Author Archives: Kath Carroll

Chew On This

22 Friday Aug 2014

Posted by in Food, Parodies, Television

≈ 5 Comments

Tags

, , , , , , , , ,

The title of the Salon.com opinion piece screamed off the screen like Guy Fieri himself: “How one man destroyed the Food Network: Guy Fieri has made culinary TV into a viewer’s hell.”

Finally, I thought, as I read Farsh Askari’s commentary, I’m not alone in my assessment of Food Network. Then came Allen Salkin’s response, which is an impassioned defense of Guy, but equally critical of the Food Network.

Why does it always come out "Drivers, Dine-ins, and Dives" when I say it? Image from Wikipedia

Why does it always come out “Drivers, Dine-ins, and Dives” when I say it?
Image from Wikipedia

While I agree with Askari’s opinion on Guy more, they both make valid points about Food Network. I also used to like watching the creative chefs ply their trade while I cooked dinner or relaxed on the couch afterward, but in recent years a bitter bite has taken hold of the programs.

For me the turning point came with the inception of Cupcake Wars, in which a snarky host presides over a kitchen where once-fun confections have become arms for cutthroat competition. (In fact, there is now a show called Cutthroat Kitchen.) Food Network used to offer comfort food for a world gone a little—or a lot—crazy. Now it serves up recipes of the same cynical, mean-spirited, snobbish ingredients that make up modern society.

Justin Willman, magician and host of Cupcake Wars, who also goes by Justin Kredible. Image from Wikepedia

Justin Willman, magician and snarky host of Cupcake Wars, who also goes by Justin Kredible.
Justin Sipid.
Image from Wikipedia

I cut my television culinary teeth on Cake Challenge, where pastry chefs created astonishing cake sculptures based on a given theme. Artistic merit and taste determined the winner; the participants competed, but did not connive. Unfortunately, as the years passed this show became a buttercream Titanic, sinking under more and more onerous requirements until the cakes had to be towering, animatronic behemoths to be crowned champions. In fact, by the end of the show’s run, I think the cakes were the size of the Titanic.

Bronwen Weber, of Frosted Art Bakery and Studio in Dallas, was always a classy and creative contestant on Cake Challenge. Image from Food Network

Bronwen Weber, of Frosted Art Bakery and Studio in Dallas, was always a classy and creative contestant on Cake Challenge.
Image from Food Network

Confetti Cakes won the first Extreme Cakes Challenge with this 6-foot tall sock monkey, complete with smoking ears, laser eyes, and sparklers.

Confetti Cakes won the first Extreme Cakes Challenge with this 6-foot tall sock monkey, complete with smoking ears, laser eyes, and sparklers.

Over the years I’ve also watched Iron Chef, Restaurant Impossible, 24 Hour Restaurant Battle, Private Chefs of Beverly Hills, Food Network Star, Food Truck Wars, and Chopped. Some of these shows no longer air and the schedules of others are lost among the onslaught of Diners, Drive-ins, and Dives (“DINERS!, DRIVE-INS!, AND DIVES!!”), but I still enjoy Chopped.

Image from Wikipedia

Image from Wikipedia

The premise of Chopped brings four chefs together to create a 3-course meal from the ingredients in a mystery basket. Over three rounds, the chefs are “chopped” as their dishes don’t live up to the judges’ expectations until one winner remains.

Even in this show, though, there’s a creeping feeling that the judges are losing perspective, the way politicians lose all connection to “real life” or Kanye West to his own importance. War may be raging, disease running rampant, people starving, but Scott “no raw red onion” Conant or Maneet “I really wish you had…” Chauhan will glare at the chef as if he or she spit in the dish and say something like, “The braised boar was the most succulent I’ve ever had, but I don’t understand this orange slice on the rim of the plate.” The camera pans to the chef who, looking as if he’s just been caught at McDonalds, stammers some defense of his vision. Then Marc “all I want to taste is salt” Murphy nods his head in agreement with the utter embarrassment of the orange peel and levels the damning criticism, “and you should have used more salt. So for those reasons, we have to chop you.”

The Judges of Chopped Image from Food Network

The Judges of Chopped
Image from Food Network

Being chopped for that lack of salt is no grain of salt to these chefs. For some the win and $10,000 prize means redemption in the eyes of their family (I think contract killers have more support from their relatives for their choice of career than chefs), a chance to open their own restaurant, pay bills, or give to charity. I like Chopped for a couple of reasons. First, it’s interesting to see how the chefs combine the mystery ingredients into a gourmet meal and to hear the running commentary of their process; second, I can empathize with these cooks. For me every night is a Chopped-style dinner.

Here’s a transcript of one of my recent episodes:

“Sometimes I like to listen to music while I cook. I have my earbuds in and I’m at the sink washing the lettuce. I turn to reach for the lettuce spinner when the unthinkable happens. My earbud cord catches on the sponge drawer knob, and my iPhone whips out of my pocket and crashes to the floor. At the same time the earbuds are torn painfully from my ears. I don’t have time for this! The silence is deafening. I untangle the cord from the knob. But I’m rushing and I just make it worse. How does it get so snarled in two seconds? At last it’s free. I bend over and pick up my phone; fortunately it’s still intact—a little dusty. I really need to sweep this floor. I reattach the earbuds and throw the lettuce into the spinner. While I pull the cord, I’m thinking how I can transform the macaroni elbow noodles.

“And then it hits me, to the pot I can add a little butter, a little milk, and a package of orange cheese powder. The processed cheddar will give the elbows a nice tang that I know my family will appreciate.

WitLoveKath - Food Network Mac and Cheese gourmet I

“Next I consider the chicken breasts. I’m running to the pantry. I open the door and see breadcrumbs. Suddenly, I have an idea. I open the fridge and grab an egg. I stir the egg in a bowl with a fork and sprinkle breadcrumbs into a pie plate. Between wax paper, I pound the chicken breasts thin. I dip each one into the egg mixture and then into the breadcrumbs. I slap them into the electric fry pan, hoping the crisp texture of the chicken will please the judges.

WitLoveKath - Food Network - chicken

“If there’s one ingredient that’s a stumper, it’s the vegetable. I run to the freezer and pull out the basket. I find a bag of peas and a bag of broccoli. Something for everyone, I think. I know the peas will go for 4 minutes in the microwave; the broccoli 3 and a half. I know that to get all the components of my dish ready at the same time, I must get the vegetables nuking. I pour the peas into the 25-year old round microwave bowl, add a tablespoon of water, and settle the lid on top. I open the microwave and slide it inside. A single touch on the 4 button starts the oven whirring. While I wait, I grate Stop & Shop brand New York Extra Sharp Cheddar Cheese into a Pyrex bowl for the broccoli. I’m thinking the shredded cheddar will be a nice complement to the processed cheese in the macaroni. Cheese makes everything better, right. (Except for fish, of course, I’m not a barbarian.)

“While the peas are heating, I pour the broccoli into the matching square microwave bowl and attach the cover. When the timer rings, I switch out the bowls and turn my attention to the chicken breasts.

“I see they are sizzling and golden brown. Perfect. I’m transferring them to the plates when disaster strikes! One of the chicken breasts slips off the spatula and lands on the floor. For a moment I’m paralyzed, but then I remember the 5-second rule. I quickly pick up the filet and put it on my plate. You know moms always get the dregs, so it doesn’t bother me.

“Everything has come together, so I plate the meat, put serving spoons with the veggies and pasta and walk it all to the judges. They eye their dishes skeptically, as if remembering the time I served arsenic-laced burgers. Before I even sit down, the kids are cutting their meat. Jenny reaches for the broccoli and Conor the peas.

“’Why won’t you eat peas, Jenny?’ Conor taunts.

“’Because they’re disgusting,’ Jenny says. ‘I like broccoli.’

“’Broccoli is just tree-like peas,’ Conor goads.

“’They’re gross.’

“’Just eat a few of the peas with a lot of the broccoli and then less broccoli and more peas until you have a larger ratio of peas to broccoli and you’ll get used to them.” This sage advice elicits nothing but an exasperated glower as Jenny carefully separates all the components of her dish with her knife.

“’Huh?, Jenny, will you eat some peas? Huh? They’re good.’

“Finally, Jenny looks up. ‘Conor, I don’t want to eat them!’

“Conor chuckles as he inhales his food and asks to be excused.

“Jenny finishes her meal in peace.

“I taste my linoleum-infused chicken and find I have elevated the dish. As I chew I consider ways I can imbue future ingredients with the same savory flavors. A little less cleaning, a little more clumsiness, I decide.

“I feel happy. Even though my plates weren’t perfect, I feel that I’m still a winner. I’ve survived to cook another day.”

Dinosaurs extinct? I don’t think so

16 Wednesday Jul 2014

Posted by in Animals, Dinosaurs, Geekery, Movies

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

, , , , , , , , , ,

By now you have probably seen the deplorable photograph of Steven Spielberg posing and grinning in front of the Triceratops he bagged. If you haven’t I urge you to Google it. I would display the photo here, but I don’t want to promote this kind of despicable “sport.” You know how it goes—the more publicity something gets, the more people take part, and before you know it we’ll be seeing photographs of George Lucas standing triumphantly over a deceased Wookie and a mounted Ork head on the wall of Peter Jackson’s man cave.

There are many theories as to why Spielberg killed the Triceratops. Was it for the thrill? Maybe. As the director or producer of such high-adrenaline hits as Raiders of the Lost Ark, Poltergeist, Back to the Future, Men in Black, and many others, he does seem exceptionally drawn to extreme adventure.

Or could he have done it for the money? It’s possible. He’s only a paltry 151 on the Forbes list of the richest Americans. One wise pundit noted that he probably did it for the horns. After all, the medicinal benefits of powdered Triceratops horns are well documented from cave drawings (∆∆∆ 🙂 ) to oral Neanderthal lore (“Hohgn, hohgn, hohgn, gooohgd) to the texts of medical professionals around the world (∆∆∆ 🙂 ). There’s no telling what kind of fortune could be amassed through the sale of these beneficial horns.

Perhaps the horns are what Spielberg was after, but I believe there is a more sinister explanation to the death of this beloved beast. Before we tackle that, however, we must address the elephant in the room (address it—not kill it). If dinosaurs are alive now—and they most clearly are (well, except for…)—where are they?

I believe we have all been duped for a very long time. While the official story is that the dinosaurs became extinct after an asteroid hit the earth in what was until recently called the Cretaceous-Tertiary Mass Extinction Event or K-T event, I think the evidence demonstrates that it is all an elaborate hoax.

WitLoveKath - Dinosaurs - Extinction Event

Images from Wikipedia

     Exhibit 1: While the name of the “asteroid hit” was once the Cretaceous-Tertiary Mass Extinction Event, the abbreviation is K-T event. Back in the day when Proofreaderasauruses still existed (I suppose they also were made extinct by an “asteroid hit?”), this kind of mistake would have been caught by a pterodactyl-eyed professional. Today in the Internet Period, however, errors like this roam both print and digital pages unchecked. Clearly, this “mass extinction” story was concocted recently.      

     Exhibit 2: The space-themed idea of the extinction event is no coincidence. I believe it came from the fertile mind of Steven Spielberg himself! Doesn’t it seem suspect that the extinction event is called K-T and one of Spielberg’s biggest theatrical releases is titled E-T? Obviously, Spielberg is up to his neck in the dinosaur extinction conspiracy. Flush with the success of his earlier movies Jaws and Close Encounters of the Third Kind (does anyone else see the pattern?), he never thought anyone would make the connection between E-T and K-T, and he allowed himself this little slip in originality.

So this leads us to the big question: Where are the dinosaurs? I suggest that instead of becoming extinct, they have all been captured and are being held hostage to an insatiable movie industry. They are being exploited for our enjoyment. How else can you explain the plethora of dinosaur movies dating back to the very beginnings of cinema? Did they have CGI technology back then? No! If, as we have been led to believe, all these Tyrannosaurs, Triceratops, Stegosaurus, Pachycephalosaurus, Ankylosaurs, and more died out eons ago, how have directors and cinematographers created the video for every dino film from 1914’s Gertie the Dinosaur to 2014’s Transformers: Age of Extinction (produced by none other than Steven Spielberg)?

A glance at some earlier films exposes a dark chapter in our nation’s history—one that continues to this very day. You only have to watch a few moments to wonder: If dinosaurs are really as simple and violent as the movies portray, would their fight scenes be so stilted? So transparently choreographed? Or are these traits merely stereotypes fostered by the movie industry to line their pockets?

Before you watch, I must warn you that some of the content is graphic.

Gertie the Dinosaur by Winsor McCay – 1914:

Here Gertie suffers pain and humiliating dance moves just so we can have a good laugh.

The Dinosaur and the Missing Link by Willis O’Brien – 1917:

In addition to a fight scene between a gorilla and an Apatosaurus (beginning at 4:47), this film contains the first known video of break dancing (at 4:07). And wouldn’t it have been funnier if “the drawing room of the country home,” as it is described in the film, had cave drawings on the walls?

The Ghost of Slumber Mountain by Willis O’Brien – 1918:

In this long film, an uncle tells his two nephews the story of when he, a companion, and their dog went camping on Slumber Mountain. There the uncle visits the abandoned cabin of Mad Dick, which contains books and bones of prehistoric animals. It is also haunted by Mad Dick’s ghost. In the cabin the uncle discovers a strange pair of binos, through which he can see dinos. At the 10:14 mark, the dinosaurs make their appearance. At the 14:00 mark the Triceratops enters. The action really gets going at 15:30, when a T-Rex joins the scene (if dinosaurs actually moved this slowly, they really would be extinct). A terrible struggle ensues, and once again the Triceratops is the loser.

If you read closely, you will see that the last frame at 17:57 could have used a Proofreaderasaurus. You will also see that this film employs that old dinosaur of a plot device: “it was all a dream.” Of course, since this movie is from 1918, perhaps it was a comic revelation.

The Lost World by Harry Hoyt from a story by Arthur Conan Doyle – 1925:

In this first scene, the Triceratops gives the Allosaurus his just reward

But once again the unfortunate Triceratops, after tasting a brief moment of triumph, is himself tasted.

1 Million Years B.C. by Ray Harryhausen – 1966:

In this scene a Ceratosaurus battles a Triceratops while Raquel Welch (wearing “mankind’s first bikini!”) and John Richardson (in his most defining role!) look on in horror. The most shocking thing about this clip is: who knew they had Bumpits! hair enhancers 1 million years ago?

So you can see that throughout history dinosaurs have been forced to wander forbidding landscapes, don preposterous colors, talk in ridiculous voices, hawk gasoline, perform hard labor at stone quarries, fight and “kill” one another, and, in the ultimate degradation, act alongside Jeff Goldblum. And now with Jurassic World coming hot on the heels of Spielberg’s Transformers: Age of Extinction dinobot travesty, I think the dinosaurs have said, “Enough is enough!”

WitLoveKath - Dinosaurs - We're Back, Sinclair, Flinstones

Images from Wikipedia; Flintstones clip art from picgifs.com

I think they threatened to boycott the filming. Perhaps they even broached collective bargaining. Some dinosaurs may have brains the size of walnuts, but they’re not stupid. Over the years they have earned the studios, directors, producers, and investors billions of dollars, and they deserve respect, not oblivion. Is that too much to ask?

The photograph says it all. Yes, it was. When the Triceratops came to negotiate with Spielberg in good faith, he met his end. He made the ultimate sacrifice fighting so that all his kind could live a better life. Well, I say, “You go, dinos! Let’s see them make another dinosaur movie without you.” Won’t you join me in the quest to Free the Dinosaurs!? Don’t let Tricee have died in vain.

Tales from a Car Gone to Seed

04 Friday Jul 2014

Posted by in Driving, Travel

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

, , , , , ,

Yesterday, I received my property tax bill, wherein I was reminded once again that my car—a 1998 Toyota Sienna minivan—has hit rock bottom in depreciation and will soon qualify as an “antique.” I realize we live in a youth culture, but an antique? So what does that say about me?

WitLoveKath - Sienna - sienna side I

I've watched enough Antique Roadshow episodes to know that you should never clean an antique. As you can see, my Sienna retains its original "dirty patina" for maximum value.

I’ve watched enough Antique Roadshow episodes to know that you should never clean an antique. As you can see, my Sienna retains its original “dirty patina” for maximum value.

Soon I will be able to get one of those specialty black and white license plates with a picture of an old jalopy on it. It would be a welcome replacement for my front plate, which this winter fell off and became lodged in the snow bank near my garage every time I backed out and had to perform an 8-point turn to navigate the ever-narrowing passage our driveway became after multiple snow events.

WitLoveKath - Sienna - antique license plat

Wouldn’t this plate look better than the one below?

"Hang on. Let me get the plate and put it on again..."

“Hang on. Let me get the plate and put it on again…”

The new designation may have other advantages too. I could become involved in a whole new community—meet new people, go new places. I could take my Sienna to weekend car shows, tooling around unfamiliar towns and highways at 25 miles an hour just for fun. My air conditioner isn’t working at the moment, so I already have that nonchalant “arm out the window” look going on. I can picture it now—the old girl parked on a lush, green lawn in line with other beauties of bygone eras. The sliding doors will be open for better inside viewing, and I’ll be standing next to her, ready to answer any questions, such as, “Hey, pops (I know I’m a woman, but doesn’t “Hey, pops” sound more antique-y than “Hey, mama?”), how old is that stain on the carpet? What was that—a Wendy’s frosty or a brown crayon?”

I’ll mosey over to investigate the designated spot, and, with my hand on the youngster’s shoulder, say (in my newly adopted drawl), “Ya have a good eye, son. That is indeed from a melted crayon. It was 2002, and my family and I drove to Hersey Park. Crazy times. I remember Kids Bop 1 rockin’ the CD player—that was when the CD player still worked, mind you—and we stopped off at a Friendly’s restaurant for one CheesyMac, one CheesyMac and Frank (“don’t grill it”), one Chicken Quesadilla appetizer size, and one Reuben Supermelt, plus two Cone Head Sundaes. A’ course the kids were given crayons with their placemats and in two seconds they’d solved the puzzles and were on to drawin’ dinosaurs and such.

Yeah, the ol' girl has seen her share of Friendly's parking lots over the years.

Yeah, the ol’ Sienna has seen her share of Friendly’s parking lots over the years.

“I always tucked those crayons into my purse (note to self: change that to man bag?) as I slid outa’ the booth ‘cause ya never know when the car might careen into some ditch and we’d have to eat ‘em to survive.

“That partic’lar crayon raght there was used by my son to draw a Tyrannosaurus Rex. The kids did a lota’ drawin’ in those days. As ya can see, DVD players weren’t installed in these here vee-hicles.” At this, my young friend’s eyes will grow wide with astonishment and, probably, there will be the hint of a superior smirk tugging at his lips, but I’ll continue on and tell him how the crayon was dropped and then crushed under a little foot and how it fused with the carpet in a melted, matted, mound of goo. He’ll nod appreciatively, say something snarky like, “Thanks for the history lesson,” and move on to the 1993 40th Anniversary Ruby Red corvette from the National Corvette Museum Skydome sinkhole next to me.

See? Disaster can strike anywhere. Ya gotta have that survival kit. Image provided by the National Corvette Museum

See? Disaster can strike anywhere. Ya gotta have that survival kit ready.
Image provided by the National Corvette Museum.

She may be banged up--but what a story! Image provided by the National Corvette Museum.

The Ruby Red may be banged up–but what a story!
Image provided by the National Corvette Museum.

With 162,208 miles on her, the Sienna’s been a good car and is still going strong, despite a little neglect. I recently had to take the seats out to pick up a tall bookcase my daughter bought. I decided to take advantage of the open space, so Sunday I pulled her out of the garage to give her a good cleaning (inside not out, Keno brothers)—and made a bizarre discovery.

As is often the case, a small mistake led me to uncover a shocking fact: my car has been turned into a gambling establishment by some very enterprising mice or chipmunks. By following the evidence left by a careless casino patron or inexperienced attendant, I uncovered that a slot machine is cleverly concealed behind the plastic panel in the hatchback section of the van.

Here’s how the vice raid went down: one day on the carpet I spied a small spill of birdseed. This was not suspect in itself as I have hauled 40-pound bags of Lyric seed on many occasions. Indeed, a large bag can usually be found slouched near my car.

Exhibit 1: Birdseed exposed

Exhibit 1: Birdseed exposed.

As I began to vacuum up the little pile, however, the suction drew more seed from its hiding place, and soon I realized that, recognizing opportunity when they saw it, the little varmints surreptitiously have been moving product from the bag into my car to support their casino games. A little digging dislodged more seed, and deeper digging revealed more seed still. I had uncovered a goldmine. I can only think that the poker tables are kept in the spare tire tool box and the roulette wheels stashed in the backseat cup holders. I don’t even want to think about what kinds of illicit activities take place in the wheel well.

JACKPOT! Watch that seed pour into the seed tray!

JACKPOT! Watch that seed pour into the seed tray!

I don’t despair of this turn of events. On the contrary, I consider it just one more notch in the lore of my Sienna. On the classic car circuit I’ll have some notoriety, and the crowd standing on the lush, green lawn will buzz with excitement as I regale them with the story of when my Sienna went over to the seedy side.

Maybe, they’ll even make a movie. It could be called The Car that Spewed Birdseed or Birdseed Jackpot or—given a Hitchcockian twist—The Birdseed.  It could star Jeremy Meeks—expanding on his modeling career—as a handsome felon with a heart of gold who recruits a bunch of mice (chipmunks have been done) to run a mobile casino that stays just one mile (one kilometer for the European market) ahead of the law. When they are finally caught, Meeks’ character inadvertently takes a glamour mug shot and his meteoric rise to fame begins. I’m thinking Disney might be interested. Mickey Mouse could play the evil pit boss in yet another dark, revisionist character treatment.

Darn that Mrs. Meeks!

Darn that Mrs. Meeks!

Yes, the ol’ Sienna has many tales to tell. She’s not getting older; she’s just getting better.

Mars ain’t the kind of place to raise your kids…or is it?

25 Wednesday Jun 2014

Posted by in Geekery, Travel

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

, , , , , , , , ,

A recent poll revealed that what most mothers want is a little “me time.” Ladies, I hear ya. But where to find it? I’m not really the spa type. All those attendants telling me my hair could be better, my skin softer, my shoulders more relaxed…it’s a little stressful. Besides, I can look in any mirror and know that—without paying for it.

Get my nails done? Although I’ve recently started painting my nails, I don’t relish sitting in a shop filled with the kinds of odors usually associated with industrial disasters and hazmat suits. Even the term “mani-pedi” seems more like a category on some government crime list than a relaxing outing. Going out for coffee, reading a book, or shopping for myself only reminds me of the dishes in the sink, the magazines that are piling up, and the laundry I haven’t done.

In other words, true “me time” is hard to find. So I started looking around for other opportunities, and I think I may have found the perfect solution: a trip to Mars. The Mars One Project, the brainchild of a group of scientists and marketing professionals, offers most of the qualities I value in a get-away. It promises intellectual stimulation, luxurious accommodations, exhilarating experiences, and three companionable companions, with four more added every two years. There are only a couple of downsides to this “once in a lifetimes” destination: 1) Three hours of daily exercise, and 2) you never come back.

WitLoveKath - Mars - Mars One logo II

Artistic inspiration and high end finishes complete this futuristic 6-pod settlement. Panoramic Milky Way views, new neighborhood. Designed to withstand dust storms and rogue meteors. Underground farm, two communal living spaces. New appliances, fully furnished. www.marsoneproperties.com

Artistic inspiration and high end finishes complete this futuristic 6-pod settlement. Panoramic Milky Way views, new neighborhood. Designed to withstand dust storms and rogue meteors. Underground farm, two communal living spaces. New appliances, fully furnished.
http://www.marsoneproperties.com

Capsulated living at its best. You’ll never want (or be able) to leave this modern masterpiece of comfort. http://www.marsoneproperties.com (Images courtesy marsone.com).

Well, I thought, the idea of a world without the Kardashians, Congress, and spiders doesn’t sound too bad, so I went on the Mars One website (marsone.com) and learned that a lot of other folks have had the same idea. In fact, I would be getting at the back of a very long line; a line almost as long as the list of people who signed a petition to “remove Justin Bieber from our society.” How long is that? 200,000 people have applied to go to Mars. 200,000! Really? I mean, I know things aren’t great here on Earth, but is it really that bleak? Let’s check those top stories once more: ABC News–Arrestee’s “Handsome” Mug Shot Goes Viral; Atlanta Daily World–Beloved Felon, Jeremy Meeks’ Previous Mugshot Photos; NewNowNext–8 Celebrities Who Could Take a Lesson from Jeremy Meeks’ Mug Shot; Los Angeles Post Examiner–Jeremy Meeks Sets Internet on Fire.

WitLoveKath - Mars - empty image

Well, I don't want you to go away disappointed. Remember this guy who was kicked out of Saudia Arabia for being "too hot?" (Image courtesy sodahead.com)

Well, I don’t want you to go away disappointed. Remember this guy who was kicked out of Saudia Arabia for being “too hot?”
(Image courtesy sodahead.com)

Yyyyep. Give me that form. Last year my son filled out college applications, so I’m familiar with the invasive probing required to make it into a top-tier program. Perhaps, if this whole space travel thing takes off, they’ll institute a Common App accepted by all planets in the solar system. And while the first launch to Mars is priced at $6 billion, slightly less than a Harvard degree, the cost will be offset by selling souvenirs (including T-shirts, mugs, laser engravings, hoodies, stickers, and posters), collecting donations (which, as of May 8, 2014, add up to $573,923, including $1.00 from Bosnia and Herzegovina—come on, guys. Couldn’t you both give a dollar?), and a timeworn…I mean, time honored…idea that  I will reveal to you later, but about which you might now sense the specter of Simon Cowell and have a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach.

WitLovekath - Mars - Souveniers

So I sat down with the website to begin my journey to Mars. There were several questions I wanted answered. First: did I qualify? I learned there are five key characteristics to being a Marstronaut (©witlovekath.com). These are Resiliency, Adaptability, Curiosity, Ability to Trust, and Creativity/Resourcefulness. These seem pretty straightforward, but upon delving into the definitions, I began to feel the first pricks of fear that I don’t have what it takes:

Under Resiliency: Your thought processes are persistent. Would they accept me, I wondered, if they knew I often reheat my tea in the microwave and forget it then run around the house looking for my mug before finally abandoning the idea of tea, only to find the mug the next day when I open the door to cook peas for dinner?

"Ugh! There it is!"

“Ugh! There it is!”

Under Adaptability: You adapt to situations and individuals while taking into account the context of the situation. I can only hope they haven’t seen me waiting behind someone at a stoplight who doesn’t move when the light turns green  because they’re texting, eating, talking, or can’t see above the dashboard .

Go! (Image courtesy smarthdriving.co.uk)

“Go!”
(Image courtesy smarthdriving.co.uk)

Under Creativity: Your humor is a creative resource, used appropriately as an emerging contextual response. Never have I heard humor described in such a depressing way. I can just imagine my interview:

Interviewer: Why did the chicken cross the road?

Me: To get to the other side?

Interviewer: Wrong! There are no roads on Mars. Your answer is clearly inappropriate and contextually ludicrous….

Me: But…but…can’t you adapt to me as an individual while taking into account the context of this situation?

Interviewer: Nice try. You can see yourself out. Next!

I’ve always considered myself pretty well qualified for any task (except brain surgery. Well, okay, heart surgery might be a little tricky too), but after pitting myself against the requirements of the Mars One Project, my confidence was a little rattled. I decided, however, to persevere (bullet two under Resiliency) and check out my competition.

I navigated my way to the “supporters” link to check them out. To say it’s an eclectic bunch is akin to saying Comic Cons are a hotbed of diversity. By and large, the applicants are fans of Star Trek (one hopeful is even sporting a natty Star Trek uniform in his profile pic), Star Wars, Jules Verne, Lost in Space, and Doctor Who; they have degrees in or are interested in astrosciences, computers, engineering, science fiction, and music; and want to be—as stated by one eloquent candidate—“an intergalactic representation of humanity.” Much as, I imagine, the shadows on the walls were a representation of people in Plato’s allegorical cave. Or were they actually people? Hmmm.

(Image courtesy litigationps.com)

(Image courtesy litigationps.com)

Indeed, philosophical debate is another top interest among the applicants, which is good because finding answers to issues such as: “how do I remain sane during the 20 minutes it takes each click of the computer mouse to be registered on Earth,” may take some discussion. And lest anyone fear that  religous differences will divide the colony, there is this reassurance: “Mars colonization is not about faith, but about human ingenuity and vision.” If voyaging to Mars is not a leap of faith, I don’t know what is, but I guess that’s just me.

Reading on, however, I began to see that maybe I was taking the idea of populating Mars way too seriously. Whereas I was trying to compile a list of interests that would let the reviewers know I could help a colony survive the forbidding landscape, most contenders include hobbys like these: dainty sandals (did I miss the news that Nordstrom has been discovered on the red planet?), creating a Mars music album, dancing, witnessing the Zidane goal against Bayern in the UEFA final, attracting women, and juggling (did I mention the 60% less gravity?).

(Images courtesy blackgossip.org, theguardian.com, and ou.edu)

(Images courtesy blackgossip.org, theguardian.com, and ou.edu)

Well, in December 2013, 1,058 candidates were culled from the original pool of 200,000 and asked to complete two tasks. Successful contenders will go on to the next round in the process. What arduous challenges await our intrepid wanna-be explorers? Will they have to “dis” ex-New England Patriots tight end Aaron Hernandez without getting gunned down?, give North Korean Supreme Leader Kim Jong-un a new haircut?, or sing the Star Spangled Banner on key?

The Supreme Haircut... (Image courtesy itv.com)

The Supreme Haircut…
(Image courtesy itv.com)

,,,on second thought, it really does look attractive on anyone. (Images courtesy mumbrella.asia. and nydailynews.com)

,,,on second thought, it really does look attractive on anyone.
(Images courtesy mumbrella.asia. and nydailynews.com)

No. Only these two trials stand between them and their dream: 1) opening their applicant profile to the public (which any 2-year-old can do) and 2) providing a medical statement of health from their physician. Ah! Now the need for a sense of humor becomes clear. Shall we all laugh together? Haaaaaahaaahaaaaaaa!! Any American who can slog through the morass of automated phone systems, paperwork, scheduling delays, waiting rooms, and insurance payment options to get a physical would be well-qualified for a place on the Mars One team.

From this pool of 1,058, 418 men and 287 women will be selected by “experts.” Yes, the glass ceiling just got 57 million miles higher. But how will the final lucky few be chosen? You know what’s coming. Deep down, you know. Yes—through a Television Reality Program. You, I, and “the entire world” will vote for Our Favorite Martians. In the first round, the TV viewers will pick the individual Marstronauts. In the second the Marstronauts will be divided into teams of four, and the audience will decide which team travels to Mars first.

Each team member will have a special duty. One person will be trained in the way of Mars geology; another will learn “exobiology,” or the biology of alien life (don’t they get it? We will be the alien life); and two will be trained as physicians. Yeah, they too saw the episodes where Bones lingers near death or suffers temporary insanity. Lesson learned.

(Images courtesy of fanpop.com and spacemancentral.com)

(Images courtesy of fanpop.com and spacemancentral.com)

Okay, so say I make it all the way. Hey, it happened to Lee DeWyze. No? Taylor Hicks? Kris Allen? Never mind. So I’m on Mars, having flown for seven months in a locker-sized capsule, where wet-wipes “baths” and freeze-dried food make this voyage more luxurious than that for “the explorers that sailed with Columbus across the Atlantic in 1492.” Kind of a blast from the past. What will I do there? According to the website, first, I will build—using “methodologies to produce habitable volume from mostly Martian materials,” i.e. dust. My goal will be to construct “a space 10 meters wide by 50 meters long,” where I will live and “also grow trees.” No word, yet, on how tall this structure will be. When I’m settled in I’ll conduct research, not only for mankind, but also for universities, where I try to answer the big questions, such as “is there life on Mars now?” The answer—just off the top of my head—would be “Yes. Me and three other life forms.”

Or is this a trick question to determine if I am “transferring knowledge to others, not simply showcasing what I  know or what others do not” (bullet two under Curiosity) or am “flexible in how an issue/problem/situation is approached” (bullet one under Creativity/Resourcefulness).

My leisure hours—and hours—will be spent watching the six favorite websites I chose to upload to the Mars habitat web server before I left home (you know–TMZ, E!, Amazon.co.mars, YouTube, ummmm…) and—because stepping outside without wearing my space suit is an automatic death sentence—doing the kinds of indoor things I did on Earth. Good Grief! Isn’t that what I went to Mars to get away from?

Whatever, I’m still ready and rarin’ to go. I may be too late for the first launch, but I know I’ll be in contention for the second. So don’t forget to vote for me at 866-GO2-MARS. I’m already packed, and because you just never know, I’m bringing my dainty sandals.

WitLoveKath - Mars - Mars One logo

Play That Funky Music

23 Wednesday Apr 2014

Posted by in Music, Only in Florida, The Formative Years

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

, , , , , ,

I was never particularly nostalgic for the songs of my youth, rarely playing them at home or in the car. Of course it may have something to do with the fact that I came of age in the 1970s, and while there was some excellent music produced during those years, my memory seems fixated on the disco and novelty songs of the time. Perhaps nowhere did disco reign as supreme as in South Florida. Hialeah, right next door to my hometown of Hollywood was the birthplace of KC and the Sunshine Band (“That’s the Way (I Like It)”,” Shake Shake Shake (Shake Your Booty)”, “I’m Your Boogie Man,” “Get Down Tonight,” and “Please Don’t Go,”—Ya know, I’d forgotten how many hits they had), and Donna Summer owned a beach house in Venice, FL. I vividly remember when her version of “MacArthur Park” was the most requested song on the local radio station for about 100 weeks in a row in 1978. Miami loved Donna Summer.

Here's KC and the Sunshine Band at Parrot Jungle in Miami (where you could have your picture taken with parrots sitting on your arms or shoulders). Dig those outfits! Here are a couple of unforgettable performances: That's the way: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OM7zRfHG0no Get Down Tonight: www.youtube.com/watch?v=WyUk5RrKfUs

Here’s KC and the Sunshine Band at Parrot Jungle in Miami (where you could have your picture taken with parrots sitting on your arms or shoulders). Dig those outfits!
Here are a couple of unforgettable performances:
“That’s the Way”: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OM7zRfHG0no
“Get Down Tonight”:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WyUk5RrKfUs

Only the Queen of Disco could give this song about a "cake left out in the rain" both gravitas and groove. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3eQOYimLUt4

Only the Queen of Disco could give this song about a “cake left out in the rain” both gravitas and groove.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3eQOYimLUt4

I also find it hard to pine for such musical oddities as Jim Stafford’s “Spiders and Snakes” (Remember an America where this kind of song could make you a star? Yeah, me neither) and “My Girl Bill,” which finally got people talking about a very important issue: the proper placement of commas.

Remember this handsome devil? But more importantly--remember this haircut? Here are two performances of "Spiders and Snakes." The first has Dolly Parton in it and the second Tommy Smothers, two more people worth seeing again. www.youtube.com/watch?v=4lYdD9DdLNY https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jGJVA6pKWpw "My Girl Bill": www.youtube.com/watch?v=yHGV3PhEg5c

Remember this handsome devil? 
Here are two performances of “Spiders and Snakes.” The first has Dolly Parton in it and the second Tommy Smothers, two more people worth seeing again.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4lYdD9DdLNY
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jGJVA6pKWpw
“My Girl Bill”:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yHGV3PhEg5c

Other gems of the genre included C. W. McCall’s CB radio anthem  “Convoy” and Rick Dee’s “Disco Duck,” which was an insult to both disco and ducks.

Yes, these long lines of trucks used to be called "convoys." Now we call it the I-95 Northeast Corridor. This video is worth watching just for C. W. McCall's lip synching. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xN4XpIbEY-Y

Yes, these long lines of trucks used to be called “convoys.” Now we call it the I-95 Northeast Corridor.
This video is worth watching just for C. W. McCall’s lip synching:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xN4XpIbEY-Y

Here's Rick Dees sporting the trademark 70s mustache and feathered hair. This video is worth watching just to be glad we don't have to watch this kind of thing anymore: www.youtube.com/watch?v=IgPgavmY99U

Here’s Rick Dees sporting the trademark 70s mustache and feathered hair.
This video is worth watching just to be glad we don’t have to watch this kind of thing anymore:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IgPgavmY99U

So I was satisfied with now and then catching a song from my past while scanning the shelves at Michael’s arts and crafts supply store or trawling the aisles of Stop & Shop (the only place, by the way, that you can still hear Taylor Dayne). The kids kept the car radio on the local Top 40 stations, and that was fine with me, as I love pop music.

Then I found 98.7, a good 70s and 80s “oldies” (I categorically reject that description) radio station that I sometimes listened to when driving alone to Target or Stop & Shop.  When my daughter, Jenny, rode with me, she controlled the selections, scanning through our preset buttons to find a song we wanted to listen to. She would always skip over the oldies station or, if she hit the button by mistake, scan away from it as reflexively as if she’d touched a spider (I guess Jim Stafford was on to something after all). “Oh, that was a good song,” I’d sometimes exclaim, having caught a couple of notes of an old favorite, but she’d stop me mid-sentence with a withering look.

Then Adele burst onto the scene with “Someone Like You.” The song was incredible. It was incredible on 105.5, incredible on 104.7, incredible on 101.3, and incredible on 95.7. Sometimes it was incredible on all four simultaneously. After a few weeks the song was amazing. It was amazing on 101.3, amazing on 105.5, amazing on 95.7, and amazing on 104.7; it even started showing up on 106.5, not strictly a Top 40 station. It became possible to hop from station to station and catch the song just beginning on one, just ending on another, and playing within a couple of notes of each other on two others. What about the fifth? The song had probably just ended or would begin as soon as the current song was over.  A couple more weeks went by and “Someone Like You” was great. It was great on 104.7, great on 105.5, great on 103.9, great on 95.7, and had caught up (or down) to great on 106.5. When several months had passed and it was still playing—“sigh”—on all those stations, we’d look at each other and say, “There’s got to be something else on.”

I think we could all sing "Someone Like You" from memory, so I'm not adding a link.

"I heard that you're settled down, that you fou..."

“I heard that you’re settled down, that you fou…”

"...couldn't stay away, I couldn't figh..."

“…couldn’t stay away, I couldn’t figh…”

"...ped you'd see my face and that you'd be remi..."

“…oped you’d see my face and that you’d be remi…”

"...asts in love, but sometimes it hurts instead."

“…asts in love, but sometimes it hurts instead.”

"...at was Adele with 'Someone Like You.'"

“That was Adele with ‘Someone Like You.'”

It was then, when we were nearing “Someone Like You” insanity, that I tentatively said, “We can try the oldies station.” With trepidation Jenny acquiesced. At the time 98.7 was heavy on Fleetwood Mac. Jenny recognized “Dreams,” and whereas she automatically rejected it before, she now decided it wasn’t too bad. And so started her education in some of the songs I’d grown up with.

At first she took 98.7 in small doses, but gradually we began spending more and more time there. As song followed song, I’d tell her the title and the artist. Some songs came with a story or reminiscence.  And some songs proved the old adage “history repeats itself.” Take the Doobie Brother’s “Black Water” for instance. The first time we heard it, I told Jenny how much my sister grew to hate that song because when it was first released in 1974, the Florida radio stations played it over and over until you felt you were drowning in that “old black water” that kept “on rollin’” (or as my friend Roz puts it, “the most overplayed song of all time.”). Well, it turns out 98.7 also has a penchant for “Black Water,” and now when we catch those first dulcet strains, my daughter and I smile at each other and then Jenny hits the button.

There's not a lot of action here, but I think those mustaches and hairdos deserve a second look. "Black Water": www.youtube.com/watch?v=mSAqkGU2nQ4

There’s not a lot of action in this video, but then again there’s not a lot of action in the song. 
“Black Water”:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mSAqkGU2nQ4

After awhile the quizzes started.  “Ok, who’s this?” I’d ask as songs came on.  At first Jen said, “Elton John?” or “Fleetwood Mac?” to every question. Her guess of Elton John was a bit facetious because she knows I love Sir Elton, and in the time before her conversion, whenever we’d hear the first notes of “Tiny Dancer,” “Your Song,” “Bennie and the Jets,” or any of his other hits as she scanned the dial, my gaze would slide to the right and hers to the left and with a bit indulgence she’d let me listen.

What can I say? I've probably listened to these three albums more than all my other albums put together. Here are just a couple songs to take you back. Tiny Dancer: www.youtube.com/watch?v=3xuSYEeo9Wc Your Song: www.youtube.com/watch?v=RwzdVHTNpXs

What can I say? I’ve probably listened to these three albums more than all my other albums put together.
Here are just a couple songs to take you back.
Tiny Dancer:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3xuSYEeo9Wc
Your Song: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RwzdVHTNpXs

Fortunately, the station played enough Fleetwood Mac for her to be right about half the time, and her confidence grew. Then as happens with someone learning a foreign language, it all clicked. She began thinking in 70s and 80s. As soon as a song began, she’d shout out “Rod Stewart” or “Phil Collins” or “The Police” or “the Rolling Stones.” “Yes!” I’d reply.  It was like we were playing the old TV game show Name That Tune and she was the defending champion. I couldn’t have been more proud.

Now 98.5 is one of our favorites, and it’s fun hearing the old songs again.  Jenny and I also like discussing the differences between songs then and now. While Connecticut stations aren’t so big on disco, we heard plenty during our trip to Hollywood in October. Of course, I’m not sure whether that was an “oldies” station we were listening to or whether South Florida is still stuck in the disco era. Miami did love its disco.

"...you like piña coladas, getting caught in the rain..." We caught this song right at the beginning, so I made Jenny listen to the whole thing even though every fiber of her being told her to scan away. This Rupert Holmes song may not be the best, but it was definitely a phenomenon and has become a classic--or maybe just "Classic." Oh go ahead - you know you want to: www.youtube.com/watch?v=w5_EIikdFr8

“…you like piña coladas, getting caught in the rain…” We caught this song right at the beginning, so I made Jenny listen to the whole thing even though every fiber of her being told her to scan away. This Rupert Holmes song may not be the best, but it was definitely a phenomenon and has become a classic–or maybe just “Classic.”
Oh go ahead – you know you want to:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w5_EIikdFr8

I’m thinking that to honor my past I really should put “MacArthur Park” on my iphone. And what the heck—a little KC too. All of this talk about music has also made me think that a little more reminiscing about old songs might be fun. For my next blog I’m going to try something different. I thought I’d invite my friend Roz, whom I’ve known nearly all my life, to discuss songs that made us who we are. If you’d like us to talk about a particular song, let me know in the comments section or on Facebook.

And until next time, “Rock On.”

Here are pictures of David Essex then and now. He's currently a successful actor in many British productions. My 8th grade teacher, Judy Marsh, would have called him a "silver fox." This video proves that it is possible to dance and sing in a tiny space without bopping anyone on the head with the mic stand. "Rock On": www.youtube.com/watch?v=fR3hhc_Nfg8

Here are pictures of David Essex then and now. He’s currently a successful actor in many British productions. My 8th grade teacher, Judy Marsh, would have called him a “silver fox.”
This video proves that it is possible to dance and sing in a tiny space without bopping anyone on the head with the mic stand.
“Rock On”: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fR3hhc_Nfg8

 

But Is It Art?

01 Saturday Mar 2014

Posted by in Art, The Formative Years

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

, , , ,

February was a tough month for art and artists. At the Perez Art Museum in Miami, Maximo Caminero, a disillusioned artist from the local area, smashed one of 16 vases that make up an exhibit by Chinese dissident artist Ai Weiwei. The vases date from the Han dynasty, and Ai painted them in vibrant colors to foster thought about history, cultural heritage, and modern times. In statements to the police Caminero seemed confused, first stating that he did it to protest the fact that the museum only displayed international artists and then that he was acting in solidarity with the Chinese artist, who once similarly smashed one of his own vases as part of another creation. Whatever the reason, the result is one lost piece of art.

Miami Artist Smashes Million Vase

Image from Demotix

In a second incident, a cleaning woman in Italy threw away part of an installation that consisted of crumpled newspapers, bent cardboard, and cookie crumbs. She mistook the art, meant to make viewers think about environmental issues, for trash left behind by the set-up crew. Perhaps the piece did its job too well.

WitLoveKath - Art - crumbs

Image from Flip Project Space

This is not the first time art has been “straightened up.” In 2001 cleaners at a London gallery tossed away an installation made up of an ashtray, used coffee cups, empty beer bottles, and crushed newspapers. In 1999 Tracey Emin’s piece “My Bed” caught the eye of the judges for the Turner Prize. It also caught the eye of a compulsive neat freak, who made the bed and picked up the area around it.

Image from Wikipedia

My Bed by Tracey Emin. Image from Wikipedia

Of course these stories online were followed by comments about modern art, what constitutes art, and the value of these pieces. People also made jokes about never cleaning their houses again or how the floor of their car could be worth thousands of dollars. It’s funny because we all have clutter and never consider it art. But maybe that’s the point. Maybe we should.

Reading the articles made me think again about art. I love art and always have. And I’ve analyzed enough literature to know that a red hunting cap is never just a hat or a green light just a fancy light bulb at the end of a pier. So it is with conceptual art. Those cookie crumbs? Depending on the circumstances, crumbs can elicit nostalgia, anger, confusion, hunger, exasperation, longing, laughter.  An unmade bed? Everyone from kids to adults have their own interpretation of that. If I had to pick one thing from my house to exhibit it would be my kitchen table. I will never refinish that nicked and scarred masterpiece created with wood and paint, glue and clay, crayons, markers, glitter, and cups of tea worked on every day for 18 years and counting.

I come from a family of artists and photographers, and I’ve always had friends who are artists. Whenever I visited one of my older cousins, I was fascinated by her carousel of pens, pencils, paint, and markers—so much color in the shadowy corner of her desk. Another cousin taught me how to look at life as if through the lens of a camera.

When I was in kindergarten my teacher told my mother I drew well and I started taking art lessons. I can still remember the dream I had the night before my first class: all the students were at tables just like in kindergarten and we drew these amazing things full of color and imagination. I also remember the first art class—the excitement. The disappointment.

I was put in front of an easel and told to copy a round vase that sat on a little table in front of me. I cried. And then I took my charcoal stick and drew a picture of different kinds of fish swimming in the ocean. No color, but plenty of imagination. When I was finished the teacher said it was pretty good. Then I was told to draw the bowl. I did. It pleased the teacher, and my perfect circle amazed the older students. To me it was just a circle.

I continued to take lessons, but I think I learned more about life than I did about how to make art. I called my class “drawing pots and pans” because every week we had to copy another kind of vessel. I get it now, learning perspective and line and shadowing, but at the age of five I didn’t want to be so constricted. I wanted to feel like this:

"Horse and Rider" by Marino Marini, Hershorn Museum, Washington DC

Horse and Rider by Marino Marini, Hershorn Museum, Washington DC. Image from Wikimedia Commons

I still have some of the pictures and paintings I created at that art school all those years ago. Here are two:

WitLoveKath - Art - Blue Vase no filter

Here is the “perfect circle” vase I drew in my first art class. As you can see the flowers maintain their perspective through a 5-year-old’s eyes.

WitLoveKath - Art - lighthouse painting II cropped

The only thing I think about when I see this painting I did when I was 8 or 9 is how my instructor sat on my stool and, while showing me how to paint with a palette knife, got so carried away with his own prowess that he practically finished the painting for me. You can probably tell what parts I did and what parts he did. So, my painting? Not so much.

I also have a portfolio filled with doodles and drawings I’ve done at home over the years. I hadn’t looked inside it for many years, so I pulled the heavy case out of the closet the other night and took a peek.

I had forgotten so much—of what the portfolio held, what I’ve done, and whom I’ve been. Over the years that case has become a catch-all for postcards from friends, comic strips worth keeping, souvenirs, prints I’ve hung on walls of dorm rooms and apartments, and my own work, both written and drawn.

Here’s just a sampling:

(A special note—It’s okay to laugh. I do it myself. I can see the problems—I just don’t know how to fix them.)

I embroidered this for an art project in 5th or 6th grade, using a variety of stitches. Our art teacher, Mrs. Rhinehart, gave me a B. (How could she give that smile a B?) A boy in my class named Alex was so incensed by the injustice of it that he grabbed it and ran into Mrs. Rhinehart’s classroom to plead my case. He wasn’t successful, but he was sweet.

I embroidered this for an art project in 5th or 6th grade, using a variety of stitches. Our art teacher, Mrs. Rhinehart, gave me a B. (How could she give that smile a B?) A boy in my class named Alex was so incensed by the injustice of it that he grabbed it and ran into Mrs. Rhinehart’s classroom to plead my case. He wasn’t successful, but he was sweet.

WitLoveKath - Art - Dancers last time 3 bright

I had forgotten about this picture I drew while in high school. It has a certain happy, linear quality I still like.

“Oh yeah,” Jenny said about this one. “You were obsessed with gas stations.” Actually, as a child I just liked the homey look of these old places I saw while driving through small towns on our yearly trip from Hollywood to St. Louis. They were so different from what I grew up with. Besides, drawing the screen in that door was oddly therapeutic.

“Oh yeah,” Jenny said about this one. “You were obsessed with gas stations.” Actually, as a child I just liked the homey look of these old places I saw while driving through small towns on our yearly trip from Hollywood to St. Louis. They were so different from what I grew up with. Besides, drawing the screens in that door and window was oddly therapeutic.

These three I copied from black and white photographs:

Here’s a picture of my mother and me, au natural, looking into a mirror in at our house in Connecticut.

Here’s a picture of my mother and me, au natural, looking into a mirror at our house in Connecticut.

WitLoveKath - Art - Jen and Dad Sat uto

This is my sister and my father washing dishes in the house we rented when we first moved to Hollywood, Fla. I have two memories from this house:
1. The swing set in the backyard.
2. My sister launching herself over the head of our bouncy hobby horse and chipping her tooth on the tile floor.
Drawing folds in material is not really my forte.

This picture of my and my baby sister Jenny in our Oshkosh overalls is my favorite.

This picture of me and my baby sister in our Oshkosh overalls is my favorite.

I’ve made my own environmental statements. I drew this for an art appreciation course I took in college—a small school “nestled in the foothills of the Great Smoky Mountains” far away from the spread of “retail farms” in South Florida.

I’ve made my own environmental statements. I drew this for an art appreciation course I took in college—a small school “nestled in the foothills of the Great Smoky Mountains” far away from the spread of “retail farms” in South Florida.

For those of you who might wonder why I didn’t pursue art more seriously, I offer Exhibit 1. Evidence that I have no natural affinity for perspective:

I would hate to meet this baby in a dark alley, as they say. Jenny was gracious when we stopped laughing at it. She said maybe I could have gotten a job at Pixar and reminded me of the first baby the artists there created for the short "Tin Toy."

I would hate to meet this baby in a dark alley, as they say. Jenny was gracious when we stopped laughing at it. She said maybe I could have gotten a job at Pixar and reminded me of the first baby the artists there created for the short Tin Toy.

Pixar's first foray into creating a digital baby for the short "Tin Toy."

Pixar’s first foray into creating a digital baby for the short Tin Toy. This baby is a little scary too.

I still love creating things, but these days they look more like these guys:

WitLoveKath - Art - Owls no filter

WitLoveKath - Art - Dogs

And now I will leave you with my favorite portrait ever.

This Polish Nobleman hangs in the National Gallery in Washington DC. I memorized the route to the particular gallery where this hangs because I was just fascinated about a man who would let Rembrandt—Rembrandt!—paint him with such a frazzled, befuddled expression. Maybe he didn’t think much of Rembrandt or maybe he was distracted by his standing with the king or his wife or maybe ( )

This Polish Nobleman hangs in the National Gallery in Washington DC. I memorized the route to the particular gallery where this hangs because I was fascinated about a man who would let Rembrandt paint him with such a frazzled, befuddled expression. Maybe he didn’t think much of Rembrandt or maybe he was distracted by worries over his standing with the king or his wife or maybe he wondered if he had crumbs in his mustache.

Whatever—there is definitely a story there. It’s Life. It’s Art.

It’s a gem…or is it?

21 Tuesday Jan 2014

Posted by in The Formative Years

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

, , ,

The wild fluctuations in temperatures recently—from 9° to 55° in the same week—coupled with the distinctly March/April tinge to the rainy days, have put Jenny and me in the mood for a little spring cleaning lately.

Mostly, Jenny wanted to purge some of the knick-knacks she’s outgrown or that are taking up valuable real estate in her room. Sometimes we do this together—it’s a nice opportunity for mother/daughter bonding and to take a little trip down memory lane before certain items are stored away for posterity or deposited of permanently for sanity. Of course, as these things do, a doll led to a diary, which led to a search for the keys, and finally Jenny opened her jewelry box.  “Oh, here are those earrings we were talking about the other day,” she said, dropping two small pearl studs into my palm. And so I too opened my jewelry box.

There’s something fascinating about a jewelry box with all its ornaments of the past mingling with current fads or favorite pieces in enticing drawers, velvety trays, and divided compartments—your history traced in gold and silver, real gems and cubic zirconium. And each shiny (or tarnished) bauble elicits an immediate and vivid memory of where, when, and how you acquired or wore it. Some of the pieces are beautiful, classic, enduring, while others are like the shag haircut—“what could I have been thinking?”

So on that day as I placed the studs Jenny had borrowed back in my box, I took a closer look, wondering how far back my jewelry would take me. I found pieces from my college days, and then from high school. Could I have worn these in elementary school? I asked myself as I picked up a pair of earrings. And then I was astounded to rediscover a birthstone ring I had been given as a baby by one of my aunts who was also my godmother. You can’t go back much farther than that.

WitLoveKath - jewelry - baby ring

Next on the timeline are the studs my ears were pierced with when I was five. I can still remember my pediatrician Dr. Tanis waltzing across the examining room with a Q-tip dipped in iodine to deposit a dot on my earlobes where the hole would be made. Dr. Tannis was the comedian out of the four doctors in the practice—and the one the patients liked best—so he was in charge of this most frightening and traumatic event. I remember laughing at his ridiculous dance, but nothing about the procedure.  Jenny had her ears pierced when she was five too, but at Claire’s in the Chrystal Mall. The young women there did an excellent job, and only one small tear rimmed Jenny’s eyes (but never fell) as she bravely anticipated the second hole.

My studs are in the back. Jenny's will always sparkle, just like she does.

My studs are in the back. Jenny’s will always sparkle, just like she does.

And here is some more of the jewelry I’ve worn over the years and which for one reason or another I just could not part with:

This was absolutely my favorite pin when I was a child. I loved how tiny and cute it was.

This was absolutely my favorite pin when I was a child. I loved how tiny and cute it was.

This jaunty sailor is painted on a small beach stone. I bought it in a gift shop in Essex, CT on vacation one summer. My sister bought this determined, straw-haired girl.

This jaunty sailor is painted on a small beach stone. I bought it in a gift shop in Essex, CT on vacation one summer. My sister bought this determined, straw-haired girl.

I had a similar necklace with a pink pig on it that I wore every day in first or second grade until I lost it on the playground. This perpetually surprised rabbit replaced it, but I don’t remember wearing it as much.

I had a similar necklace with a pink pig on it that I wore every day in first or second grade until I lost it on the playground. This perpetually surprised rabbit replaced it, but I don’t remember wearing it as much.

These name bracelets and initial safety pins were so popular in the 70s. I didn't usually go in for fads, but I guess the lure was just too strong!

These name bracelets and initial safety pins were so popular in the 70s. I didn’t usually go in for fads, but I guess the lure was just too strong!

I loved American history and this tricorn hat from a trip I took to Williamsburg the summer between freshman and sophomore year of high school.

I loved American history and this tricorn hat necklace I bought on a trip to Williamsburg the summer between freshman and sophomore year of high school.

These charm necklaces were so popular. I still like the moon and star charm, but what is it with girls and unicorns?

The Pandora of necklaces. I still like the moon and star charm, but what is it with girls and unicorns?

I received this ring for my 16th birthday.

I received this ring for my 16th birthday.

Jenny took one look at these and said, "70s."

Jenny took one look at these and said, “70s.”

I don't remember when I wore these, and I'm not sure I want to.

I don’t remember when I wore these, and I’m not sure I want to.

These earrings may not be fancy, but their story always makes me smile.

These earrings may not be fancy, but their story always makes me smile.

My mom had this locket made for me when I finished my Independent Study paper in my Senior Year of college. My Thesis was on the novels of Samuel Beckett and was titled The Infinite Pilgrimage. I’m still on mine.

My mom had this locket made for me when I finished my Independent Study paper in my Senior Year of college. My Thesis was on the novels of Samuel Beckett and was titled The Infinite Pilgrimage. I’m still on mine.

As a writer I can find themes in almost every aspect of daily life, and it’s no different in my jewelry box:

I wore these orange turtles often as a child, thus the peeling paint; the green ones were a gift from a boyfriend in college. How did he know?

I wore these orange turtles often as a child, thus the peeling paint; the green ones were a gift from a boyfriend in college. How did he know?

You can take a girl's ears away from the ocean, but you can't take the ocean away from a girl's ears.

You can take a girl’s ears away from the ocean, but you can’t take the ocean away from a girl’s ears.

I guess people have always fascinated me, whether they’re in “real life,” books, or, apparently, pinned to my clothes or dangling from my ears.

I guess people have always fascinated me, whether in real life, books, or, apparently, pinned to my clothes or dangling from my ears.

These pins would look right at home in a frame on the wall.

These pins would look right at home in a frame on the wall.

As Jenny rummaged through her jewelry box, she pulled out this necklace. “I always thought this said ‘I heart dinosaurs’,” she laughed, “but look.”

And there he is!

And there he is – the lucky one!

I think this just may be one of those pieces she will not part with.

How about you? Do you have pieces of jewelry that make you smile or laugh or even cringe? We’d love to see them! Show us and tell us about them.

Driven to Distraction

09 Thursday Jan 2014

Posted by in Animals, Driving

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

, , , , , ,

January 1st ushered in a new wave of laws across the country, many of which involve distracted driving. It’s no different here in Connecticut, where our politicians have begun cracking down on unsafe motoring practices.

One such law aimed at eliminating a common winter hazard states that drivers must now remove all snow and ice from the hood, roof, and trunk of their car or face a fine of $250 to $1,250. This is a good thing. After a snowstorm here, it’s not unusual to find yourself driving video-game style, swerving left and right, to avoid the home-plate-sized chucks of ice launched from the vehicle in front of you or plowing ahead temporarily blinded by a Star Wars-brilliant blast of the white stuff or both at once.

WitLoveKath - Snow - car with snow on top

Image courtesy WTNH

Image courtesy WTNH

That’s why I’m glad to see our representatives finally recognized these obstacles for what they are: a detriment to maintaining optimum commuting speed.  I mean, how can drivers tool along at the unposted but generally agreed upon 80 miles an hour when they have to worry about an unexpected avalanche? 75 maybe, but 80? no way.

While this law is a good beginning, it doesn’t go nearly far enough. Due to the quirks of our highways and byways—from super raceway I-95 to the narrow, hilly, winding back roads—there are many other harrowing and absurd driving distractions I’d like to see our state government deal with.  One concerns Connecticut’s diverse population.

On any day at any given time, you may encounter on our roadways deer, chipmunks, turkeys, groundhogs, raccoons, possums, crows, seagulls, and of course squirrels. Each of these denizens of our great state has their own rules for the road, but I think it’s time for them to be rounded up and formally instructed by the DMV. Their punishment for noncompliance? No free access to bird feeders ought to put a little fear into ‘em.

Deer eating from bird feeder

Chipmunks, however, get a free pass. They already know how to run pell-mell across the road without looking right or left to avoid an oncoming car. Deer, on the other hand, would need to take the advanced course as they seem to have a “surprise party” mentality to the road—hiding patiently in the woods and then leaping out in front of unsuspecting drivers. Groundhogs and possums? Come on, guys. Let’s hustle! You can waddle when you get home.

WitLoveKath - Snow - deer running - cropped II

WitLoveKath - Snow - deer at crosswalk

After taking the Advanced Safety Course, this deer learned the rules of the road.

Birds may take special handling. The big ones—crows, seagulls, and geese—know they can bench press your car if they have to. And they know you know. So they take their sweet time strutting across the road, occasionally pausing to toss you a haughty look before finishing their stroll. I once even had an extra supercilious seagull bombard the road ahead of me with clam shells that broke upon contact. I could hear his echoing laughter all over the neighborhood as I drove into my mother’s driveway with a flat tire.

WitLoveKath - Snow - seagull dropping clam

And then there are the squirrels. What can I say? Just make up your mind already!! They start out. They stop. They go again. They dart to the middle of the road and sit up. They survey their surroundings. They quiver and sniff. Aghh, a car! They look. They run. But which way? Back—no, forward. Forward? Maybe back is better. Their talents are truly lost in the wild. They should run for office.

WitLoveKath - Snow - squirrel

But animals are not the only trouble makers you’ll spy through your windshield. There are all those other nut cases behind the wheel—or handlebars—as the case may be. One day last summer during a pleasant drive along Route 9 to Barnes & Noble, Jenny’s and my witty banter and rockin’ tunes were suddenly eclipsed by a full moon. Passing by—way too slowly—was a motorcyclist whose pants were so low we could tell he didn’t listen to his mother’s advice to wear clean underwear or even any underwear at all.

WitLoveKath - Snow - blank picture

As with any eye-searing astrological event, I warned Jenny to avert her eyes, but too late. If we’d had a piece of cardboard with a pin hole in it, we could have used that, but lacking this we both suffered damaging effects that linger in our nightmares to this very day. Thus, I’d be the first to support a law banning such posterior posturing. In fact, I can see the digital billboard now—COVER YOUR TAIL OR GO TO JAIL.

Maybe that motto could replace the outdated DRIVE SOBER OR GET PULLED OVER signs. Why do I say outdated? Because Wisconsin has found a way to accommodate drinking drivers, and I’m sure other states will soon follow suit. Recently, Governor Scott Walker signed into law “Peddle Pubs.” Yes, one of Hammacher Schlemmer’s “The Unexpected” and one of my very own “If I Win the Mega-Millions Lottery Wish List” items (https://www.facebook.com/kathryn.f.carroll/media_set?set=a.10201524979110529.1073741830.1358367119&type=1).

Facebook - The Isn't This Really Illegal Pedal Pub

Peddle pubs are rolling bars powered by 16 happy imbibers, eight on either side of a gleaming counter where they can rest their elbows and their pints while making their way around town. Perhaps these pubs could even hang dart boards from the roof to further entertain their customers and provide a bit of excitement for passersby. My fear, though, is that these vehicles will just become the human equivalent of the squirrel. Getting 16 bleary peddlers to agree on one direction? “Let’s go right.” “No, left!” “Straight ahead, straight ahead!” “Backward!” “To a restroom!”

You know, now that I think about it, until the Connecticut General Assembly resolves these many road risks, I’m going to walk.

Ghosts of Cookies Past

19 Thursday Dec 2013

Posted by in Holidays, The Formative Years

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

, , , ,

Nothing strikes more dread in the hearts of my family than these two words: Pepparkakor cookies. Pepparkakor cookies are a traditional Swedish Christmas cookie, and years ago my father’s Aunt Mildred, a bustling dynamo of kitchen domination, handed down her recipe to any takers. We now all realize that her generosity was just a ruse to keep us from forgetting her. As if we could.

Stories of Aunt Mildred were legend. The most telling, perhaps, was about the speed with which she cleared the table—if she had eaten her last bite, you had eaten your last bite, and she whisked your plate away even if your fork was halfway to your mouth and your plate half full. Of course, she was also famous for her Pepparkakor.

WitLoveKath - Cookies - Pepparkakor wiki

Made correctly these cookies are paper-thin, zesty morsels of deliciousness, and herein lies the rub: No one could make them like Mildred. Under Mildred’s deft hands the dough was pliable and easily rolled. It yielded to the cookie cutters and dropped onto the baking sheet in perfect shapes. The finished cookies were crisp and flakey and flavorful.  But for anyone else? Not so much.

Once, one of her nieces even stood over her as she made the cookies, convinced Mildred had “forgotten” to reveal an important ingredient or technique, only to report with consternation that she had been faithful to the recipe.  And so the gauntlet was thrown, and every year my mother, my sister, and I  tried to recreate Mildred’s magic.

Now, TV commercials and magazines present a holiday kitchen where a mother and her adorable children, all smiling ear to ear, pour chocolate chips into some unseen batter (while nibbling a few through nose-crinkling giggles), slice perfect rounds off a log of pre-made and pre-decorated dough, or press a Hershey kiss into the middle of an enchanting mound.

My cookie-baking experience?—a dystopian nightmare. There is a reason why CW’s Supernatural resonates with me. Ghosts (of cookies past)? Check. A struggle for my very soul? You betcha. Unabating obsession? Undoubtedly.

Ask my mother about Pepparkakor cookies and her eyes roll, her lips become a thin, grim line, and her head shakes in defeat. I, on the other hand, begin laughing a little too hysterically. And my sister? She doesn’t want to talk about it. As readers of this blog know, I grew up in South Florida where the average temperature in December is 75 and the humidity 70%. The recipe for Pepparkakor calls for the dough to be refrigerated overnight. It also includes a half cup of molasses, and it is to this consistency that the dough returned 5 minutes after hitting the Florida air.

Yet, we persevered.  Flour was liberally “sprinkled” on the rolling cloth. Flour was liberally applied to the rolling pin. Flour rimmed the assembled cookie cutters. And so it began. Nothing says “Merry Christmas” like a frustration-fueled fuming fest:

Ugh! It’s so sticky! I can’t roll it.

Well, put more flour on the board.

That’s not helping.

Thinner, they’re supposed to be thin. Thin!

This is as thin as I can get them!

Here, let me do it. Give me the rolling pin.

But the dough’s all stuck on the cloth!

Well, put more flour on it.

They’re going to taste terrible!

Just do it!

Seeee?

All right. Scrape it off. We’ll do it again.

Uuhuhughh!

Just let me do it! Well, I guess this is the best we can do. But look how thick it is!

Just cut them!

The cookies’re sticking to the board! I can’t get them off!

Use this knife!

They’re getting ruined! Why do we even make these stupid things?

This is a stupid looking reindeer. It looks like a fish.

And what’s that? Santa’s supposed to be fat not the angel!

I’m never doing this again!

Here, let me help.

No, I can do it! I can do it!

Finally, we got the first batch into the oven.  While they baked we gathered the scraps and rolled out more. Adding to the lunacy was my mother’s insistence that we waste not even the tiniest bit of dough. If there was a cookie cutter to fit, we had to use it.

WitLoveKath - Cookies - cat and rooster on scrap

WitLoveKath - Cookies - scrapsWitLoveKath - Cookies - cat on scrap

This process took all day. At the end we were exhausted, dripping with sweat, and covered in flour. We gazed at the finished products feeling the collective taint of disappointment, regret, and the disapproving eyes of Aunt Mildred. But we had two jars of cookies, and if they were a bit thick, still white with flour, and oddly misshapen, they still tasted good to us. And we needn’t have worried about Mildred. She was probably ordering the angels around the heavenly kitchen or chuckling over our plight. Either way she would have been happy.

Plus, there was always next year. Somehow, we always forgot the pain and suffering that went into making them the way women forget the trauma of childbirth so they can have more children.

Over the years the tradition of baking cookies gave way to busier schedules. But it seems my daughter Jenny has inherited Mildred’s baking genes (but not her steamroller personality, thank goodness), and so the other night the subject of the Pepperkakor cookies came up again. I realized as I laughingly related my tales of woe that the lure of the perfect Pepperkakor had not faded, but was only hibernating until a more able baker prevailed.

Jenny was game, so she whipped up the batter and put it in the refrigerator. No dithering over the ingredients. No burden of history.  I, and my bad vibes, stayed out of the way. The next day we rolled them out. The dough spread easily, with just a true sprinkling of flour, to the required 1/8th inch and even thinner. No screaming. No panic. She and I took turns with the cookie cutters—the same ones I used as a child. No morphed angels, no fish-reindeer. These Pepparkakor baked up glossy brown, crispy, and flavorful. The whole thing took less than 2 hours.

WitLoveKath - Cookies - cookie cutters

WitLoveKath - Cookies - cookies on rack

Silicone rolling mats and rolling pins help as do cooler temperatures and alligator-skin humidity levels. But the real difference, I believe, is that Jenny has the magic. For myself? The no-fuss, efficient success this year felt triumphant and fun. But, as I also relish the absurd, the debacles of the past continue to assert a certain humorous charm. The best news, though, is that Pepparkakor are back on the traditional cookie list for another generation. I hope Aunt Mildred is pleased to pass her rolling pin to a kindred spirit.

WitLoveKath - Cookies - cookies on plate

Worst Christmas Song Ever? Funniest? Favorite? Complete the Survey and Tell Us

07 Saturday Dec 2013

Posted by in Holidays

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

, , , ,

Flip on the radio or walk into any store or office these days and you’re sure to hear Christmas music. Some songs are welcome reminders of cherished memories while others…well…not so much. In fact, a recent study found that most ugly Christmas sweater purchases are made under the influence of Santa Baby.

WitLoveKath---Christmas-Survey---ugly mens sweaters from Jen

WitLoveKath---Christmas-Suvey---ugly womens sweaters from Jen

Where do all these songs come from? Well, this is the season of giving, and it seems every performer on earth celebrates by giving us the opportunity to buy their holiday album. And so we’re serenaded by everyone from pop stars (CeeLo Green) to comedians (Steven Colbert) to the desperate (every American Idol contestant and every artist trying to make a comeback) to the disturbing (Christmas Lounge Music, CeeLo Green, Christmas Workout Non-stop Mix, CeeLo Green, Country’s Most Wanted Instrumental Christmas Songs—I love the tin-cup on prison bars version of Silent Night).

WitLoveKath---Christmas-Survey---Steven-Colbert et al from Jen

So many diverse talents chasing the same 4-week royalties bonanza has created a new kind of cross-over genre I like to call “Blech.” In this category you’ll find the dance version of Oh Holy Night and the mawkish version of Jingle Bell Rock. This year, my personal favorite (to tune away from the moment I hear it) is a jazz-country-disco mash up of God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen.

Also trending are the singers who try to “out-slow” each other.  When Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas takes as long as the car trip from Target in one town to our home in another, you know it’s a little too sluggish. Kind of like the drivers who emerge from their hermit holes only once a year—during December—just so they can pull out in front of you and tootle along at 20 miles an hour all the way to your destination. Who knew cars could go that slow? There is one benefit from getting behind these dawdlers though—due to the hilly roads around here, there are long stretches on Boston Post Road and others where I’ve learned you never have to use the gas pedal. That’s a gift in itself considering the price of gas these days.

WitLoveKath - Christmas Survey - frustrated driver

But I digress…Here then is the 2013 Christmas Carroll Carol Survey. In the comments section tell me which Christmas song you consider:

The Worst Ever

The Funniest

The Most Sulky

The Most Morbid

Your Favorite