orders.

When it came time to choose our entree, I ordered something I'd almost NEVER choose. Chicken. To me, chicken is pedestrian, bland, the-dish-on-the-menu-for-picky-people-who-never-order-anything-exotic. Knowing my dining companion was going to choose the salmon, and also knowing I had absolutely no interest in the third option (a glorified spaghetti bolognese), I decided to pick the chicken and pray I'd find a surprise on the plate.



The chicken far exceeded my considerably lowered expectations. Topped with oyster mushrooms, alba clamshell mushrooms and shitakii mushrooms in a marsala demi glace, served with gorgonzola polenta and two asparagus stalks, the chicken pulled apart easily - releasing its juices upon the first bite.

I typically find chicken to be pretty bland, but was quite impressed this piece of organic meat soaked up the wine-y flavors of the marsala glaze and paired mushrooms. The star of the plate, though, was the gorgonzola polenta. Creamy and refined, it didn't have the gritty consistency of other polenta I've enjoyed. The gorgonzola flavor subtly punctuated each bite, not overpowering the corn, cream and other ingredients in the dish.



Candace went with the salmon dish -slightly crusted in semolina and topped with the most delicious tomato marmalade. The fish was centered on steamed spinach and arugula, the entire dish awash in a lemon goat cheese sauce and ringed with yellow and red grape tomatoes.

After her first bite of one of the tomatoes, Candace said she thought it tasted like squirts of ketchup. I enjoyed this dish during my second go-around at Tuscany, and agreed the grape tomatoes packed the sweetness they promise to deliver. The salmon carried though with the sweetness theme - I swear mint was used at one point during its preparation. The lemon goat cheese sauce was gentle on flavor, but a perfect accompaniment to the already-moist fish.



For dessert, I went with the classic tiramisu.


The marscapone mousse and pistachio creme anglaise were served up in a huge martini glass, dusted with cocoa powder and topped with candied pistachios. Light, creamy, it was heavy on the cheese/cream flavor but was a little light on the espresso flavor I prefer with my lady fingered cake.


Candace went with an assortment of gelattos, served in a cup made of sugar and with fresh, seasonal berries.

I didn't get a taste of the gelatto, but on my second night at the restaurant, I went with a trio of creme brulees - banana, nutella and vanilla. To say that I was tasting heaven would not be an overstatement.

I came to love creme brulee while spending several years working at The Wharf Restaurant in Madison, CT. I loved firing up the blow torch and melting the sugar granules into a glassy, caramelized layer coating the custard. The creme brulees at Tuscany didn't have the thick layer I've come to love, but the outstanding flavors more than compensated for that shortcoming. I am now determined to find a recipe for nutella creme brulee, knowing full well I won't be able to reproduce the flavors and the moments of our "time in Tuscany."

But like I said, Italy is for another time and another place in life.

Someday.



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Friday, June 12, 2009

If I were a battery, there would be a red flashing light warning my user about the impending doom of my collapse.

My body, my brain and my heart are exhausted, and I am desperate for a little break from reality.

Thankfully, the desert beckons - promising to recharge with rest, relaxation and a little fun.




As I type, I'm embarking on a journey to Palm Desert for a girls' trip. The vacation promises lots of sunshine, dining and fun nightlife.

That sounds great to me.


My dad tried to discourage me from blogging during my vacation. I don't know that I'll have any problems with that request, though I may feel compelled to share with you all some photos of our antics in So Cal.

I'm sure you all won't mind.
In all, I think there are nine girls setting out for this journey.

We will certainly miss our family and friends, and may even grow a bit homesick. But please don't feel too bad for us. We'll be be staying in 2.5 villas that look just like this:



Life is rough sometimes.

Then it dishes out beautiful moments that make it all worth it.

I plan on savoring every second.

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Thursday, June 11, 2009

Hot Mess

Vagina.

It's a word I don't say frequently, so I thought it best we get it out in the open before we go any further.

Vagina.

Just saying those consonants and vowels has the power to make grown, surly men blush and squirm. The scientific term compels old ladies to purse their lips and shake their heads in disapproval and little boys to grow wild and manic and full of giddy, taunting contempt for the "fairer sex."

Vagina.

Like I said, it's not a word I say frequently, so even I need some getting used to seeing the word splayed out there for all the world to see.

I became intimately familiar with vagina, actually many of them, thanks to the most recent show put on by Falcon Theatre in Newport.

The Vagina Monologues is a deep exploration in the many feelings women experience in connection with their most special, secret, private, personal part of their anatomy. The seven performers share a variety of scenarios related to their womanhood - first orgasms, self discovery, rape, lesbianism, love and sex. The play also covers the many words society uses in place of the V Word and the collection of emotions women encounter when they have their first period.

For the faint of heart - this is not.

The company does a good job of holding the audience's hand - letting us ease in to the subject matter, because let's be frank, this isn't dinner party conversation for most folks.

We laugh. We empathize. Bits of anger bubble in our blood and then we are rewarded with a moment that makes us reflect on our own experiences - and we discover we are more alike than we realize.

The most surprising moment of the evening was when one actor roused the audience (including Yours Truly) to begin yelling out the C Word with reckless abandon.

I typically don't say the C Word - but I made an exception in this case, as it was a moment of audience participation and a polite way to affirm the actor's performance.

Whether you are a bra burner, a white gloves-and-pearls kind of lady or a man born with that other body part, I suggest you give The Vagina Monologues a chance.

Because whether you are a woman or a man, chances are you love your body - or someone else's.

_______________________________________________

The Falcon Theatre will perform The Vagina Monologues at the Monmouth Theater at 636 Monmouth in Newport June 12, 13, 19, and 20 at 8 pm. Tickets $15, $12 for students and seniors. You can make a reservation or buy tickets online.

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Tuesday, June 09, 2009

It's Alright... Because I'm Saved By The Bell

My sister and I LOVED watching Zack Morris et al on SBTB every Saturday morning.

I can't believe Mark Paul Gosselaar is humble enough to go through with this Zack Morris schtick as an adult.



I'm really hoping Fallon can make this reunion happen.

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Sunday, June 07, 2009

Savoring Summer

Don't even think about looking at the calendar.

Archivists will technically catalog this Sunday as one of spring - what with its balmy but relenting temperatures and gentle breezes - but nature's colors and the season's flavors may tease you into thinking we're thick into summer's sway.

Should you decide to cheat and look at your Microsoft Outlook, your Day Timer or some other scheduling system, you'll notice the summer solstice is two weeks away.

"Pshaw," you say.

For me, rhubarb is one of the most Pavlovian flavors of summer. I see rhubarb, what with it's glistening ruby and fuchsia ribs and chartreuse leaves, and memory sends me reeling to a time when my hands were sweaty/sticky and freckles covered my face.

Growing up for a time outside Minneapolis, I remember rhubarb prospering with reckless abandon, and neighbors offering it up freely, those cherry jello-colored stalks ready to release the tart punch my taste buds longed for.

Mom would always take those rhubarb ribs, boil them down, pour in a heap of sugar and spices and mix the concoction with fresh strawberries. The slice of pie that waited for me at the end of the day was a sweet reward for all my toiling while playing Capture the Flag and Hide and Seek with the neighborhood horde, as my dad called them.

I'm not the only (quasi) Minnesotan thick in the middle of a love affair with rhubarb.

Garrison Keillor of A Prairie Home Companion fame waxes poetic on NPR about the partially poisonous plant.

He quips and sings about the pinky-red speckled vegetable (yes, vegetable) during his radio broadcast, and has even written a collection of short stories entitled Rhubarb, four monologues from "Lake Wobegon" about a time and place where life's a little slower and sweeter.

How apropos, considering one can pull out rhubarb's sweeter flavors if you slowly, lovingly prepare those crimson stalks.

The sight of rhubarb makes me want to throw on a gingham apron and pre-heat the oven, ready for silent reverence in the cathedral that is my kitchen. In this fantasy, the trinity and I (okay- butter, flour and Crisco) silently meditate as I swiftly and carefully blend them into what's destined to become light and flaky pastry. After some careful fluting, I'd pour in my strawberry-rhubarb concoction (maybe some raspberries, too?) and wait for the oven to bake my communion.

Making strawberry-rhubarb pie is almost spiritual in nature, and tasting it is treating your palate to pastry nirvana.

I'm looking forward to my next "Come to Jesus Moment." This is what I'm thinking about baking:

Summer Sway Strawberry Rhubarb Pie

deep dish, nine inch pie plate
Pie crust (you're on your own with this one - I've got a killer recipe that I'm not giving up)
5 cups rhubarb, sliced into 1/2 inch thick pieces
3 cups hulled and quartered strawberries
2 cups berries (raspberries or blueberries, or mixed if you prefer)
1/2 cup cornstarch
1 cup packed brown sugar
1 tablespoon fresh orange zest
1 tablespoon unsalted butter, chilled
1/4 teaspoon teaspoon salt
  • Preheat oven to 375* and place rack in lower third of oven.
  • Put the butter aside. Toss fruit and other ingredients in large bowl.
  • Pour fruit mixture onto unbaked pie crust. Cut butter into small bits and sprinkle over the filling. Cover with another layer of pie dough.
  • Brush pastry top with water and then sprinkle sugar atop dough. Cut slits in top to allow for ventilation.
  • Bake for about two hours - until pie filling is bubbling out of the slits.
  • Cover edge of pie with foil if crust begins to over-brown.
  • Allow to cool at room temperature for 4-5 hours before serving.


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Wednesday, June 03, 2009

Analog to Digital

Did you get your converter box?

Kate the Great has been blogging for days, but you likely couldn't keep up on the latest information if you never got a digital converter box.

You need to immediately get a converter box, or suffer the wrath that is a life without my Random Musings.

I wish my excuse was that creative.

My life became a whirlwind within the past week (two nights in Nashville, one night in Louisville and a sick day due to a horribly bad back), but I am doing my damnedest to get back on the saddle and entertain you with something silly, something serious and something irreverent.

Hold tight, my friends.

Hell or high water, I intend on posting this evening.

In the meantime... come out to the latest incarnation of the #OTRTweetup. As I've said before, you don't have to be on Twitter to hang out with the best friends you've never met - you just have to be open to the idea of meeting some cool, new people.

That's you, right? Cool?

This month's #OTRTweetup is TONIGHT at Mixx Ultralounge on Main St. in Over-the-Rhine. The revelry kicks off at 7 PM, though I don't think the manager, Packer, will leave you standing outside if you happen to show up early.

Tweet you there.

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Thursday, May 28, 2009

Who's The Big Winner??!!

Oh. My. God.

I was a bit groggy this morning after last night's revelry... The start of Cookbook University Day 2 was slow going and I was doing my best to mainline coffee, knowing I was probably going to need toothpicks to prop open my eyelids at some point.

And that's when the DMs, emails and calls started coming.

"CONGRATULATIONS!!" said Julie.

"Have you checked Cincinnati Women Bloggers this morning?" said Shannan.

Amy In Ohio rang me up and I explained that I was sans computer and that my blackberry wasn't the most sophisticated tool where viewing videos is concerned.

And that's when Amy clued me in to the little nugget that I won the CWB contest for a free pass to BlogHer '09.

Needless to say, I perked right up for the remainder of my cookbook conference.

BlogHer, in case you didn't know it, is a conference for women bloggers scheduled for the end of July in Chicago. Tickets went for $300 a person, though now the event is sold out.

I knew I was going to have to do some tight budgeting to swing the entry fee - if I could actually find a pass up for grabs.

I cannot believe I won this opportunity.

And I am so grateful for it.

I promise to share the knowledge I learn about blogging with the intrepid readers of Kate's Random Musings and I promise to be a good steward of Cincinnati.

I also promise to do my best and have a fun time at the swanky cocktail parties and grab as much swag as my arms and bags can carry.

Cheers!

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Wednesday, May 27, 2009

Elvis Lives...

In Nashville.

I swear.
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry

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Kissing and Telling

Tiffy and I made our way to Nashville's Wild Horse Saloon with some new Junior League friends from Atlanta and Boston.

Along the way, we decided to steal a smooch from this strapping stallion.

I guess that's what drinking PBR will do to you...

We are obviously living up to the "white gloves and pearls" reputation in Music City...
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry

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Tuesday, May 26, 2009

Unwinding In Nashville

I'm in Nash-Vegas for a couple days for a conference on cookbook publishing.

My co-chair and I are staying at the Gaylord Opryland Hotel - its tricked out if you've never had the pleasure of exploring.

The beers above are a flight of the locally brewed Yazoo Hefeweizen, Pale Ale and Sly Rye Porter.

You might see other pics like this while I'm down in Music City.

I'm just sayin'.
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry

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Saturday, May 23, 2009

Fiddle-dee-dee

I was never destined to star in Fiddler on the Roof.

My brush with the violin was brief. Fourth grade offered the first opportunity to participate in the school orchestra, and I vaguely recall wanting to play the cello, but I imagine my parents talked me out of it over it's more cumbersome portability challenges. So, it was the violin, complete with a chin rest, resin and bow made with real horsetail hair.

I toiled over a creaky, squeaky Hot Cross Buns until I got used to the graceful flow of the bow over the strings, eventually graduating to more complicated tunes of Twinkle Twinkle, Little Star and Edelweiss (also creaky and squeaky).

They say practice makes perfect, but for all my practicing, I remained frustrated with my fingering and developed a fierce, 10-year-old disdain for the instructor.

Field Day at the end of the year brought with it a list of games, a cookout and the end of my love affair with the violin. 5th grade launched my somewhat longer singing career.

Thankfully, these days I do not have to pick up a violin case to get my fiddle fix.

The fiddlehead fern is a fleeting seasonal delicacy that allows only weeks of culinary revelation. This leafy green, so named because its unfurled leaves remind us of the carved scroll at the end of a stringed instrument, is typically eaten after some kind of preparation including blanching or sauteing.

Popular in New England, the fiddlehead fern comes into season in Connecticut, Massachusetts, etc. in May. Twitter pal @geekjames tells me his friend and local vegetable aficionado Sallie Ransohoff says fiddleheads aren't quite yet in season in Greater Cincinnati, but a bumper crop can be found in Adams County, due east of the Queen City.



Many epicureans compare the fiddlehead's flavor to something of a cross between asparagus, artichoke and okra. Chock full of vitamins A and C, the fern requires cooking before eating so as to neutralize a toxin naturally found in the green.

Just boil your fiddleheads for five to ten minutes, then swirl some olive oil in a pan, saute at medium heat for a few minutes, and you'll be good to go.

I've been dying to prepare fiddlehead ferns and hear they're typically found at Madison's in Findlay Market, though my informants say you might also be able to score some at Hyde Park Kroger or Jungle Jim's in Fairfield.

Many recipes pair the fiddlehead fern with morel - a perfect, springtime union (here's a delicious and easy recipe from San Francisco's 5th Floor Restaurant), but in a nod to the fiddlehead's New England roots, I'd prefer to prepare a dish that includes seafood. This recipe of fiddlehead ferns, shrimp and linguine makes for the perfect savory symphony to soak up spring.

I imagine your exclamations of joy after eating this dish will be anything but creaky and squeaky.



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Friday, May 22, 2009

Eat Me

An unusual bento box showed up in the break room this morning. Our admin put me up to trying some of the foreign delicacies as she was too cautious to dive in to the strange packages with Japanese writing.

The item above featured two McDonald's-like pancakes sandwiched together with a sweet, bean curd-type filling.

Don't know if you can get this with a side of hash browns at the drive-thru.


Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry



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See & Be Scene Friday - May 22

Usually, no matter what I put in my mouth, my taste buds are longing for more.

Usually.

I really try to savor the flavor. The textures and seasonings dance on my palate as I analyze the complications (and sometimes lack there of) of the dish - tasting fats and starches, reductions and purees. I assess textures, temperatures and consistencies.

With each bite, imagination whisks me away to colorful dreams - bucolic scenes that include French farmers gently harvesting milk for emmental or a rancher lovingly stroking his wagyu months before it's offered up as a gift to the gourmands.

When a vision in blackberry confection is served before me, I recall dozens of times I battled thorns while picking my own tart berries, then grow grateful for the hands that gingerly toiled in the thicket for the sweet finish to my repast.

During each flavor, each delectable dimension of dining, time stops and I briefly enjoy the moment before snapping forward and desiring more.

Thankfully, Taste of Cincinnati is upon us, and I am allowed to indulge my impatience.

Almost anyone who has ever spent some time in the Queen City has made a point of taking in this tasty trip through the city. You are practically expected to eat your way along the congested path of food stall after food stall, offering up aromas of roasted nuts and enough fried food to seize Dick Cheney's bionic pacemaker.

This year will be especially sweet - the music lineup includes a variety of great bands. I'm hoping to check out The Chocolate Horse Sunday evening at the Katie Reider Stage.

Hope to see you there, too!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Friday
May Festival Opening Night
Music Hall - 8 to 11 pm
Tickets starting at $22
Broadway legend Patti Lupone kicks off this annual tradition. Opening night also features Mozart's Requiem, a demanding piece in which I performed a solo many, many moons ago. Check out this challenging work and then sweep across the dance floor at the gala afterwards.

Final Friday
Pendleton Art Center - 6 to 10 pm
Free
Cincinnati's special topography of rolling hills offer local artists an unusual collection of vistas, landscapes and urban scenes to put down on paper and canvas. Final Friday is a great way to peruse a variety of artistic mediums while you enjoy complimentary wine and nibbles. Bring your walking shoes - the eight floors of art can make for a bit of a hike in this old factory building. My favorite local artist, Joanne Honschopp, keeps a studio studio on the 8th floor - be sure to check out her Cincinnati-style play on Van Gogh's Starry Night.


Saturday
Taste of Cincinnati
Downtown Cincinnati - noon to midnight (also Sunday and Monday)
Menu items $1 - $5
Whether you fancy tawook, Thai or tempura, you're sure to find something to tempt your taste buds. I recommend La Petite France's veggie crepe and Bella Luna's bread pudding (ask for extra rum butter drizzle on top - you'll be doing a good bit of walking, after all). Mythos also makes some great baklava (eat at your own risk - the FDA is winding down its investigation in connection with the pistachio recall).

Rocky Horror Picture Show
Esquire Theatre, Clifton - 11:45 PM to 2 AM
Tickets - $9.50
I know, I know. RHPS already got a mention on last week's See & Be Scene, but last week's version involved a convention at Drawbridge Inn. This mention involves a showing at the Esquire, one of Greater Cincinnati's most delightful movie theatres. I'm guessing you'll still want to bring your squirt guns, newspapers and playing cards to this showing. Before you head to the cinema, stop by Sitwell's for a Stella and a Brie Plate - I could eat that app dish morning, noon, and night.


Sunday
Newport Gangster Tour
723 Monmouth St., Newport - 1, 3, 5 and 7 PM
Tickets - $15
Forget Vegas. In it's sinful heyday, Newport was the place where real shit went down. Strippers, casinos, brothels and gangsters - this town south of the Ohio was the mecca for everything naughty. Discover why the Rat Pack (yes, THE Rat Pack) made this little town a major tour destination and how local gangsters inspired the Sin City of today - Las Vegas.

Bluegrass All-Stars
The Comet, Northside - 7:30 PM
Free (though you should be nice and buy a drink and/or a bite)
Drive up Hamilton Avenue early and pick a perch in the dining room well before this band begins (you might actually want to get there around 6:30 or so to make sure you have a seat), because the Bluegrass All-Stars consistently pack the house. Banjos, mandolins and harmony - this band will have you toe tappin' and head noddin' before long. Order a cold Barrel House and make sure you try the special Salsa of the Month on your burrito - you won't regret it.


Monday
Burlesque 101
The Aura Studio, Bellevue - 7 - 8 PM
$12 per session
I saw this and had to include it in this week's list because it's something I'd want to see (rather than be seen doing). The class (through August 24) teaches students "New Burlesque" by using steps from old school burlesque as well as bellydance and hip hop. I took a bellydance class a few years ago and really enjoyed it - I'm guessing this class would be just as much fun. Note: make sure you get a hip scarf that jingles... it's so much more fun that way.

As always, if you know of something that you think belongs in See & Be Scene - shoot me an email - kate@katesrandommusings.com.

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Thursday, May 21, 2009

#OTRTweetup: June

I've said it before, and I'll say it again.

You don't have to be on Twitter to come to the #OTRTweetup.

Hell, you don't even have to be on the internet to go to the #OTRTweetup. Then again, if you weren't on the internet, you wouldn't be reading this fine piece of virtual pulp. Would you?

Maybe your mom's not on the internet (mine's not), and maybe we would be missing out if we didn't get to invite her to the #OTRTweetup. Maybe your best friend hates technology but loves meeting new people. Invite 'em to the #OTRTweetup.

The invitation is open - for one and all. The latest #OTRTweetup is scheduled for Wednesday, June 3 at 7 PM.

Destination? It's still a little cloak-n-dagger, but I can tell you that it's definitely in OTR. That narrows the neighborhood down a little bit, doesn't it? (Note: the #OTRTweetup will never, ever be in the suburbs. It has yet to even venture as far out as CBD... but someday it just may take a field trip. Who knows.)

I should tell you, this #OTRTweetup is going to be a little different - we plan to showcase some of the cool things happening at June's Second Sunday on Main event, scheduled for June 14.

If you love dogs, love food, love beer, love shopping, love walking, love people or love breathing - then you will also love the Second Sunday on Main event.

See you at the #OTRTweetup!

Friday, May 15, 2009

See & Be Scene Friday - May 15

There's an upside to being a gal-about-town with a full calendar.

I've made a great and diverse crowd of friends across Cincinnati.

Single, married, parents, childless, anti-kids, gay, straight, attorneys, artists, activists, pretty, smart and funny - my circle of friends includes an eclectic group of people, something for which I'm really grateful.

These unique, brilliant people bring with them a host of activities that span everything from crazy street parties to VIP fetes in shadowy clubs. My calendar includes something for every foodie, culture vulture, club kid and family.

Some dining companions this week encouraged me to share this wealth of information - elements like the new restaurants and bars people are frequenting and the fun parties that belong on everyone's calendar. Their original idea involved me writing a book about these nuggets (watch your back, Zagat), but I decided this blog is a better venue to showcase the Queen City's goings on.

Every Friday, I'll run a franchise aptly titled See & Be Scene. My goal is to post cool weekend activities and hot spots that are worth your time and money - because let's face it, both are at an extreme premium these days.

Please email me if you've got a hot nugget that deserves a mention.

Friday:
Westside Pub Crawl, hosted by Cincinnati Imports
7 pm, beginning at Luckey's Irish Pub, 3722 Harrison Ave., Cheviot
Cost - Free (though drinks, etc., are on your own)
If you think you need a passport to get to Montana (Avenue), this is the thing for you. Liz, Avani and Lauren will take you to five bars all within walking distance, though if you have a few too many, there will be plenty of new friends who may agree to carry you through Cheviot (Note: some people call it Shiviot).

Surreal Escape, hosted by Cincinnati Art Museum
8 pm, Cincinnati Art Museum, 953 Eden Park Dr., Eden Park
Cost - $20 in advance, $30 at the door, parking $4, cash bar
Reality can become pretty absurd sometimes, and when that happens, surrealism is the only way to make things right. Get down on your Dada to live music from the Seedy Seeds, enjoy delicious food and drink tastings and check out a surreal fashion show from some of UC's finest students.

Poseidon - An Upside Down Musical, hosted by Falcon Theatre
8 pm, Monmouth Theater, 636 Monmouth St., Newport
Cost - $15 for adults, $12 for students, seniors
If you have a feather boa, you might want to dig it out for this show. I haven't had the pleasure of seeing it, but I hear that it is camp, camp, camp! This show combines disaster on the high seas with the kind of song and dance numbers you'd expect at your favorite drag show. Note: Saturday night is sold out, so if you want to break it down Poseidon-style, Friday is your last chance.

Celluloid Jam, hosted by the Drawbridge Inn
Friday (12 p.m. to 1 a.m.) and Saturday (10 a.m. to 12 p.m.)
Touch-a touch-a touch-a touch me... I want to feel dirty. Rocky Horror was an institution during my college days in Lexington. The flick has had a cult following for decades, and this weekend Rocky and Magenta fans will take over the Drawbridge Inn to celebrate the king of cult films, along with Shock Treatment and Phantom of the Paradise. Break out the sequins, garter belts and face pant, this is sure to be an eclectic convention.

Note: Saturday is still in progress... stay tuned.

Thursday, May 14, 2009

What The Thuck Thursday

I randomly came across these while working with a video we're using for work.

Our organization video is pretty kick ass and wholesome... some of these videos are not.


Getting more than you pay for at the grocery store.



No, Sue Simmons, What the eff are YOU doing??!!



It said "worst laugh in the world." I thought, How bad can it be? BAD. Think Jerry Lewis-meets-Velociraptor.



In honor of the Cannes Film Festival, here's a pretty clever movie short. What would you do with a black hole?


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Wednesday, May 13, 2009

I Miss You, Little Girl


You can read more about Maeve here.

Monday, May 11, 2009

Good On Paper

The White House had a staff astrologer for seven years.

Thick in the decade of decadence and a desperation for meaning, Nancy Reagan turned to Joan Quigley for expertise. It was a relationship borne out of a chance meeting on the Merv Griffin Show, and Reagan relied on the astrological expert's insight after John Hinckley's assassination attempt on President Reagan in 1981.

If it's good enough for Nancy Reagan, then it's good enough for me.

Right?

I had the unexpected pleasure of having my tarot cards read twice in the past week - once at ONE, the quarterly cultural celebration at Cincinnati Art Museum, and once at Second Sunday on Main, an eclectic street fair in Cincinnati's Over-the-Rhine neighborhood (both spectacular events to get out and about and see the best friends you've never met).

Anyway.

The first reading last Wednesday involved me picking five over sized cards from a well worn, colorful stack. My hands combed through the deck spread before me, choosing my first card - a secret rectangle hidden behind another, more obvious choice.

My reader slowly turned over the first of five cards, remarking that success was on the road ahead. She glowed, saying I'd accomplish something significant - world changing, even - but this opportunity wouldn't show itself until I was in my 50s.

I guess patience is a virtue in the astrological world, too.

She skipped the second card, instead turning the third and fourth card, and waxed poetic about my intelligence and talents, offering up that I've been given all the tools I need to seize this great opportunity in two decades.

The reader's face had the map of time on it - beautiful, well worn wrinkles in every direction. Her sparkling, knowing eyes looked up from the table as she tapped on the fifth card. "You make your life harder than it needs to be, don't you?" It wasn't an accusation more than it was the admission of an undeniable fact, a revelation that pursed my lips as I held my head in hesitant confession. She tapped the card again and offered encouraging words that were much appreciated.

Card two. She flipped it over and quipped, "How's your love life?" I let out a single chuckle, laughing off the heartache I hold deep within. "Nonexistent."

"Don't worry. He's coming. You have nothing to worry about."

In hindsight, I wish I had plied a bit more information out of her about this last card, but courtesy and timeliness got the best of me, and I scooted out of the seat to make way for someone else's mystical moment.

My next encounter wasn't as "telling," but I was pleased and encouraged by what the cards revealed.

Sunday's tarot card reader had barely a year or two on me, but I trusted him with my deepest wonder - a yearning to know when true love would make its way to my days.

Five dollars and three cards. He chose each one for me and layed them out, saying the beautifully drawn cards indicated love was on its way.

Well, yeah. But death's on it's way, too. Is it "two years on its way," or "50 years on its way?" my brain wondered.

Knowing my thoughts, he graciously tossed out a few more cards, and said this "Bed Is On Fire" eternal love would show itself in a year or two.

Patience prevails in matters of the heart, too.

The reader went on to mention this huge success in life that keeps following me around from tarot reading to tarot reading (aside: wouldn't everyone want to hear their life includes huge success? Is this something these readers say to all the girls, or just the ones for whom it's true?), and I humbly thanked him for the positive energy.

Because I guess these days I'm all about the juju.

Next up? Maybe acupuncture and chakra therapy.

Sunday, May 10, 2009

Okaasan

Two hearts beat at once
Womb. One lifeline connecting
Time changed forever

Tiny hands held tight
Instincts, love, a bond of steel
Strong arms hold with care

Testing boundaries, youth
Seasoned life doubts naive spring
Willed wits blocks blind drive

Two women turn friends
Passing on interests, stories
Admiration grows

Time passes, distance
Unspoken words; love remains
Two hearts beat at once

Saturday, May 09, 2009

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Friday, May 08, 2009

It's Business Time

Friday is finally here.

I don't know about you, but I am limping along, desperate for a moment to catch my breath and think a little bit about life.

The schedule allows me to pencil that in for, oh, maybe 2 pm on Saturday.

Every minute today will be a struggle, as my body and brain are longing for a break and an opportunity to recharge and return to normalcy.

Thankfully, Bret and Jermaine are a perfect pick-me-up whenever I'm having an ennui kind of day.

Business Time, indeed.