Happy New Year

Well, it's been a little quiet here on the blogfront. We spent a busy winter break getting Stuck on the East Coast while visiting family and friends. We have driven back East for the winter break two years now (because we're crazy like that). This year, we got to enjoy Christmas with our little niece 1900 and many of the family in New York. It was a balmy 60 degrees on the day after Christmas! After the deep freeze we had had here at Farm U for the end of the semester, it was a lovely change. I bet it was warmer than the Rose City even! Of course, we had our 7+ kinds of fish for Christmas Eve and Peter got to play with Transformers on Christmas Day with a family friend's son. He was pretty happy about that.

We headed up to City with a Famous Harbor after Christmas to see more family and friends. We got to connect with several people we hadn't seen in a year (or maybe more?) and I even got a bunch of lesson planning and syllabus prep done. Plus, we went to Trader Joe's. That place rocks. We definitely need to live in a town with a Trader Joe's in 100 miles next move.

We had one of the best New Year's Eves I've had in a long time with some of Peter's friends (well, I'd call them my friends by this point too, but they were PEter's first) at home. We played games, ate homemade chili (and I might have to have a chili-off with the cook), and drank too much. Luckily, we planned well and were able to spend the night in the spare bedroom. We all went out to a fancy breakfast (well, brunch really) and met up with even more people.

And then.... then the car broke. We were driving back to drop off our lovely hosts after breakfast when we heard a loud thunk. I thought some kid had thrown a hard snow ball at us, or maybe we had run over a rock. But, it turned out that the clutch broke. Yep. The clutch cable snapped. Luckily, we were driving about 20 mph on a quiet suburban street. Imagine this happening while we were going 80 in rural upstate NY. Or Ohio or something. Ugh.

So, we called The better world club (the gree alternative to AAA. Comes recommended by the Car Talk guys!). They were very helpful and called lots car repair places, but wouldn't find a single open one. Remember, this was New Year's Day. So, we had the car towed to our friends' repair shop, thinking that we'd go back on friday and talk with them then. Of course, our plan was to LEAVE the East Coast on Friday, but that clearly wasn't going to happen. All of the passengers in the car thought this was a workable plan and Peter waited for the tow truck, left eh car, and slipped the key in the drop box.

Friday morning. We call the car place. No answer. We wait an hour. No answer. We eventually drive over and deduce that they are closed. And the next day is a Saturday so they'll be closed through the weekend and OH CRAP. We really wanted to be home by this point.

So. We call the guy taking care of Miles and arrange for more visits. Then, we drive around, looking for an open car place. We find one! It's actually only a block or two away on the same street. So, we ask about the repair, explain that the car that is broken is parked in their competitor's lot down the street etc etc. They had the cable and agreed to put it in. Now, we had to figure out how to get a car without a clutch two blocks down the street. The car guy said, don't worry, we'll take care of it. So, we walked back to the car, he hopped in, started the car and drove it without the clutch the two blocks. Amazing.

That afternoon, they called to tell us that the car was ready. We packed that night, after a sushi dinner (!) and hit the road early Saturday morning.

Miles was happy to see us Sunday night.

So. We're back to Farm U, safe and sound. PEter and I started classes yesterday and I start teaching at SLAC (small liberal arts college) next week. I'm sure we'll both have updates about it all shortly.

I hope that you're all well and that 2009 is good to you.

Merry Belated Christmas

I just wanted to share this pic from Christmas that my mother or sister took of little 1900 with Santa Claus:

Happy Holidays

Kimberly and I are on a bit of a holiday over these holidays. We're hanging out with my family, eating too much food and bewildered at all the snow here in Boston.

We'll get back to some posting when we get back to Iowa. One of my New Year's Resolutions will be to post more regularly, so we'll see if that lasts past January 15th, like my gym membership.

Hope you're having a nice holiday, and keeping warm, wherever you might be.

I'll leave you with this picture of Kimberly and our niece 1900 to warm your heart. Not even the Grinch can make you sad after seeing this picture.

The 3:10 to Tucson

A few weeks back, we went to Phoenix to visit my brother's family and to welcome young little 1900 into the family. While we were there, we decided it would be a good opportunity to visit some friends who had moved to Tucson a few years back (about an hour south of Phoenix), and whom I hadn't seen in about 4 years.

After college, a friend of mine from UVM and a couple of his high school friends decided to move to Boston, get jobs, and have a good time in the big city ('big city' in relation to Hartford and Burlington, not 'big city' in relation to NY). The three of them, me, and a friend of mine from high school all moved into a 4+1 bedroom house in Cambridge (with our unofficial sixth roommate, Banana Man). We had a foosball table. We had a basement, and a guy who would occasionally come over and pee in the basement. We were across the street from the greatest dive bar in the history of dive bars. Needless to say, we had some good times.

After a few years, the 262 House started breaking up. Babies and marriages and time all contributed. New guys moved in, but it was never really the same. Rob had moved out before me to live with his girlfriend, Kyrsten, and they would eventually move to Tucson together. Soon afterwards, I left the house and moved to the Northwest.

Rob and Kyrsten are two of the happiest, most positive people I've ever met in my life; if you can find someone who would speak ill of them, I will give you a shiny nickle (dogs don't count, as I know some people who aren't super big fans of Kali). They're created a nice life for themselves in Tucson. They have an awesome house, with a swamp cooler. They have three dogs, that despite the occasional 'dog freak-out,' are pretty cool. And they have an awesome backyard. We spent most of time back there, where Rob cooked up some phenomenal chicken quesidillas on the grill. We sat deep into the night, drinking beers around the fire, reminiscing about old times at the 262, catching up on our lives away from Boston, and listening to Rob's impressive stories about winning chili cook-offs (no small feat for a Yankee from Connecticut living in the Southwest).

The next morning, Rob took us to a small local place for some tasty Mexican breakfast goods. Kimberly could hardly contain her excitement. The food was spicy good, and we certainly ate our fill.

Afterwards, we took a quick jaunt into the Saguaro National Park, which is right on the borders of Tucson. Pictures can't do this place justice. It is one of the more breathtaking places I've been to, right up there with Joshua Tree National Park in California - something about tall, green, statuesque succulents stretching to the horizon in an otherwise desolate place really gets me going.

On the way back to Rob's place, we drive through the 'city' of Tucson and some of the neighborhoods. Overall, it seems like an artsy, funky place - lots of coffee shops, bars, and thrift stores in cool old buildings. Although we didn't get to experience it so much on our feet, it seems that the city has a much more human scale to it than the strip mall concrete that we experienced in the Phoenix area (You can walk places? Aghast!) (am I too hard on Phoenix? People love it there, and I guess I only spent like 3 days there, but I'm not sure. It didn't leave a good first impression with me. Maybe I need to give it another chance).

As we left Rob and Kyrsten and their gaggle of dogs to head back north, we out through the desert and past the Saguaros. Tucson gave me a good sense of why people love the desert - the sense of isolation, the drama of mountains and cacti shooting up in the stark landscape. It will be nice to go back in May and experience the area a little more in depth. Rob and Kyrsten are getting married. Let the party start.

That's nice

YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!!!!!!

The Red Sox did it again, winning the World Series last night for the second time in 4 years.

While no less satisfying, this one felt much different than 2004. That year, I think I blacked out during the last out while screaming in some random bar in Seattle (where, oddly, I was completely surrounded by Boston accents). This year, the final inning was more of a formality than anything. There was one tense moment, when it looked like a light hitting shortstop would ruin it, but Kimberly's new boyfriend, Jacoby Ellsbury (the pride of Madras and Navajo Nation), erased that with relative ease.

Up there, that's the Red Sox Japanese contingent. Matsuzaka-san (Kimberly's other Red Sox boyfriend) on the right, pitched well, but it was that one scene of Ortiz putting gum on his hat, then their wacky handshake/bow that really stood out. And on the left, Okajimi-san, who, in my opinion, was the Red Sox MVP this year. Especially considering he came over to keep Matsuzaka company. He was lights out all year, only faltering when he was obviously out of gas after being overworked in the World Series.

I have to admit that I was a little scared of the Rockies, even telling one of my friends I thought the series would go to 7 games. But boy was I wrong. The Sox dominated from start to finish.

I'm a little sad I'll miss the victory parade this time, but it's just not possible to make it back to Boston on such short notice, especially with another trip looming at the end of the week. I hope everyone back east enjoys the celebration.

And a helpful hint, falling off a traffic light is probably not the best way to celebrate winning (I hope this kid is alright):


(photos from Boston.com)

This Looks Like Fun

Nine years ago, the Red Sox made the playoffs for the first time in a long time behind Pedro, John Valentin, Troy O'Leary, and Nomar. They won the first series against the Indians (behind a crazy pitching performance from Pedro) and were facing the Yankees for the American League Pennant.

Since this was the first time I understood the Sox were good (although I have memories of 1986 and that tragedy, I was only 8 at the time, and didn't really understand), me and my friend Van drove down from Vermont for game 3. We had the naive plan that we would just walk up to the ticket booth and get tickets for the game. Ha!

When we got to Fenway, there was a buzz, even though the game didn't start til the next day. We wandered around, not really sure what to do, when a radio reporter approached us (I think he was from BU, which potentially means he was from NPR (since BU is the carrier for NPR in Boston)) and asked us where we were from, how excited we were, and how much we were willing to spend on tickets. Being fairly poor college kids, we said $50, like that was a lot of money. The reporter audibly guffawed.

On the day of the game, we got up at like 4, and got a ride into Fenway; we were going to be first in line!

When we showed up, the line was already long. Really long. Pedro was scheduled to pitch against Roger Clemens.

We hung out, bs-ing with the other people in line. Eventually, I think around 10, the ticket office opened. We really weren't sure if there would be enough tickets for us. We certainly knew we wouldn't be able to afford scalper tickets.

As we approached the front, they started cutting people off from the line, as the tickets were getting low. They stopped the line maybe 10 people in front of us, and we were sad. But then a few minutes later, they opened up again. We inched forward, hoping we would get past the ticket bouncer.

As we timidly passed him, we were elated. Then he put up the hand to the people behind us. We were the last ones in.

When we got the ticket booth, there was a weird pause, like we weren't sure what to ask for. I mean it was pretty obvious why we were there, right? So finally, we asked if there were any more tickets.

'Well, we have 4 left, but they're standing room, obstructed view. $50.'

I don't know if it is possible to answer 'we'll take em' any faster.

This was game 3 of a 7 game series, which the Sox were down 2-0 (they eventually lost 4-1). But this was the ultimate game. Pedro and Clemens at the top of their games. Fenway was rocking the way only old, cramped, smelly, uncomfortable stadiums can. The fragile steel beams were shaking with every chant of "Rog-er, Rog-er, Rog-er" and with every Pedro strikeout. When Valentin (or maybe O'Leary) hit a grand slam, the place went insane.

Eventually, Roger was chased from the game, Pedro pitched maybe 6 innings of good ball, and the Red Sox cruised to an easy victory, their only one in the series.

Whenever I watch a Sox game like last night's, or all those crazy playoff games in 2004, I remember Fenway that night, in all its crumbling, shaking, green beauty.

One of these years, it would be nice to go to one of these series clinching games, where the players spray champagne on you after the ninth inning and people don't want to go home. With the rapidly escalating cost of tickets, and increasing rabid-ity of Sox fans, this may be getting more and more impossible with each passing year.

But really, that looks like fun. And I was able to experience it once 8 years ago.

(photo copied from Boston.com)

Music Part 2

Being home, we now get to listen to the radio, as well as listen to our music on our computers and online. Its quite nice. Kimberly really missed NPR. The soothing voices calm her down.

I think this song here, posted by our friend Seth several months ago, feels appropriate as a 'welcome back' song. I don't think I could ever get sick of the Talking Heads.

And as Seth says: David Byrne dancing with a lamp = Genius.

This song is actually good, so check it out.

...And We're Back

We're back in the Boston, relaxing at my mom's. Decompressing. Doing laundry. Unfortunately, the Red Sox are out of town all week.

I think Kimberly is working on downloading some pictures, so you might get some surprises later on. Keep your eyes on this space.

I hope everyone enjoyed some stories of our adventures in Europe. Stay tuned, as the real adventure is about to begin: The Middle beckons.

Boston Adventures Part 2

My Boston trips have always involved eating. Marrying into a large Italian family, that kinda goes without saying. We eat, frequently and a lot.

One of my favorite places in Boston is an area called the North End. This is a very old part of town apparently dating from the 1600s. The buildings are old and brick, the streets run this way and that way, narrow and confusing. The roads are all cobblestone and brick, beautiful to look at and rough on the ankles. So many different groups of immigrants have lived in this neighborhood over the centuries, but it's been an Italian neighborhood for over 100 years.

My mother-in-law and her sisters were all born in the North End. It has family history (and family still live there). Most importantly, it has pizza, the soul food of Italians. As I have been informed by my dear husband, the quality of pizza is a very important consideration (and as he frequently points out, Portland's pizza generally sucks).

Some of our family is somehow related (don't ask me because the family relations are all too confusing for me to sort out, not to even consider remembering) to the family that runs Galleria Umberto, known in the family as Buckwheat's after the owner. Buckwheat makes pizza. You can get your pizza any way you want it, as long as you want it square and with cheese. None of those fancy dancy toppings. Cheese. You can also get panini (which are somehow ham and cheese sandwiches, but on pizza dough- seems to me that they're more like a calzone, but what do I know), pizzette (somehow the same thing with sauce and cheese baked inside), panzarotti (like a potato croquette- mashed potatoes with cheese in the middle, deep fried), arancini (rice balls stuffed with meat and peas and then deep fried), and calzones (you know what those are). Pizza cost $1.10 a slice, although Peter complained about the increase from the old days of 60 cents a slice.

This is simple, artery clogging food.

This is what we got.

You can see most of the food in this picture. We purchased 8 slices of pizza, 3 arancinis, 1 panzarotti, and 2 calzones (one spinach and cheese, and one just spinach). This was for 4 people. We also bought another arancini and 2 more calzones to bring home for my mother-in-law.

We ate almost all of it.

Here is Peter and his aunt exclaiming over the inadequate amount of food.











After this, we wandered around, had some interesting experiences with getting official documents translated into Italian (more later), and walked the streets until the rain got too annoying. And then, because we certainly hadn't eaten enough, we got dessert.

At this place- Modern Pastry














You might not be able to see in these photos, but there are absolutely no signs in this place. No prices, no names of things, no list of what they offer. They have a coffee machine in the corner, which implies that they sell coffee. They do, but nothing to let you know what they make. They even have other varieties of pastries in the back that they sell, but no mention of them in the front. You have to just know.

This time around, we got two cannolis (mmmmmm) and a slice of ricotta pie. (I also highly recommend their lobster tails (the pastry not the fish)). As we left, we discussed where we were going to take our treats. Peter mentioned that his grandfather's brother and wife might still be in town, up the street, so we walked over to their place. We popped in, Auntie Mary made us coffee, and Uncle Giulo peppered us with questions about our trip. They've lived in the same apartment in the North End for 52 years, since they returned from their honeymoon. It turns out that they will be in The Village in Italy about the time we're passing through, so Uncle Giulo has promised us a walk through the countryside and some potatoes.

It's sometimes bewildering to be surrounded by so much family, coming from a relatively small family like mine. But I wouldn't trade them in for anything.

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[PEter Edit: A couple quick things: (1) The problem with pizza in Portland is that people are worried about the toppings, rather than the important things, like crust and sauce (for Example A see The Flying Pie). And places with good pizza, like Ken's new pizza place or A Pizza Scholls, with good crust and simple toppings, are ridiculously expensive. Escape From New York (or Manhattan, whatever) on NW 23rd was good too. (2) My family is not related to the people that run Bacqui's (apparently, not Buckwheat, but that's how it's pronounced); my Aunt (not the one pictured) dated Buckwheat when they were young. My Uncle Giulio used to hang out with them too. (3) Kimberly added a link to Galleria Umberto's up there: check out the picture of the storefront. It's hidden in plain view. (4) The Unlce Giulio Kimberly met yesterday is actually Zio Giulio (pronounced Ti-Giulio) on my Grandfather's side, easily distinguishable from the other Uncle Giulio on my Grandmother's side.

Boston Adventures Part 1

Ah, Boston.

I've visited a few times now, and am slowly starting to figure out the parts of town I enjoy, the things I'd rather skip, and a vague sense of where things are. This trip I've already got to experience something new, something exciting, something Peter's been waiting for since we first met.

I went to my first Red Sox game at Fenway.

It was quite the adventure. To fully appreciate this story, you should know that I've never been a big sports fan. Just not my thing. In fact, it was something of a strike against Peter when we first met. But, he turns out to be a fine person even with the whole sports thing. And, when we decided to get married, the only prenuptial-sort-of-thing we had was the one sport rule. We agreed that Peter could pick any sport, any at all, that I would feign interest in. And then, I could openly disparage all other sporting activities.

Anyway, Peter picked baseball and the Red Sox and I've been watching baseball ever since. It's not half bad actually. I have Red Sox gear- a fancy baseball hat. I know players; I know some general rules. Not bad for me.

So... Peter's been searching for tickets ever since we decided to come back here on our way to Europe. Unfortunately, the Red Sox seem to be the hottest thing in town, and tickets are hard to come by. Peter found standing room only for the bargain basement price of $50 each! Eeek!

We were beginning to resign ourselves to no baseball when a friend came through and gave us noon tickets for the rainout make up game on Thursday.

It's crazy there. The banners, the people, the Red Sox gear. Here we are entering the park.







I got my first Fenway sausage. Note the size of this thing. Clearly bigger than my head. And I ate the WHOLE thing.

It stayed dry through the game which was lovely. There was a fabulous lady in front of us, yelling and talking the whole time. When her accent got too thick and we (or me) didn't understand, she slowed down and clearly enunciated, which was great too. The guys behind us had wicked accents that I spent half the game eavesdropping on, such that Peter got concerned he was going to get into a brawl. But, no worries, they were too drunk to notice.

The sun didn't really come out, it's been cold and rainy the entire time we've been here. Apparently a Nor'Easter is coming through (this translates to "really big storm" for those at home).

All in all, it was a fun time. I'll probably even go again sometime, since I'm good luck now as they've won every game since I attended. But, geesh, lower the beer prices already. $8 for a Sam Adams?

An Ode to Banana Man (The 262 Revisited)

After college, I moved into a house with four other guys in Inman Square in Cambridge; we were two guys from Boston and three guys from Connecticut. We were all the same age and starting our working careers. We lived across the street from the The Abbey Lounge, before it was renovated and still had those two seedy windows. We had good parties.

Our art work was pretty standard for a house occupied by five young 20-year olds: some beer posters, things we found on the subway or at yard sales, an Anna Kournikova poster.

One day, Basement Brian brought home Banana Man; he was working at a children’s theater at the time and someone there had given it to him. In the beginning, Banana Man was pretty simple, basically a banana with a face. The Banana Man hung on the wall for a couple years, overlooking the foosball table.

At some point, Rob decided to spice him up and added the hat, hair, bow-tie and tuxedo shirt.

Most importantly, he added those red lips.

After a couple years, the five of us started moving on. I went away for a couple months and subletted my room to Alfay. Then Basement Brian got married and moved out, making Alfay a permanent member of the house. Lew moved home and got married; he rented his room to his brother, Uncle Brian. Rob moved in with his girlfriend, I moved to Portland, Alfay moved out, and some other people moved in. Chad held down the fort for a few more years, being the one constant in the house from start to finish.

Once Basement Brian and Rob moved out and didn’t take Banana Man with them, sentiment turned against Banana Man and he was removed from the wall. When I moved out, I rescued Banana Man from the basement, carrying him across the country to the NorthWest.

Banana Man hung on my wall in Seattle for a year; then he hung in our bathroom in Portland for the last 2+ years, scaring countless small children, disconcerting Kimberly, intriguing others, but always providing a conversation starter.

We decided Banana Man wouldn’t come to the Middle with us; Kimberly isn’t a big fan of the Banana Man and we were running low on space. Last Friday, we had a going away party and gave Banana Man to a friend. She’ll be proudly displaying him in her office cube, until some future time when either I can reclaim him or he can be passed on to someone who appreciates a true piece of art.

Goodbye Banana Man. You’ll be missed.