"I'm STILL Big. It's the PICTURES that got small."

Tonight I saw the Red Stick Ramblers at the Old Town School of Folk Music with my friend Lisa, who'd recommended the show. Cajun/Creole. etc. A fiddle. Some nasal Cajun French. I love that stuff, actually.

So we had two seats at a three-seat table, and a man who had a ticket to the third seat came and sat with us. During the intermission, we all made small talk and were discussing unemployment, and perhaps it was the plastic cup of red wine I'd had, but my interactions with recruiters suddenly seemed closely parallel to the situation in Sunset Boulevard. 

"I feel like...oh God, I can't believe her name has slipped my mind. You know, Sunset Boulevard."

He looked at me blankly.

"You know, the movie with Gloria Swanson and William Holden? 'I'm ready for my close-up, Mr. DeMille'? Carol Burnett used to spoof it: 'Max! Keep the crowds back, Max!'"

He shook his head.

"Nora Desmond! Yes! I feel like Nora Desmond trying to audition for talk movies. You've never heard of Sunset Boulevard?"

He shook his head. "No," he said.

What the hell do you do when a person has never heard of Sunset Boulevard? 

Mojo

I'm meeting with a new recruiter today. For breakfast I had Billy Tea (from SP) in a Charles and Diana mug commemorating their wedding (also from SP); and bread toasted with Marmite (again, SP). 

I'm feeling lucky today!

Rural Riding

Last Saturday I drove to Rockton to participate in the Blackhawk Country Trails ride. They had three routes: 30, 45 and 60 miles. I'd planned on doing the 45, but I had a late start: Rockton is 2 hours away, so I'd have had to leave the house by 5 to be there at the beginning of the start window. Not going to happen.

The day was gorgeous, and I drive northwest on 90 towards Wisconsin. The ride is on the Illinois/Wisconsin border, and the ride crosses back and forth over it. Rockton is just north of Rockford, home of Cheap Trick. In Rockton, bikers parked in the lot of Honeagah High School, alma mater of Danica Patrick. I was surrounded by echoes of greatness.

Start was from 7-10; I got there at 9 to find most bikers had gone. I signed in, grabbed my map, and headed out.

The ride was really lovely; as the name implies, the route is through farmland, some busier roads, but lots of quiet side roads. Barns, cows, horses, and lots of savannah trees; it was gorgeous. I would have stopped more to take in the scenery, but whenever I tried I was instantly covered in flies. Gaah.

The most novel thing was the hills. Lots of hills. Not super steep, but long, so I got to use many more gears than I usually do. It was really good.

At one point I was so entranced by the scenery that I missed a turn, and had to backtrack. I came to a rest stop on the grounds of a gorgeous house; the tent was set up next to the private creek. Sigh. There was a lot of watermelon, and my body suddenly had to eat all the watermelon it could inhale.  Since I was at the end, I wasn't worried about  leaving much for followers.

Given the late start and the wrong turn, I was really lagging, so I decided to just do the 30. At the last rest station I gave an encore performance of Super Watermelon Hoover, leaving the stage only after eating a cookie I'd smeared high with peanut butter and grape jelly.  Lone female riders are uncommon and I got a few looks of curiosity. I felt that I owed my audience some entertainment with my super-human food-snarfing.

Back at Rockton Town Hall (think small VFW hall), we had lunch waiting for us. I joined the line at the kitchen serving window, where I was handed a baked potato. Next was a crock pot with chili, and next to it... a crock with the sign "meatless chili." Given that we were spitting distance from Wisconsin, this was nothing short of a miracle.

So that you too may enjoy the unique flavor of what I now think of as Wisconsin Border Meatless Chili, I'll provide you with the recipe here. Now, their recipe was obviously designed to feed a hundred or more people, so I've scaled down the ingredients as best I can for a recipe that feeds 1-2:

1 15-oz can of vegetarian baked beans

1 crock pot

Open beans.

Put in crock pot.

Heat until tepid.

Serve with a side of warm jar cheese.

Let's say I ate quite a few brownies.

On the drive back I got very sleepy, so I pulled into a rest stop and took a quick power nap in the car. I don't know what it says that I love sleeping at rest stops. It's kind of like camping, only with more head room than my bivy.

Back home, I took a hot bath. 

I love biking.

They are born, not made.

Today was Twin Duty, and I was carrying the boy to the changing table to change his diaper. As I walked to the room he, in one deft move, pulled the front of my shirt open with one hand and stuck his other hand down. I looked at him. He gave me an enormous grin.

"Just a baby, my ass. You're fooling nobody," I said, removing the little groper's paw.

A Sound Opinion

Sound Opinions, which bills itself as "the only radio rock-and-roll talk show" plays on Friday insights on WBEZ. I had it on tonight as I continued stripping the woodwork in the living room (As an aside, I can remember almost all the music I used to listen to when I was working on my apartment in Dorchester. There's something about how focused you get, I think, that makes whatever you listen to indelible.)

Anyway, I was listening to the show, when suddenly I heard the unmistakable opening violin from... yes, the winner of the Eurovision Contest.  The hosts talked briefly about the contest, describing the winning act as "Andrew Lloyd Webber meets The Jonas Brothers," and added that if we are fortunate we have seen the last of it.

Some Advice From The Babysitter

Dear Parents:

I know you are busy, and today's world makes it tough to balance work and home life. But if you are going to have someone come in to care for your child/ren, here are some ground rules you need to embrace:

If you have agreed to be back by 6pm, be back by 6pm. 6pm is not 6:30, or 7, or 7:45. And if you phone the babysitter to ask whether she can stay until 8 and she graciously says yes, don't walk in the door at 8:15. This is why the babysitter has said she's not available on Saturdays.

Have some food in the house. Technically, the babysitter can order pizza delivery, but given what you are paying her, she should not be expected to blow an hour's pay to buy a small cheese pizza and tip the delivery guy. Spring for some snacks.

If she will be feeding your kids, have food that's easy to prepare for them. You might even consider making some food and refrigerating it for re-heating. Otherwise, you may find that the leftover takeout Thai you were going to have has been microwaved, chopped and fed to your offspring.

Look at a calendar. See that summer is here, which means that you need to buy an air conditioner for the sweltering sweatbox that your house becomes on 80-degree days. And the kids will need summer clothes. If you don't do this, don't be surprised when you come home to find half-naked children re-enacting Woodstock. The good one.

Do NOT run out of diapers. Enough said.

BABY-PROOF YOUR HOME. If your babysitter needs to take the kids to the first floor to keep them (and herself) from passing out from the heat of your sweltering house, she should expect that the electrical cords will not be in plain sight, and that the credenza containing all of your china cannot be easily opened. The open kitchen shelves containing the glass bowls and mixing apparatuses should likewise be dealt with. The babysitter doesn't appreciate having to be creative with dining-room furniture in creating barricades, and when your children start saying "no" to everything you say, you have only yourself to blame. 

Finally, as your kids get older and their language/interactive skills develop, you need to buy new toys to engage them. The same ball, plastic blocks and teddy bears don't cut it any more. These are intelligent human beings, and you need to get it together.

Norge!

SP, taking pity on me for being out of the Euro Loop, has kindly briefed me on this year's Eurovision contest. His BF had some friends over, and most of them, not being European, did not understand the cultural importance of what is, at first glance, a sad parade of horrible costumes and performances that leave us with the single question: "Is that the best they have?"

But as SP points out, "If you want to understand european relations and fashion and war guilt, the Eurovision Contest explains it all."

This year's winner was Norway, in a disturbing Riverdance-ABBA Tribute-Liza Minelli's Backup Singers melange of horrible. I don't think we can blame this one on Lutefisk.