Work It

An apron and stilettos - that's all anyone needs to look good while cooking naked.

Photo by Chris Glass

(Ed. note: I normally don't think my body is anything to write home about. At 5' 8", I'm tall. And I'm definitely curvy; Bluegrass Brit says my rack is 38-G for "Gorgeous." But those legs. I had no idea. They're not half bad. And not an inch of cankle, huh? I've got to start wearing more skirts and dresses. These gams aren't going to look like this forever...)

I donned my peach-and-flower Crate and Barrel apron for my presentation at Ignite Cincinnati last week. My presentation was entitled, "How to Look Good While Cooking Naked." Cleverly titled but a bit misleading (c'mon people - it's all about how you pitch it, right?), I came right out of the gate explaining that I wasn't going to talk much about nudity.

I proceeded to toss to a pic of Kathy Bates wrapped in plastic wrap in a scene from Fried Green Tomatoes.

Definitely NOT looking good while cooking naked.

Armed with my trusty wooden spoon-cum-pointer, I interacted with my lively power point, which included pics of Paula Deen, a chef using surgical tweezers to assemble an artful dish, and me wrapped in blue saran wrap.

Okay, so it was only from the waist up, and it was part of a Halloween costume. It was totally kosher. Totally.

Wait, is plastic wrap kosher?

Anyway.

The whole point of my talk was this:

• You don't need all of the accoutrements that fill up your junk drawer to cook well
• Same with all those potions and spices and oils and extracts - you don't need 'em
• The fact is - most people only need ten basic ingredients. Take a look at what you use on a regular basis - those are your ten necessities
• Four "flavor agents" are the key to cooking simply and beautifully. Look for dishes that only require four elements
• Work on your presentation. Take time to make something look beautiful. If you fail, do it again

Leading up to all this pith, I did run down some rules for people who REALLY wanted to talk about cooking in the buff:

• Put the mandolin away. There's no need to bring out an ultra sharp blade when appendages are flying
• Make sure you have plenty of hot pads. Nobody wants a weird third degree burn someplace unmentionable
• The Paula Deen Rule: The Fry Daddy (or anything else that boils oil or water) is a recipe for disaster where exposed flesh is concerned

I did conclude by saying, if you really want to cook naked, cover up with an apron and a hot pair of shoes - because nobody really wants to see all that stuff goin' on when they're about to eat dinner.

Ignite Cincinnati regularly serves up a heaping helping of conversation; this month's talks ranged from P.G. Sittenfeld's presentation on the qualities commonly found in the world's happiest people, to Candace Klein's launching of an investment group to assist women starting small businesses.

The idea here at IC is people sharing their passions, exchanging ideas, interests and insights.

You don't have to wear a pair of stilettos to look good and talk about what fires you up... but those shoes just might be the key to firing up someone else.

Kate's Random Musings by Kate the Great is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

I Do, I Do, I Do, I Do, I Do

March 8, 1975.

The United Nations declared the day International Women's Day, North Vietnamese troops were days away from capturing Saigon, and The Rocky Horror Show was about to open on Broadway.

And Ann and Mike were getting married.

I'm so grateful my parents managed to make it to their 35th wedding anniversary. Like every relationship, they've had their ups and downs, unexpected rough times, and a world of blessings to behold.

As Andre 3000 says, "Thank God for Mom and Dad sticking two together 'cause we don't know how."

I'm so grateful my parents found each other and have a marriage that makes a great model for my sisters and me as we pursue and form our own relationships.

Love you, Mom and Dad!


Kate's Random Musings by Kate the Great is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

Hurrah for Hollywood

I've always been a character.

Even as far back as 1979-1980, I lived a jet set life. There I was, three or four, plotting my next great trip to Japan.

With my husband Dumas.

Who was from Africa.

Dumas was my imaginary friend, er, husband - my travel partner who joined me in the spectacular pursuit of passport stamps and Play-Doh artistry.

Later, dress-up with my sister would involve artfully draped scarves, costume jewels, handbags and Nana C's Spectator pumps. I think our time with Nana (and the frequent viewing of Days of our Lives) led to story lines with high drama. We would yell for imaginary butlers and strike the most pretentious of poses - hands on hips with ring fingers thrust out.

This was around, oh, eight years old.

I've always had a flair for the dramatic. I've worn saran wrap tube tops, sparkly red "Dorothy" ruby slippers and bike chain choker necklaces (all as an adult).

I guess I like getting in to character - and I've always prided myself on being a social chameleon.

This affinity for crazy scenarios translates into a fierce passion for the movies.

My Netflix subscription sends me three movies at a time - sometimes they're thought provoking examples of cinematography. Other times they're colorful, fluffy comedies that tickle me right in the ribs.

Whenever I go to a movie theater, I entertain the idea of sticking around for a sneaky double feature. The insane ticket price (remember when going to the movies cost a five spot?) somehow leads me to legitimize the prospect of breaking the law - especially around Oscar time.

This year's Academy Awards is serving up ten best picture nominees. I've seen four of the ten pictures and am dying to see several of the others (although James Cameron can have his Avatar).

I'm excited because this year I'll be watching the big show from People Working Cooperatively's Oscars After Party. My friend Shannan asked me to serve as a host on behalf of PWC, one of her clients at Wordsworth Communications. I am familiar with the good work PWC does in the community - they help low income, elderly and disabled people who are struggling to complete repairs on their own home - and just couldn't say no.

The after-party will be a fun way to do some good while watching the big show and mingling with a crowd of folks dressed to the nines. The evening includes delicious bites, specialty cocktails, dancing, casino games and a private Oscars viewing room.

And here's the fun part. I'd love to invite you to the party as my guest!

I have the opportunity to give away a pair of tickets to the after party (8 PM at the Carew Tower Arcade), a $40 value.

Here are all the ways you can enter to win:

• Leave a comment on this post, telling me which movie character or movie star is most like you
• Tweet about this blog post/contest (just be sure to leave a comment in this post telling me you did so)
• Subscribe to my RSS feed, and leave a comment on this post telling me you did so

I'll be picking the winner Friday morning, oh, around 8 AM or so.

Good luck to all of you! And if you don't win, I hope you'll buy tickets anyway and join us to support this worthy cause.

I'll be the one dressed like a movie star.

Kate's Random Musings by Kate the Great is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

London Britches Falling Down

Some of you know I'm a Loser.

A group of Cincinnati women are blogging together with the goal of getting slimmer and sexier.

I just penned a post about how my pants are falling down - you're welcome to check it out here.


Kate's Random Musings by Kate the Great is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

All Aboard

I'm not going to lie, I was pretty excited when New York City came calling today.

It's not every day the nation's largest public radio station picks up the phone and calls Kate the Great. Okay, confession: that's never happened before. And I was pretty excited about the prospect of snagging an interview that would broadcast my random synaptic thoughts brilliance to all of my old Connecticut high school classmates now living in the Five Burroughs.

WNYC shot me an email after reading this blog post I penned last month about my thoughts on public transportation following a trip to San Francisco.

Long story short: I don't get a chance to use public transportation the way I'd like in Cincinnati. We have a poorly designed bus system that could greatly benefit from a complete overhaul, as well as the addition of a comprehensive streetcar and light rail plan. My latest trip to San Francisco gave me a chance to indulge in the idea of public transportation I love so dearly.

Getting to a place efficiently and cost effectively, with a crowd of people representative of the entirety of humanity.

After exchanging a couple emails, Margaret Teich called me to inquire about my passion for public transportation.

We shared pleasantries, information about where I live and what I do to earn my keep. Then Margaret wanted to know about my experience with public transportation.

"So, do you take public transportation now?"

I replied by explaining that, although I actually live in the City of Cincinnati, it would take me about an hour to make the six mile trip from my residence in Oakley to my office in Mt. Auburn/Corryville. A hop in my car makes for an eight minute trip on I-71 southbound.

"Have you ever used public transportation before?"

I should have said more about the time I had to ride Metro for two and half months while my Turbo was getting fixed. Instead, I focused on how my real frame of reference involves riding trains into The City from Connecticut, or to Boston from just over the Mass line.

Then Margaret asked me if, other than being just a blogger, I have any personal interests related to the support of public transportation.

I mentioned that I'm a board member for CincyPAC, a non-partisan political action committee that promotes initiatives in the best interest of local Young Professionals. Transportation is one of our top priorities, and we are deeply committed to any effort that is going to support bringing a streetcar, the 3C light rail, high speed rail and other transportation improvements to our region.

That's when Margaret shared with me that WNYC is looking for someone who has, "Already made the switch to public transportation."

My heart sank.

Not because I was going to likely miss out on the media opportunity (though I'll confess, I was kind of jazzed at the prospect), but because Cincinnati's circumstances inhibit my ability to make the switch to public transportation.

There is no reason why someone who lives in Oakley and works near Reading/McMillan roads should spend an hour+ on a city bus.

There is no reason why thousands of local citizens should have to waste hours and hours of precious life in traffic jams - time away from family, friends and worthy causes that improve our community.

There is no reason why we cannot have a transportation that is equally efficient as it is cost effective.

There is no reason why I should have to tell a major media outlet that I can't make the switch to public transportation, because ours is an incomplete system.


Kate's Random Musings by Kate the Great is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

Top Hat 'n Tails

He looked like Bat Masterson.

Tails, spats and even a cane, my prom date appeared better suited for the life of a gambler/dandy or dancing Puttin' on the Ritz with Fred Astaire (or even Gene Wilder and Peter Boyle).

Spring was erupting with much fanfare in Connecticut, circa 1995, and that meant every boutonnière and corsage was adorned with sunflowers or white roses. Sunflowers everywhere! My date was no exception.

Jason normally drove a black Jetta, but was compelled for some reason to borrow a massive Lincoln Towncar for the trip from our shoreline hometown to a place up I-91, halfway between New Haven and Hartford.

I had no idea where we were going; my exploration behind the wheel was mostly confined to Boston Post Road between Common Grounds in Branford and the movie theater in Old Saybrook.

For those of you readers not from the Shoreline, that's a 24-mile stretch of road.

That's what freedom tasted like at 18.

Jason was an interesting guy. Of Italian descent, he shared animated stories of him and his grandmother making homemade pasta together during Christmas break.

He regaled us with tales of doing odd jobs for his uncle that involved mysterious tasks and cash payments.

We always teased that Jason was in the Mafia. He never denied it - but I think it was only because it gave his AP-everything persona a bit of mystery.

My prom dress is still hanging in my closet. Black, empire waist gown with spaghetti straps - it is timeless, and I fully intend on losing enough weight to wear it someday, maybe even to a reunion.

How very Peggy Sue Got Married.

It was the first dress I ever wore that showed off my cleavage. I was so insecure about my physique back then; I had no idea women were envious of my God given gift. (Editor's note: is it really a gift?)

Likewise, I was not aware of the gift of growing up in a family that could afford my $95 prom ticket (Class of '95 = $95 prom ticket. Cute? Maybe. Overpriced? Definitely), dress, shoes and other necessities appropriate for this teen coming of age ritual.

Yes, I had a job appropriate of a high school student. I waited tables at a restaurant along the water, saving my pennies for outings to the afore mentioned coffeehouse and Reverse Fit jeans at the GAP. I don't think I was grateful my parents stepped up and bought me yearbooks, cap and gown and the other rites-of-passage accessories.

Now that I know how much a utility bill costs, I am doubly grateful.

So many teens face hardships these days - uncomfortable experiences I can't even fathom at my sage age of 33. I will admit, I was pretty sheltered in my early years - it has taken careers in broadcast television and human services to shed light on the needs that are so prevalent in our community.

Some girls don't even have the means to buy a pretty prom dress.

Sure, some folks may write off prom as frivolous, expensive, even decadent. But really, it's not so much about the gown, the limo ride, the booty dancing on the floor - it's about the opportunity to create a memory that much of the rest of society can share.

Whether I am at a Connecticut country club, an Akron office building or a rodeo in Tulsa, chances are most people I meet will be able to identify with the experience of "prom."

It's an occasion nobody should miss - regardless of whether they wear spats or not.

_________________________________________________________

Cincinnati-based Kenzie's Closet is preparing to open the doors for its first "shopping day" of the season, scheduled for March 1.

Kenzie's Closet is a one-stop-shop that provides prom dresses and related accessories to local girls who can't afford them, allowing teens to attend their big dance, regardless of their family's financial limitations.

Beginning March 1, all local Appearance Plus Cleaners locations (Hyde Park, Downtown and Anderson) will accept donations to Kenzie's Closet, including gently worn dresses, jewelry, handbags, wraps and new shoes.

Your financial support helps Kenzie's Closet buy larger sized dresses, ensuring teens of all shapes can look beautiful at their prom. Monetary support also supports the organization's operations.

Kate's Random Musings by Kate the Great is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

OBEY

I coulda been a millionaire.

At least, that was my thought upon seeing a cultural treasure.

I walked through Cincinnati's Contemporary Arts Center loading dock Saturday afternoon ahead of a moonlighting gig for my friend's catering company. I passed the vehicles packed with pans of mini hamburger meat, crispy golden mac 'n cheese cubes and and other delicious bites, walking deep into the garage. Strewn about the space were coat racks, shelving with serving bowls and other random junk.

And that's when my heart skipped a beat.

Behind some tubs stocked with serving trays, cocktail napkins other catering goods, I spied two charcoal gray rubbermaid trunks, one topped with a pile of brightly colored, folded paper.

OBEY.

One of the crates was labeled, "Ship to HI." The other "Ship to NYC." The pile of brightly colored papers was topped with a paper that said "NOT CAC."

The synapses didn't have to shift in to overdrive for me to figure out that I was hanging out in a garage-cum-prep kitchen that just so happened to house a treasure trove of Shepard Fairey's work.

Woah. Heavy.

I joined my fellow servers in unpacking the van, bringing back tubs and pans to the garage. With each return trip, I'd eye that brilliant pile of swirls, patterns and graphics. My hands longed to drop the antipasto/crudités/roasted veggie wraps/whatever and rapidly leaf through the makings of a mural.

My thoughts swiftly raced to a vision of my apartment - awash in a technicolor pop-culture statement on propaganda.

It would be an apartment makeover I'd get to enjoy for, oh, five minutes or so until the cops busted me for Cincinnati's latest art heist.

Ahhh, but for one brief minute, I coulda been a millionaire.

______________________________________

You can check out Shepard Fairey's Supply and Demand exhibit at the CAC through August 22.

Special thanks to Molly O'Toole of the CAC for snapping a pic of Fairey's crate for me when I discovered I was sans phone!

Kate's Random Musings by Kate the Great is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

Let's Put This To Bed

I had no idea a blog post would rile up so much.

Lots of people responded to/commented on the now infamous Vanity Fair article well before I; for some reason it was my post that ignited the conversation.

And that's the most important thing - this week's turn of events led to a conversation and celebration of Cincinnati, our cultural forays, our history and a multitude of other great things happening inside the I-275 beltway.

God, that's awesome.

Like I've said in some of my tweets - I didn't ask to be the messenger, and this whole fiasco isn't about who was first or who was last.

It's about how much we all love our city.

As far as I can tell, that puts us all on the same side; I can't figure out why some of the comments I've read had a tone that made me feel differently.

Regardless, thanks for the comments, the criticism and the celebration of my blog post.

And a big thanks to Vanity Fair for actually responding to the uproar and providing a link to my blog on your site. I guess this isn't the time for me to burst out into a, "You like me! You really like me!", huh?

I think maybe next week I'm going to take on a posthumous Mark Twain for his remark that Cincinnati is 20 years behind the curve.

That guy didn't know a thing.


Kate's Random Musings by Kate the Great is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

Nuts and Bolts - All Six of 'Em

"You're not here to make friends."

That was the first lesson I learned about the television business, passed down by my first news director at WTVQ, the ABC affiliate in Lexington, KY.

Jay Mitchell was one of the first reporters signed on by CNN when the cable network launched in Atlanta in 1980. In 1999, I found myself soaking up his wisdom first as a tape editor, and then as a news producer.

As news producer and weekend editorial decision maker, I had a tough time because I wanted to make everyone happy while accomplishing Job #1 - producing the 6 and 11 pm newscasts.

Mitchell taught me early on that the news business wasn't about making friends and being nice - it was about getting solid content on the air.

The second lesson he taught me: A news producer is going to get all of the blame, and none of the credit.

That's what happens when you're charged with managing the stress quotient of an air traffic controller while crafting a newscast of breaking news, compelling teases, a couple live shots and a clever kicker before the anchor desk says good night to the good people at home.

When that breaking news is slow to confirm, when a reporter inaccurately delivers a piece of information, when one of those live shots crashes - the producer is the one who has to take the blame/explain what happened/cry herself to sleep at the end of the night because the other 97 details went on the air flawlessly and unnoticed (see also: Holly Hunter's spot-on performance in Broadcast News).

The flip side to this paradigm is this: the producer rarely gets the credit when something goes spectacularly well. An ace story lead or source? The reporter will get the glory on that one. A clever "prop" and perspective moment for an anchor? The anchor will get a nod.

The producer almost never gets any credit.

It's a scenario I got used to and am actually almost more comfortable with these days. I'd prefer to stay behind the scenes and orchestrate the moment rather than be the one to get the acclaim/attention/affection for something.

It's just the way it is.

Jay Mitchell was succeeded by David Foky, also an experienced newsman who happened to pass on a couple nuggets of his own.

It's not as important to be first as it is to be best and most accurate. The TV news business is fiercely competitive - whereas some towns only have one daily newspaper, almost every city has at least three, if not four network affiliates. Those newsrooms fight tooth and nail to unfurl a breaking news story - some stations rush to air news and fail to fill in all the facts (and even occasionally air inaccurate information in their haste). Other newsrooms hit the air minutes or hours later but present a more comprehensive picture to the viewer.

Foky taught me that it's not about who gets on air first to report the breaker - the kudos go to the one who respects the story and tells it well.

Speaking of telling it well, Foky also showed me the words you choose are the difference between presenting a report of crime blotter scrim and a descriptive piece that connects with the viewer and compels the viewer to think/take action/feel.

The crux of storytelling relies on good words.

Several years later, I packed up my junk, left the heart of the Bluegrass and headed back to Cincinnati - my childhood home and the home of Local 12. News Director Elbert Tucker offered me a job at WKRC, the same hallowed halls - literal or otherwise - where Nick Clooney, Ira Joe Fisher, Edie Magnus and even Rod Serling (yes, that Rod Serling) worked in different capacities.

Tucker taught me my fifth rule of TV news while we sat around the morning editorial meeting.

"What are people talking about?"

The answer to that question will likely lead you to discover an element that is a must-run in one of your daily newscasts.

It doesn't matter what it is - if people are talking about the Delhi Skirt Game or a horrific missing child case-turned murder in Clermont County - that's a story that warrants coverage in some capacity. It's a question that any journalist worth their teeth asks his or herself every morning as they head in to the office. If they're not asking that question, they're missing a major part of local news.

Which brings me to my final lesson learned about television news. Tucker didn't necessarily school me on the concept of Local, Local, Local, but he certainly was the one news director who made a concerted effort to drive home what's important to the viewer at home.

Whether it was in Lexington or Cincinnati, my day consisted of combing any number of local, online newspapers (at one point in Cincinnati, I think it was about 30), listening to the police scanner, making beat calls, calling up contacts and sifting through press releases.

Most local newcasts don't have much use for national news, save for something monumental or completely outside-of-the-box.

I think my favorite international news discovery still goes down as the one about how people in Asia were "recycling" used condoms by cutting them up into rubber bands and wearing them in their hair.

Yes. That was a real story. I ran it in my 4 PM newscast, and Cammy Dierking read it.

But I digress.

Local TV news is, for the most part, hyper local. It gets caught up sometimes in the fleeting drama of a robbery/shooting/car crash du jour, but for the most part, it's about stories that affect your neighborhood, or your mom's, or your co-worker's or your frenemy's.

Gosh, thinking back to those days gets my blood boiling, and that's kind of why I left.

Life's too short to get stressed out over chicken salad - or chicken shit.



Kate's Random Musings by Kate the Great is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

To Whom It May Concern

Dear Vanity Fair letters@vf.com,

I am sorry if the words or letters in this note to you are a bit jumbled, I am trying to type this missive on a sticky keyboard - a keyboard that is sticky only after I spewed the contents of my nonfat, vanilla latte.

I am not in the habit of spewing, but it was a Pavlovian reaction of which I could not help, for it was inspired by one of the articles in your February issue.

Upon reading said piece, it's apparent your writers and editorial staff are in the habit of spewing, and that is an utter shame.

A. A. Gill's Roll Over, Charles Darwin! rag is a complete disrespect to the art and ethics of journalism, if for no other reason than the writer's first sentence.

"It’s not in the nature of stoic Cincinnatians to boast, which is fortunate, really, for they have meager pickings to boast about."

Really. You don't say...

It was a statement that impeded my ability to press on to the writer's review of the Creation Museum (which is completely disregarded and ignored by a good portion of the population in Cincinnati).

But you know what? You're right.

We don't have a single thing to brag about. This coming weekend, hundreds of people will converge on Cincinnati's Contemporary Arts Center (b.t.w., the nation's first ever structure designed by the internationally acclaimed architect Zaha Hadid) for an opening of renowned street artist Shepard Fairey's first museum retrospective. Surely you've heard of him, right? Does this refresh your memory?

(P.S. Since you all clearly don't research what you read and/or write, Shepard Fairey is not the gentleman pictured in the piece. That is President Barack Obama. Fairey is the genius who created this instantly recognizable work).

I'll be at Friday night's opening and hope to meet Fairey personally, so I don't really have time to dig up something and appropriately brag to you about Cincinnati. But I'll be happy to share with you what Fairey discovers about the Queen City when he installs a variety of semi-permanent murals around our city this week and in May.

Regarding food, you're right again. We don't really have a damn thing to brag about. Yes, our best acclaimed restaurant closed its doors a few years ago (as the nation's longest running five-star restaurant at 41 years), but we still have other restaurants to rival some of the nation's finest dining rooms. Case in point: I ate at Boca, arguably Cincinnati's best restaurant, just days before dining at Chez Panisse in San Francisco. Again, since you all don't have a solid perspective or reference on things, I should point out that Chez Panisse is Alice Waters' restaurant and regarded as one of the best restaurants on the West Coast.

There. That's probably someplace you've heard of. The West Coast. I know it's hard keeping the rest of Flyover Country straight.

Anyway.

On both evenings, my dining partner and I shared sentiments leading to this conclusion: Boca is miles better than Chez Panisse. And yes, while we are both from the sticks of Cincinnati, I guess it is good perspective for me to offer that my dining partner and I have dined around the globe - in highfalutin' places like Paris and London and Amsterdam and Rome and you. name. it.

So, even though we have lots of worldly experience, I guess it doesn't give us the right or opportunity to brag about Cincinnati. And you're right - we sure as hell wouldn't be able to find a single thing to brag about close to home.

One final thing that I guess Cincinnati has no right to brag about or celebrate:

The good people of Greater Cincinnati have created a long lasting tradition of charitable giving, and collectively they're some of the most generous donors in the nation. I guess I should tell you that I work for a major (read: $63 million in LOCAL contributions annually) non-profit organization. Ours is an organization that has sister offices in cities large and small across the country. We are proud to say that, while Cincinnati ranks 32 in media market size, our metro ranks fourth in the nation for per capita charitable giving.

Fourth in the nation. How 'bout them apples?

But you're right. Millions (and I mean millions) in charitable giving is really, uh, what did your article say?

Oh, yes. "Meager pickings."

We don't have a goddam thing to brag about, indeed.

Thanks for taking the time to read this letter. I hope you enjoyed my spewing as much as I enjoyed yours.

Next time A. A. wants to visit Cincinnati, have him hit me up. I think we could find a few great places to show off. Hell, the New York Times had a great visit here last summer.

Cheers,

Kate

PS: The Scotsman that he is, please tell A. A. I'd put Cincinnati up against Edinburgh any day of the week. I've been there - and I did a hell of a lot more than see the airport and some whacked out museum.

Kate's Random Musings by Kate the Great is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

Tim's Angels

Nobody loves crazy winter weather more than a meteorologist.

Local 12's Tim Hedrick is a former colleague of mine; a mutual friend shot me a message saying Tim had an idea that she knew I'd love.

And, oh, how I do.

Please join Tim Hedrick and me for the first ever "Doppler Tim and Kate the Great Snow Angel Party" under the lights of Nippert Stadium tonight (Wednesday) from 8 to 8:30 PM.

Tim talked to some of his peeps at UC who agreed to keep the lights on a little bit longer this evening.

As I said in a tweet this afternoon - I will never rush for a touchdown or kick a fieldgoal. But I can make a mean snow angel on the gridiron.

BREAK!

Kate's Random Musings by Kate the Great is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

Bibbity Bobbity Boo

I am so glad I'm not Cinderella.

As the story goes, I'm fine with her lap of luxury-turned-hard knock life. Ditto, even, with the wretched stepsisters and hideous, master manipulator stepmother. And I think (though they may be extremely painful at times) I could even tolerate the glass slippers.

No, my big problem would be the whole midnight curfew deal.

What fun is wrapping up a good night out at the strike of twelve? Everybody knows the really crazy shit goes down at White Castle after the bars close.

But I digress.

Whether you are a fan of Prince Charming's dashing good looks or the bad ass way Cinderella wields a broom, you can get your fix of the classic Once upon a time fairy this weekend.

The Cincinnati Ballet is dusting off its glass ballet slippers (aside: I wonder if strippers are the symbolism for the modern day Cinderella...) and unleashing the ugly step sisters starting Friday evening at the Aronoff.

The Corps De Ballet and crew hit the stage Friday evening at 8 pm, Saturday at 2 pm and 8 pm, and Sunday at 2 pm. Click the link above for more information on the show and to purchase tickets.

*** *** *** *** ***

Maybe you're not in to fairy tales. Maybe you like something a little more saucy.

I have just the thing...

The Bacchanalian Society is flinging open the doors once again to one of Cincinnati's hottest parties of the year.

Now, I know lots of people throw that adjective around, but Krewe really delivers (note: you'll have to enter the password "krewe10" on that page to enter).

Last year's inaugural event turned the old Maisonette digs into a swanky, Bourbon Street lounge complete with belly dancers, sword swallowers and limitless Hurricanes (well, the bar actually ran out of Hurricanes, but here's to hoping that issue is fixed this time around).

The Black Tie-encouraged evening brings out some of the most sparkling ensems this side of the Left Coast, ditto for feathers, beads and other glittery accessories.

As is tradition for this hopefully annual event, the location has not yet been announced, but one of my dear friends is helping to plan it and gave me some clues as to this year's soirée whereabouts.

I am thinking the sky's the limit for this year's fête.

Note, that is the clue I'm offering you.

Tickets are $55 a person (and includes top shelf open bar, live music and debauchery a plenty).

See you there!

(Photo Credit: Mandira Jacob)

Kate's Random Musings by Kate the Great is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

HOIST: Lift Me Up

Don't let anybody tell you different - sometimes it's hard to party like a rock star.

Thankfully, some Cincinnati-based entrepreneurs have your back.

Check out the latest beverage to hit your favorite hot spot - its goal? A little hydration help so you can bounce back the next day and take care of bidness.




Thanks to the folks with Hoist who were kind enough to send me some samples. Now I'm hoping I can find it at my local grocery store...


Kate's Random Musings by Kate the Great is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

Doorbell Ringer

I've never really been afraid of rejection.

When I was little, say, an eight year old girl with a blonde pageboy haircut framing my face, I would hop on my blue Schwinn bike and cruise our neighborhood until I found someone who could play with me.

I'd go from house to house, knocking on doors and ringing door bells until I found a playmate interested in riding bikes, playing dress up, swinging on swings and digging for fossils.

Sometimes my friends would be busy, others would be waiting for better offers from more grown up girls. I wasn't too picky in choosing my playmates; I even stood by the fickle ones who weren't as loyal to me as I was to them.

I guess that's one of my blessings and curses - I am loyal to a fault. There are times when I should let go of my loyalty, but my heart has a hard time surrendering.

The lessons we learn while riding bikes and chasing boys on the playground apply to adulthood, too. We stick by our friends in good times and bad. Our friends are the people we're supposed to feel comfortable trusting with our deepest aspirations, heartbreaks and dreams.

Our friends are supposed to keep us accountable.

Whether we're 13 or 33, our closest relationships are supposed to be circumstances of reciprocity, not scenarios of one-way support, affection and kindness. When we don't feel that mutual respect and commitment, it's easy to grow hurt, confused and disappointed.

The swell thing about having a nice sized social circle is that it gives me the opportunity to foster a variety of relationships. Like a glorious garden of flowers, sometimes I sit back and discover some of the most beautiful blooms are the ones least attended to.

And that's when I begin ringing doorbells.


Kate's Random Musings by Kate the Great is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

Tartine Bakery - The Mission District, San Francisco

A line is always a good thing - at least where bakeries are concerned.

Sure, they royally suck at the airline's ticketing counter and at the DMV, but when you saunter up to a door to get a croissant and discover a line of 15 people waiting - you know you're in the right place.

I had some solo time in San Francisco, so I grabbed an umbrella from the concierge and hopped on a bus headed for the Mission District.

The Mission is one of the more gritty neighborhoods in SF; it's home to a large Latino community and experienced gentrification in the 1990s and 2000s. People flock here to sample the San Francisco style burrito, and apparently also Tartine Bakery.

I strolled up to the corner of 18th and Guerrero St. and found a line of people out the door and standing beneath the scaffolding outside the building. I stood in queue, waiting to see what all the buzz was about.

The buzz is likely in part because of a glowing write up by former New York Times food writer Mark Bittman. He said it was his favorite bakery in the United States, which is a pretty amazing statement coming from a man surrounded by Magnolia, Bouchon and dozens of other Big Apple bakeries.

Anyway.

Tartine.

I stood behind a distinguished man in a tweed coat, waiting to inch closer to the doorway and a stack of laminated menus. Once there, it took me forever to decide. Pressed sandwich? A couple of the many breakfast pastries? Quiche? A Croque Monsieur?

Making decisions can be difficult, especially when your stomach's growling and you're just a few people away from carbohydrate heaven.

I went whole hog and ordered a Pecorino and Almond pressed sandwich - made with sheep milk cheese, with almonds crushed with olive oil, lemon and sage. I asked the gal at the counter to throw in a croissant, a double pain au chocolat and a morning bun.

Number in hand (actually, it was the letter "I"), I grabbed a cup of coffee from the self-serve station while waiting for my package. The half-and-half and skim milk were out, but the canister with soy milk was filled to the brim.

I am so not a soy person, but I've got to say, it didn't taste that bad.

The clerk came by with my pressed sandwich, and I popped it in my bag and decided to hit the road since I couldn't find a single vacant chair in the place to claim as my own.

Thrusting my umbrella open, I set out for Dolores Park, hoping there was a tall tree I could crouch under and avoid the rain while eating my sandwich.

The sandwich (I was surprised to find three halves in the to-go box) was spectacular. The cheese held the bread and crushed almonds together, but its flavor didn't overpower the sandwich laced with fresh lemon and sage.

Sadly, ours was a trip of extreme eating, and I never got to finish the sandwich. We noshed on the breakfast items the following morning - I loved the chocolate croissant, but Wingman said he thought the plain version was a bit burnt.

Kate's Random Musings by Kate the Great is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

Saab Sister

I didn't always drive European cars.

My first set of wheels was a 1983 Plymouth Reliant K Car. That sweet ride was a gray two-door with a maroon quasi-soft top, complete with an eight-track tape player.

Looking back on it, it was kind of cherry. In 1995, it totally blowed, considering some of my classmates were pulling in to the school parking lot with convertible BMWs, brand spanking new Jeep Grand Cherokees and their parents' Jaguars.

But wheels are freedom, and I was happy to have em'.

The Reliant died when my dad and I drove it through an insane, springtime Nor'easter during my freshman year in college. There we were, cruising through five-foot salty waves crashing on to Middle Beach Road. Dad manned the wheel - I rode shotgun with the camcorder.

The sea water got into the engine and the car died before I came home for summer break.

The plane landed and my dad picked me up at Bradley, jazzed to show me what he and Brigid picked out as our new vehicle-to-share.

It was a ten year old, black, two-door Saab 900 S with a sunroof. We called it Black Beauty, and my parents affectionately called Brigid and me the Saab Sisters.

God, that car was fun.

A quintessential New England kind of car for two teenage girls on the Connecticut shoreline. I still miss those days.

Since then, someone in our family has always owned a Saab. My mother is partial to Volvos (her fire engine red 240 turns 19 this year - and I think it only has 90 K miles on it), but we girls have always loved Saabs.

My dad still dreams of getting a convertible.

I bought my 9-3 four years ago (a good proxy is pictured above) - I am excited about the prospect of owning it outright this fall. The car is built like a tank, though I think GM watered down some of its distinct, Swedish features.

Thankfully the ignition switch is still in the funky place in the console to the right of the driver's seat, and it's still expensive as hell to fix.

Saab is a quirky brand worshiped by thousands around the globe, and its faithful are hoping it can survive the tumult that comes from severing ties with GM. This past week, Dutch automaker Spyker made a $74 million cash play for Saab, offering up stock options and other creative financing to (hopefully) seal the deal. This comes several months after Swedish sports car outfit Koenigsegg was unable to follow through on its interest to buy Saab.

The brand is on life support, and this deal is akin to breaking out the defibrillator.

Born from jets - here's to hoping Spyker can make this deal with Saab take flight.

Kate's Random Musings by Kate the Great is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

My New, Lost Love

I fell in love with two men on May 19.

Actually, it's more like two men, a woman and a smoke monster.

The popular ABC drama, LOST, entered my life last spring, and I've been a changed woman ever since.

For the first time, I do not cringe at the thought of bills and junk mail in the mailbox. No, I run to my door in anticipation of the latest Netflix installment of Jack and Sawyer and Kate and the Oceanic Six (and the rest of their pals/frenemies).

I started watching old LOST DVDs in May in the hopes I'd be able to catch up and watch the series' final season (which starts Tuesday on ABC at 8 PM with an hour long recap, and then the season opener at 9 PM) with the rest of the "Losties."

You see, I made the mistake of watching The Sopranos (the entire series) well after the show went off the air. My discoveries, emotional revelations and other exclamations went lost on my colleagues (save for one fellow Tony fan - I miss you, SCO!).

This time, I thought I wanted to join the Losties and watch the show's ending as it unfolded on national television.

I finished the last three episodes of Season 5 on Wednesday, and I'm anxious to see what happens next week. I have gone so far as to enter LOST into my Outlook calendar for the next 18 Tuesdays.

Appointment television, indeed.

Has a show ever dished up so many twists and turns?

Maybe.

Has a show ever simultaneously featured so many religious allegories while launching a fantastical story about science fiction, physics and other mind bending phenomena?

Probably not.

Here's to a spectacular end to a wonderful series.

Please do not call, text or otherwise seek out my attention for the next several Tuesday evenings.

I'm not busy - I'm just LOST.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

The media is buzzing with the end of LOST. Check out this sneak peek of the first four minutes of Tuesday's premiere, CNN's piece including six secrets from the set of LOST and a great "Last Supper" photo of the cast, and this NYT writeup that explains many of LOST's mysteries will be revealed starting with the first episode of the season. The Times piece also claims viewers can jump in this season without having watched any of the previous episodes.

Man, that's mind boggling.


Kate's Random Musings by Kate the Great is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

About 11 Years Too Late

I guess I wasted years of my life.

Instead of getting a journalism degree, toiling with internships at radio and TV stations, working overnight/weekend/nightside shifts, learning how to write/shoot/edit/track (not to mention - make beat calls, scan wires, craft questions until the interviewee gave me the answer I wanted, manage time, etc. etc. etc.)...

I could have just watched this video.



What a hilarious commentary on my former line of work.

And no, I don't disagree - a lot of the crap people are turning these days boils down to something this formulaic.



Kate's Random Musings by Kate the Great is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

Art Is Everywhere

Art is not always thickly brushed swaths of oil paint on canvas, wrapped in gilded frame.

It doesn't have to be the finest piece of chiseled alabaster or hand blown glass from Italy.

Art can sometimes be as simple as the world around you.



Don't believe me?

I rather like this shot I snapped while riding the 44 bus to the Academy of Sciences in San Francisco.

Know what it is?

I call it Curve.

It's the central, accordion part of an extra long bus with two segments. This stretchy section helps the bus round corners more easily.

This little vestibule has four seats facing inward, two by two, as opposed to frontward like the other seats. I love the way the folds of the wall fan out where the round, turntable-like floor and the bus meet.

Art is everywhere.


Kate's Random Musings by Kate the Great is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

01-28-86 I Remember That Day

I was in 3rd Grade.

The nation buzzed about the prospect of sending the first civilian up in space - Christa McAuliffe, a teacher from New Hampshire.

Several of Maple Dale Elementary's 3rd Grade classes converged on a common space to watch the liftoff, scheduled for a chilly morning in January.

I was excited about space travel.

Years later I would discover that math and science were my weaker subjects, but at a bright-eyed nine years old, I was enamored with the idea of being an astronaut.

We watched the final preparations at Cape Canaveral. Then the countdown and liftoff.

The rocket propelled into the wild blue yonder, traveling at a speed likely matching the racing pulse of my little heart.

Then, *poof*.

A giant, wormy cloud spread out across the screen, nebulous parts glowing with traces of fiery orange. As children, we had no idea what was going on, and began cheering at an occurrence we thought was SOP.

The room quickly dispersed, and knowing my teacher (and her lack of aptitude for anything challenging or involving depth), there was no discussion of the morning's events.

A school bus ride later, I made it home to my mom and younger sister, who was recovering from some minor surgery. My mother, a very grave expression washed across her face, pulled a television into Brigid's room so we could watch Tom Brokaw explain the latest information as she cradled my sick sister.

I think I still bubbled with excitement, not knowing seven people had lost their lives on the Challenger. Mom's gentle but serious tone explained to me this was a very sad day and likely something I'll never forget.

She was right.

For months, I clipped every. single. story. about the Challenger out of the morning newspaper. My dad gave me a manila folder I used to organize and protect these scraps of newsprint. They were my treasures.

These days, space exploration is something we take for granted, and yet NASA shuttle launches are infrequent occurrences.

I think the Challenger explosion taught me the bravery that comes with facing a mission that threatens one's very existence. The incident no doubt also inspired people around the world to grow more curious about the great beyond.

Thank you to McAuliffe, Smith, Scobee, McNair, Onizuka, Jarvis and Resnik.

May your lives and commitment to space exploration fan the flames of discovery for generations to come.

And may we remain as dedicated to exploring the universe around us as you were in life and death.


Kate's Random Musings by Kate the Great is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

To Market, To Market

I love a good farmers market.

San Francisco's Ferry Building offers a Saturday Market that is a haven for foodies. Whether you love organic vegetables, homemade salumi, artisanal breads, freshly baked sweets or small batch cheeses, this is the place for you to sample and savor away.

Enjoy this composite of pics from our Saturday in San Francisco.

Confession: this last pic is not from the Ferry Building Saturday Market, but was snapped at Fisherman's Wharf. It gets a pass because I think it works well with the other images.

Kate's Random Musings by Kate the Great is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

Grammar Lesson: Sneak Peek VS. Sneak Peak

As a child, I was a horrible student of grammar.

Past participles, dangling modifiers, prepositions - it was all garbage to me.

From my 7th grade perspective, I needed to know how to read and how to write - but grammar was sheer fluff. Like Latin.

Little did I know grammar manages the mechanics of the language I love so dearly. Over time, I've discovered the nuances of the English language, and feel quite comfortable navigating the rules of grammar.

Sometimes I don't know why the rule exists (or even what it is), but I know there's a reason why a phrase sounds better written one way and not another.

It's a little bit like when a prodigy knows how to play classical piano without having any understanding of music theory.

I should state at this juncture that in no way am I am a prodigy where the English language is concerned.

Quite the contrary.

Anyway.

My love of vocabulary and language have brought on a crop of pet peeves, one of which I'll share with you today.

I HATE IT WHEN PEOPLE INCORRECTLY USE 'SNEAK PEAK' IN PLACE OF 'SNEAK PEEK.'

Sorry for the shouting, but it's the kind of thing I want to exclaim from a mountaintop.

Which is exactly what you're talking about when you use 'sneak peak.'

To give someone a 'sneak peek' is to offer them a preview, an early glance, a secret look ahead.

When mentioning 'sneak peak,' you are talking about a secretive mountain, as PEAK refers to the top of a mountain or ridge.

Now, here's the little trick I discovered to remember the difference.

Put the words in all caps.

SNEAK PEEK
SNEAK PEAK

The second version (the one about the secretive mountain) has a capital A in it. Imagine that capital A is a big, snowy mountain in the Alps - the Matterhorn, Mont Blanc - whichever mountain you prefer. Take a long hard look at that A. See how the top half, the part above the crossbar, is snowy and white? And can't you just picture little Alpine skiers whooshing down both sides of that jagged mountain?

Can't you taste the gluhwein at some cozy chalet at the foot of the mountain (hat tip to Julie)?

Next time you write 'sneak peak,' think long and hard about that secretive mountain in the Alps, and the skiers who don't want you to spill their secret.

And then, type 'sneak peek.'


Kate's Random Musings by Kate the Great is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

Banh You - Banh Mi

What's in a sandwich?

By any other name would it taste as sweet?


Take everything you know about sandwiches - your love of hefty versions overly stuffed with lunch meat, or perhaps your favorite flat pressed, cheesy variety - and throw it out the window while you're crossing the Brent Spence Bridge.

And when your brain has eradicated any hint of the traditional, two-pieces-of-bread variety hackneyed by an English earl in the 1700s, I want you to envision a concoction that the masses of Cincinnati have failed to embrace.

That concoction is Banh Mi.

Liz has extolled the virtues of this Vietnamese sandwich before; I'm told that Take the Cake sometimes includes it on its daily lunch menu.

But there are few other places I know of in town where I can enjoy one of these culinary achievements.

Wingman and I had just arrived to our hotel on a Thursday afternoon, our stomachs believing it was 3:30 in the afternoon, when we decided to set out for cheap Vietnamese in the nearby Tenderloin district. Not the most safe/clean/glamorous of neighborhoods in San Francisco, we were confident we'd discover a cheap meal to offset the decadence planned for later that evening.

I clicked on one of my Droid's apps and discovered Saigon Sandwich was just a few blocks away from our hotel.

That this bodega was honored with Best Sandwich in San Francisco a couple years ago should have been a sign of things to come.

That these sandwiches were around $3 a piece was just a bonus.

As we walked, Wingman waxed poetic about a Vietnamese sandwich he had 10 years ago. He said it was one of the best things he's ever eaten, and he's been searching the ends of the earth for another taste.

We walked to the little shop and found a line of people waiting to order their version of Banh Mi. The traditional Vietnamese sandwich is served on small baguette with pickled carrots and daikon, cilantro, chili peppers, cucumbers, mayo and a variety of protein fillings.

W went with a combo with ham, pork and pate, whereas I went with the "fancy pork" option.

We waited as two ladies made around a dozen sandwiches for the waiting crowd. Five minutes later, the older lady handed us our sandwiches in little plastic baggies.

We hit the street and chowed down while passing crack whore trannys, alleys reeking of urine and homeless people sleeping under bundles of blankets.

It was hard to focus on the sandwich, as my taste buds and eyes were facing an onslaught of sensory overload. That said, I only had to take a few bites before admitting I hadn't had a sandwich this good in quite some time.

The cilantro, carrots, cucumbers all crunched with flavorful freshness, and the "fancy pork" was tasty, but apparently Vietnamese code for pork lunch meat. The bread's exterior was firm but not too hard to compromise the consistency of the sandwich, and the dressing at the base of the sandwich was creamy, tangy and a perfect contrast to the fresh flavors in the sandwich.

This version of Banh Mi was sprinkled with a bit of spicy hot seasoning that only made itself known at the finish of each bite.

We downed what was left of our respective sandwiches before walking to Twitter headquarters for a photo-op and then the Yerba Buena Gardens.

I hope to God I don't have to fly to San Francisco to enjoy my next Banh Mi sandwich.

Life just shouldn't be that cruel.


Kate's Random Musings by Kate the Great is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

Review: Chez Panisse

Dining at Chez Panisse is supposed to be a spiritual moment akin to sitting beside Christ at the last supper.

The Berkeley, California restaurant is an institution with a history as old as your favorite variety of Heirloom tomato - it's the Mecca of the locavore, organic movement, and Alice Waters is its Muhammad.

If you've ever dined at a place championing locally grown foods and pure, fresh produce - then you've been to a place run by one of Alice's disciples.

Chez Panisse is one of the top five restaurants in or near San Francisco, and I consider it a sheer culinary gift from God that I was able to savor its goodness.

That said, it's got nothin' on Cincinnati's dining scene.

We went to Chez Panisse just five days after we had the most spectacular meal at Boca. We headed to the restaurant, which is hidden behind an arbor of overgrown trees and understated signage, after enjoying a cocktail at Mint Leaf (side note: I tried the most delicious cucumber gimlet cocktail there - it was tart, refreshing, and I imagine a perfect accompaniment to the restaurant's Indian cuisine).

We made our way to the restaurant of the evening and were greeted by a pleasant maitre d who whisked away our coats and showed us to our table near the open kitchen upstairs. We sat there with pent up excitement, expecting a meal we hoped to describe as orgasmic, spectacular and stunning.

Instead, we found ourselves remarking the courses were bland and unremarkable.

"This just isn't as good as Boca," we said - after every. single. course.

Our starter was a fritto misto of artichokes, squash, onions and parsley with watercress. These seasonal vegetables were served fried tempura style with a sauce akin to a caper flavored tartar sauce. I liked the starter but wasn't really bowled over - the deep fried vegetables weren't all that flavorful and something I'd expect from the likes of P.F. Chang's.

Our server Gianni brought us a nice 2006 Bourgone-Aligote Chablis, explaining it was a white wine made of hand harvested grapes from Burgundy.

The wine paired well with the next course - local rockfish and Dungeness crab brodo with olio nuovo. The fish was prepared well but was not very distinctive in flavor, save for only a hint of parsley.

Gianni and his crew brought us the third course, Grilled Becker Lane pork loin with shell beans and breadcrumbs, and Chino Ranch carrots and turnips. Nobody does pork better than Iowa, and that's where the star of our entrée was bred. The pork loin was tender and well flavored (I distinctly tasted something from the cinnamon/nutmeg/allspice genre), but we both remarked that we were not nearly as impressed with the course (or any, for that matter) as we were when dining at Boca just days earlier.

Dessert sometimes has a way of making everything better - and we held out all hopes that the final course would somehow redeem our evening at the legendary Chez Panisse.

We were served a date-rum and candied orange ice cream coupe with espresso granita. I enjoyed the date-rum and orange pairing - a perfect flavor combination for the winter months - but I thought the granita was overly icy/watery and lacking a strong coffee flavor.

I had photos of all of the courses, but cannot share them with you as they are on the cell phone that was stolen in San Francisco. As I was taking all of these photos, Gianni kindly offered me an opportunity to tour the kitchen and talk with the chefs. As much as I would have enjoyed the opportunity, I  was on vacation and wanted to just enjoy the moment, not look at it as an opportunity to review a restaurant.

So then, why the review, you ask?

A dear friend of mine suggested I post this review, not as a chance to knock one of the West Coast's greatest restaurants, but as an opportunity to champion Cincinnati's own culinary scene.

Kids, we can eat just as well in Cincinnati as they can on the Coasts.

Sure, San Francisco, New York, etc. all have a glut of phenomenal restaurants, whereas we have but a handful of truly remarkable dining experiences. That said, it's wonderful knowing we don't have to jump on a plane or drive a car if we want to taste something truly sublime.

And I also firmly believe sublime does not have to equal fancy/expensive/exclusive.

Heck, I think Terry's Turf Club is out of this world.


Kate's Random Musings by Kate the Great is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

Ding! Ding! Ding! Goes the Trolley

God, I love public transportation.

I struggle with embracing Cincinnati's bus system, what with its poorly designed wheel-and-spokes system. That said, it's a great service for people who really need it (including me - I was bus-bound for 2.5 months in 2007 when my car's turbo blew up. I was grateful for the public resource).

The thing is, I wish ours was a system that was used more by people who wanted it, instead of just needing it.

I just got back from spending almost a week in San Francisco, where public transportation is a way of life. The people don't just dig their trains, trams and trolleys because it's environmentally friendly - the truth is, riding public transportation is infinitely more convenient, too.

We flew in to Oakland before noon, and only had to hop on a quick bus before we piled on to the BART. In all, our trip from baggage claim to hotel lobby took about 35 minutes.

We really only needed a car for our one daytrip to Sonoma (though Wingman held on to it for two excursions to see high school pals elsewhere in the Bay area), and so the rest of the time we decided to stick to the MUNI. I was chomping at the bit to get the MUNI Passport; I discovered its significant convenience when I visited San Francisco just over a year ago. The pass (1, 3 or 7-day options) allows you to ride an unlimited number of buses, trolleys, and streetcars - as well as San Francisco's classic cable cars, which carry a hefty, $5 one-way fee.

My three-day pass was 20 bucks, and over the three days of use, I more than made up for my investment.

The other, super-cool thing about traveling around a city with excellent public transportation - many smartphones (Droid, iPhone, etc.) feature a Google Maps option that will give you a transit option, complete with walking directions to specific bus/streetcar stops.

We were quite the pair - pulling out our dueling smartphones, racing to discover the directions to our planned destination first.

The thing is, people in these big, freakin' awesome cities champion their public transportation because it's. so. easy.

Forget driving in circles, looking for an open parking meter or the cheapest parking lot. And ditto for dealing with road rage-laden traffic jams and idiots who don't know how to drive.

Public transportation gives you an opporunity to get to your destination swiftly, simply and with complete sanity. Bonus points for the chance to indulge in some pleasure reading.

The other thing that pubic transportation complements - getting a chance to actually see the city. Had we been trapped in a car the entire time, I likely wouldn't have noticed the lovely street detailing in the otherwise grungy Tenderloin. I wouldn't have known that the names of the streets were engraved in the concrete at almost every street corner.

I wouldn't have had the chance to let my eyes linger a little longer as I peered in the shops, restaurants and businesses we passed.

Public transportation also gives you a chance to rub elbows with real humanity. We saw beautiful and interesting people of all colors, backgrounds and social classes. We had the chance to eavesdrop on a few hilarious conversations.

We got to know a little bit more about life in San Francisco thanks to public transportation.

I am really hoping Cincinnati steps up its game and rolls full steam ahead with big plans for public transportation. A streetcar system could do wonders for our communities, and would likely be the first in many significant steps to improve our fair Queen City.

And someday, maybe some 30-somethings from San Francisco will come and get the chance to learn a little bit more about life in Cincinnati.

And maybe, just maybe, they won't leave.


Kate's Random Musings by Kate the Great is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.