Hawleyblog

Thanksgiving 2009

This year for Thanksgiving, Dad, Jean, Granny, and I all went to the Gerbers' house. Tracey cooked the turkey and, with some help/hindrance :-) from the rest of us, made most of the side dishes.

Jean brought chocolate cream and pumpkin pies. Yum.

I made Bill's Browned Brussels Sprouts and an orangy cranberry sauce, the recipe for which I got from Martha. It's basically sugar, water, cranberries, orange zest, and orange juice. The boys helped/hindered me with it, but they wouldn't eat it and said the corn syrup–loaded kind from the can is much better. Dad said he liked "the taste," which meant he wouldn't eat it because it wasn't smooth. *sigh* And this time, Mike wouldn't eat the Brussels sprouts even though he said he liked them OK when I made them the last time I visited the Gerbers. And Matt "tried" one by holding it up to his mouth and putting his tongue on it for a nanosecond. I need a foodie family of dog lovers with a handsome gay best friend to adopt me. Please!

Everything was delicious, and the leftovers were even better. Tracey made oven-baked mashed-potato cakes crusted with panko bread crumbs and heated up individual portions of her stuffing in a muffin pan. Mmmm.

On Thanksgiving afternoon, we started putting up the Gerbers' Christmas tree. They put the ornaments on that evening as the rest of us watched. It was fun seeing the same battle being played out between Tracey and the boys that she and I used to have as kids. Like me, Matt and Mike wanted to put the homemade ornaments in the front, but my unsentimental sister insisted they go in the back.

On Black Friday, we went to a mall, not because we're insane but so I could try the food at Bobby's Burger Palace, which M&M said has the best burgers of all time and puts 5 Guys Burgers and Fries to shame. My verdict? I did like both my hamburger and the fries a little better than 5 Guys'. Because the boys had said you could get all kinds of weird stuff on your burger, I had assumed BBP had a board with a list of toppings, like 5 Guys. But it's got a selection of burgers that you can make additions to or deletions from. I got a boring Palace Classic, hold the cheese. Pictured at left is Tracey's L.A. Burger, with avocado and watercress. Two more things that put BBP over the top: You can get your burger cooked to order, and it's served on a real plate. Woot!

After we ate, we walked around the Bergen Town Center mall a little, including the Target. And then, at my suggestion, we walked around Ridgewood, which has a wonderful, actual town center. I got a pair of jeans and a cool shirt at Lucky. On the way back to the car, I snapped a picture of a chipmunk that I saw emerge from a little pipe in a wall. Can you spot it? If not, click on the photo to make it larger.

Ooh, I almost forgot, I brought the wine, aka The Precious Liquid That, Goddess Willing, Will Prevent Another Stabbing Incident Like the One Back in 2000 for Which Jean Is Still on Parole. Hah! I kid. It's really Granny who's on parole. :-)

Everyone says to drink pinot with turkey, so to quaff with the bird at T-day dinner, I took the 2007 Patricia Green Cellars Pinot Noir Reserve. One of the staff writers on My favorite writer for the magazine, who works in the Portland, Oregon, bureau, sent four bottles of this wine to the New York office to thank us copy editors for all of the times we've saved his bacon over the years. Thanks, Anthony! Dad, Jean, Tracey, and I all enjoyed this tantalizing red-fruity wine.

I took a magnum-sized bottle of, gasp, Beringer White Zinfandel to keep Dad and Jean happy. And a quite nice new-to-me malbec from Legado and another pinot, from one of my favorite producers, MacMurray Ranch, to keep everyone happy. Except for the boys. Who like to get hammered on Painkillers. Hah!

Tracey has been on a kick for Pineau des Charantes. She bought one at Red, White & Bubbly the last time she visited that she really enjoyed, but when I popped in the Sunday before Thanksgiving, RW&B was sold out and wouldn't have more until after the holiday. And none of the other liquor/wine stores in my hood had any PDC at all. So I got one from Maison Brillet at Sherry-Lehmann Wine & Spirits, which is very close to work. Bug* liked it.

M&M and I played lots of video games, especially some new ones I'd bought for my iPhone: Skee-Ball, Rolando, and Pinball: Rollercoaster. Skee-Ball is good fun, and I'm sure I'll enjoy Rolando more and more as I continue to mess around with it. Rolando has gotten excellent reviews, and I've always loved rolling-type games ever since Marble Madness and, especially, Run Yourself Ragged, aka Screwball Scramble and Snafu. I'm enjoying the pinball game, but $5 seems too high for it considering there's only one table and given the price of other games in the app store.

I even got some sewing done while I was at the Gerbers'. I sewed up holes in my coat pocket and a reusable bag and reinforced the bottom of another bag. I took my sewing because I figured if there was anything my family would enjoy more than discussing or interrupting my every bowel or bladder movement, it'd be the sight of me with a needle and thread in my hands.

And of course, I played with the woofers a lot. I rented a car so I could take the dogs with me. Emme was on her best behavior except for one minor incident when Molly, unbeknownst to me, had a piece of bread in her mouth and Emme wanted to follow her into her crate to grab it from her.

I guess there's not much left to do besides post a string of photos.

A photo of a snoozing Rudy with a turkey chew toy near his head ...

... is paired with this shot of Emme's behind sidled up next to a sheep chew toy that Tracey said I should bring home with me because Molly never paid it any attention and Rudy enjoyed playing with it.
 

Emme under the Christmas tree

Me in need of another hand

Tracey, Dad, and Jean

Rock on, David!

Granny at the kitchen table

Uncle Bill's place setting

Mike, Bug, and my dinner plate

Dad reading The Marshmallow Incident to M&M

Trace got the boys personalized violin-player ornaments to put on the tree. This one is Mike's.

When I left on Saturday morning, the boys said I should move in. I would live in the downstairs guest bedroom and I could bring Emme and Rudy too. :-) I'd love to have lots more time to hang out with my wonderful 'phews, but I think the commute into the city would kill me. Or David would. ;-)

*A family nickname for my sister that dates back to when she was 5 or 6 and had a dress with a cute bug on it. Dad called her his little Tracey Bug.

A Dog Post With Lou's Reggie Stories and a Basset Named Fiona

A little while back, I said I'd write up Lou's stories about the basset hound named Reggie he had many years ago. Well, here I go:

Reggie spent a lot of time tethered out on the front porch. He knew the mailman and all of the other regular delivery people, and he wouldn't make any noise when they appeared. But when he saw a stranger walking around, he'd howl. And the neighbors knew that Reggie wouldn't carry on unless there was something unusual going on, so when they heard him, they'd look outside.

One day, Reggie made a terrible racket, a sound he'd never made before. The woman across the street had three daughters—something like 8, 5, and 2—and she'd asked the oldest to look after the others. When she heard Reggie, she looked outside and saw the baby sitting in the street. She ran outside and grabbed her up. Reggie had saved the day. (And then he probably took a nap.)

---

Lou's grandmother would take Reggie for a walk down the street to greet the neighborhood kids when they got out of school. He'd let her walk at her own pace, and he got lots of attention from the children outside the school. When Lou would walk Reggie around town, people he didn't know were always greeting the dog by name because of those walks with Lou's grandma.

***

Dad told Tracey recently that he wouldn't mind getting a dog if he could have one like Molly. During dinner after the Thanksgiving in the Country tour, Dad said that his doctor had recommended he get a dog because it would encourage him to do more walking. "Did he write you out a scrip for one?" I asked.

The next evening, I texted my nephews to see whether they'd heard about Dad's doctor's advice. "Hey, buds. Did you know that Pop Pop's doctor told him he ..."

Poor Rudy gets no respect. He's too much dog for most people. But he's just right for me. Aren't you, boy? *Rudy continues to saw wood next to me on the love seat*

Tracey sprang into action and found a 4-year-old basset named Fiona at a shelter not far from her in northern New Jersey. Dad said he'd drive up to meet the woofer that Wednesday. Then he realized he'd be driving up the following week for Thanksgiving, and since he didn't want to make the trip two times in as many weeks, Tracey called to see whether she could postpone the appointment to the following Wednesday. The woman at the shelter said no one had yet expressed interest in Fiona and she'd let Tracey know if anyone did.

I wanted to look at Fiona's picture on Petfinder again today, and I was shocked to see that she was listed as adopted. Tracey called the shelter and found that Fiona had indeed been adopted. Tracey said the woman didn't give an explanation for why she hadn't called when someone else inquired about the girl.

When I'd talked to Dad on Saturday, he sounded like he was starting to get cold feet. He was concerned that Fiona would be too big and he seemed unsure that he really wanted a dog. And he also said he didn't want to feel pressured into getting her. To which I immediately had to say, "Come on, get the dog already!" :-)

I haven't talked to Dad since Tracey confirmed that Fiona is no longer available. I looked on Petfinder and saw that there were many female bassets still out there waiting to be adopted. Or maybe Dad will find the right dog of a different variety closer to his home. On Saturday, he'd said Jean would rather have a small dog. I can't picture Dad walking a Yorkie around the neighborhood but definitely a larger terrier or terrier mix or some other scruffy mutt who'll walk off with his heart when he meets her.

In the meantime, best of luck to you in your new home, Fiona.*

***

The New York Times had a cute article earlier this month about how one of my favorite breeds, the French bulldog, has become quite popular in Astoria, Queens.

***

There's been so much cuteness on The Daily Puppy recently. Here are some links:

Corgis named Cricket, Whiskey, and (Whiskey's brother) Buster

A Frenchie named Vera

A wheaten terrier/basset mix named Henson, who was adopted after this post went up

Diesel the Great Dane

And a miniature schnauzer named Emmy

And here's still more cuteness from shots of The Daily Puppy app on my iPhone:

***

Here's one of my new favorite photos of Emme. By luck, I captured her with one ear up and one ear down as she was shaking her head.

And here's Rudy all tucked in on the love seat. Joyce said I should teach him to pull the covers over himself. That would be awesome.

*That link may not last all that much longer, of course. If it no longer works, you'll have to settle for my description: mostly dark brown on her head with some white at the end of her nose, a very broad collar of white and a white belly, with a black saddle and some more brown on her rear and above her front legs. She has a little bit of a belly, which Dad said he couldn't really hold against her. :-)

TITC 2009, Part II

We took Pat's oldish, sweet-looking iMac G4—the iMac that had the half-sphere base—to an Apple specialty store outside Doylestown late that Saturday afternoon. The fellow who helped Pat ran a diagnostic on the computer and told her there didn't seem to be anything wrong with the hardware, so she should try reinstalling the software. Pat was so pleased with the news—and the fact that the guy didn't charge her for his time—that she wanted to give him something. She asked him what kind of cupcake he liked. He said he was actually on a diet. On the way to the car, Pat reiterated her desire to give the guy something. I suggested she find him a date. Hah! I make fun of you because I'm one of you, Apple nerd.*

On the way back to Pat's pad, we stopped at the Village Flower Shoppe in Peddler's Village. The VFS always has wonderful Christmas tree displays, and I was hoping to find some ornaments to give as gifts and/or to keep for myself. There weren't as many trees this year, maybe because of lowered expectations for sales, and I didn't see any decorations that bowled me over. I liked the exotic foliage begonias in the big greenhouse area at the back of the store, but I didn't buy one because I didn't want to have to schlepp it back to the city on the bus.

Back in New Hope, I dropped some coin at Strawberry Jam and Farley's Bookshop. ARROHK, I always find cards I like at SJ. These cards from Healey Grisham's Underdog line feature rescued dogs, and part of the purchase price goes toward grassroots animal welfare efforts.

On the back of each card is the name of the underdog or underdogs pictured, a short profile, and a "special power." Dolly Lama, the little dog standing on what looks to be an ottoman, was "discarded ... twice. And yet you'll never find a happier little spirit." Her special power is "forgiveness. She always gives second chances." And the next dog to the right is Jillian, who was "rescued from a city shelter only hours before her scheduled demise." Her special power is "making her humans feel like they're the ones who were saved." OMG. So sweet. *gets all verklempt*

We met Dan and Paul for dinner that night at Tastebuds, and this meal was one of those rare instances when most everything on the menu sounds wonderful. We all got different appetizers and entrees so we could try a bunch of things. I got a Boston lettuce salad and beef tenderloin. Pat got a beet salad and black bass. Paul got cauliflower bisque and wild mushroom ravioli. And Dan got butternut squash dumplings and champagne snapper. I loved my two dishes and everything I tried, which I think was all of the above except for the ravioli.

We polished off three bottles of wine, including the delightful 2008 Atteca Old Vines Garnacha, which I'd picked up at Phillips' Fine Wines in Stockton after our breakfast the day before. Phillips' is a fantastic store that really opened my eyes to the wonderful world of wine while I lived in town. And there's now a new room set aside for microbrewer beers.

Dan and Paul brought a great Francis Coppola cabernet and told a story about a really high-end Coppola cab they'd served once at a gathering at their home. Pete and his now-ex Jim had brought the wine to D&P on some other occasion, and D&P broke it out when their friend Ann was over with some other people. Ann recognized it as an exceptional wine and mentioned it to her daughter the next day. Her daughter said that particular FC cab was a really expensive bottle, and Ann told the guys they shouldn't have opened such a pricey wine for her. Dan said they had no idea how much it had cost since it was a gift and he was just relieved they hadn't used it for cooking. It turns out that a relative of Jim worked for FC and had gotten the wine as, I think, a year-end gift. It got regifted twice, and that's the circuitous route by which Ann was able to try it.

I think the third bottle we drank was a malbec that I also picked up at Phillips'. I can't find my receipt, which probably has the name of the wine on it. And I apparently didn't take a picture of the bottle or make a note of the name on my iPhone. Probably because we were on our third bottle of wine.

I didn't make a note of our desserts either. Nor did I take a picture. I got some cute pictures of my friends, though, which is more important to me. If I were more sophisticated with my photo-placement techniques, I'd put them in a triptych so it'd look like they were all sitting around the table across the page.

After dinner, Dan, Paul, and I went to the fairly recently reopened Raven. I really should have gotten just a ginger ale, but I had a gin and tonic. I had fun talking with Dr. Rey Velasco, one of the borough's council members, and hanging out with the fellows. The alcohol didn't hit me until after we left the bar, when I was trying to fall asleep on Pat's guest bed. Oy.

The next morning, Dad and Jean and Pat's sister Maureen joined Pat and me for the house tour. We enjoyed all four of the houses this year, and Pat made the keen observation that none of them seemed overly ostentatious. Sure, you had to be making a good living to be living in any of them, but none was so over-the-top you could practically see the money oozing out of the walls. They seemed like homes, not displays of wealth.

Our third stop, "The Barn House," was indeed converted from a barn on a dairy farm. It had five different levels, with the master bedroom on the top floor, and short staircases connecting them. This house was the one—there's always one every year—that's up for sale.

My favorite, and the favorite of most of the five of us, was "Fubine Farm." The owner used to be a chef and is now a tile maker. The kitchen was gorgeous and homey, and the view from his bedroom upstairs was magnificent. The homeowner's adorable adult daughter was the tour guide in that room. I always look for signs—and feel for vibes—of gayness in the homes if it's not clear that the owners are a straight couple with kids. I saw nothing definitive, but in my fantasy opinion, this guy's probably a gay man on his second life after an amicable divorce from his wife, and he's learning the ropes of being out while simultaneously running a new business. If that's the case, e-mail me, tile guy! I know a thing or two about being an out businessman in rural New Jersey. I'm pretty capable in the kitchen myself. And I could show you a sight you wouldn't soon forget in the bed in that master suite. Ha cha!

We weren't allowed to take photos inside the houses, but I snapped this shot of part of FF's yard, with chickens off to the right. I did that to capture the large building under construction in the distance. We were told that's a stable. For horses. *sigh* There's no telling what the house that goes with the stables will look like once it's built.

We'd had lunch at Maria Rosa, a pizza and pasta place a few doors away from the farm/B&B on Route 523. Steve and I would eat there for lunch on almost every weekend day and on many a weekday evening for dinner.

The deli in Sergeantsville where Dad had gotten a great turkey wrap, with stuffing and cranberry sauce, two years ago was closed again, as it had been last year. Dad had already announced that he wouldn't be eating Chinese food again at the general store in S'ville. And I knew he and Jean didn't really want to get the lunch at the Methodist church in town, even though the proceeds, like those from the house tour, go toward the Facial Reconstruction Center at Children's Hospital in Philadelphia. We'd eaten there one year, and Dad and Jean remember that the chicken soup was pretty thin. Or as Dad likes to say, "Like the chicken ran through it." I was a little quieter than usual for most of the day, thanks to my overindulging the night before, but I still managed to get off some "like the ____ ran through it" jokes throughout the day.

Anyhow, Dad and Jean were enthusiastic about my suggestion to eat up the road at MR, and Pat and Maureen signed on to it too. Dad and I split a personal-size plain pizza, and the gals split a pie with pepperoni. I was flattered that one of the guys who worked there, whose name I still can't manage to come up with, remembered my name after all of these years. And so did John, the father in the family who runs MR, and his son Ralph, who lives in Stockton and who came into the restaurant toward the end of our meal. Ralph said he and his wife have their house on the market because they're planning to have a second child and need more bedrooms. Ralph's brother Mike, who also works at the restaurant, wasn't there that day.

Maureen had some prior commitments that evening, so we had a foursome for dinner at Lilly's on the Canal, another restaurant in Lilly Salvatore's empire. I enjoyed my pan-seared chicken in a pesto cream sauce, which came with mashed potatoes, fresh mozzarella, and roasted yellow pepper.

All of us found our waitress to be the human equivalent of fingernails on a chalkboard. Her voice was grating, and she was lackadaisical and clueless. As the meal was coming to a close, Dad told her we were on a deadline because I had a bus to catch and he asked her for the bill. When she brought it over, he asked her to wait so he could give his credit card to her right away. He put the card inside the leather booklet holding the bill, and she asked whether he needed a minute before she took it away. For what? I wanted to say, "Take the card and the bill and be gone, Mindy!" That was the name I'd started calling her in my mind.

After we beat feet from the restaurant, Dad dropped me off at the bus stop in Lambertville, took Pat back to New Hope, and then came back to L'ville to make sure the bus came as scheduled, which it did.

And now, I'll wrap up this second TITC 2009 post with a few more photos:

Meil's always has cleverly designed covers for its menus.

Pat took this photo of me with a banner for the Henson exhibit. The section of the Michener Museum complex behind me shows its prison roots.

The charming interior of Lilly's Gourmet. And the guy with the beard is a cutie.

 

Dan's champagne snapper dish. Its full name, with all sides, on the menu was Baked Champagne Snapper, Macadamia Nut Crust, Lemongrass Jasmine Rice, Chili Broth.

Paul holding my dish so I could photograph it. Filet of Beef Tenderloin, Roasted Brussel** Sprouts, Whipped Potatoes, Red Wine Onion Butter.

The interior of Lilly's on the Canal. The waitress in the background isn't "Mindy." The floral paintings visible in this photo and in the one above of Lilly's Gourmet are by Tony LaSalle, who has a gallery in Lambertville.

Jean and Dad at Lilly's on the Canal. I moved the candles closer to them for better lighting.

And Pat lent a hand with the lighting when I took a snap of her with my iPhone.

*I'm not really anywhere near as Apple nerdy at that guy was. When he asked Pat when she'd bought the iMac, she first said 2005. He said that wasn't possible. Then she said, Maybe 2004. He allowed that. :-) He also told us a story about a high school friend who'd built his own small car. The engine liquefied on the highway when the friend accidentally shifted from a high gear into reverse. His friend was fine aside from the loss of his drivable creation.

**The menu left off the final s in Brussels.

TITC 2009, Part I

Last weekend, I visited my old neck of the woods once again for Thanksgiving in the Country weekend. Visiting Hunterdon and Bucks counties is always somewhat bittersweet. It reminds me how much I love that area and still miss my little house in Stockton and the farm outside Sergeantsville—and the B&B and dairy goats—that I had with my ex Steve. And how much I miss seeing my friends who live down that way as often as I used to. But I've got no regrets about moving to New York for my job. I love the countryside, but the city is where I'm supposed to be right now.

I kenneled the dogs on Friday and took the bus to Lambertville. When I reached the Port Authority Bus Terminal, I was a little anxious about getting a spot on the bus I'd planned to take, which was going to get into L'ville about 5:30. The terminal was crowded with Yankees fans who'd gone to the parade that day celebrating their "heroes" who'd won ... freedom for all of the oppressed peoples of the world? No. Universal health care for all Americans? No. Four baseball games? Yes! I know, I'm a killjoy cynic. But I just can't understand getting excited about a bunch of millionaires playing a sport in a billion-dollar stadium that's mostly financed by taxpayers, most of whom can't afford to take their family there to see a game.

Anyhow, I needn't have worried. There were plenty of seats on the bus, though the ticket line was a nightmare because a woman in front of me pissed off two different ticket sellers so much that one stormed off (after she called him an "asshole" and a "bastard") and the other looked like she wanted to break through the window and strangle her. This woman insisted that she was always sold a ticket for a particular route that ended up in a place where the ticket sellers said no buses ever went. Or at least no buses went to that place on the route whose number she gave them. After some people in my line and I started insisting that she should either buy a ticket for a real route or get the hell out of the way, she finally completed some type of transaction with the second ticket seller. She was not wearing any Yankees paraphernalia, btw.*

Friday evening, after we'd caught up, Pat and I went to dinner at Giuseppe's on Route 202 outside New Hope because I wanted to have some pizza, even though I knew it wouldn't be as good as my precious La Villa Siciliana. I enjoyed my personal-size white pizza with broccoli raab and sausage.

After dinner, we skimmed through A Muppet Family Christmas at Pat's apartment. Pat had gotten a stack of Muppet movies on VHS for cheap after a local video store had closed. She'd wanted to ask me if I was familiar with a certain Christmas song the Muppets sang toward the end of the show (I wasn't), but we ended up watching most of it anyhow because there were many scenes Pat said I just had to see. :-) One highlight was at the very end, when Jim Henson made a cameo appearance in the kitchen of Fozzie's mother's house to wash the dishes that were dirtied for Christmas dinner.

The movie was especially pertinent because I was all excited about seeing the Jim Henson exhibit, Jim Henson's Fantastic World, at the Michener Museum in Doylestown the next day. Pat had already seen it with a friend from the library—and loved it—so she was going to drop me off at the museum while she went to a previously scheduled reiki appointment.

First thing that morning, Pat and I met Carl and Russ, my buddies whom I used to eat breakfast with almost every weekend, for breakfast at Meil's in Stockton. Rafael, who was also a regular breakfaster back then, and their friends Rhoda and Al joined us. It was lots of fun catching up with my crotchety old pals. Carl has had several big shows since I last saw him, and an art gallery at Kean University, where he used to teach, was renamed after his parents, Karl and Helen. He's still as funny as ever. He loves to razz Margaret, a longtime waitress at Meil's, telling her she's "beautiful but surly."

And Russ, who's a retired teacher, is still raising his beloved German shepherds. And he said he's got 50 barn cats now, all of them spayed or neutered.

And now here's a cavalcade of photos from the breakfast:

A candid shot of Pat. Margaret is the woman over Pat's left shoulder.

My delicious breakfast: two eggs scrambled, sweet potato muffins, and fried potatoes

Meil's display case of goodies. Best almond croissants ever, among other delicious treats

A group shot taken by a friendly biker. Left to right: Pat, Al, Rhoda, Rafael, Russ, Carl, and me

There were three dogs outside Meil's waiting for their masters. In these photos, they seem very concerned with what's going on inside the restaurant but they were actually quite friendly and welcomed the attention we gave them.

Pat drove me past my old house so I could take a quick peek at it, and then we were off to Doylestown.

The Michener Art Museum really is a Bucks County treasure. The Transition sculpture in front of the museum ...

... used to be in Manhattan outside the J.C. Penney Building. The artist, Raymond Granville Barger, was also a poet, and he wrote a poem, also named Transition, for the sculpture's dedication ceremony at the museum.

The Henson exhibit was wonderful. Jim Henson was a creative genius and a humanitarian. And, I learned, he also had the gift of being able to lead other extremely talented people toward the fulfillment of his vision.

The exhibit spanned his career, from his early days making commercials, appearing with his Muppets on various local and national TV shows, and producing and starring in an Academy Award–nominated short film called Time Piece, to his later TV shows and movies that we all know and love. I remember enjoying The Dark Crystal but I never saw Labyrinth. The Muppet Show was always the fastest half hour on television for me growing up. It's such a shame he lived to only 53. Who knows how many more amazing stories he could have brought to life during these almost two decades he's been gone?

Because of legal issues involving Disney, Miss Piggy and some of the other Muppet characters weren't allowed to appear in the exhibit. *sigh* Pat has gotten very enamored of Miss Piggy's take-no-shit character while watching her Muppet tapes. I said our new mantra should be WWMPD: What would Miss Piggy do?

I also was captivated by the museum's Charles Ward exhibit. Ward, a native of Trenton, was a student of famed Bucks County impressionist Daniel Garber. His work was inspired by time spent in BC—specifically, Carversville—and Mexico. He created some wonderful murals for the Trenton Post Office and the PO in Roanoke Rapids, North Carolina, in the 1930s. The murals were commissioned under a New Deal arts program called the Public Works of Art Project.

Pat and I got lunch at Lilly's Gourmet in town. I had a very   satisfying shepherd's pie with a side salad. And after hitting a few stores, we stopped in at Let Them Eat Cupcakes. I went for the delicious Red Velvet. Next time I'm in D-town, I have to try the Banana Butterscotch, which Pat highly recommended.

*I'm not totally anti-Yankee. The Gerbers, George, and some other friends of mine are Yankee fans. I'm just annoyed that so much attention is paid to these guys who play a freakin' game for a living and so little is paid to, you know, stuff that really matters.

I've Had It

I've been pissed off even more than usual lately with what's been happening policywise in Washington and around the country. The Roman Catholic Church's Portland diocese lent its PR guru to the movement to repeal gay marriage in Maine, the bishop of that diocese had churches collecting money in the pews(!) to attack the homos, and these sons of bitches get to keep their tax-free status! And we heard not a word of support from Barack Obama, who claims he's our "fierce advocate" so the well-to-do homos will keep their checks rolling in, or from the Democratic National Committee, which asked Mainers to urge their friends in New Jersey to vote for Jon Corzine for governor but gave no guidance on the marriage repeal issue, which greatly affected some of the most loyal Democrats in their own state. And then the DNC lied about having done so. Obama and the DNC were also silent on the everything-but-marriage-for-gays-and-lesbians battle in Washington state. It's an outrage.

And how many anti-GLBT zealots have to be outed as hypocrites before people see them for the Pharisees they are? Miss Fake-Tits California Carrie Prejean. Larry Craig, the Idaho senator who's totally not gay; he just likes trolling for cock in airport restrooms. Diaper Boy Senator Larry Vitter. And many public officials in, as Tbogg calls it, South Sexytime Carolina or the Do Me State.

Out of frustration, on my Facebook wall Thursday I wrote the following:

No marriage for anyone, even heterosexuals! Paul says so. I Corinthians 7:8—"To the unmarried and to widows I say: it is good for them to stay as they are, like me." Let's start a federal Constitutional amendment. No to all marriages by 2015! Who's on board?

And then later:

And another thing: In the 19th chapter of Matthew, Jesus says that anyone who divorces and remarries is guilty of adultery. To make sure no American ever commits adultery in that way again—you know, in the manner of Newt, Rush, and Rappin' Ronny Reagan—let's make divorce illegal across this great land by 2015! Who's with me?

And then I wrote this, though I had to break it up into parts because it was much longer than could fit into a single wall post:

I'm pretty sure those last two things I wrote about on my wall will happen. But it's always good to have a backup plan. And who better to dictate who gets to marry going forward than the president of the United States?

This new president, just like the last one, doesn't want anyone from the other, allegedly "co-equal" branches of government telling him what to do. (Unless we're talking about his healthcare reform plan. In which case, he wishes a Republican senator from Maine would tell him what to do.) So I say, let's give him one more thing to tackle with his incontestable powers.

Prior to the election, he said the following: "I believe that marriage is a union between a man and a woman. Now, for me as a Christian, [marriage] is also a sacred union. God's in the mix." Clearly he's saying only a Christian man and a Christian woman can get married. But which Christians? Only Protestants? Are Mormons close enough to squeak by?

And they obviously must get married in a church, the only place that's fitting for such a sacred bond that plainly has nothing to do with the government whatsoever and is all about his close, personal relationship with his God. By 2015, the president must clarify which types of Christian heterosexuals are worthy of the totally religious institution of marriage and we must all abide by his wishes. Agreed?

So that was last week. Over the weekend, the House passed a healthcare reform bill. But first, Nancy Pelosi had to get the seal of approval from the Council of Pedophile Enablers. And in return, she did the bidding of two C Street nutjobs and kicked half of the population in the uterus. And she also reneged on her promise to bring to a vote amendments calling for an expansion of Medicare to all and allowing states to adopt single-payer plans.

Meanwhile, in the Senate, John Kerry is teaming up with Orrin Hatch to try to make it so Christian Scientists could get reimbursed for the cost of prayer treatments. They don't believe in medical care, so their paid prayer treatments should be covered. *sigh*

And earlier this week, the New York State Senate didn't hold its highly anticipated vote on gay marriage after all. One of the biggest opponents of same-sex marriage in that clusterfuck of a chamber is Ruben Diaz Sr., who insists he can't be a homophobe because two of his brothers, one of whom is recently deceased, and a granddaughter are homosexual. This man goes on double-dates with his gay chief legal council, Christopher Lynn, yet says his religious beliefs prevent him from signing on for marriage equality. And Lynn says Diaz "is a true believer in Christian values, in treating people the way you want to be treated." As if this privileged asshole would stand for being treated as a second-class citizen for a second.

How can people like Diaz not see that their actions have real consequences? Watch this video of Anne Tischer, a lesbian who lives with her partner in Rochester, making her case for why marriage equality is so important for her—and the know-nothing response of George Mariarz, her state senator, and the applause of her neighbors for marriage discrimination. These Christianists think they're doing God's work by sticking it to the queers, but they're Pharisees through and through.

I'm going to wrap up this post with a link to another video over at Joe. My. God. This one is of Dan Savage, one of the LGBT community's most eloquent spokespeople, talking about the real history of "traditional marriage."

A Current Affairs Post With Several Items About Goldman Sachs

Is There a More Hypocritical Figure in American Politics Than Joe Lieberman?

Nope.

Alan Grayson Is the One Democrat in the House Who Relishes Calling the Republicans on Their Bullshit

And how do his fellow Dems in Congress reward him for his toughness? They trash talk him when speaking to the Republican-backed Washington Web site Politico. 

Tim Geithner Always Has the Time to Talk to Those Who Matter

And they would be the CEOs of Citigroup, JPMorgan Chase, and Goldman Sachs.

The Most Transparent Administration Ever! Not So Much

A British citizen was tortured by the CIA and by countries we "rendered" him to for the specific purpose of having him tortured. And waterboarding was one of the more defendible things done to him. Obama now says we shouldn't be allowed to know about it because it would make us look bad if other countries became aware that we did such things.

Could Dianne Feinstein's Hawkishness Have Anything to Do With ...

... the fact that her husband is part of the military-industrial complex?

And Could Evan Bayh and Joe Lieberman's Opposition to Health Care Reform Have Anything to Do With ...

... the fact that their wives have been paid buckets of money by health insurers and drug companies?

The New Confederacy of Republicans

Michael Hittleman writes at truthout that the GOP of today is like the Southern Democratic Party of the 1860s: racist, defiant, and oligarchical.

New Jersey Is Still Paying Goldman Sachs for Protection Against Rising Interest Rates on Bonds That No Longer Exist

Bloomberg News's Dunstan McNichol writes that the agreement that led to this debacle was made while "gay American" Jim McGreevey was governor—not Jon Corzine, the former Goldman Sachs boss who just got his ass handed to him by repulsive Bushie Chris Christie.

Who's Losing While Goldman Sachs and Wells Fargo Win Billions?

On interest rate swaps. And why do people still think Larry Summers is a genius?

Insurance Companies Are Not in the Health Care Business; They Are in the Risk Business

William Fisher reminds us of some very important truths about the health insurers.

"It's Hard to Fight People You're Trying to Squeeze Money From"

Robert Reich says Wall Street reform is going nowhere because Obama and lawmakers are too tight with the banksters. Mr. Hopey Changey hosted a fundraiser with banking bigwigs last month that brought in $2 million.

A Goldman Sachs Adviser* Says Jesus Was Really Telling Us to Make Shit Tons of Money at the Expense of Others When He Was Talking About Loving Others as Ourselves

I say that if someone were to punch that guy (the bankster, not Jesus) repeatedly in his weasel fucking face, the angels in heaven would be high-fiving each other.

He's a Maverick Against the Internets

John McCain wants to kill Net neutrality. He says that trying to prevent the telecom/cable companies that own him from fucking with our ability to access what we want online when we want it is tantamount to a "government takeover of the Internet." If you pay a U.S. senator enough money, you can get him to say the most outrageous lie without batting an eyelash.

We Could Use Another Teddy Roosevelt Again

The inimitable Frank Rich on the Obamans and their too-close-to-do-what-needs-to-be-done connections with, yeah, Goldman Sachs.

Pat Robertson Lies

About the U.S. Hate Crimes Act. He scoffs at the notion that it would ever cover religious beliefs but it has for decades.

Liz Cheney Lies

About everything.

McClatchy Has Been Covering the Shit Out of Goldman Sachs

And finally, Dean Baker, in praising the newspaper chain's three great stories on the company that rules our world, wrote that "if Fox went over Goldman with the same energy it pursued Acorn, no one in Congress would go within a mile of its lobbyists."

*This adviser is the guy Robert Reich referenced at the beginning of his blog post I linked to in the item above this one. Sadly, Reich didn't advocate physically assaulting him. I'd love to see that cute, short, Jewish academic open up a can of whup-ass on that goddamn limey bastard.

A Sumo-rific Visit With the Gerbers

Last Sunday, the Gerbers treated me to a Halloween brunch at Preakness. Mike and Matt wore the coolest costumes. They were both sumo wrestlers.

The food was terrific, as always. And tucked in among the buffet items was an awesome disembodied head inside a crystal ball that lit up and made noises. Here it is with my camera's flash on:

And here it is with the flash off:

Spooky!

And speaking of scary heads, I got in on the pretending-to-be-a-sumo act:

At Chez Gerber, we did the usual things:

Give lots of love to Molly:

Check. 

Play video games on M&M's Wii and my PSP until our eyeballs want to fall out:

Check. 

Cook and eat Brussels sprouts. Ch– Whaaa!?

I took some Brussels sprouts I'd gotten at the Greenmarket the day before because I wanted the Gerbers—who Tracey claimed don't like BSes—to try them the way I make them: Bill's Browned Brussels Sprouts. They're little slices of cruciferous-vegetable heaven, served piping hot from my skillet to your belly. Unless you won't try 'em. Like Matt. I guess we now know which twin is my favorite and who'll be getting the opulentest presents this coming holiday season. Mike, would you like the Porsche or the Maserati? And Matt, will it be anthracite or bituminous? Hah!

Tracey and David both genuinely enjoyed my little cabbages, and Mike said they were OK. Winnah!

And speaking of food-related winning, when I'd spoken to Mom that morning on the walk to the subway, she'd mentioned that she'd been able to find canned apricots at the grocery store for the first time in a long time. Hmm, should I give that a bang to make it seem more exciting? Sure. She'd been able to find canned apricots at the grocery store for the first time in a long time! Then she said—and she acknowledged it was a little strange—that she liked all of the fruits in canned fruit cocktail but she's not terribly fond of fruit cocktail.

I had to share that story with the Gerbers, which led us to create all kinds of nutty expressions along the lines of "I like fruit and I like cocktails but I don't like fruit cocktail," which I know isn't quite what Mom said but it works better for comedic purposes. For example, "I like milk and I like shakes but I don't like milkshakes." and "I like monkeys and I like britches but I don't like Monkey Britches." Yesterday, I came up with one I thought was clever and wrote it on David's Facebook wall while wishing him good luck in today's New York City Marathon: "I like Marys and I like thongs but I don't like marathons." He wrote back that it was a stretch but thanks. So then I wrote, "I like running long distances and I like races but I don't like marathons." And then, "I like cheese and I like taking a whiz but I don't like Cheez Whiz." Eh? Oh come on. That's all comedy gold.

After a pizza dinner, one of the best moments of the day came when the Gerbers dropped me off at the train station in Ridgewood. Matt told me, "I like uncles and I like Bills but I love Uncle Bill."