Pink Asparagus

I don’t know what Twitter is.

There, I said it.

I mean, I’ve heard of it. And I could maybe BS my way through a conversation about it. Assuming I was talking to the Amish.

I don’t know what Twitter is used for. Would I use my phone for it? Do standard messaging fees apply? What would I say? Who would listen?

KellyGo thinks I should Tweet. She leads a cool kid life and I would like to do that too. But the noise. Oye the noise. Not the noise of my phone (at this point I’m assuming that’s the Twitter device) but the noise in my life.

Would Tweeting bring us closer together or just put more minutia between us? If I Tweet all the interesting bits of my day, what would we talk about over drinks?

When I read something like this, I’m resolved: oh dear NO, I cannot invite that stress into my life. The commitment! Do you see I just signed Elliot up for Karate? How can I fit that AND Twitter into my life?

I know it’s leave-no-man-behind, but you all are going to have to forge ahead on this technology without me. Just don’t roll your eyes when I ask you to tell me about your day even though you already Tweeted about it.

And really, do you do this on your phone?

Also, my resolve is pretty weak – so don’t make too much fun of me when I ask to follow you on Twitter next week.

The knot on the belt? All me. I’m an awesome karate mom. 

Could you die from cuteness?

It occurs to me that I don’t know my audience at all. I give you great drink recipes and not a single person is all “hells yeah.” But I give random opinion on someone else’s topic and people are congratulating me.

Weird. I assumed my cult was made up of the habitually inebriated.

Speaking of being habitually inebriated … Joss had the recipe for what sounds like a wonderful concoction. She went so far as to name it Best Drink of Summer (the SO FAR edition).

WINNER, best drink of summer (so far): Golf Club to the Head
Invented by Amy-Go, true friend and cocktail genius, and her husband Kevin.

1 part Firefly Sweet Tea Vodka
2 Parts fresh squeezed Lemonade

I dutifully went to the liquor store tonight. I wanted to go yesterday in celebration of Sunday liquor sales becoming a reality in my state, but I accidentally took a 3 hour nap instead. Anyway … I went to the liquor store and stood in the vodka aisle. It was both sides. Filled. Top to bottom with vodka. Now, I don’t know what you do with vodka but I sure as hell don’t normally drink it. My martinis? Dry gin, a little dirty, two olives please.

So I did what any normal person would do – I used lifeline and phoned a friend. And said, “go to Joss’s website and find out what sort of vodka I am supposed to buy.” And he said, “Wha? Huh?” Then I did some spelling. Then he told me “Firefly Sweet Tea Vodka, like the bug”. I said, “like the MOVIE.” (Yes people, this IS the excitement that is my marriage.) Thankfully, he let me have the reference even though I am now seeing that it was the TV show, Serenity was the movie. Damnit, I hate it when I suck at cultural references that I should know.

So sad. I live in a giant square state in the middle of the Union that doesn’t have Sweet Tea Vodka. We do, however, have big plans with a senator from Illinois.

Being able to lose touch is, when you think about it, a pretty valuable luxury.

Ms Reichelt is correct. Consider the ubiquitous cell phone. I’ve had the same phone number for eight years now. That would be 2 apartments, 2 houses, 5 jobs and 2 kids ago. But, if you knew my phone number in 2000, you still know my phone number. I cannot hide from you. Same goes for my email. I have a few addresses, some of them dating back to last century. And they all forward. I cannot lose you.

I’m on a few social networking sites. I have this funky blog. I don’t cross link them (we can probe my crazy later). I have multiple IM accounts that I access simultaneously blending multiple aspects of my current and past lives. Because of technology, folks that I was once hung with, at least online, are still able to contact me. And vice versa.

From Ms Reichelt’s post:

Q: “How many contacts could you accumulate over the course of a lifetime if you start really young?”

A: Personally, I’m going to keep my kids locked under the stairs so they won’t have to face this challenge. And friends lead to team sports. It’s a vicious cycle, and the ending is always me driving carpool.

Q:”If we get stressed about our moms friending us on FaceBook now, what do our kids have coming?”

A: Kelly O thinks our kids will lead less compartmentalized lives than we do now. So, admitting that “yeah, that my mom” might not be as socially devastating as it was for our generation. Also? My kids think I’m cool. So, of course they’d want to friend me. I’d just have to be on FaceBook first.

Q: “We think Twitter gets distracting now – how will we manage all the noise that such a huge number of contacts will generate? Or will we all just shut up? (I doubt it).”

A: I don’t Twitter. Or tweet. The world can go on without my pearls of wisdom. But this does tie back to the ubiquitious cell phone. Now when people phone one another they expect instant gratification. It seems that people are expected to answer their cell ALL THE TIME. That’s very different than land lines (for people that still have them). Remember when sometimes you’d let it go to the answering machine because you were busy doing something else? Or you just didn’t want to talk? Now, if you let your cell go to VM the caller will invariably ask “where are you? why aren’t you answering your phone?” It’s as if the ownership of a cell phone is the tacit acceptance of noise in your life. You have to declare you’ll be incommunicado if you wish to pick and choose when you’ll answer. Or, be like me and set the answering expectations low.

Q: “How will we manage our identity online as our identity changes? Will this pressure that seems to be about to have an integrated online persona (work, social, family, all in together) continue? If not, how will different personas evolve and how will the be related? Will we be able to re-invent ourselves?”

A: How do you know who you are at 12? 15? 20? 30? Do you get to safely experiment with your identity without having to hear about it for all of eternity when you invariably take a wrong turn? Will my kids have to have a variety of anonymous lives before they’re willing to take one public? What if they do want to change who they are? Can they ever honestly say that yes, they’re a vegetarian if someone else can find a ten year old post about how much they love dead slab o’cow on their plate? Or, will their generation be more tolerant? More tolerant of trying before buying. Of being willing to say this is who I am today – I make no guarentees that I’ll be this person tomorrow?

It’s novel for us now to have real-world friends we first met online. Or to refer to people we’ve never met face-to-face as friends. That won’t be the case for our kids. Friendship won’t be defined by matching Friendship bracelets. They’ll have friends all over the world that they’ll never see in person. Finding a date online won’t be the stuff of television commercials, it’ll be as common as fast food restaurants. It’s a brave new world out there, I hope we don’t give ourselves information overload trying to get there.

Thanks for the link Anne.

I love Port. For this I blame Peter. The first time I enjoyed tasty, tasty Port was at Gallagher’s at New York New York in Las Vegas. It was a Sandeman’s Reserve. Before kids, we would sip luscious Port from pretty little cordial glasses. Port can be an experience, like I assume Brandy or Scotch is. Or it can be a mix-in to lemonade. We’ve been having this delicious summertime drink for a few years now. But last night I branched out to lime-ade. I cannot recommend it. It didn’t make the Port undrinkable, but it didn’t do much for it either. Don’t get me wrong, I still finished mine.

Don’t waste your good Port on this drink. We usually have a jug of Fairbanks Port on hand. If you’re going to splurge, buy good lemonade. In the end though, I’m not sure you can taste the difference. And after the first one, you’re not going to care.

We actually ran out of the cheap Port (that sediment in my glass is from me trying to get the last drops from the bottle) and I had to use good Port in the limeade. I cried a little on the inside. It’s like sharing the dark Ghirardelli chocolate with kids. They don’t give two shits. They just want candy. Lemonade doesn’t care about the quality of Port, it just wants to be mixed in with it.

Mix 2/3 lemonade with 1/3 Port – or 1/2 and 1/2 … measuring shmeasuring. Mix. Tastes best outside on a warm summer’s night.

skin like porcelein
giant hat and sunglasses
not enough, still pink

sunscreen, you need more
lift your arms like an airplane
play for ten minutes

The company Peter works for took their product loud live on July 1. That night he gave a presentation to the Boulder Denver New Tech Meetup about it. Looking through the pictures, we’ve concluded that his nervous social tic is smiling like the Cheshire Cat.

Better than openly, proudly picking his belly-button like his off-spring is apt to do.

Apparently a shit storm is brewing in blog-land. Or brewed. Or blew over. I don’t know. It didn’t involve me except as a person who drove past the scene of the accident as they’re sweeping the glass from the road. (How’s that for mixed metaphors?)

But it makes my stomach hurt.

Today on IM my girlfriend that thinks it’s “cerebral geeky” that I’m attending BlogHer (I repeatedly told her I’m going for the booze) asked if I was excited. I told her I was nervous, that I sort of want to throw up. Don’t get me wrong, I’m far from shy. But at the same time 1000 new faces all knowing things about me that I didn’t share over a glass of wine. It changes the playing field. Similarly, I know things about you. Back in the olden days, the only way we would have intimate details of each other’s lives was if we were actual, meat-world friends. Or relations. Or friends of relations. Or relations of friends. And it makes me nervous. Maybe I’m not as cordial in person? Maybe I’m so freaking hilarious in person that you come back to my blog and you’re like, really? same girl? nah. Her posts would have me peeing my pants.

Nerves.

In my mail box today was the Pre-BlogHer Conference Guide. Reading it over I panicked. There’s a part about when you check into the hotel get your pin so other people will know you’re there for BlogHer blah, blah, blah. But I’m staying at the hostel. How will people know why I’m there? Granted, a rational person would say – uhm, that badge you’ll be wearing around your neck and the bag o’shwag. But for a moment I envisioned my lonely self walking from the hostel to the hotel on a deserted road with no one to hang with. I’ll wait while you run and get your tiny violins. Ridiculous? Yes. My imagination is a vivid place.

And here we are, two weeks before BlogHer and there’s trouble afoot. I will not pretend to know what’s going on. I read Catherine’s post. I thought it was well articulated. I read a lot of the comments. They were fine too. The thought that stuck with me more than anything else, is: is this going to cause a rift at BlogHer this year? I remember reading about cliques and hurt feelings after last year’s conference (which I didn’t attend). This year are we going to have a girl-on-girl fight in the bathroom? If so, I’d like to sell tickets, recoup some of my conference costs.

So that pit in the bottom of my stomach. It’s nerves. Nerves that I’m going to feel more clownish than usual. And sadness that the women I respect so heartily are tearing themselves apart.

Recently the kids’ preschool had an instructor from a local martial arts school come and give a one hour class. Cool, right? Yeah. Except for the part where the instructor left behind all sorts of marketing materials and no price sheet. Have you ever tried to find a price sheet for a martial arts school online? Next to impossible. But Google does turn up a lot of fantastic things. What I learned is that the man that owns the school that gave the free class also does marketing boot camp for other martial arts school owners.

You must have an upgrade system to move students up through higher tuition rates. At my schools, we move students to the Master Club at $259 per month within 8 to 16 lessons (that’s 1 to 2 months). Often, this results in a PIF at $7,800.00 or more.

Now, I’m not naive. I get that they’re not out there only for the greater good. The owners of the martial arts schools want to make money too. Good for them. But seeing the plan to fleece me in black and white was a little too unsettling. Elliot is four. He doesn’t need to be moved up to a higher tuition rate after 2 months.

I should have stuck with my initial reaction that I can’t give money to a school whose forms don’t work in Firefox. Who writes their stuff only for IE? People who don’t want my money, that’s who!

I did find a school for Elliot to try. Last night was his first class. I was so very proud. He listened, followed directions and I didn’t interfere once. Not even when he was picking his belly button. It’s a big step toward independence for both of us.

If you’re here because I was the first commentor on Bossy’s Ten Word Tuesday, welcome. If you’re here because you usually swing by – good to see you too.

When I hear “tart” I either think of that girl in high school, who was not me, or a sweet dessert. But a beet tart? Sounds a little … repulsive? What’s next, brussel sprout pie?

But! It’s fantastic. Amy and I have had it twice together. Once on a fluke and once on purpose. The second time we were actually seated at Cheesecake Factory when we remembered we wanted beet tart. So we left. It’s not like we had actually ordered yet.

From Rioja’s menu:

Asian pear and beet roasted tart, puff pastry shell, glazed red beets, carmelized onions, goat cheese mousse, shaved Asian pears, hazelnut vinaigrette, beet reduction

Next time, oh there will be a next time, I’ll discreetly whip out my cell phone and take a picture.

I love, love beets. And who doesn’t love goat cheese? Never in a million years would I have created this concoction on my own. One supposes that’s why I’m not a chef. But the combination of the tangy beet, the sweet pear and the creamy cheese is amazing. The flavors don’t blend into one giant flavor.; you can taste each individually. And it comes in a cute pastry shell.