Things Lost in the Wake of Industry #1: Grating Cheese

So I grated cheese the other night--I know, so retro of me. People don't grate their own cheese anymore, do they? I mean, they sell the stuff already shredded and in ready-to-use, resealable packages! Why would you willingly grate your own cheese? It's just silly really--the dangerous dance between cheese, skin, and grater, the way the grated cheese sticks to itself--an inconvenience, and a dangerous inconvenience at that.

What did I gain from grating my own cheese, you ask? About 2 minutes of meditation time, and a surprisingly wicked burn in my upper arm from the back and forth motion. Also: a small Tupperware full of grated cheese that only cost me $1.50 instead of nearly $4, less packaging waste, and none of the fillers and additives that are currently found in today's shredded cheese products (and are terrible for you, like cornstarch).

When I cook, I love thinking about how or if someone could have or would have made what I am cooking 50-100 years ago. This is the kind of stuff I think about whilst cooking. Does that make me weird? God I hope so.

The Farmer's Market High

As a result of reading the world-shattering food books by Michael Pollan, we have started dutifully attending our local Schenectady Greenmarket inside of the Proctor's theater walkway. We've been doing this for a couple of months now, and it has become something we look forward to doing together. I now can say that we have an 'egg guy,' a 'milk guy,' as well as a bread/cheese/candle/jam/honey guy. Or gal, as the case may be.

Sunday mornings we get up, watch the CBS morning show (when we get up early enough that is) from 9:30 to 10:30, then we mosey out to the farmer's market between 11-12. We bring about $30 cash with us and we spend it all every time. It started out small, with us just buying food--eggs, bread, cheese, beets--but it has since blossomed into this weird, happy, self-indulgent shopping trip. Today I bought almond shea butter for my hands, and beeswax candles for Easter gifts. And today we finally discovered the milk vendor, who also sells ice cream...you see how this is going to go.

I don't know what it is, but there is something about going to a farmer's market that makes you feel good. It's not a feeling I usually get from regular grocery shopping, that's for sure. Everyone is so nice and smiley, there's usually an Irish band playing, and everyone is milling about politely and making eye contact. I admit I found it very unsettling the first few times, but you get used to it, then you actually start to like it. I do still have to suppress an eye roll at the overt crunchiness, but it's easy to just focus on the food, get what you need, and go. No need to stick around for the unshaven bluegrass band that plays at noon, or the occasional poetry reading.

And this is going to sound even more ridiculous, but when I'm eating a slice of whole wheat loaf slathered with strawberry-rhubarb jam, topped off with a glass of delicious reduced fat farm-fresh milk, it makes me feel even better. It's like I'm getting some kind of whole foods high. The feeling was so strong this morning that I had to ask myself: am I getting this food high because of the deliciousness of the food itself, or because I know that the food is the best, freshest quality, locally grown and sustainable, or a strange combination of both? Maybe it's the high butterfat content in the milk, but whatever it is, I am loving it. It feels good to be buying whole foods grown in my local area, and to be participating in an exchange of goods and services that is direct and honest, for a change.

Turning 34: It's Three Gray Hairs Good

The earliest memory I have of a gray hair is back in high school--there was a wayward gray hair that a friend found and pulled out--I was probably 15, so it was a freak of nature. Since that time, I have been completely unconscious of gray hairs altogether, that is until last week.

I have pulled out no less than 3 gray hairs this week. I'm not sure what's happening here. Maybe what they say is true--you pull one, and more grow in its place. Or maybe they were there, I didn't notice, and I'm only noticing now because it's my birthday? Or maybe I've finally hit that invisible wall where my body says, 'uh-uh, no more dark hair for you, you're too old'--and BAM, gray hair.

Whatever it is, I am not liking it. I turn 34 this week, and smart asses know that means I've completed my 34th year, and am beginning my 35th one. When you put it that way--YIKES. Yes, time continues to pull me inexorably forward whether I want it to or not, blah blah blah. There is no getting off this death train! Cue obscure reference to "The Last Car," that Tales from the Darkside episode where four dead passengers (who don't know they're dead) end up riding the last car for eternity, and annoying the hell out of one another in the process.

But I'm not on the last car just yet. This week has been a flurry of lunches and dinners and celebrations--starting with my initial birthday Mexican food/80s dancing on Saturday, then lunch/dinner/lunch/dinner/lunch. And this weekend, one last family dinner, with cake. Even though it's undeniable that I'm getting older, and that I've gained 2 pounds this week from all the excess (my Wii Fit yelled at me last night), I'd say my 35th year is so far going well. I have good friends and family, a job, my health, and more importantly, I am more or less happy with myself and where I am in life. Whatever year 35 brings, I hope it's as much fun.

Be Ready for the Coming Poverty Wars with Your iPhone!

I saw this story in Gawker today and I shook my head in amazement. Then laughed maniacally at my own joke, which became the title of this blog. And then I shook my head some more.


Just when I think I've seen it all, there's always more.


We did it first in 2001 in the name of keeping the terrorists at bay. 'Yes, take all of my freedoms, please, if it means I can go on living in oblivion in debt up to my eyeballs. Yes, you're right, government, air travel is far too convenient, and we should jump at the opportunity to make this modern convenience an insufferable nightmare. What's that FAA? Now we have to fly naked as the day we were born? Well as long as I'm eating at the Bullshit Buffet, I'll take a huge helping of human degradation with a side of anal probe please.'


And now this iKey thing? The device that "lets Steve Jobs mediate your most private spaces?"  I have read a lot of science fiction, and am familiar with the 'house of the future' concept, and I don't find it cool, I find it disturbing. I am continually amazed at people's apparent willingness to sign over their most important and private possessions in the name of ease and the all-important cool factor.


In the interest of full disclosure, I will level with you and say that I love making fun of people with iPhones. I really do. And they secretly love being made fun of, because the teasing only enhances their coolness. They know the iPhone is annoying and snooty, but they have one anyway--their iPhone is a choice, dammit, not a fashion trend.


All teasing aside, I see the iPhone as a pretty cool and valuable tool if you can afford one, or if your life is so busy that you need the internet at your fingertips every second (neither of which camp I fall into). But here's another secret about me: I am a neo-Luddite and I don't trust technology. There, I said it, but I don't mean it in the way that you think I do.


Technology these days all seems to be about creating a need for a product where there wasn't one previously. I get that, it's an ingenious marketing strategy, and the bottom line is, these devices are cool, and you can't argue with cool (I've tried). But then there are people like me, stubborn atheists who refuse to get on the bandwagon, and who aren't lured by the cool factor. I have a need for a cell phone, yes, but I do not have need nor desire for a PDA or Smartphone so that I can surf the internet 'on the fly' (for a fee). I'm not saying those things aren't important for some people, they're just not priorities for me, and I refuse to complicate my life unnecessarily. I happen to love my old video iPod, I think it's great--and have no desire for an iTouch or any of the newer iterations of the Nano or Shuffle, thank you very much.


Here's a question no one asks: why have one device that does everything? Why hook yourself up to the world at every waking moment? You will inevitably become dependent on that device, and if you're not careful, that device will own you, and you'll miss out on true experiences in the here and now because your phone buzzed and you looked down. If you're ok with that, fine--but there's room here for those of us who don't, too.


Instead of letting a device define the path of my life for me, I define my technology choices by what I don't want in my life. I don't want to feel like I should check my email when on vacation just because I have the capability to. I don't want a phone call interrupting my music experience. I don't want people having access to me whenever they want.  I don't want to wear a weird thing on my ear and appear to talk to myself in public. I don't need to talk while driving. I don't need a single device that pays my bills, unlocks my car and house, and pays for my purchases.  I don't need to know what else I could be missing. I don't want to be stymied and overwhelmed at every turn by tweets and messages and downloads and emails and dinner options.


Technology is everywhere. The more we let it control for us, the more controlled our lives become; it is for us to decide how much control we give up for the sake of ease and efficiency. Are we really that busy and important? I seriously doubt it.


There is something to be said for being 'unreachable' from time to time, and I just can't let go of that last freedom.

Sighing in Public Restrooms

I have a pet peeve and I'm going to blog about it (surprise). I really, really hate it when I'm in the restroom at work, and other women come in, go into an empty stall, sit down, and exhale. Loudly. Like they are not just relieving their bladders, they are relieving their very souls.

It creeps me out, ok? I think some things should be kept private, and the busiest women's room in my office is the place to relieve your bladder, not your soul. Get in, do your business, be polite, wash your hands, and go.

Other types of bathroom relief sounds actually don't bother me--when someone else is producing them, of course. But people who sigh, and especially those who keep sighing for the duration of their stay (yes it happens) freak me the eff out.

The Japanese are so embarrassed about making toilet sounds in public (even tinkling in the toilet makes them blush) that they have placed sound machines (one model, the Otohime, literally means "sound princess") in some public restrooms. The machines issue sounds like a waterfall, or flushing toilet, to cover the sounds one makes when going to the bathroom.

Using the restroom is this weird private thing that we also do in public. And like many other areas of public life, any etiquette that once surrounded public restroom use has faded, if it ever existed at all. (I'm sure someone, somewhere has written a doctoral thesis on human attitudes towards excretion throughout history.) Yet somehow there are a handful of us out there (myself included) who feel an instinctual revulsion to behaviors exhibited by others in this uncomfortably public, private experience.

Using a public toilet at Target or the mall is one thing because of the relative anonymity, but using it at your place of work presents its own challenges. These are people you have to see everyday, more or less, which makes the bathroom visits awkward, to say the least. And what makes it additionally interesting is that, at work, people largely encourage ideas that they're inhuman workaholics without home lives, grooming skills, or the need to eat, but the bathroom is the great leveler. Ever go into a stall that a VP has just quitted and smelled something foul? Ever stay in a stall longer than you need to until your boss or a coworker clears out? Ever go out of your way to a restroom on another floor to avoid awkward social interactions? Yeah, I thought so.

Perhaps even more annoying than the existential sighing that takes place are those who start a conversation in the bathroom, have cross-stall conversations, and then continue to stand and converse in the bathroom while other people are relieving themselves. First, there are much better places to hold a conversation, and second, it's disrespectful of others to babble through their private bathroom moments, in my opinion. I will readily admit I am not a fan of talking whilst peeing, or listening to others talk while I pee, I just think it's crude, but other people seem unfazed by it. In fact, I have overheard people talking on headsets while relieving themselves, an astounding practice, even more so because their conversations appeared work-related. Bottom line: if you can't take a couple of minutes out of your day to visit the bathroom in peace, unencumbered by a cell phone, you have the kind of life I don't want.

I just think if people were a little more self-conscious and aware of how others are affected by their actions, whatever the situation, the world would be a better place for all. Etiquette and manners used to alleviate the awkwardness inherent in social interaction, and, in essence, kept us from showing our asses and from having to see everyone else's ass, but we've slowly eroded those into nonexistence. Truth is, we need to be protected from one another. If we are to conduct business, partake of fine dining, attend the theater, converse, or do anything serious that pertains to our higher functions and capabilities as human beings, we need to be more discreet about and respectful of the baser aspects of our nature.

Cadbury Mini-Eggs are Ruining My Life

In case you're new here, you will notice that I do love a dramatic blog title. But seriously, these delicious candy-coated milk chocolate eggs decided to reveal themselves to the retail world again on the day before Valentine's day this year.  On a whim, with nothing like premeditation, my husband and I first checked for them at the local Price Chopper, then jokingly also checked the Hannaford, and finally out-and-out stalked them at our local CVS.

Before I sample them, it's, 'I'll stop after a few.' Then the first bite is like magic--I say to myself, 'how can something so good be so bad for me?' as I continue to stuff them into my mouth. It's like I forget everything I know about eating. Then, after the first handful, it's 'these are only out for a brief time every year,' and then 'ah, fuck it, who cares' right before eating the entire bag.

To make matters worse, these eggs are divine with a glass of red wine.

I heard somewhere that Cadbury (or Hershey's or Nestle, whoever owns them now) is thinking about making these chalky-pastel, devilish eggs available year-round. I'm not sure how I feel about this.

If these eggs are available year-round, I'm afraid I'll never be able to satiate my desire for them, and will balloon to over 200lbs. Every time we get a bag of those eggs, we both inhale them, which is why we only buy the smallest bag. Reason says that maybe if they are available year-round, I won't feel the incipient desire to eat as many as I can between Valentine's day and Easter. But I'm not so sure.

Depressing Thought of the Day (don't say I didn't warn ya)

The bottom is finally falling out, this country is stretched thin, maxed out, debt piling on top of debt. China owns us, India owns us, their economies have replaced ours as we have willingly sold our jobs to them, thinking we were on top, but guess what? We're on the bottom now. People here are out of work, unemployment shows no signs of abatement in the near future, overeducated and overqualified people are now competing for grunt work, for service work jobs. Welcome to the new America: the service class provider.

What is going to happen in the next few years? When is the country going to admit that we are in the second great depression? Why must the nightly news keep on acting as if things are generally ok? Stop making those of us affected by unemployment feel like we have a disease.

Wake up America. It is no longer enough to get a degree in something, and have work experience, because our country has sold that out from under us. What good is knowledge and work experience if your job ceases to exist? If you can't pay your bills? If you watch the fruit of what was supposed to be your life die on the vine?