Glass Jars and Fragile Hearts

Some men just don't know how to show how much they care about a girl.

This is a basic tenet of life I had to learn at a young age.

There was the jerk who called me so many names in school that he launched a firestorm of harassment aimed in my direction. It turns out he actually had a crush on me - he just didn't know how to handle it.

Then there was Frank, the object of my youthful affection and the first pair of lips I kissed.

We were neighborhood pals, part of a brood who'd roam the neighborhood in the summertime to play Super Mario Brothers during the day and Ghost in the Graveyard at night.

Frank and I were tight - as tight as two kids could be. We shared the same strange genetic code that was responsible for horribly kinky, white-kid-afro hair. Our moms laughed that when we grew up and got married, our children would come out looking like Chia Pets.

A year younger than my highly esteemed 12 years of age, Frank and his slowly percolating hormones didn't know how to handle me and my bangin' physique (well, what else would a boy that age call a girl who was entitled to wear an underwire?)

I went to horseback riding camp for two weeks, and sources a very nosy younger sister say that while I was gone Frank came to my back window before bed time and serenaded me with his personal rendition of Blue Moon. Frank would chase me and pull me down to the ground when we played tag, and for just a moment, it was clear this wasn't the kind of tackle he'd use to punish someone on the football field.

And then he threw the glass jar at me.

There I was, minding my own business, walking to a very important business appointment (AKA babysitting gig), when he ran down the hill that was his front yard, chucking a Mason jar - not the little one, but the big one your grandma used for canning green beans - right at the foot of my white, woven sandals.

Frank's mom asked him why he did such a thing, and he sheepishly replied, "But, Mom! I like her..."

Isn't that what they always say?

More than 20 years later, I notice guys pulling the same stunts on women. They show interest, do something to hurt us, and then run for home base.

I don't know what it is, exactly. Do these men not know how to express how they feel about a woman? Are they uncertain about the consequences of their feelings? Do they (perhaps incorrectly) worry that if they tackle a girl in a game of tag, they're going to end up living happily ever after and having lots and lots of Chia Pet babies?

The thing is, maybe I DO want to have Chia Pet babies someday. Maybe I do want to find that one guy who's up for an eternal game of Ghosts in the Graveyard. I want to find the guy who will give me the better Nintendo control because he enjoys watching *me* rescue the princess.

My heart is fragile, but I am patient and willing to play a few more rounds of tag to find the right guy.

And this time, if anyone chucks a glass jar at me - I'm throwing it back at 'em.


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People At Glenn Beck's Rally

Form your own opinion.

Think outside the spin, people.




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People I Meet: Ken

He asked me for directions, a stuffed backpack behind him and rollerblades in tow.

The smaller Asian man said he was headed to the river - he just didn't know which direction that was, exactly. I pointed off to the south and told him it was just a few blocks away from our spot on Central Parkway. He smiled, said thank you and asked if there were any inexpensive motels along the river.

I thought it odd, considering this man was on foot, and that's when he told me he was rollerblading across the United States.

My jaw literally dropped.

Ken had made it all the way to the corner of Central Parkway and Vine on his rollerblades, with only a backpack full of necessities and a makeshift brake made out of a mop handle and piece of worn tire tread.

What an amazing feat.

Whipping out the journalistic skills of my past, I peppered Ken with questions about his trek. Where did you start? How long have you been on the road? Have you talked to any media?

He told me he started in Santa Monica, CA in April with the intention of completing the journey in three months. There we stood, shooting the breeze on the first day of August, and Ken still had quite a way to go before making it to his final destination in Cape Cod.

Ken told me the entire journey was dedicated to the American people. He explained that, at a spry 63 years old (yes, really), he was grateful for the assistance Americans gave to Japan after World War II. He told of being a small boy in a Japanese classroom, having a teacher share, "Every drop of milk you drink is because of the Americans. Every pat of margarine and every slice of bread - someone from the United States sent it over for you."

This experience, the kindness we showed to Japan after destroying them with Little Boy and Fat Man in what was possibly the darkest days of our world's history - that was why Ken was strapping on his rollerblades every day.

He told me he rode his bike across the U.S. twenty years ago for an effort with similar intent. This time, Ken said, "I must rollerblade because it is more physically strenuous and is the best effort I can make to show my thanks."

Christ.

I asked Ken if he had a few minutes to wait with me in the shade until a TV camera could show up. This was a remarkable story that nobody knew - a precious treasure that I felt I wasn't worthy to keep to myself.

Ken unzipped his pack and and pulled out newspaper clippings - stories of Ken out west, venturing on the open road with wheels and bearings beneath his feet. He was excited about the prospect of sharing his story with someone else, and I was delighted to sit back and listen.

This is what life is about.

We meet each other on streets, in bars and on buses. A single glance can turn into a conversation - a talk that can turn into an opportunity for communion, appreciation and impact.

My 45 minutes with Ken made a deeply profound impact on me. Here is a guy who is using his own financial resources, 6,600 miles away from his home in Tokyo, wheeling on asphalt in the dead of summer to show his gratitude for my country.

And to think, so many of us in this nation question or fail to appreciate the liberties and blessings afforded to us here.

After the interview with the camerawoman, Ken and I exchanged information. I wanted to follow his journey in the worst way and was tickled when I discovered we could be Facebook friends.

Yesterday my Facebook stream shared with me that Ken had made it to Massachusetts.

A massive smile spread across my face.

He did it.

You can friend Ken Yamashita here.

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An Homage to A Hometown

Confession: This blog post is complete indulgence. Thanks for humoring me.

Almost frame of this movie was shot in my old hometown.


Harvest Trailer from Ibid Filmworks on Vimeo.

The shots in front of the coffee shop? That's the Main Street mainstay (one of 8 in a town of 16K people) where my youngest sister worked in the summertime.

The shots of the grandson and grandfather fishing? That was taken at West Wharf, along the water where my middle sister and I worked for seven summers.

And the shots of Robert Loggia riding his bike town a thickly tree lined street? That's Island Avenue - the street where my family lived for 14 years. He's descending the ridge that's just beyond our old home, headed toward Middle Beach Road, Madison Beach Club and Tuxis Island.

Harvest took up camp in Madison, Connecticut for several months in 2008. Our town had other brushes with fame (was almost the site for shooting for The Stepford Wives and several celebs live in or very near Madison), but this was the first time a film practically chronicled life in this precious coastal town.

The movie has scored several awards, and I am so hopeful it does well enough to garner a showing at either the Mariemont or Esquire theatres.

Madison is a surreal place and I am grateful I had the opportunity to call it home for a time.


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Slow and Steady

Keep Calm and Carry On.

It was a marketing theme thought up by the British government during World War II, only to be used in the event of an invasion. The idea relied on the notion that if a country of scared and threatened people could somehow stay focused and collected during the worst of it, they'd come out victors in the end.

I find some similar themes among my 30-something friends.

Had a great conversation with a 40-something colleague last week about how the midlife crisis is actually happening much earlier for 30-somethings. Whereas our parents and previous generations got married in their early 20s, had children, bought homes and climbed up the professional ladder - only to be a person they didn't recognize and in a place they didn't anticipate - many of us 30-somethings are putting off marriage, children and the whole kit and caboodle.

We're tossing the idea of the nuclear family on its ear and choosing instead to nurture interests, bring aspirations to fruition and become more self-actualized.

This dynamic directly complements generational studies that show Gen Xers would rather have more free time and less money. We Xers crave balance and meaning in our lives, and if that means doing away with traditional constructs, so be it.

Modern day 30-somethings are staring in the face of reality. We are questioning, no, challenging the expectations of a previous era. And so we are giving up our starter marriages, prolonging marriage or toying with the idea of doing away with marriage all together.

Some of us (likely, more of us, too) are eschewing the idea of family and children, in part because of these aspirations for discovery, but also because we are all too aware of the economic hardships our generation will bear in years to come.

Others are delaying the idea of having children, choosing instead to buy bassinets and car seats and breast pumps in our late 30s or early 40s. Thanks to the advances of modern medicine, and the more widely accepted philosophy that one does not have to share genetic code with a child to be considered family, we are inseminating, finding surrogates, adopting and otherwise bending the boundaries of parenthood.

This presents an interesting and sometimes challenging dynamic.

This quest for personal destiny does not jive with Mother Nature's schedule. While women bear the burden of biology where birthing babies is concerned, both man and woman age in similar ways, and so keeping up with a toddler is possibly a greater challenge for both sexes at 40 or 50 or even 60 than it is in one's teens and 20s.

This is the conundrum that keeps me up at night.

I am so torn. My 30s have been a miraculous gift of letting the dust settle after my raucous and irresponsible 20s. I am now more financially solvent, more disciplined and more genuine with myself and others.

This decade has become an opportunity to find my truest self - a discovery that still reveals itself.

That said, I am a bit terrified I won't settle down and couple up in time to meet the deadline of my youth.

Simply put: Sometimes I worry that by moving up my midlife crisis to my 30s, I might miss out on what this decade was supposed to be about in the first place.

My body and my spirit are at war with each other, and the only thing I can do is keep calm and carry on.

Because, no matter which side wins, I will have to live with the consequences and come out a victor in the end.


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Victory or Death

Was thinking about how I'd like to re-watch the entire LOST series.

So many great messages, challenges and thoughts.

Victory or death.

You make your own luck.




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Bad Girl, Bad Girl, Such A Naughty Bad Girl

I think I discovered what it feels like to be a hooker.

Not the whole, money-for-sex thing, but the whole I'm-working-the-corner concept. That's the feeling that washed over me last week as I walked to dinner.

I set out in a short, black, linen skirt and black top, with silver-sequined, kitten heeled shoes, and a little, black handbag. My hair was perfectly coiffed and warpaint covered my face. I was ready for a good time.

But not that kind of good time.

A block away from my home in Over-the-Rhine, I encountered a gentleman named David. Riding on his bicycle, he sidled up next to me and asked me where I was going. A loose t-shirt hung on David's chest; his pants were grubby and his face, his chin and his head were covered in curly, black and gray hairs.

David pursed his lips when I told him I was going to dinner to meet a gentleman. His bike slowly rolled beside me, crossing streets and waiting with me as I watched for blinking crosswalk signs.

Along the way, he shared with me that he's a bricklayer. He cocked a smile and asked what I was doing in such a neighborhood - I told him I lived here. Pace by pace, David followed me. We looked like quite a pair.

I think we were crossing Central Parkway when it dawned on me - we probably look like a pimp and a hooker.

We paced a few more blocks until I arrived at my destination, and David flung out his flip phone and asked me if he could have my phone number.

I politely declined, falsely implying the gentleman was more than a friend. It's a defense mechanism I learned a long time ago - pretending to have a boyfriend when it's convenient.

He wheeled away, his head hanging.

I told him I looked forward to meeting him on the street another time.

Hopefully a time when I'm not dressed to the nines.


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Friday the 13th

Today is probably the best day of the year - because my niece, Nora, celebrates her first birthday.

At one, Nora is brilliant, beautiful, and has perfected the art of air-kissing her aunt via telephone.

Nora knows how to use a BlackBerry on her own to randomly call her most beloved relatives, including her Aunt KayKay and her Nana and Papa, complete with heavy breathing and the occasional random yelp.

Nora is the queen of the cruising set, and has also mastered the most shrill shrieking you've heard this side of the Mississippi River.

Nora is practically perfect in every way, and I adore her immensely - not just because (at this rate) she is probably going to have to take care of me in the Old Folks' Home, but because she is the most special little girl in my universe.

Happy Birthday, Nora Bora!


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Just Write

A wise man once told me the best way to get over writers' block is to just plow through it and write.

So here we go.

Hmm. Well. Swagger Wagon. This is a hilarious video that More_Than_A_Mom told me about.



It shows two people who are around my age, bumpin' and dancin' around their fly ride - a Toyota Sienna minivan.

The video is actually quite clever and elicited more than a couple chuckles from me, even though I am the furthest thing away from driving a minivan.

The fact is, I drive a stick shift, and have for about 10 years or so.

When I got my first standard - a VW Jetta - I swore I'd never drive anything but a stick. Five years ago I got my Saab 9-3, thinking it a very reasonable family car (why the hell was I thinking about family cars at 28 years old??)

I've aways thought it would be difficult to drive a stick shift with little ones in tow. How will I turn around and give them their dropped pacifier? How will I turn around and give them their bottle? How will I turn around and swat their ass?

Now, I am entertaining thoughts of getting a sweet sports car when this car decides to call it quits.

At 9 years of age and 98K miles, I imagine I'll be cruising in the Saab for quite some time.

It is fun to dream about cars though.

Sometimes, I envision shifting gears and plowing down roads in a Porsche 911. Not one of the new ones that look like a Barbie car. No, what I'd really love is something from the late 60s or early 70s. Something that would go fast, turn heads and be fun.

Like me.


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Do Unto Others

I'm a big believer in treating people well.

But I've come to accept a key fact about life: people are probably never going to treat me as well as I treat them.

I have a generous and sensitive heart. Where I have shortcomings of financial generosity, I compensate tenfold with loving arms, open ears and an opinion that is rarely clouded with unreasonable judgment.

"Treat people as you'd like to be treated," was a popular theme this weekend.

Both in my personal relationships, and in general human decency.

My heart was heavy Sunday morning, and I surmised a bike ride would be the best way to improve my disposition. But, it was not meant to be.

Someone stole my rear bike wheel. Tire and all.

My cheeks were already salty from a morning of weeping (thanks to a sappy movie and sadness over a personal relationship), and so the flood gates flew open and the tears washed over me as I stood in my supposedly secure courtyard.

My brain dashed through a thousand thoughts. "Who would do such a thing?" I exclaimed as I surveyed the border of fences and building walls enclosing the green space.

Those thoughts trailed off to a vision of myself riding my bike, the wind blowing through my hair as the wheels rolled over the pavement.

It's a feeling I first fell in love with as a little girl, atop the seat of my first two-wheeler. A blue Schwinn that my parents still have to this day.

Do unto others. It's such a basic principle, and yet so many of us have swiftly forgotten how vital this basic premise is to maintain a peaceful society.

It's an ideology that is essential to even our closest relationships.

Looking back on some of my connections - both romantic and those of a friendly nature - I feel that sometimes I've come out on the short end of the stick. I don't know that there's any way to avoid that; some of us are givers, others are takers.

I'm okay with that.

It just hurts a teensy weensy bit when I feel like I can't rely on a friend to mirror the way I'm there for them.

And that's when I start broadening my social circle, looking for new connections and brighter opportunities.


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Happy Birthday to Me

Six is a great age.

Six is rainbows and scratch-and-sniff sticker books and ponies and Elmo.

Six is tying shoe laces and eying bikes with training wheels with envy.

KRM is six years old as of yesterday, and I'd be remiss if I didn't come out of hibernation for just a moment to say thanks to all of you who follow along and read this random melange of thoughts, gripes and revelations.

I admit my posting has been lacking as of late. When I decided to start a blog way back when, I committed to quality. I was never going to post something for the simple reason of shilling out another post. I would never force myself to craft a post because the day required it.

No, I'd only sit down and post when compelled to do so.

Life has a way of ebbing and flowing... and right now I'm treading through a lot of thoughts I'm going to file away for another day. Some of them deal with personal relationships, goals for the future and other heady stuff.

I could write about how my g-strings got tangled together in the dryer last week - but I just don't think you'd be interested.

Heck.

Maybe you would be.

In any case, thanks for coping with my writer's block. Feel free to suggest a topic I should write about - and who knows, maybe I'll just open up a bit.

Cheers!


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Wahooo - it's Friday

The Writer's Block continues...

So I offer up two fun videos/songs.

The first is definitely the best. The second is more local.





I'm heading to the YP Night at the Ballpark this evening - can't wait to see Reds take on the Atlanta Braves!!

Tomorrow night, it's Suits that Rock at the Carnegie in Covington. I hear this is THE EVENT to network with Northern Kentucky's movers and shakers. Looking forward to it.

Here's to hoping your weekend kicks ass and take names.

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Writer's Block

Normally I am not at a loss for words.

Normally.

A combination of a bum mood and a shortage of inspiration has left me with little to say this week.

I'm certain this is just a brief phase... surely something will arouse my conviction, my love of language.

For now, I leave you with this:








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"Lazy Day Sunday" : Rerack

I posted this on the blog exactly four years ago.

Some of it is completely random... but I really like the pith at the end. A message that endures no matter the year or age.
_________________________________________
Random dope:

Sometimes I really hate my big boobs. They are like a catch-all for everything that makes its way into my mouth. Case in point: I spend less than 24 hours in a different television market and take along three shirts for the trip. Two of them come back to Cincinnati with ketchup on them. Both stains acquired during different meals. Thank God for stain stick and other tricks.

God, can I tell you how much I miss Lexington? Don't get me wrong - I am having a blast in Cincinnati and probably wouldn't want to live anywhere else in my life right now. But there's something about a town where basically everybody is cheering for the same team (Go Big Blue!). I'm also a big fan of all the running, white fences everywhere and the subtle genteel manner of the Bluegrass. God, I haven't been down there since April...

I guess Northern Kentucky's a pretty good compromise. (P.S. Wildcat Fans: This piece on You Tube makes me cry. 'Cause I Bleed Blue!)

My stomach is telling me I should go on a hunger strike. The hostess of Saturday night's fete really outdid herself. The morning trip for biscuits and gravy at Bob Evans was one meal I should have skipped, what with a night full of food and drink... though I don't know about those Black and Blue shots (ps. When I was looking for the recipe I found a couple others I'd like to try. Bin Laden? Bitches From Hell? Where do people make this shit up?

I hate it when my insecurities bitch slap the confidence right out of me. Sometimes I have a tough time telling those voices in my head to shut the F up, and instead all those little worries gnaw at me until I am completely turned around inside out. Doubt is such a dangerous, self destructive weapon. I am temporarily fixated with a worry that really doesn't exist (could I be any more cryptic?) and need to just put it out of my head.

As Stuart Smalley says: I deserve good things. I am entitled to my share of happiness. I refuse to beat myself up. I am attractive person. I am fun to be with. I'm good enough, I'm smart enough, and, doggonit, people like me!

Oh, Lord. How pathetic am I? Time to go read the paper...



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Let's Have A Ball

Go hard or go home.

It's a basic philosophy to which I prescribe. Whether I am entertaining, crafting copy or practicing defensive driving, I strive to outdo just about everyone else.

So when it comes to celebrating birthdays, I am known for presenting the most elaborately wrapped gift, the most hilarious card or the most amazing birthday cake.

I cannot wait to outdo everyone when I send my niece a card for her first birthday next month.

Thankfully, Nora Bora does not yet read the blog, so she will still be surprised when the postman hand delivers to her a big, pink bouncy ball.

Yes. A bouncy ball as a birthday card.

I am a genius.

Actually, all of the credit goes to Chicago-based sisters Michele and Melisa. They started their business (SENDaBALL, how apropos) in 2003 after several years of mailing balls on their own. The United States Postal Service is apparently a-o-k with mailing a brightly colored rubber ball, and I am sure thousands of recipients couldn't be more delighted.

Whether you are celebrating a new baby or need to send someone a cheery get-well message, this is a great way to raise a few eyebrows and inspire a few smiles.

Next up: how to send a pony via UPS.


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Swimming Steady

I loved diving off the high dive.

It was around 1990. I was thirteen - a proud member of the Harper's Harpoons swim team. I'd climb to the top of that ladder in my requisite navy and red striped Arena swimsuit, pacing toward the edge of the board.

With each step, the board would bounce a little more, and I would cling to the railings a little tighter.

And then there I'd be, standing at the edge all by my lonesome, trying to summon the bravery of a thousand warriors before diving head first.

I'd look into the crystalline turquoise waters rippling below, arch forward with my hands pointed before me.

And then, plunge...

My little legs and arms would wave in a fury to propel me from the 13 foot depths until I could gasp at the surface.

It was a scary feat every time.

I always knew I could do it. I knew I'd survive. But being a girl who's terrified of heights (just looking down from atop the Empire State Building is enough to make me feel like Jimmy Stewart in Vertigo), I was always hesitant to surrender and lose control - if only for a split second.

I can't remember the last time I dove off a high dive.

These days, the breast stroke and a shady umbrella are my friends at the pool. I swim in the lap lanes with the old ladies and seek shadier spaces a la piscine to help me stave off those wrinkles (aside: ladies, I've taken to smearing on some night cream before bed - it appears to be doing wonders).

Lately, I've been toying with registering for the annual Great Ohio River Swim.

Seven years of swim team have molded me into a solid, safe swimmer who sometimes dreams of adventure swimming. I'd love to have the bragging rights of saying I swam across the great Ohio and back.

Hell, I always really wanted to swim to Tuxis Island, the island at the end of our street in Connecticut. My mom always pleaded with me to resist, saying the quarter mile distance was misleading because of the currents.

Someday.

For now, I contemplate a great Ohio River adventure - dreaming about strokes and goggles and the cool water washing over me.

No high dive, but a scary feat nonetheless.

I know I can do it.

The Great Ohio River Swim hits the water at 7:30 am on Saturday, July 24. Registration is $25 prior to July 20, and $30 after the 20th through race morning. The course starts at the Serpentine Wall, crosses the river directly to Kentucky, and returns to Cincinnati's Public Landing. The distance is just over 900 meters (.6 miles). Click the link above for more information.

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Old Spice Remix

I love the hot Old Spice guy.

I really love this remix of a few of his commercials.




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Domestic Diva

Baking is my thing.

There's something about tying on an apron, working in a kitchen littered with cookbooks and printed recipes, combing through the pages with hands dusted in flour.

It makes me feel real. It makes me feel creative. It makes me feel like I have a purpose on this planet.

Even if that purpose is to roll out the best damn pie crust this side of the wavy Mason-Dixon line.

My new apartment has already given rise to a series of whimsical cooking efforts. There was the spontaneous night I decided to break the seal on some precious Indian spices I'd been hoarding since one of my last trips to London.

There was the night when I invited 5chw4r7z and Ms. 5chw4r7z over for "pasta night" with homemade red sauce - and there was nary a noodle in sight. I am still really jazzed I whipped that zucchini and yellow squash into submission, turning those summer veggies into beautiful, thinly shaved ribbons in place of pasta.

I've served up some variation of egg almost every morning before work, and am constantly dreaming up ways to take advantage of the amazing offerings at Findlay Market.

But I've failed to bake even the simplest of quiches. The easiest of muffins.

I haven't even cracked open a box of Duncan Hines cake mix.

A loyal reader of the New York Times (especially the travel, dining & wine and fashion & style sections), I practically did a jig in my little office cube after discovering a recipe for cake sale (say it with me: kek sa-lay).

A savory baking endeavor that can possibly take advantage of the summer's offerings?

Yes, please.

My brain began weighing the pluses and minuses of turning on the oven in the dead of summer. Air conditioning on? Check. Iced tea chilling? Check. Baking in one's skivvies? Check.

The train of thought charged on, racing through possible recipe alterations, grocery lists and schedule logistics of baking such a treat.

Apparently, my schedule allows me to tackle such a feat on Friday morning at 7 a.m.

Duly noted.

Honestly, the product of my effort isn't the whole point of this little escapade. Given a roaring appetite and a famished evening, I'd likely be just as content with a slice of wheat bread and some preserves.

The intention is to make something with love. To give up a little bit of my time and do something thoughtful for someone else.

And that's likely the true meaning behind breaking bread.


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Monday Afternoon Chair Dancing

Get after it, people.

We survived another Monday.

Here's a ditty that'll make you want to shake your ass.

Just do it.



Malaguena by What Cheer? Brigade out of Providence, RI


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Skirtz & Johnston

I'll be honest with you.

After the Little Blue Box, my favorite kind of box is pink.

Tied up with strings and holding sweet treasures to be savored, the classic pink pastry box is a sign that you're about to experience the sublime.

Skirtz & Johnston is just the place to seek a treat to arouse your taste buds.

I stumbled across the bakery during one of my requisite trips to Findlay Market. The swell of the market's foot traffic has yet to discover this gem, which is nestled on the south side, across from the market house.

Earlier, I spied a woman eating the most stunning slice of pink frosted cake, and my sweet tooth ached to know of its origin. I just couldn't place it - not Jean-Francois' place, not the Bean Haus. My tummy growled with disappointment as I walked away with nothing but zucchini and mushrooms from Daisy Mae's Market.

I traced my steps back to Race Street, headed to my perch in OtR when I noticed a few exploring souls pacing through the alley on the south side of the market.

I'm glad I decided to follow them.

What I found was this darling, European-style bakery, complete with its own dazzling mix of mouth watering cakes, pies and tarts.

When we lived in Connecticut, my dad would come home from the office, toting a classic pink pastry box stuffed with the most divine cannoli. New Haven is very Italian, and its pastry and pasta offerings are authentic; the cannoli are spot on - creamy, sweetened ricotta piped in a deep fried pastry shell. Skirtz & Johnston has its own classic version, as well as a raspberry version ($2.50 for either).

Two women stood next to me, their noses literally pressed against the glass, drooling at the sight of these confections.

If sweets aren't your thing, you can also enjoy Skirtz & Johnston's savory offerings, which include four hearty sandwiches served on their own bread ($6.75 each). The bakery also has everything you need for a good breakfast bite - pastries, bagels and a sausage and cheese casserole ($1.50 - $3).

I tried the goetta and apricot cheese danish ($2.50).

Oh wow.

This thing was amazing. Moist and flaky, and the goetta and apricot complemented each other beautifully.

The spot also offers a nice selection of artisanal chocolates ($2) - they beckon you to come in as you pass the bakery's window.

Skirtz & Johnston is open every day but Monday - they're open from 9-4 on Tuesdays, 8-5 on Wednesday through Friday, 7-5 on Saturdays and 8-4 on Sunday. The folks there say they'll even open the doors a few minutes earlier for you if you'd like to call ahead for an order to take to the office. If you'd like to dine inside, the bakery has a space next door with several tables and chairs you can enjoy.

I think I know where I'm getting my office treat for my birthday.

Skirtz & Johnston - 113 West Elder Street - Findlay Market
513-381-1286

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

Va-Va-Va-Vigilante

I really, really don't want to be the block's "Mrs. Kravitz."

No, no, no. Not Lenny Kravitz's wife. I'd take that role any day. What I really loathe is the idea that I'm going to be the nosy busybody who calls the police every time I see something the slight bit strange.

That said, I'm a week and a half in the new digs, and I've already called the cops more than during my five year residence in Oakley.

Granted, we're not really comparing apples to apples. For all its renaissance revival, Over-the-Rhine is not out of the woods. The emerging community still has more than its fair share of violent crime and illegal activity.

And I suppose that's my impetus for calling officials when things are amiss.

In my previous line of work, I reported many stories of gun crime, drug deals, physical assaults. Those are definitely offenses that warrant calling the police. Other people might be hesitant to report a strange vehicle stashed behind a bunch of trees in a hidden corner of a parking lot, or a street party-gone-wild on a school night.

Not me.

I know what those hidden vehicles and spontaneous debauchery can lead to.

Tolerating disturbances and minor suspicions have a way of allowing things to escalate.

Communities have been quite successful in fighting crime by launching neighborhood watch programs or "Citizens On Patrol" groups. Neighbors in Price Hill regularly reclaim their street corners by hanging out in their lawn chairs, gathering to show they don't tolerate the drug and prostitution crime that has previously erupted on their streets.

For me, that might be going a little too far.

At least on my own.

But for now, I'm comfortable to watch out my window, gaze at the gorgeous church spires and stunning architecture in my neighborhood.

And I'm gonna ring District 1 any time I see someone trying to tarnish my block.


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

Veg Out

I gave up meat on a dare.

The challenge was prompted by a claim my father made when I was a teenager, saying that I had no discipline and could never even commit to something as trivial as eating as a vegetarian for a week.

Complete fighting words, in my book.

I took my dad to task and prescribed to a life sans-meat for two years. Cold turkey - well actually, no cold turkey. You know what I mean.

Anyway.

That was many, many moons ago. I now happily nosh on just about any meat I can sink my teeth into, but I still enjoy a vegetarian option once in a while.

The fact is, even though I eat meat these days, I absolutely cannot stand a meal that is based solely on protein and carb. I'd take a veggie sandwich over a Philly cheesesteak any day.

The mercury keeps rising, and that means kitchen endeavors are meant to be cool. No messing with the oven and minimal time standing in front of a hot gas burner. Even better if I can whip up something that is low carb and high flavor.

Enter the summer squash.

I was nosing around the internets and found a fantastic suggestion of using squash and zucchini in place of noodles.

What a way to get in your five daily fruits and veggies while enjoying a filling meal.

I'm having several dinner guests this week and I am certain I'm going to give this technique a try - here's to hoping they're not massive carnivores!

Summer Market Pasta
1.5 pounds of tomatoes, freshly chopped
3-4 zucchini or yellow squash,
1 Vidalia onion, diced
1 garlic clove, minced
7-10 leaves of fresh basil
1/4 cup shredded Parmesan or mozzarella
1/4 cup pine nuts
3 T extra virgin olive oil
sea salt
Cracked black pepper
(optional - half pound of bacon, fried to crispy)

Pour 1T EVOO in saute pan and let heat until oil is "shimmery."

Add garlic clove and onion and stir in pan - cook until onion is translucent.

Add tomatoes and stir with spatula. Simmer.

While tomatoes are simmering, peel zucchini or squash with a potato peeler into very thin ribbons.

Let second saute pan heat, then add 2T EVOO.

Saute squash ribbons for two or three minutes, sprinkling sea salt and cracked black pepper to taste. The goal here is to heat up the squash, but not overcook it. We want these "noodles" to retain some firmness, just like an al dente pasta noodle.

Toss noodles and tomato sauce (and crumbled bacon bits if desired) - top with cheese, pine nuts and hand-shredded basil leaves.

Enjoy!


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Rave On

You can take the girl out of the party, but you can't take the party out of the girl.

This, my parents know all too well.

Of their three daughters, I am definitely the most adventurous, the biggest dreamer, the most "wild." I love a good time - and can usually make any situation fun.

Thankfully, I'm not going to have to work too hard at making the Equinox Ball over the top.

Tonight marks the start of Cincinnati PRIDE, a celebration of individuality and diversity. The Queen City's gay community champions this weekend as an occasion to celebrate people of all walks of life, and I am happy to join in on the parade (quite literally, as you'll read on).

The Equinox Ball on Saturday night is the dressed up and celebrating spectacularly portion of the weekend. I agreed to volunteer at the event, which means I'll be working the door for an hour or so. What a fun way to welcome a great group of people and get an opportunity to check out the fabulous duds on this crowd that is always dressed to the nines.

Speaking of dressed to the nines - I initially was thinking semi-formal when I heard about this ball. I was quickly informed that this is the place where I'm likely to see over the top and awesome instead of staid and Black Tie.

Which brings me to my fun dilemma. What does a girl wear when she's invited to wear "club wear" and wants to impress a crowd?

I have been known to wear a tube top made out of saran wrap, and think this could be the perfect venue for such a getup.

Pull out your most sparkling, spectacular, feathered fabulous duds and join me for an awesome night of dancing and celebration.

I may just have some extra saran wrap on hand, if you need it.

The Equinox Ball is from 10pm to 2am on Saturday, July 3 at Duke Energy Center. Tickets are $50 in advance and $60 at the door, and I'm told the evening will be worth every penny.

If you can't make it to the Ball, join me (and other CincyPAC board members) at the Cincinnati PRIDE parade, Sunday at 11am at Fifth St. and Fountain Square. The parade will be followed by a festival that lasts until 9:30pm, complete with fireworks.



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

No Sleep 'Til Brooklyn (or OtR)

In less than 24 hours, all of my worldly goods should be moved in to my new digs.

While my neon anticipation far outweighs any other emotion, I must say I am a bit wistful to leave Oakley.

The little berg was a charming community that I discovered after agreeing to take a job at Channel 12 over five years ago. Employees there tried their best to get me to move to Anderson, but I was hell bent on living in the city of Cincinnati.

There's something about actually living in the city limits - and I was going to have no part of the suburbs.

About two years later, I started getting a hankering for a home even closer to the heart of my beloved Cincinnati. I dreamed of spaces with a mix of industrial and antique accents, complete with hardwood floors and exposed ductwork.

After many, many moons, I am finally getting what I've always wanted.

Still, I'm going to miss the pulse of Annie Oakley's namesake.

Things I'm going to miss:

• Throwing on my shoes for a quick walk to Habit's/Dewey's/Kona/Subway/Oakley Pub/Aglamesis/Fresh Market.
• Grabbing my computer and heading to the shady strip of grass on the Esplanade, complete with complimentary wi-fi.
• The beautiful, tree lined streets and quaint homes - perfect for family life.
• The proximity to Hyde Park and Mt. Lookout.
• The beautiful, antique built-in china cupboard in my apartment.

Things I won't miss:

• The wall-to-wall carpet, or the massive, moldy hole in the ceiling above my bathroom toilet.
• Washing dishes by hand.
• The epic construction project happening on Madison Rd.
• The redneck neighbors who have since moved in to this apartment building.
• The dungeon basement laundry facility that looks like it was made for Norman Bates.
• The three-count 'em-three feet of counter space in the kitchen.
• My peeping tom.
• The eight-minute AM commute and the 15-45 minute PM commute (depending on traffic and weather conditions).

What I'm looking forward to while living in OtR:

• Growing stronger bonds with current friends, and making new friends, too.
• Glossy hardwood everywhere!
• A washer, dryer and dishwasher in my unit!
• The view I have of Downtown Cincinnati's magnificent skyline - in every season, in every evening, and every twilight.
• Real container gardening on my fire escape.
• A big kitchen island
• A fancy shower head
• Close proximity to forkheartknife/Neon's/The Iris/Grammer's/Findlay Market and a variety of other establishments.
• The variety of people and lifestyles co-existing in an urban setting.
• My 1.5 mile commute to work. No interstate - no problem.

So far, I have absolutely no reservations or qualms about living in OtR. That might be rose-colored, but I am optimistic and going in without any hesitations.

Here's to closing one chapter of my life, and tearing through the pages of a new one.

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

Rhythm Is A Dancer...

... or something like that.

My statcounter tells me that someone "googled" me today and got to the blog. Creepy? Yes. But it prompted me to do the same.

And look what I found.



Let it be said that I am nothing if not self deprecating.


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 25 Most Played

A song for every season, a tune for every time.

I suppose that's what has become of my iPod. I can't remember how many songs I have (3000+), but I know I have enough music to last for almost 10 days straight without repetition.

Sounds like a marathon... who's in?

@CincyAlea asked me to share my 25 Most Played - so here it is, in all its glory, with an explainer for some of the songs on the list.

1. Lie In Our Graves - Dave Matthews Band
This song is #1, but it sure doesn't deserve to be. Don't misunderstand, I love DMB (though have decided I'm over the revelry at Riverbend), but this song accidentally snagged the top spot when my iPod mistakenly replayed it over and over and over - to the tune of 450+ repeats. So a mistaken number one, but a number one, nonetheless.

2. Laid - James
1993. High school. A dorky virgin who was hesitant to say bad words. And a massive crush on a boy named James. It added up to a fantastic equation that led me to heart. this. song. Immensely. To this day, Laid makes me want to jump on a bed and sing with a hairbrush in my hand. I know. Hot.

3. Boys Don't Cry - The Cure
High school also introduced me to The Cure. I never listened to them in Cincinnati, and when I arrived on the scene in Connecticut, I'd never heard of the band. Friends of mine had older siblings who loved the band, so naturally we picked it up, too. Despite Robert Smith's wailing, I actually love a boy (or a man) who does cry.

4. Just Like Heaven - The Cure
Another great tune - this one makes me want to do the Molly Ringwald-in-Breakfast Club dance for some reason. Reminds me of past relationships and hopes for future ones.

5. The District Sleeps Tonight - The Postal Service
My first ever blogging pal Micah makes the most fabulous seasonal mix CDs. He became my first online-to-real life friend, and I am grateful he still includes me in his seasonal compilations. Anyway. I know shit about music. I am the epitome of mainstream (though I have gotten a lot better at finding my own indie music this past year) and am grateful for Micah's more exploratory, hidden finds. Anyway. He included this tune on a CD I think before most folks had even heard of The Postal Service. At 2:17 in, the beat makes me want to pound a table with my fist. Love it.

6. (I Can't Get No) Satisfaction - The Rolling Stones
You can take The Doors. I'll take Mick Jagger and Keith Richards. The Stones have become my favorite classic rock band. Paint It Black, Brown Sugar, Sympathy For The Devil - I love it all. I had an old college friend introduce The Stones to me, and though we are no longer friends, I am forever grateful for the introduction (though this isn't entirely true. Family Lore says I was a dramatic dancer even as far back as an infant, and that my dad and I would slow dance to Miss You).

7. These Are The Days - 10,000 Maniacs
Anyone who went to school - whether it be grade school, high school or college - in the 90s has no doubt heard this song in a photo compilation of some kind. And is there really a better song to pay tribute to that era? In high school, we felt this message in every heart beat, in every embrace, in every word uttered. We knew we'd never replicate that feeling of not-yet-adults-still-not-kids, growing ambition and responsibility but the casual never ending nights of fun and togetherness. It really was special, wasn't it?

8. Whip It - Devo
What other song makes you want to whip around an imaginary lasso? Maybe it's just me. I say whip it... whip it good.

9. Nothin But A G-Thang - Dr. Dre and Snoop Dogg
College. Plastic cups full of beer or hooch. People wearing Hawaiian shirts and leis, packed in a dark garage and breaking it down beneath a hackneyed light system as someone plays on a pseudo sound board. I think it was written in the Greek bylaws that every single frat party was required to play this song.

10. Stupid Girl - Garbage
This song makes me feel like a bad ass. Actually, Shirley Manson makes me feel like a bad ass. She and her band mates were introduced to me (figuratively speaking) by none other than Thomas. Remember when people still made mixes on cassette tapes? Well, Thomas made me the most fabulous mix tapes of Garbage and Better Than Ezra. I think I still have those tapes. They're souvenirs from a time gone by.

11. Poker Face - Lady GaGa
I think you all clearly understand how I feel about The GaGa. Need I say more? Okay, I will. This song comes complete with my own, high production value - low execution dance moves. Occasionally I am struck to break out in dance in my living room... prancing across the space, complete with props and poses. It really is a shame I don't have a web cam, isn't it?

12. Start Me Up - The Rolling Stones
Another great tune to put a gal in a good mood.

13. American Woman - Lenny Kravitz
This man's vocals are pure sex, and that's how he makes me feel when I hear this ditty. Madonna's cover doesn't even touch the original.

14. Supernova - Liz Phair
"Your kisses are as wicked as an F-16 And you fuck like a volcano, and you're everything to me." God, I hope I can say that about someone someday. Phair is a phenomenal songwriter, and her lyrics bring up some of the most spectacular imagery I've heard in music.

15. Pride (In The Name of Love) - U2
My favorite band, hands down, and I am rather surprised to see U2 only hitting at #15. This song is probably my favorite U2 song. Haunting chorus and a beautiful message about Martin Luther King, Jr. The Edge's guitar licks are something to marvel, and Bono will always be nothing but sexy to me.

16. Bittersweet Symphony - The Verve
There I was, tears streaming down my face, chest heaving, when Reese Witherspoon came on full screen, driving down the interstate in Ryan Phillippe's 1956 Jaguar XK-140, and this song eased on. The car. The story behind the scene. The song. I was overcome. The song's lyrics are an interesting commentary on life, and the symphonic elements matched with rock 'n roll is a stunning pairing.

17. Your Woman - White Town
One hit wonder, but oh, what a wonder it is. A man, singing about how he could never be your woman. I always wondered whether this is the kind of song a gay man sings when he breaks up with his lover. Alternately, it's been a great song to groove to when recovering from unrequited love.

18. Crash Into Me - Dave Matthews Band
A long, long time ago in a very far away place Lexington, this used to be a song I sang along to a six string. It still is a great, great song and I love to sing it, though its meaning has warn a bit.

19. Sour Times - Portishead
Speaking of Lexington, there used to be this fantastic, smoky seedy bar called Buster's. The building on Main Street is no longer standing, so you'll have to just imagine a dim space with walls painted black. An eclectic juke box, kitschy diner-like tables near the entrance, and a few ratty pool tables in the back. The handle was missing from the door to the ladies' room, and someone had kindly stuffed the hole with crumpled paper towels. This is where my disdain began for watered down hand soap, but I always forgave the place as I could play Sour Times on the jukebox.

20. Gone, Gone, Gone (Done Moved On) - Robert Plant & Alison Kraus
The guitar on this is wicked. Raising Sand is a great album that got a little press - if you don't have it, I highly suggest you get it.

21. Send Me On My Way - Rusted Root
Simeon The Whale. That's what my mom always thought she heard Michael Glabicki sing when Brig and I would play this in high school. Connecticut is the kind of place where rich kids pretend they're hippies, wearing Birkenstocks, hemp necklaces and sloppy polo shirts. Bumming around in older Saabs, Jeeps and the occasional minivan, this song definitely belongs on the soundtrack of a beloved era.

22. Clocks - Coldplay
I could wax poetic about how much I love this epic song. Instead, I'll just say Chris Martin's piano playing is haunting, and I love singing along to this song at any opportunity. Especially the starry chorus.

23. Friday I'm In Love - The Cure
A song that made an indelible mark in my memory many moons ago. Doesn't everyone want to be in love on a Friday?

24. Strict Machine - Goldfrapp
I know. Random, right? Goldfrapp's entree into commercial mainstream seems like a dark horse, but this is a wonderful electric tune that you should download if you've got an extra $1.29 to spare.

25. Got to Give It Up (Part 1) - Marvin Gaye
I was seven years old when my dad told me about Marvin Gaye's death. A DJ on the radio had just played What's Goin' On as a tribute, saying it was a damn shame what happened to Marvin Gaye. I asked my dad what he was talking about, and Dad had to break it to me that Gaye's father shot and killed him during an argument. My "little girl self" just couldn't understand how a parent could harm their child, no matter their age or the struggle involved. Years later, I'd hear a slew of similar stories while working in the TV business. No matter how many times I'd heard it, it was still a hard pill to swallow. Got to Give It Up is a happy tune that makes me forget my worries, and instead groove and bust a move in any living room, dance hall, car or shower.



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

Booty Pop! And Other Random Videos

If you've seen me coming, you know I have a big rack.

If you've seen me going, you know I have a flat ass.

Seriously.

My bum could be used as an end table or cutting board, it's that flat.

I guess we flat assers of the world can rest easy - some brilliant inventor has created Booty Pop.



This is either a hilarious joke, or effing brilliant.

(Hat tip to my FB pal SMB for posting this!)

And now to a commentary on our modern-day, Facebookin' Twitterin' YouTubin' society.

Sometimes it's just a good idea to not engage with someone else online.

Stay offa my Facebook.



(Hat tip to all around great social media diva, @LauraMorarity).

On any given Sunday, you will not find me at the gridiron. I will not be glued to my television to watch a pigskin sail across the pixels like a Hail Mary dream in Green Bay.

No, I could give a flying duck about football.

On Sunday, I will be at brunch.

As it turns out, so will Mike Tyson - with a bunch of hipsters.



(Hat tip on this one goes to none other than @The_Joey, who cannot stop talking about this video).

As for some videos I found on my own... here's a new one that's sure to be a family favorite. The Lady GaGa Poker Face Makeup Application Video.



CAN YOU BELIEVE THAT VIDEO HAS HAD OVER 18,000,000 VIEWS??

It appears I am not the only one in love with The GaGa.

Switching gears... just so you know, Obama is going to kick some ass.



FIN


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

Mommy, Look What I Made!

Ever heard of a Wordle?

Me, either.



I made one myself, though, and you can have a look at it. Just click the image above to see the full picture.

Jinkies.


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

On Their Own Two Feet

Sisters are doin' it for themselves...

The start of a chorus sung by none other than the enigmatic Annie Lennox - a woman who embodies power, drive, sex appeal and confidence.

She must be one of the original Bad Girls.

A bad girl, as my stunningly bright friend Candace Klein explains, is not necessarily about breaking laws and bending rules, it's about listening to your inner voice and creating energy with ideas. It's about being a natural born leader. It's about making change in the community, the business world and the social scene.

By definition, I must be a bad girl, too.

Years ago, I sat in a meeting with a Lexington TV station's newest news director and general manager. I'd already worked at the station for four years and had aspired to the coveted 6 PM position. A title of seniority, I'd worked hard to fulfill the goals and objectives laid out by my previous managers, and was disappointed by some of the micromanaging and less-than-constructive criticism presented by my new bosses.

"You're a maverick, Katy. We don't know whose side you're playing on."

I was called a maverick well before the GOP took it on as a moniker, and I didn't know what to make of it.

All these years later, I take it as a significant compliment.

Some of my personal rules: I refuse to kiss ass. I eschew any form of insincerity. A crafter of words, I am consistently brutally honest, though will use my language to impart my meaning with grace and courtesy.

I also don't play by anybody else's rules but mine.

You'd think that presents a challenge in the professional world, but it doesn't. Nine times out of ten, I believe in the mission (or can believe in the reason behind the mission) of organizations I choose to serve. But I am usually one of the first to politely voice my concern/reservations/disappointment about something.

We women must be bold. We must act with conviction in the business world and civic endeavors. While many of our male counterparts have embraced women in leadership and positions of power, the corporate world has failed to mirror this shift.

There still remains a huge disparity in the amount of venture capital dollars and other resources designated to female-owned businesses.

It seems we ladies continue to take on more responsibility with less support.

Thankfully, there is a tremendous new opportunity for women in Greater Cincinnati who aspire to establish their own small business.

Klein's Bad Girl Ventures is a micro-lending program that aims to serve as an aggregate for donations that will ultimately be distributed to women-owned startups. The goal of this effort is to help establish more women business owners and leaders in our community.

Have a brilliant idea you'd love to launch? BGV might just be the thing you need to let it soar.

BGV is hosting an application kickoff Tuesday evening from 6 to 8 PM at The Avenue Lounge on Madison Avenue in Covington. Please click the link and visit the Facebook event invite to learn more about the kickoff and RSVP.

Whether you are a woman with a burning passion to be bold, a prospective donor who would like to help women-owned businesses flourish in Cincinnati, or a supporter of BGV, all are invited.

In close, a personal note. Candace Klein is one of my dearest friends. She invited me to this event, and I am only too enthusiastic to support her in this new endeavor. Candace has an energy and ambition that is nearly infectious, and I am so proud of her latest, great accomplishment.


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