Well here we are! New #52. Wow. And today, Dec. 31, I am very happy to say I've completed my New Year's resolution, something I've never fully accomplished in the past. What a year it has been. Honestly, I didn't think I'd make it past March or April before losing steam or running out of ideas. But that never happened. In the last few months, I did have a few weeks that were like, what other new can I do?? But whether it was something bizarre I forced myself into (like Chatroulette) or other experiences that just kinda fell in my lap (Hopi food), it always worked out.
As I warned in the beginning of all this, not every new would be earth shattering or death defying. No, instead many would have been pretty dull for most. Baking a ham, for example, is something most families do each month or even week. But for me, it was a first - and hopefully one that will start a tradition in my own family. Completing a 1000-piece puzzle, learning to knit, watching the World Cup and listening to a book on tape were also some of my news that would be boring for others. But for me, they were all fresh experiences that added something interesting to my life.
Yet while some were simple, other news were definitely worth talking about. Completing the sprint triathlon is probably the new I take most pride in. I'm still impressed with myself I was able to go all the way. Others were a little bizarre, like Dumpster diving, but something I'm glad I jumped into and plan to do again soon. The Tarot card reading, finding the Wyoming pyramid and becoming a secret shopper were also some of the most notable news. Oh, and who can forget delivering a baby!
Today, 52 weeks and 52 news later, I can honestly see what a difference this resolution has made in my life. I'm not on the couch nearly as much. I have more hobbies than I can count. And I always have something interesting to talk about over dinner. Really, this adventure has just made me a more happy person all around.
I don't know if I will continue with the weekly updates in the future. But I do know this lifestyle is something I will carry for many years to come. Taking advantage of the little adventures and new experiences life offers is the flare of living, the stuff that takes you out of the daily routines and gives everyone plenty to write about in your obituary. Now, I really do know how to seize the day.
Friday, December 31, 2010
Monday, December 20, 2010
New #51: Make Candy Canes
Really, how hard could this be? Candy canes are practically thrown at you all Christmas, and if you do want to actually buy one of the sweet sticks yourself, they cost like 10 cents. So in my mind they must be really easy to make too. But no. Unfortunately, that was not the case. Not at all. In fact, this was the hardest endeavor I've ever taken on in the kitchen. To summarize, my candy cane making feat ended with little more than burnt hands, messy pans and something I'm calling "snowman poo."
I used a seemingly easy recipe on About.com. It called for: 3 cups sugar, 1 cup corn syrup, 1/4 cup water and 1/2 tsp peppermint extract. I can handle that. First I had to melt the sugar and corn syrup together over the stove. This made a bubbling concoction that looked more like dangerous acid than melted sweetness.
Bubble bubble
Once it reached 285 degrees, I took the mix off the burner and stirred in the peppermint extract. That'll wake you up! My eyes were watering. Then I dripped in some food coloring. For batch one I stuck with white, then purple and finally red.
Then things got really tricky. And sticky. And hot. I was supposed to pour the goop on a board and "pull" the candy. Hmm. Well I had watched the little You Tube movie about how to do this, and have also ogled at enough taffy stands in my life to know the basics of how it works. Stretch out the candy, fold it over itself and repeat. The theory is simple enough, yet actually acting on it is anything but. First of all, this stuff is STICKY. It wouldn't really move around the pan. And when it was apparently time to pick it up and pull by hand, the goop was wayyyy too hot to handle. I tried to pull through the pain, but no matter how fast I moved, it would always eventually burn my hand and leave me screaming.
Danger: liquid candy cane is very hot and may cause burns
Without any other solution presenting itself, I started working little pieces of the syrup. The small bits would cool a little quicker, and I could actually roll them out and shape them into tiny canes. However, in doing this I neglected the rest of the batch, which soon cooled and hardened in the pan. This is how the snowman poo came about. With my candy canes a dying dream, I decided to just smash up what was left and create little white clusters. They may not look like much, but at least they still taste good.
Above: my sad looking canes and the snowman poo
Below: the monster of melted sugar mess I later had to scrub
I used a seemingly easy recipe on About.com. It called for: 3 cups sugar, 1 cup corn syrup, 1/4 cup water and 1/2 tsp peppermint extract. I can handle that. First I had to melt the sugar and corn syrup together over the stove. This made a bubbling concoction that looked more like dangerous acid than melted sweetness.
Bubble bubbleThen things got really tricky. And sticky. And hot. I was supposed to pour the goop on a board and "pull" the candy. Hmm. Well I had watched the little You Tube movie about how to do this, and have also ogled at enough taffy stands in my life to know the basics of how it works. Stretch out the candy, fold it over itself and repeat. The theory is simple enough, yet actually acting on it is anything but. First of all, this stuff is STICKY. It wouldn't really move around the pan. And when it was apparently time to pick it up and pull by hand, the goop was wayyyy too hot to handle. I tried to pull through the pain, but no matter how fast I moved, it would always eventually burn my hand and leave me screaming.
Danger: liquid candy cane is very hot and may cause burnsWithout any other solution presenting itself, I started working little pieces of the syrup. The small bits would cool a little quicker, and I could actually roll them out and shape them into tiny canes. However, in doing this I neglected the rest of the batch, which soon cooled and hardened in the pan. This is how the snowman poo came about. With my candy canes a dying dream, I decided to just smash up what was left and create little white clusters. They may not look like much, but at least they still taste good.
Above: my sad looking canes and the snowman pooBelow: the monster of melted sugar mess I later had to scrub
Friday, December 17, 2010
New #50: Bell Ringer
Forget the wreaths hung in department stores before Halloween. The real way to know Christmas has arrived is to hear the jingle jingle of volunteers collecting money for the Salvation Army's Red Kettle Campaign. I've always donated money to the cause -- and this year decided to go one step further by offering my time as a bell ringer.
My friend Pamela offered to ring by my side, so one Friday after work we put on our best Santa hat and reindeer antlers and headed out for a night of jingles. We were stationed outside Sam's Club, where we had been directed to pick up the kettle and set up outside the exit. Aprons and bells were provided, and we decided to bring along candy canes, too.
"Ring a ling a ling!"
Then we just started ringing. It was little awkward at first, and I felt kinda bad making all that noise. But we had the hang of it in no time, and soon found ourselves ringing and singing along -- quite appropriately -- to "Jingle Bells." Our talents eventually evolved into a coordinated can-can dance. It was pretty amazing. We even tried to take it one step further by adding a spin, but soon realized we weren't quite coordinated enough for that.
Not only did our dancing and singing keep us warm in 25-degree weather, but it jazzed up the crowd, too. Employees at the store were constantly cheering us on. Some customers complimented our moves, too, or at least our enthusiasm. While some people did make fun of us or look past without a smile, I think our efforts definitely revved up donations. I'd say about one in 10 people would stop by our bucket and dig through their purse or wallet for money.
The donors were all ages, although the older people and children seemed to especially like it. Kids would smile and smile at us and beg their moms for money. Most of these mothers would give them a dollar or change, and they would eagerly slide it into the slot. Even after donating, many waved goodbye all the way to the car. One or two kids must have donated their own money, picking out the coins from a little cartoon coin purses before plopping them in the kettle. Adults were just as generous. In fact, they hardly ever put in change, but instead slipped in folded dollar bills. Most people gave a few bucks, but some even put in $5 or $20.
Not everyone could give, with many explaining to us they didn't have any cash or just gave a donation last time they were out. Yet almost every person, whether giving change or not, thanked us for what we were doing. We also got more "Merry Christmas" wishes than I've ever received in one year. It was so nice to connect with others over something selfless, as we were all just trying to help others in need.
By the end of our two hour shift, Pamela and I estimated we'd raised more than $100. We felt pretty good about that, too, considering it's $100 the Salvation Army wouldn't have if we hadn't stood out there ringing our bells. We both agreed this will be a new holiday tradition for us -- except next year we'll accompany our ringing bells and dance moves with a boom box.
My friend Pamela offered to ring by my side, so one Friday after work we put on our best Santa hat and reindeer antlers and headed out for a night of jingles. We were stationed outside Sam's Club, where we had been directed to pick up the kettle and set up outside the exit. Aprons and bells were provided, and we decided to bring along candy canes, too.
"Ring a ling a ling!"Not only did our dancing and singing keep us warm in 25-degree weather, but it jazzed up the crowd, too. Employees at the store were constantly cheering us on. Some customers complimented our moves, too, or at least our enthusiasm. While some people did make fun of us or look past without a smile, I think our efforts definitely revved up donations. I'd say about one in 10 people would stop by our bucket and dig through their purse or wallet for money.
The donors were all ages, although the older people and children seemed to especially like it. Kids would smile and smile at us and beg their moms for money. Most of these mothers would give them a dollar or change, and they would eagerly slide it into the slot. Even after donating, many waved goodbye all the way to the car. One or two kids must have donated their own money, picking out the coins from a little cartoon coin purses before plopping them in the kettle. Adults were just as generous. In fact, they hardly ever put in change, but instead slipped in folded dollar bills. Most people gave a few bucks, but some even put in $5 or $20.
Not everyone could give, with many explaining to us they didn't have any cash or just gave a donation last time they were out. Yet almost every person, whether giving change or not, thanked us for what we were doing. We also got more "Merry Christmas" wishes than I've ever received in one year. It was so nice to connect with others over something selfless, as we were all just trying to help others in need.
By the end of our two hour shift, Pamela and I estimated we'd raised more than $100. We felt pretty good about that, too, considering it's $100 the Salvation Army wouldn't have if we hadn't stood out there ringing our bells. We both agreed this will be a new holiday tradition for us -- except next year we'll accompany our ringing bells and dance moves with a boom box.
Friday, December 10, 2010
New #49: Bunco
Bunco seems to be synonous with mothers -- or at least that's what my friends would have me believe. Because anytime I would say I was planning to attend my first Bunco party, the most common reaction was "My mom plays Bunco!". This indeed seems to be true for most families, including my own growing up. Once a month, women eagerly leave their children at home for a night of drinking, gossip and gambling, all cloaked under the innocents of the simple dice game. Really, when you put it like that, Bucno seems pretty cool. So what if I don't have kids to ditch? I'll never turn down an opportunity to have some drinks with the girls.
Kim -- who was of course inspired to play by her mom -- coordinated the night, signing up myself and 10 other people from her work. We met at a friend's house, each of us bringing a $5 buy-in along with an appetizer. With a room full of bakers from Whole Food, you can imagine how yummy these treats were. So with all that good food and good people, we spent the first hour or two drinking, without evening eying the game.
Finally someone pointed out we should probably get started, and we slowly picked a seat at one of the three tables. Kim went over the rules, which are really simple. In round one, each person rolls the three dice and counts how many times they can roll a 1. The same is repeated for round two, only that time you're trying to roll 2's. It doesn't count if you roll two 1's that add up to 2. No, no. No math involved here. You just read the dice and go on from there. My kind of game. Depending on who gets the most points each round, some people move on to the next table or other people join where you are. Whatever happens, the crowd is always changing, which makes for some interesting table talk.
By the time we got the hang of the game -- which actually took much longer than it should thanks to the vodka and wine -- we rolled through it all pretty quickly. Soon, however, we once again lost interest in it all and moved back to the bar to chat. But really, I think that's what Bunco is all about.
Kim -- who was of course inspired to play by her mom -- coordinated the night, signing up myself and 10 other people from her work. We met at a friend's house, each of us bringing a $5 buy-in along with an appetizer. With a room full of bakers from Whole Food, you can imagine how yummy these treats were. So with all that good food and good people, we spent the first hour or two drinking, without evening eying the game.
Finally someone pointed out we should probably get started, and we slowly picked a seat at one of the three tables. Kim went over the rules, which are really simple. In round one, each person rolls the three dice and counts how many times they can roll a 1. The same is repeated for round two, only that time you're trying to roll 2's. It doesn't count if you roll two 1's that add up to 2. No, no. No math involved here. You just read the dice and go on from there. My kind of game. Depending on who gets the most points each round, some people move on to the next table or other people join where you are. Whatever happens, the crowd is always changing, which makes for some interesting table talk.
By the time we got the hang of the game -- which actually took much longer than it should thanks to the vodka and wine -- we rolled through it all pretty quickly. Soon, however, we once again lost interest in it all and moved back to the bar to chat. But really, I think that's what Bunco is all about.
Thursday, December 2, 2010
New #48: Record a Video Diary
My job as a reporter is about recording today's news before it's tomorrow's history. I wanted to do the same thing at home, and thought a video diary would be a fun, easy and entertaining way to do it -- as well as a simple tradition to continue annually into the future.
The idea was to capture a snapshot of life as we know it. "We" as in me and Ben, and "life" as in our basic day-to-day happenings. I know from experience (but don't always remember) that given 5 years or even just 6 months, these ordinary aspects of life will inevitably change. So this video diary is about me bottling up a little taste of today so I can always remember what it was like.
This week seemed like a perfect time to start, too. My birthday is just a few days away (27 big ones!), so I figured I might as well wrap up the year before the numbers start changing. Plus, this time frame between Thanksgiving and my b-day will be easy to remember in years to come.
Before recording the video diary, I was torn between technologies of the past and future. Do I record it through my tape and camcorder? Or do I use my digital camera? Decisions are hard, so I just set up both side-by-side on a TV tray overlooking the couch. With Ben and myself propped in front of the lenses, we began answering questions I had written ahead of time -- the same ones I hope to use every year.
To start, we said the day, month, year and our address. Easy enough. Then we had to describe a basic day. Again, this may seem obvious or boring now, but the little details that are such a big part of our life now are the ones we'll be most likely to forget in the future. So I was very detailed, mapping out my day from the time my alarm goes off (7:30 a.m.) to the time I wake up (8:30 a.m.) to how soon I put on my pajamas again (5:30 p.m. So what if I like to be comfy?) And of course I filled in all the labors I do at work each day. I'm not totally lazy!
Next Ben and I talked about our favorite clothes. This may seem uninspired, but actually fashion is not only a big part of a person's personality, but also a huge sign of the times. Who knows how outdated skinny jeans will be in 10 years -- not to mention what we'll be wearing then.
Listing our favorite bands and songs of the year were also recorded (Neon Trees for me), as well as the best movies we've seen (We both agreed "The Other Guys" was fabulous). We talked about what we do for fun on the weekend, and described all the vacations we've had this year. Our health and highlights of the year were also included.
Finally, we turned our eyes toward the future and answered where we see ourselves in one year, then in five years. I know this part will be fun to look back on, especially in 2011 and 2015, to see if we stuck to the plan or went a totally new direction. We ended the video by waving goodbye to our future selves and giving well-wishes for the future that we'll be looking back on next year.
The idea was to capture a snapshot of life as we know it. "We" as in me and Ben, and "life" as in our basic day-to-day happenings. I know from experience (but don't always remember) that given 5 years or even just 6 months, these ordinary aspects of life will inevitably change. So this video diary is about me bottling up a little taste of today so I can always remember what it was like.
This week seemed like a perfect time to start, too. My birthday is just a few days away (27 big ones!), so I figured I might as well wrap up the year before the numbers start changing. Plus, this time frame between Thanksgiving and my b-day will be easy to remember in years to come.
Before recording the video diary, I was torn between technologies of the past and future. Do I record it through my tape and camcorder? Or do I use my digital camera? Decisions are hard, so I just set up both side-by-side on a TV tray overlooking the couch. With Ben and myself propped in front of the lenses, we began answering questions I had written ahead of time -- the same ones I hope to use every year.
To start, we said the day, month, year and our address. Easy enough. Then we had to describe a basic day. Again, this may seem obvious or boring now, but the little details that are such a big part of our life now are the ones we'll be most likely to forget in the future. So I was very detailed, mapping out my day from the time my alarm goes off (7:30 a.m.) to the time I wake up (8:30 a.m.) to how soon I put on my pajamas again (5:30 p.m. So what if I like to be comfy?) And of course I filled in all the labors I do at work each day. I'm not totally lazy!
Next Ben and I talked about our favorite clothes. This may seem uninspired, but actually fashion is not only a big part of a person's personality, but also a huge sign of the times. Who knows how outdated skinny jeans will be in 10 years -- not to mention what we'll be wearing then.
Listing our favorite bands and songs of the year were also recorded (Neon Trees for me), as well as the best movies we've seen (We both agreed "The Other Guys" was fabulous). We talked about what we do for fun on the weekend, and described all the vacations we've had this year. Our health and highlights of the year were also included.
Finally, we turned our eyes toward the future and answered where we see ourselves in one year, then in five years. I know this part will be fun to look back on, especially in 2011 and 2015, to see if we stuck to the plan or went a totally new direction. We ended the video by waving goodbye to our future selves and giving well-wishes for the future that we'll be looking back on next year.
Saturday, November 20, 2010
New #47: Chatroulette
Chatroulette did not seem appealing. The website is designed to randomly connect you (through your webcam) to some completely random person in the world for a face-to-face chat. They can see you, you can see them. You can talk, or you "next" the person and be moved on to another stranger.
All I'd heard about the site is that it's a hit among teenagers ... and to expect lots of penis (from people who apparently think it's really funny or sexy to show their junk to the world). Needless to say, it did not sound like my cup of tea. But then I had a conversation with a 16-year-old who swore her favorite thing in the whole wide world is having Chatroulette sleepovers with friends, when they spend hours clicking through the site. Maybe it was the dare of trying something new -- or a secret wish to be 16 again -- but I decided to give it a go myself.
For my wing-woman I recruited Kim, who not only knew me as a teenager but is someone I knew would be a good support system through this adventure. We promised ourselves to stay on the site for 15 minutes. Then we could check it off the list of things we'd done in life and never spin the Chatroulette wheel again. But whatdoyaknow? An hour and half later, we were still clicking away, with our cheeks hurting from smiling, throats sore from laughing and neighbors pissed from our screaming. So much fun!
But like many great relationships, Chatroulette did started off very awkward. What is the correct etiquette? How long should we wait to next a person? What do you even say? Luckily, the first few people took care of things right away by nexting us within seconds. This should have probably been more insulting than it was, but really it was a relief to not have to talk to anyone. Soon we stumbled upon people who didn't next us ... but just stared at us. We waved or said hi. When they still didn't respond, we began using our next button. That's when the party really got started.
Soon we were blazing through all kinds of people. Most of them were younger guys alone in their room. Creepy. We usually nexted them right away. We'd run into a few other girls, too, who usually nexted us. Through all of this we set up some ground rules for nexting: If you can't see the person's face, next them. And anytime you see a blank room, it almost always means a penis sneak attack is on the way. If you hesitate, you get a screen full of nasty.
Like the legends told, there was indeed a lot of wiener on the site. It was like Russian Roulette ... just with balls instead of bullets. Each time we were unfortunate to stumble on one, Kim and I would scream "Penis!" and next it as quickly as we could. The neighbors must have really wondered ...
But among all the unfortunately connects, we did run into some fun people worth talking to. A few had an entire party connected to the site. Some danced for us. Some showed off their pets. Then there was one hilarious drunk guy from New Orleans. He had a whole slew of "whats up? chicken butt" jokes. He laughed so hard at his own funnies he literally fell over laughing. Now that's what Chatroulette is all about.
Some of our new friends along the way. Above is thumbs up guy. Below is a pumpkin head who danced for us with maracas.
All I'd heard about the site is that it's a hit among teenagers ... and to expect lots of penis (from people who apparently think it's really funny or sexy to show their junk to the world). Needless to say, it did not sound like my cup of tea. But then I had a conversation with a 16-year-old who swore her favorite thing in the whole wide world is having Chatroulette sleepovers with friends, when they spend hours clicking through the site. Maybe it was the dare of trying something new -- or a secret wish to be 16 again -- but I decided to give it a go myself.
For my wing-woman I recruited Kim, who not only knew me as a teenager but is someone I knew would be a good support system through this adventure. We promised ourselves to stay on the site for 15 minutes. Then we could check it off the list of things we'd done in life and never spin the Chatroulette wheel again. But whatdoyaknow? An hour and half later, we were still clicking away, with our cheeks hurting from smiling, throats sore from laughing and neighbors pissed from our screaming. So much fun!
But like many great relationships, Chatroulette did started off very awkward. What is the correct etiquette? How long should we wait to next a person? What do you even say? Luckily, the first few people took care of things right away by nexting us within seconds. This should have probably been more insulting than it was, but really it was a relief to not have to talk to anyone. Soon we stumbled upon people who didn't next us ... but just stared at us. We waved or said hi. When they still didn't respond, we began using our next button. That's when the party really got started.
Soon we were blazing through all kinds of people. Most of them were younger guys alone in their room. Creepy. We usually nexted them right away. We'd run into a few other girls, too, who usually nexted us. Through all of this we set up some ground rules for nexting: If you can't see the person's face, next them. And anytime you see a blank room, it almost always means a penis sneak attack is on the way. If you hesitate, you get a screen full of nasty.
Like the legends told, there was indeed a lot of wiener on the site. It was like Russian Roulette ... just with balls instead of bullets. Each time we were unfortunate to stumble on one, Kim and I would scream "Penis!" and next it as quickly as we could. The neighbors must have really wondered ...
But among all the unfortunately connects, we did run into some fun people worth talking to. A few had an entire party connected to the site. Some danced for us. Some showed off their pets. Then there was one hilarious drunk guy from New Orleans. He had a whole slew of "whats up? chicken butt" jokes. He laughed so hard at his own funnies he literally fell over laughing. Now that's what Chatroulette is all about.
Some of our new friends along the way. Above is thumbs up guy. Below is a pumpkin head who danced for us with maracas.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
New #46: Bleach Art
This was Project Fail for Sarah. I should have known. Bleach is great to clean white clothes, but get it near anything with color and it's disaster. Same goes for crafts.
I found this project online and was in love from the start. Not only was it easy, but the end result looked like something you'd buy from the hipster rack at Nordstrom. Here is the link to the instructions and my inspiration.
You start with a black shirt or fabric that you want to fancy up. I originally wanted a tee, but later realized the only plain black shirts I could find for cheap weren't really a style I'd ever wear. So instead I settled on a small clutch. It was made from a thicker material than T-shirts ...which may have been my downfall.
You're supposed to cover the garment (or purse) with tape and stickers to your liking. This covered area will stay dark while the rest is bleached. I used some duct tape to make a few fancy lines. I also added a bird decal sticker, an idea recommended by the posting.
Next it was time to bleach. I mixed about 30% bleach with 70% water into a spray bottle. Then I spritzed away. It seemed so wrong to intentionally spray bleach onto something black! But I guess it was in the name of crafting.
Nothing happened right away, as I hoped it would. I have a thing for instant gratification. So I put the clutch under a light in the kitchen to help it along. But an hour later, it still wasn't completely dry or bleached, so I busted out my hair dryer. That worked like magic! Within five minutes the bleach was dry, leaving blotchy rust-colored spots in its place.
Now it was time for the big unveiling. Slowly, I peeled away the tape strips one by one. What I found underneath was disappointing, to say the least. The pure black stripes I'd hoped for were no where to be found. Instead, the bleach seeped under the tape, leaving only the slightest indication that it was even covered at all. The bird decal was even more pathetic. It didn't look like anything but bad.
Maybe I should have made the tape strips bigger. Maybe I used the wrong material. Maybe I suck at bleaching. But whatever happened, this project did not work for me. Now I'm left with a clutch that looks like an infected scab. Not exactly something I'd like to use as an accessory :(
I found this project online and was in love from the start. Not only was it easy, but the end result looked like something you'd buy from the hipster rack at Nordstrom. Here is the link to the instructions and my inspiration.
You start with a black shirt or fabric that you want to fancy up. I originally wanted a tee, but later realized the only plain black shirts I could find for cheap weren't really a style I'd ever wear. So instead I settled on a small clutch. It was made from a thicker material than T-shirts ...which may have been my downfall.
You're supposed to cover the garment (or purse) with tape and stickers to your liking. This covered area will stay dark while the rest is bleached. I used some duct tape to make a few fancy lines. I also added a bird decal sticker, an idea recommended by the posting.
Next it was time to bleach. I mixed about 30% bleach with 70% water into a spray bottle. Then I spritzed away. It seemed so wrong to intentionally spray bleach onto something black! But I guess it was in the name of crafting.
Nothing happened right away, as I hoped it would. I have a thing for instant gratification. So I put the clutch under a light in the kitchen to help it along. But an hour later, it still wasn't completely dry or bleached, so I busted out my hair dryer. That worked like magic! Within five minutes the bleach was dry, leaving blotchy rust-colored spots in its place.
Now it was time for the big unveiling. Slowly, I peeled away the tape strips one by one. What I found underneath was disappointing, to say the least. The pure black stripes I'd hoped for were no where to be found. Instead, the bleach seeped under the tape, leaving only the slightest indication that it was even covered at all. The bird decal was even more pathetic. It didn't look like anything but bad.
Maybe I should have made the tape strips bigger. Maybe I used the wrong material. Maybe I suck at bleaching. But whatever happened, this project did not work for me. Now I'm left with a clutch that looks like an infected scab. Not exactly something I'd like to use as an accessory :(
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
New #45: Taste Hopi Food
Unlike some eats I've avoided because I'm finicky, Hopi food is something I've never tried because I never knew it existed -- until learning about it from an American Indian himself last week. I was visiting my parents in Arizona, and my dad took me to his Rotary Club's meeting. Each week they have a new speaker, and this special guest was a Hopi Indian from the nearby reservation. I don't remember the name he goes by - which was Mark or Steve or something - but his official Indian name was Snake Hunter. As his name implies, he was awesome.
The presentation was only about a half-hour, but Snake Hunter told us all about his culture, including the ancient history of his people, various holidays they celebrate based on the crop seasons, gods they worship (like this creepy one that threatens to chop up and eat bad children) and the various clans that make up the greater tribe. I was happy to hear it's a matriarical society, where women rule the roost.
Near the end he was a bit rushed for time, but Snake Hunter made sure to pass out various samples of his people's food he had prepared for us. Everything revolved around corn, which is a major (if not the only) staple of their diet. To start we were given cooked corn kernels, which tasted and crunched like Corn Nuts. They were pretty yummy.
These are the kernel treats. The blob on the left is the mystery corn dough.
Next we tried some weird corn bread that had a consistency similar to play dough. This dish is a pain in the ass to make, Snake Hunter said (in his own poetic Hopi way). Women essentially have to grind corn down to dust and then cook it with their bare hands over a red-hot rock. They usually get really sore and burnt -- but when they can complete the bread, it proves that they'll be a great wife. The dish wasn't that good really, but I appreciated all the hard work that went into it.
Finally, we tasted some 7-year-old corn right off the husk. The Hopi have learned to dehydrate corn, which they can store for decades. When they finally get hungry for some, they soak it in water and it plumps right up. This wasn't the yellow corn I'm used to -- but the brown, black and white kernels were sweeter than anything I've tasted on the cob before. And no butter needed! I think these Hopi are definitely on to something.
The presentation was only about a half-hour, but Snake Hunter told us all about his culture, including the ancient history of his people, various holidays they celebrate based on the crop seasons, gods they worship (like this creepy one that threatens to chop up and eat bad children) and the various clans that make up the greater tribe. I was happy to hear it's a matriarical society, where women rule the roost.
Near the end he was a bit rushed for time, but Snake Hunter made sure to pass out various samples of his people's food he had prepared for us. Everything revolved around corn, which is a major (if not the only) staple of their diet. To start we were given cooked corn kernels, which tasted and crunched like Corn Nuts. They were pretty yummy.
These are the kernel treats. The blob on the left is the mystery corn dough.Next we tried some weird corn bread that had a consistency similar to play dough. This dish is a pain in the ass to make, Snake Hunter said (in his own poetic Hopi way). Women essentially have to grind corn down to dust and then cook it with their bare hands over a red-hot rock. They usually get really sore and burnt -- but when they can complete the bread, it proves that they'll be a great wife. The dish wasn't that good really, but I appreciated all the hard work that went into it.
Finally, we tasted some 7-year-old corn right off the husk. The Hopi have learned to dehydrate corn, which they can store for decades. When they finally get hungry for some, they soak it in water and it plumps right up. This wasn't the yellow corn I'm used to -- but the brown, black and white kernels were sweeter than anything I've tasted on the cob before. And no butter needed! I think these Hopi are definitely on to something.
Saturday, October 30, 2010
New #44: Partake in a Study
I like Guinea pigs ... I've just never wanted to be one myself. At least until this latest money-making venture presented itself.
I was surfing Craigslist under gigs when I found a call for volunteers to partake in a potato study. It promised free potato samples and $30. Free food would have been enough for me, so I enthusiastically signed up.
The study was held at the university -- although many of the other 20-or-so participants looked less than scholarly. I tried especially hard to ignore one young faux-homeless couple who kept drawing on each others' arms, hugging and smooching to the point of almost making out. Right in the middle of the science! I mean, I like potatoes and all, but control yourself. I ignored them the best I could so I didn't spew my spuds.
Luckily the test started off simply, with a questionnaire about my potato habits and desires. I also had to rate different aspects of potatoes -- many of which I'd never thought of before, including how much I care about the vegetable's skin texture, starch resistance and antioxidant proprieties. Usually baked or fried is my biggest concern.
After the survey it was time to taste. We had three rounds of samples, starting with rating the look and appeal of some raw spuds. Luckily we didn't have to eat those. I gave them all high marks except the lady pinto potato, which was brown and purple and looked like it had leprosy. It got "unappealing."
Then we were handed five cups of sliced microwaved potatoes, followed by five more of the same variety that had been baked. We had to rate how bitter, salty, sour and sweet each one tasted, as well what it felt like in our mouth using adjectives like "dense, light, gummy and moist." Again, I've never thought this much about spuds. My favorites proved to be the gross-looking but great-tasting lady pinto potato and the purple majesty. The Aspen potato tasted like ass.
Finally, in the grand finale, we had a potato auction. Basically I had to write down the amount I'd be willing to pay for a bag of each potatoes. The winner would actually buy the item with real money. I guess this was to find out the market value for the items. I bid pretty low on most of the potatoes, but the purple majesties had my heart. I bid a whopping $2.50. And what do you know? I won!
I left the study with a full tummy, $27.50, a bag of purple potatoes and a new experience under my belt. Oh, and the results will help the potato people of America better price and market their spuds. Now I'm happy to add Guinea pig to my list of occupations.
I was surfing Craigslist under gigs when I found a call for volunteers to partake in a potato study. It promised free potato samples and $30. Free food would have been enough for me, so I enthusiastically signed up.
The study was held at the university -- although many of the other 20-or-so participants looked less than scholarly. I tried especially hard to ignore one young faux-homeless couple who kept drawing on each others' arms, hugging and smooching to the point of almost making out. Right in the middle of the science! I mean, I like potatoes and all, but control yourself. I ignored them the best I could so I didn't spew my spuds.
Luckily the test started off simply, with a questionnaire about my potato habits and desires. I also had to rate different aspects of potatoes -- many of which I'd never thought of before, including how much I care about the vegetable's skin texture, starch resistance and antioxidant proprieties. Usually baked or fried is my biggest concern.
After the survey it was time to taste. We had three rounds of samples, starting with rating the look and appeal of some raw spuds. Luckily we didn't have to eat those. I gave them all high marks except the lady pinto potato, which was brown and purple and looked like it had leprosy. It got "unappealing."
Then we were handed five cups of sliced microwaved potatoes, followed by five more of the same variety that had been baked. We had to rate how bitter, salty, sour and sweet each one tasted, as well what it felt like in our mouth using adjectives like "dense, light, gummy and moist." Again, I've never thought this much about spuds. My favorites proved to be the gross-looking but great-tasting lady pinto potato and the purple majesty. The Aspen potato tasted like ass.
Finally, in the grand finale, we had a potato auction. Basically I had to write down the amount I'd be willing to pay for a bag of each potatoes. The winner would actually buy the item with real money. I guess this was to find out the market value for the items. I bid pretty low on most of the potatoes, but the purple majesties had my heart. I bid a whopping $2.50. And what do you know? I won!
I left the study with a full tummy, $27.50, a bag of purple potatoes and a new experience under my belt. Oh, and the results will help the potato people of America better price and market their spuds. Now I'm happy to add Guinea pig to my list of occupations.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
New #43: Vegetariansim
I love meat. I always have, and I'm pretty sure I always will. It's been a steadfast courtship that started at a young age with a love for hamburgers and my mom's spaghetti and meat sauce. Even in high school, when my best friends became vegans, I stood by with a steak burrito in hand and stayed true to my meat.
But just because I love meat is not to say I'm blind or insensitive to where it comes from. I admit, I've tried to ignore the horrible conditions some animals are raised in. I've also avoided any of the videos that show how badly the critters are treated. But in my adult life I've realized how not-OK I am with it all. So for this new, I decided to try giving up meat all together -- even if it was just for the week.
I'm happy to say my seven days of vegetarianism weren't all that bad. But they weren't that healthy, either. I didn't bother learning alternative forms of protein or trying new, lean recipes. Instead I just replaced meat with a lot of carbs and cheese. Like I said, not so healthy.
Breakfasts stayed the same for me, with a chocolate chip granola bar. Lunch was pretty standard too. I stuck with my Lean Cuisines and just made sure they were all meat-free. The vegetable egg roll was one of the highlights. Yumm.
Dinnertime was when my will was tested. To start, I had to turn down my free chicken stir fry dinners at the restaurant where I work. Instead I settled on rice and salad. Not quite as satisfying. At home, Ben and I made pasta. There was one night we got creative and made portobello mushroom "steaks," marinated, cooked on the grill and covered with cheese. It was delicious!
Things were going pretty well until the weekend. That's when I got a headache that would not quite. Could it be meat withdrawls? Maybe. Or could it have come from the other many stressors in my life? Very possible. Either way, things got really tough when my friends invited me out to eat. Yes, I could get a salad or something, but it's just not as good as a juicy hamburger with all the toppings. That night, I literally had a dream about a Chipotle steak burrito.
After my seventh day as a vegetarian, I was happy to zip over to Renzios and order a giant beef gyro. It was amazing.
Through my week, I did gain some satisfaction from not eating meat. However, it was hard to see the chicken stir fry cooked up and not being finished. Would it have been better to eat the chicken rather than let it go to waste? Also, I still ate a lot of dairy products and eggs. Really, the milk- and egg-producing animals can be just as abused as other farm creatures that are eaten for meat. If I ever do commit to doing away with meat, I would have to go all the way and became a vegan. Otherwise it seems like I'd be doing a half-ass job of saving animals.
Honestly though, I don't think I'm ready to break up with meat just yet. But I am going to make an effort to buy more organic and free-range meats to make sure the animals I'm eating had a better go of it. I bet they taste better too.
But just because I love meat is not to say I'm blind or insensitive to where it comes from. I admit, I've tried to ignore the horrible conditions some animals are raised in. I've also avoided any of the videos that show how badly the critters are treated. But in my adult life I've realized how not-OK I am with it all. So for this new, I decided to try giving up meat all together -- even if it was just for the week.
I'm happy to say my seven days of vegetarianism weren't all that bad. But they weren't that healthy, either. I didn't bother learning alternative forms of protein or trying new, lean recipes. Instead I just replaced meat with a lot of carbs and cheese. Like I said, not so healthy.
Breakfasts stayed the same for me, with a chocolate chip granola bar. Lunch was pretty standard too. I stuck with my Lean Cuisines and just made sure they were all meat-free. The vegetable egg roll was one of the highlights. Yumm.
Dinnertime was when my will was tested. To start, I had to turn down my free chicken stir fry dinners at the restaurant where I work. Instead I settled on rice and salad. Not quite as satisfying. At home, Ben and I made pasta. There was one night we got creative and made portobello mushroom "steaks," marinated, cooked on the grill and covered with cheese. It was delicious!
Things were going pretty well until the weekend. That's when I got a headache that would not quite. Could it be meat withdrawls? Maybe. Or could it have come from the other many stressors in my life? Very possible. Either way, things got really tough when my friends invited me out to eat. Yes, I could get a salad or something, but it's just not as good as a juicy hamburger with all the toppings. That night, I literally had a dream about a Chipotle steak burrito.
After my seventh day as a vegetarian, I was happy to zip over to Renzios and order a giant beef gyro. It was amazing.
Through my week, I did gain some satisfaction from not eating meat. However, it was hard to see the chicken stir fry cooked up and not being finished. Would it have been better to eat the chicken rather than let it go to waste? Also, I still ate a lot of dairy products and eggs. Really, the milk- and egg-producing animals can be just as abused as other farm creatures that are eaten for meat. If I ever do commit to doing away with meat, I would have to go all the way and became a vegan. Otherwise it seems like I'd be doing a half-ass job of saving animals.
Honestly though, I don't think I'm ready to break up with meat just yet. But I am going to make an effort to buy more organic and free-range meats to make sure the animals I'm eating had a better go of it. I bet they taste better too.
Monday, October 18, 2010
New #42: Save the Dolphins
I've never been one of those in-your-face environmental activists. PETA, for example, scared me away long ago when it suggested Ben and Jerry's start using women's breast milk instead of cow's milk for their ice cream. Not the kind of organization I want my name next to. Instead, I've always done my part for the earth silently and solo by recycling, turning off lights and snipping the plastic rings that hold a six-pack of soda.
Then I watched "The Cove." It's a documentary about the semi-secret slaughter of dolphins in a Japanese fishing village. And it was horrifying. Basically, these fishermen coral hundreds of dolphins at a time into a little cove, where they then spear each and every one of them until the sea is literally a blood bath. Watching it made me sick to my stomach.
The entire movie was very one-sided, which I don't usually buy in to. But it was hard to argue with the images shown. And personally, I just don't think stabbing to death thousands of dolphins each year is right. So I made it a mission to help save the dolphins.
Luckily, the Save Japan's Dolphins initiative made it easy for this Colorado landlubber. To start, I was able to donate some money to the cause. It wasn't much, but more than anything it showed my support and backing.
Next, I signed a petition to stop the slaughter, which will apparently be sent to the President and all other sorts of dignitaries. The Internet makes things so easy! All I had to do was fill in my name and basic info, write a little note, and click "submit" to sign my digital signature.
Step three for me was getting the word out, say, through a blog. So here is more info about the cause and how you can help. Also, make sure and see "The Cove" for yourself.
One last note: the movie also inspired next week's new: Vegetarianism.
Then I watched "The Cove." It's a documentary about the semi-secret slaughter of dolphins in a Japanese fishing village. And it was horrifying. Basically, these fishermen coral hundreds of dolphins at a time into a little cove, where they then spear each and every one of them until the sea is literally a blood bath. Watching it made me sick to my stomach.
The entire movie was very one-sided, which I don't usually buy in to. But it was hard to argue with the images shown. And personally, I just don't think stabbing to death thousands of dolphins each year is right. So I made it a mission to help save the dolphins.
Luckily, the Save Japan's Dolphins initiative made it easy for this Colorado landlubber. To start, I was able to donate some money to the cause. It wasn't much, but more than anything it showed my support and backing.
Next, I signed a petition to stop the slaughter, which will apparently be sent to the President and all other sorts of dignitaries. The Internet makes things so easy! All I had to do was fill in my name and basic info, write a little note, and click "submit" to sign my digital signature.
Step three for me was getting the word out, say, through a blog. So here is more info about the cause and how you can help. Also, make sure and see "The Cove" for yourself.
One last note: the movie also inspired next week's new: Vegetarianism.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
New #41: Furoshiki
Furo-what? Yeah, that's what I said when I stumbled upon a video about this unpronounceable idea. However, I soon learned that actually trying out the craft is much more simple than its funny foreign name. Basically, furoshiki is a style of square cloth that ancient Japanese people used in a time before plastic bags to wrap up anything they needed to take with them. While I have no idea what the verb may be for this craft, just think of it as origami, only using fabric instead of paper. And the results are way more practical than a paper crane.
The video I found was demonstrating a few different variations of furoshiki wrapping. Apparently regular wrapping paper is so last year, because now people are bundling up gifts in funky (and reusable) cloths. I thought that was kinda neat, until I saw that you can easy make a cute little bag with just a few knots. Cool! Now that's the kind of furoshiki I'm talking about.
In the video, the tutor makes it all look so easy, moving her hands over the fabric like an Asian Vanna White, gracefully tying knots and magically making a purse. While anything that looks "really easy" usually isn't the first time around, this was actually pretty painless - even for me.
I'd bought a gaudy square of fabric to make into my purse (I didn't know how big it needed to be, so I just asked the lady for a large square. She said it's about a yard and a half). The first step was to fold the fabric in half, with the bottom of the fabric facing outward. This actually ended up being the hardest part of the project. Seriously. It was hard to make the corners match just-so like that bag-making-master did in the video. But oh well, I got it close enough.
My unfolded fabric before the project began.
Next I had to tie a knot on the two bottom corners of the triangle. My picture kind of shows how this is done - although I would definitely recommend watching the video for a real explanation.
At first, the completed purse wasn't really fooling anyone. It just looked like a yard-and-a-half of fabric tied together, like something a hobo might carry on the end of a stick. But after putting a few heavy books in it, and tying two little bows on the straps to give it more shape, the bag really did start to come together.
So maybe it's not going to be my new daily purse, but it will be perfect as a beach bag, grocery bag or party trick.
The video I found was demonstrating a few different variations of furoshiki wrapping. Apparently regular wrapping paper is so last year, because now people are bundling up gifts in funky (and reusable) cloths. I thought that was kinda neat, until I saw that you can easy make a cute little bag with just a few knots. Cool! Now that's the kind of furoshiki I'm talking about.
In the video, the tutor makes it all look so easy, moving her hands over the fabric like an Asian Vanna White, gracefully tying knots and magically making a purse. While anything that looks "really easy" usually isn't the first time around, this was actually pretty painless - even for me.
I'd bought a gaudy square of fabric to make into my purse (I didn't know how big it needed to be, so I just asked the lady for a large square. She said it's about a yard and a half). The first step was to fold the fabric in half, with the bottom of the fabric facing outward. This actually ended up being the hardest part of the project. Seriously. It was hard to make the corners match just-so like that bag-making-master did in the video. But oh well, I got it close enough.
My unfolded fabric before the project began.Next I had to tie a knot on the two bottom corners of the triangle. My picture kind of shows how this is done - although I would definitely recommend watching the video for a real explanation.
With the two knots tied, I turned the bag right-side-out. I tied together the two corners on top and Viola! I made a bag! It took me literally about five minutes. And I'm a slow worker.
At first, the completed purse wasn't really fooling anyone. It just looked like a yard-and-a-half of fabric tied together, like something a hobo might carry on the end of a stick. But after putting a few heavy books in it, and tying two little bows on the straps to give it more shape, the bag really did start to come together.
So maybe it's not going to be my new daily purse, but it will be perfect as a beach bag, grocery bag or party trick.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
New #40: Las Vegas Casino Games
Gambling is no new for me. Neither is Vegas. In fact, the two are separately some of my favorite things in life, and pretty much the best thing ever when combined. Yet through my gambling days in the city of sin, there have been some Vegas games I've shied away from. Some seemed either too intimidating, too risky or too obscure to try. But with two of my very best friends getting married in Vegas, I decided to take the opportunity to roll the dice on a few news.
O'Shea's, one of our favorite gambling hot spots.
First up was roulette. Unlike the more intense version Russian Roulette, (which my friend Casey swears is "really fun"), I opted for the tamer style with the ball and that spinny things. I didn't really know the rules beyond the basics -- but luckily friends aren't hard to make on the gambling tables. A nice boy from Kentucky showed me where to place my chips, how to split a bet, and other things I don't remember (yeah, so what if I was under the influence? It's Vegas, people). I kept betting on 21, my lucky number, which sadly proved to be unlucky that night. Sigh. No winning with roulette for Sarah.
The next game was a great surprise that I never imagined to play for money: WAR. Yessssss. Remember? It's that game you play when you're between 5 and 10 years old? The one that takes no more skill than flipping over a card and seeing whose is higher? Yeah, that game. I love it! Money went by pretty quickly for $5 a card. But it was fun to heckle the dealer. My first war with him was especially intense. I think we even got into a few double wars. But I was a good warrior and didn't lose too much money. I'm definitely finding this game next time I'm in Vegas.
The beautiful bride and her bridesmaids at the war table.
Through my gambling adventures I also tried to learn craps. Sadly, no one would teach me how to play. Each time I'd ask a friend or stranger, they would say they don't know what they're doing themselves. Really? The strategy is fake it till you make it? I doubt that. But whatever, maybe I just wasn't meant to play that crappy game anyway.
Overall my Vegas gambling adventures weren't that fruitful. I left with about $50 less than I started -- which probably isn't really that bad. The best part of this new was what got me to Vegas in the first place: Erica and Jeff's wedding. It was an amazingly perfect day for two amazingly awesome people. Now they get to start a whole new life of news together. Love you guys!!
O'Shea's, one of our favorite gambling hot spots.First up was roulette. Unlike the more intense version Russian Roulette, (which my friend Casey swears is "really fun"), I opted for the tamer style with the ball and that spinny things. I didn't really know the rules beyond the basics -- but luckily friends aren't hard to make on the gambling tables. A nice boy from Kentucky showed me where to place my chips, how to split a bet, and other things I don't remember (yeah, so what if I was under the influence? It's Vegas, people). I kept betting on 21, my lucky number, which sadly proved to be unlucky that night. Sigh. No winning with roulette for Sarah.
The next game was a great surprise that I never imagined to play for money: WAR. Yessssss. Remember? It's that game you play when you're between 5 and 10 years old? The one that takes no more skill than flipping over a card and seeing whose is higher? Yeah, that game. I love it! Money went by pretty quickly for $5 a card. But it was fun to heckle the dealer. My first war with him was especially intense. I think we even got into a few double wars. But I was a good warrior and didn't lose too much money. I'm definitely finding this game next time I'm in Vegas.
The beautiful bride and her bridesmaids at the war table. Through my gambling adventures I also tried to learn craps. Sadly, no one would teach me how to play. Each time I'd ask a friend or stranger, they would say they don't know what they're doing themselves. Really? The strategy is fake it till you make it? I doubt that. But whatever, maybe I just wasn't meant to play that crappy game anyway.
Overall my Vegas gambling adventures weren't that fruitful. I left with about $50 less than I started -- which probably isn't really that bad. The best part of this new was what got me to Vegas in the first place: Erica and Jeff's wedding. It was an amazingly perfect day for two amazingly awesome people. Now they get to start a whole new life of news together. Love you guys!!
Sunday, September 26, 2010
New #39: Tarot Card Reading
Psychics are pretty cool. I love the idea of a clairvoyant tapping into my deepest soul to tell me about who I really am -- all while I ponder the mystery of whether it's real or not ... then wonder if they just heard me think that. Last weekend I got to deal with many mediums while covering the Loveland holistic fair, which was pretty much a pow-wow for psychics. I decided to join in the fun and get a reading myself, opting for a tarot card reading.
I stalked each booth and psychic, trying to feel if any were right for me. After a few laps, with my own psychic powers tingling, I picked out my clairvoyant. I didn't see her name, but I liked her long red hair -- and the fact she didn't look crazy. Always a plus ... or so I thought.
After sitting down, she asked me what question I wanted answered. I hadn't really thought that far ahead. Although there are many changes making their way into my life, I opted for the most exciting prospect in my future to focus on -- which is the possibility of moving to Brazil. However, I didn't tell this to her. Should I have? I don't really know psychic etiquette. Do I have to spell it out for them? Or aren't they already supposed to know? I just said I'm facing some crossroads in my life, which she said is happening for everyone right now. How mystical.
After a little chit chat, the medium started playing with the colorful tarot cards. I was asked to pick a few out, which she then placed in some order on the table. Apparently this was mapping the spiritual path ahead of me. The cards' designs just looked like random people and objects to me, but supposedly my psychic could decipher it all to tell me my future.
With the cards in place, she began my reading. Sadly, it quickly became apparent how powerless her psychic powers really were.
To start, she told me I need to be more self-disciplined. Hmm. That's not really a problem for me one bit (which should be proof through my dedication to this new year's resolution).
Then she started going into my family, that I need to quit rebelling against them and just accept they will always have an impact on my life. OK... Anyone who knows me can vouch this totally does not apply. Me and my family are pretty tight. No rebelling for Sarah.
Next came the kicker. This woman looked me in the face and told me "You need to quit relying on your blond hair and blue eyes, and start backing up your work." Wow. Bitch. She basically just told me I can't keep skating by on my looks and need to learn how to be a better reporter. Once again, this is not a problem that remotely applies to me. At all.
By now I knew my $10 was a sacrifice to the trying-something-new gods, because a new experience was all I was gaining from this reading. It's not like she was saying vague things that might somehow apply to me. No, she was giving me pretty specific ideas that were actually completely opposite of who I am. (Trust me, I confirmed this with my friends/family/husband, who assured me I'm not just lying to myself about these traits). Among my other favorite pointers were that "I need to be less solitaire" (hello, how much more does this social butterfly need to spread her wings?), and that "I'm probably looking for a husband" (Umm, did her psychic powers override her common sense to look at my ring finger?).
After each deep thought, she would eagerly look at me, expecting me to cry out with enlightenment or something. Again, what is the proper psychic etiquette here? Do I tell her she's completely wrong? I decided to just go with it and kind of nodded with each reading and suggestion.
I left with my wallet $10 lighter, and the parting wisdom that, I shit you not, "Next spring something might change ... or might not."
Here's my own psychic reading: I can look into the future and see myself never seeking a tarot card reading again - at least from that woman.
I stalked each booth and psychic, trying to feel if any were right for me. After a few laps, with my own psychic powers tingling, I picked out my clairvoyant. I didn't see her name, but I liked her long red hair -- and the fact she didn't look crazy. Always a plus ... or so I thought.
After sitting down, she asked me what question I wanted answered. I hadn't really thought that far ahead. Although there are many changes making their way into my life, I opted for the most exciting prospect in my future to focus on -- which is the possibility of moving to Brazil. However, I didn't tell this to her. Should I have? I don't really know psychic etiquette. Do I have to spell it out for them? Or aren't they already supposed to know? I just said I'm facing some crossroads in my life, which she said is happening for everyone right now. How mystical.
After a little chit chat, the medium started playing with the colorful tarot cards. I was asked to pick a few out, which she then placed in some order on the table. Apparently this was mapping the spiritual path ahead of me. The cards' designs just looked like random people and objects to me, but supposedly my psychic could decipher it all to tell me my future.
With the cards in place, she began my reading. Sadly, it quickly became apparent how powerless her psychic powers really were.
To start, she told me I need to be more self-disciplined. Hmm. That's not really a problem for me one bit (which should be proof through my dedication to this new year's resolution).
Then she started going into my family, that I need to quit rebelling against them and just accept they will always have an impact on my life. OK... Anyone who knows me can vouch this totally does not apply. Me and my family are pretty tight. No rebelling for Sarah.
Next came the kicker. This woman looked me in the face and told me "You need to quit relying on your blond hair and blue eyes, and start backing up your work." Wow. Bitch. She basically just told me I can't keep skating by on my looks and need to learn how to be a better reporter. Once again, this is not a problem that remotely applies to me. At all.
By now I knew my $10 was a sacrifice to the trying-something-new gods, because a new experience was all I was gaining from this reading. It's not like she was saying vague things that might somehow apply to me. No, she was giving me pretty specific ideas that were actually completely opposite of who I am. (Trust me, I confirmed this with my friends/family/husband, who assured me I'm not just lying to myself about these traits). Among my other favorite pointers were that "I need to be less solitaire" (hello, how much more does this social butterfly need to spread her wings?), and that "I'm probably looking for a husband" (Umm, did her psychic powers override her common sense to look at my ring finger?).
After each deep thought, she would eagerly look at me, expecting me to cry out with enlightenment or something. Again, what is the proper psychic etiquette here? Do I tell her she's completely wrong? I decided to just go with it and kind of nodded with each reading and suggestion.
I left with my wallet $10 lighter, and the parting wisdom that, I shit you not, "Next spring something might change ... or might not."
Here's my own psychic reading: I can look into the future and see myself never seeking a tarot card reading again - at least from that woman.
Sunday, September 19, 2010
New #38: Letterboxing
Letterboxing. Slang for ignoring emails? A style of learning the alphabet? An extreme post office sport? Errr. None of the above.
Actually, Letterboxing is a somewhat-underground scavenger hunt, with clues posted online leading to treasures hidden around the world. It's actually pretty simple. You decipher the hints, which take you on a journey around town to a small box buried somewhere along the way. Inside the box is a stamp and notebook. Your "treasure" is getting to ink the hunt's stamp in your book, and leave your mark in theirs. So it's a pretty simple pay-off - but very fun getting there.
Last weekend Ben and I decided to give it a go ourselves. I went to Letterboxing.org and looked under hunts in our area. There were about a dozen in Fort Collins. Being the sleuths we are, Ben and I chose one with lots of clues. The first clue was "Sail west along the course Sir Francis _______ might have taken." Ben knew this was Drake, so sail along Drake Avenue we did.
A few more clues and turns took us to a park, where we were told to find a watermelon. Now, this was a pretty big park, and we weren't sure how large these watermelons might be. In our search through the park we awkwardly wandered through every picnic area, around trees and often stopped in the middle of the grass to look around. To the families surrounding us in the park, we must have definitely looked like creeps - which I soon realized comes with the letterboxing territory. The entire hunt we made ourselves look painfully out of place, slinking around like we were up to no good. If only they knew we were in search of buried treasure ... which I guess still sounds a little weird.
Soon our creepiness paid off and we found two watermelon sculptures. From there we had to take "a compass bearing of 290 degrees." Hmmm. We were bad explorers and didn't have a compass on us. But Boy Scout Benny is always prepared, so he just downloaded one onto his fancy phone. Even then, we didn't really know how to use a compass (apparently Ben flunked out of Boy Scouts before that badge). So we just guessed and walked the only way we thought might be right.
Ben consulting the clues by the watermelons.
Luckily, our intuition paid off and we "crossed a pink sidewalk three times" as directed before moving on to the next clues. Here we were once again unprepared, as it took us on a hike up into the foothills. With sandals, skinny jeans and a Starbuck's in hand, we were again looking awkward and out of place as we passed the hardcore hikers along the way. But we were on a mission, this time searching for three tall, dead trees.
Off we go up the trail.
About a half-mile into the hike, it wasn't looking good. There weren't any trees - let alone dead ones. Ahh, but that's when we saw the telephone poles, stacked three in a row. Eureka!
Looooook!
To add to the treasure's theatrical drama (most likely not by the author's intent), there was a swarm of hornets buzzing around the poles. The horrifying situation was topped off when we lifted the rocks and three of the bugs flew out from underneath. Scary. But we'd found the box.
The letterbox.
Inside was a cute little book that talked about the prairie dogs that live in the area. A few pages in began the collection of visitors' stamps, which were all pretty cool. Sadly, we were once again unprepared and hadn't brought any ink to make our stamp. So we got creative and used some sticky black goo left on Ben's knife to leave a distorted mark on the page. I also used a rock to indent the paper with our names and the date. Sadly, it seems we're even creeps among letterboxers. But oh well. We'd left our mark to prove we conquered our first letterboxing adventure.
Cute stamps vs. our stamp.
Actually, Letterboxing is a somewhat-underground scavenger hunt, with clues posted online leading to treasures hidden around the world. It's actually pretty simple. You decipher the hints, which take you on a journey around town to a small box buried somewhere along the way. Inside the box is a stamp and notebook. Your "treasure" is getting to ink the hunt's stamp in your book, and leave your mark in theirs. So it's a pretty simple pay-off - but very fun getting there.
Last weekend Ben and I decided to give it a go ourselves. I went to Letterboxing.org and looked under hunts in our area. There were about a dozen in Fort Collins. Being the sleuths we are, Ben and I chose one with lots of clues. The first clue was "Sail west along the course Sir Francis _______ might have taken." Ben knew this was Drake, so sail along Drake Avenue we did.
A few more clues and turns took us to a park, where we were told to find a watermelon. Now, this was a pretty big park, and we weren't sure how large these watermelons might be. In our search through the park we awkwardly wandered through every picnic area, around trees and often stopped in the middle of the grass to look around. To the families surrounding us in the park, we must have definitely looked like creeps - which I soon realized comes with the letterboxing territory. The entire hunt we made ourselves look painfully out of place, slinking around like we were up to no good. If only they knew we were in search of buried treasure ... which I guess still sounds a little weird.
Soon our creepiness paid off and we found two watermelon sculptures. From there we had to take "a compass bearing of 290 degrees." Hmmm. We were bad explorers and didn't have a compass on us. But Boy Scout Benny is always prepared, so he just downloaded one onto his fancy phone. Even then, we didn't really know how to use a compass (apparently Ben flunked out of Boy Scouts before that badge). So we just guessed and walked the only way we thought might be right.
Ben consulting the clues by the watermelons.Luckily, our intuition paid off and we "crossed a pink sidewalk three times" as directed before moving on to the next clues. Here we were once again unprepared, as it took us on a hike up into the foothills. With sandals, skinny jeans and a Starbuck's in hand, we were again looking awkward and out of place as we passed the hardcore hikers along the way. But we were on a mission, this time searching for three tall, dead trees.
Off we go up the trail.About a half-mile into the hike, it wasn't looking good. There weren't any trees - let alone dead ones. Ahh, but that's when we saw the telephone poles, stacked three in a row. Eureka!
Looooook!
The letterbox.
Inside was a cute little book that talked about the prairie dogs that live in the area. A few pages in began the collection of visitors' stamps, which were all pretty cool. Sadly, we were once again unprepared and hadn't brought any ink to make our stamp. So we got creative and used some sticky black goo left on Ben's knife to leave a distorted mark on the page. I also used a rock to indent the paper with our names and the date. Sadly, it seems we're even creeps among letterboxers. But oh well. We'd left our mark to prove we conquered our first letterboxing adventure.
Cute stamps vs. our stamp.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
New #37: Find the Wyoming Pyramid
With a day off work and an itch to get out of town, Ben and I decided to take a random adventure. Just short of throwing our pointed finger down on a spinning globe, we turned to the Internet to find our day's jaunt. We were searching Wyoming points of interest when we found a small narration about the state's giant pyramid. What? A giant pyramid in Wyoming? That was enough for us. We hopped in the car and headed to the frontier to find the fabled Ames Monument.
Like many adventures, the journey there was just as fun as reaching the destination. We stopped in Cheyenne and dined in the city's giant railroad station. Heading east through the plains, we spotted lots of antelope and even a buffalo. We also took a quick detour to see another point of interest, the Lone Tree - a seemingly simple attraction with a sweet history behind it.
After a few hours of driving and stopping, Ben and I turned down a deserted dirt road leading to the pyramid. We couldn't see anything but rolling prairies for the first few minutes, especially in my little car that was vigorously vibrating under the rocky road. But then, silhouetted by the sun, it appeared: the Ames Monument. And yes, a pyramid in the middle of Wyoming really is just as random as we suspected.
The Ames Monument has a history nearly as quirky as its existence. It was created to pay homage to Oliver Ames, president of the Union Pacific Railroad, and his brother Oakes, a congressman million. Now, these two were not necessarily monument-worthy. Both were known for bribing, inflating construction costs and overall fraudulent activities. At least they used their sinful fortunes to help connect the first transcontinental railroad tracks. But ultimately their wrongdoings were uncovered, and both brothers quickly died of shame (as it would seem). Hoping to polish the scandal off its reputation, the Union Pacific came up with one sure-fire to do it: a giant granite pyramid, of course.
It was built in the 1880s near a little railroad town (which has apparently gone the way of the buffalo), and the railroad tracks (which have since been moved far, far away). Personally, I like it that the mammoth monument is all alone. Standing 60 feet high with a 60-foot base, it really looks like something left over from a civilization long passed.
A view from the base of the pyramid. As you can see, there's not much around.
The hurricane-strong wind blowing the day of our visit only added to its unusual allure. Ben and I strolled around the base, admiring the pretty pink rocks and carved portraits of the brothers' faces. Without a gift shop, we didn't stay too long - but the Wyoming's pyramid was definitely an oddity worth visiting.
Like many adventures, the journey there was just as fun as reaching the destination. We stopped in Cheyenne and dined in the city's giant railroad station. Heading east through the plains, we spotted lots of antelope and even a buffalo. We also took a quick detour to see another point of interest, the Lone Tree - a seemingly simple attraction with a sweet history behind it.
After a few hours of driving and stopping, Ben and I turned down a deserted dirt road leading to the pyramid. We couldn't see anything but rolling prairies for the first few minutes, especially in my little car that was vigorously vibrating under the rocky road. But then, silhouetted by the sun, it appeared: the Ames Monument. And yes, a pyramid in the middle of Wyoming really is just as random as we suspected.
The Ames Monument has a history nearly as quirky as its existence. It was created to pay homage to Oliver Ames, president of the Union Pacific Railroad, and his brother Oakes, a congressman million. Now, these two were not necessarily monument-worthy. Both were known for bribing, inflating construction costs and overall fraudulent activities. At least they used their sinful fortunes to help connect the first transcontinental railroad tracks. But ultimately their wrongdoings were uncovered, and both brothers quickly died of shame (as it would seem). Hoping to polish the scandal off its reputation, the Union Pacific came up with one sure-fire to do it: a giant granite pyramid, of course.
It was built in the 1880s near a little railroad town (which has apparently gone the way of the buffalo), and the railroad tracks (which have since been moved far, far away). Personally, I like it that the mammoth monument is all alone. Standing 60 feet high with a 60-foot base, it really looks like something left over from a civilization long passed.
A view from the base of the pyramid. As you can see, there's not much around.The hurricane-strong wind blowing the day of our visit only added to its unusual allure. Ben and I strolled around the base, admiring the pretty pink rocks and carved portraits of the brothers' faces. Without a gift shop, we didn't stay too long - but the Wyoming's pyramid was definitely an oddity worth visiting.
Saturday, September 4, 2010
New #36: Tour de Fat
Beer. Bicycles. Costumes. Parade. Can we say dream come true? Yes we can. It's pronounced Tour de Fat.
This annual gem is something that's been riding through Fort Collins for years, created by the city's very own New Belgium Brewery. As if the brewery wasn't awesome enough for creating Fat Tire and Sunshine beer, or offering free drinks and tours daily, it really one-upped itself by inventing the Tour de Fat. The company, owned by environmental enthusiasts, made the tour to honor an efficient mode of transportation: the bicycle. Over the years the romp evolved from a 10-mile trek to what it is today - a 10,000-strong bicycle parade through downtown. I can't for the life of me understand why I didn't take part in it all sooner. But after my first ride, I know I'll never miss it again.
Like many new things I'm experiencing, this one started in the morning. But that didn't mean we couldn't enjoy ourselves with a few celebratory drinks. So I had a shot or two at 8:30 a.m. - but with everyone dressed up in their finest and funkiest costumes, it just seemed right. I was She-Ra the Princess of Power, and Ben was Elliott with ET in a milk crate on the front of his bike. Other friends dressed as Spiderman, a gorilla and a slew of steam punks. The costumes were cool enough on their own, but even more bitchin on bikes.
After getting pumped up by throwing a few back, we rode off to Old Town Fort Collins. We were still on the outskirt of downtown when we hit a wall of hundreds of others on their bikes. It seemed like the entire city came out for the parade. Everyone dressed up, with lots of people decking out their bikes, too.
Because there were so many people, we never got up to the front of the crowd to hear any kind of start or kick off. Instead, we slowly started moving forward, scooting our feet on the ground, until we had room to pick up speed. Soon enough we were riding through town. The event had closed off all the streets just for bicycles. Good thing, because it was hard enough riding and dodging the hundreds of bikes around you, let alone cars, too. With so many two-wheelers (and maybe a little too much beer in our systems) there were a few crashes. But each time we got back up and were able to pedal forward through the few miles of the parade. I was surprised to see people lined up in lawn chairs along the way. Then again, it was quite a sight to see.
The parade ended back at the brewery, where a festival was already underway. Concerts and beer tents were plenty, as well as an amazing ring of bike jousting. All in all, Tour de Fat is a Tour de Awesome in my book.
This annual gem is something that's been riding through Fort Collins for years, created by the city's very own New Belgium Brewery. As if the brewery wasn't awesome enough for creating Fat Tire and Sunshine beer, or offering free drinks and tours daily, it really one-upped itself by inventing the Tour de Fat. The company, owned by environmental enthusiasts, made the tour to honor an efficient mode of transportation: the bicycle. Over the years the romp evolved from a 10-mile trek to what it is today - a 10,000-strong bicycle parade through downtown. I can't for the life of me understand why I didn't take part in it all sooner. But after my first ride, I know I'll never miss it again.
Like many new things I'm experiencing, this one started in the morning. But that didn't mean we couldn't enjoy ourselves with a few celebratory drinks. So I had a shot or two at 8:30 a.m. - but with everyone dressed up in their finest and funkiest costumes, it just seemed right. I was She-Ra the Princess of Power, and Ben was Elliott with ET in a milk crate on the front of his bike. Other friends dressed as Spiderman, a gorilla and a slew of steam punks. The costumes were cool enough on their own, but even more bitchin on bikes.
After getting pumped up by throwing a few back, we rode off to Old Town Fort Collins. We were still on the outskirt of downtown when we hit a wall of hundreds of others on their bikes. It seemed like the entire city came out for the parade. Everyone dressed up, with lots of people decking out their bikes, too.
Because there were so many people, we never got up to the front of the crowd to hear any kind of start or kick off. Instead, we slowly started moving forward, scooting our feet on the ground, until we had room to pick up speed. Soon enough we were riding through town. The event had closed off all the streets just for bicycles. Good thing, because it was hard enough riding and dodging the hundreds of bikes around you, let alone cars, too. With so many two-wheelers (and maybe a little too much beer in our systems) there were a few crashes. But each time we got back up and were able to pedal forward through the few miles of the parade. I was surprised to see people lined up in lawn chairs along the way. Then again, it was quite a sight to see.
The parade ended back at the brewery, where a festival was already underway. Concerts and beer tents were plenty, as well as an amazing ring of bike jousting. All in all, Tour de Fat is a Tour de Awesome in my book.
Saturday, August 28, 2010
New #35: March in a Parade
I was never in band, or beauty pageants, or a side show circuses. Therefore, there's never been much of an opportunity for me to be in a parade. So when my work (the Loveland Reporter-Herald) asked if any employees would like to accompany its float, I picked up that proverbial baton and joined the march.
The annual parade is part of Loveland's Corn Roast Festival, a relic of the small town the city once was, as well as a tribute to its favorite vegetable. And it all kicks off with the morning march through downtown.
The Reporter-Herald is in the parade every year, driving our turn-of-the-century fire truck along the route. This year, for the paper's 130th birthday, they decided to dress up the truck for the party, complete with streamers, balloon and festive frill. There were even pointy party hats for all participants. So it was a bit gaudy, but isn't that what parades are all about?
The marching band had nothing on Tom and his vuvuzela.
After waiting for the march to start (and practicing our vuvuzelas), it was time to start moving. Right away we were greeted by thousand of people waving and smiling. Every face seemed genuinely happy to see us. That, or maybe they just wanted some free loot. We were handing out newspapers, as well as paper fans, which apparently came in pretty handy that hot morning. In fact, some fans of the free fan became frenzied, literally chasing after me if I missed giving them one. One particularly obnoxious woman went so far as to grab five right out of my hand. I know our fan was pretty cool, but have you heard of a piece of paper? It works just as well.
Yet even fan mania added to the fun of being in the parade. It was definitely something knew to walk through thousands of people with cameras and waving hands pointed my way. Sometimes I'd even hear my named called from the crowd. I know. I am quite the celebrity.
The whole parade took only about a half-hour of marching before we reached the end. I got home before 10:30 that morning, right around the time I'd usually be waking up on a Saturday. I may not have gotten to sleep in that weekend, but I think marching through a cheering crowd is a pretty awesome way to start the day.
The annual parade is part of Loveland's Corn Roast Festival, a relic of the small town the city once was, as well as a tribute to its favorite vegetable. And it all kicks off with the morning march through downtown.
The Reporter-Herald is in the parade every year, driving our turn-of-the-century fire truck along the route. This year, for the paper's 130th birthday, they decided to dress up the truck for the party, complete with streamers, balloon and festive frill. There were even pointy party hats for all participants. So it was a bit gaudy, but isn't that what parades are all about?
The marching band had nothing on Tom and his vuvuzela.After waiting for the march to start (and practicing our vuvuzelas), it was time to start moving. Right away we were greeted by thousand of people waving and smiling. Every face seemed genuinely happy to see us. That, or maybe they just wanted some free loot. We were handing out newspapers, as well as paper fans, which apparently came in pretty handy that hot morning. In fact, some fans of the free fan became frenzied, literally chasing after me if I missed giving them one. One particularly obnoxious woman went so far as to grab five right out of my hand. I know our fan was pretty cool, but have you heard of a piece of paper? It works just as well.
Yet even fan mania added to the fun of being in the parade. It was definitely something knew to walk through thousands of people with cameras and waving hands pointed my way. Sometimes I'd even hear my named called from the crowd. I know. I am quite the celebrity.
The whole parade took only about a half-hour of marching before we reached the end. I got home before 10:30 that morning, right around the time I'd usually be waking up on a Saturday. I may not have gotten to sleep in that weekend, but I think marching through a cheering crowd is a pretty awesome way to start the day.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
New #34: Run a 5K
I was a little overambitious when it came to this new. Maybe not when I committed to it, but definitely during the actual race. Uggg. It was the Valley 5000 - a local 5K that raises money for a Loveland nonprofits. I've never been a runner or jogger (or even much of a walker), but I enlisted in the event while still training for my first sprint triathlon. That was during a time of roaring athletic ambitions and ravenous work outs. I could totally handle a measly 5K. Maybe then. But after the triathlon I took a few days break from working out ... which eventually amounted to a month of idle laziness. By the time I'd dusted off my running shoes, I was out of shape, which was pretty apparent during the race.
Sarah and Jessica before the race.
Luckily, I did have a friend to share in my misery. Jessica, who did the triathlon with me, had also signed up for the 5K ... and also stopped training after the first race. On the day of the Valley 5000, we lined up with the crowd of about 500, all the while dreading how much the run was going to suck. And suck it did - starting with the monstrous mountain we had to scale.
Seriously, who maps a mountain into a 5K? No one actually wants to be running up that thing. It was a pretty significant grade, too, and lasted literally about half a mile. I. hated. it. But Jess and I kept running and running and running, until finally we were able to jog down the other side.
Our goal was to keep jogging the entire race, but at the half-mile mark we decided to take a little itty bitty walking break. So maybe it lasted a bit longer than we'd originally planned, but I was thankful for the rest. However, my serenity was soon interrupted when the hagglers started storming by - the first being a man at least 75 years old. Yeah. The guy was literally a hunchback. Not even joking. As he shuffled by, he turns around and said something along the lines of "You gonna walk the whole thing? I thought you were supposed to run in this race." Nice.
Next came the guy who was supposed to be walking - a speed walker. With arms pumping (but always one foot left on the ground), he waddled by and said some cute comment, too. What is up with these people? My only goal throughout the rest of the event was to beat these men, them and the 7-year-old who would walk in front of me until I caught up to him, then obnoxiouslysprint ahead.
Sadly, by the time I reachedthe finish line , the speed walker and child were already done. But I was happy to know I'd defeated the hunchback. Maybe it's a little misguided to celebrate a victory over someone half-a-century older than me, but it's all about the little things in life :)
Sarah and Jessica before the race.Luckily, I did have a friend to share in my misery. Jessica, who did the triathlon with me, had also signed up for the 5K ... and also stopped training after the first race. On the day of the Valley 5000, we lined up with the crowd of about 500, all the while dreading how much the run was going to suck. And suck it did - starting with the monstrous mountain we had to scale.
Seriously, who maps a mountain into a 5K? No one actually wants to be running up that thing. It was a pretty significant grade, too, and lasted literally about half a mile. I. hated. it. But Jess and I kept running and running and running, until finally we were able to jog down the other side.
Our goal was to keep jogging the entire race, but at the half-mile mark we decided to take a little itty bitty walking break. So maybe it lasted a bit longer than we'd originally planned, but I was thankful for the rest. However, my serenity was soon interrupted when the hagglers started storming by - the first being a man at least 75 years old. Yeah. The guy was literally a hunchback. Not even joking. As he shuffled by, he turns around and said something along the lines of "You gonna walk the whole thing? I thought you were supposed to run in this race." Nice.
Next came the guy who was supposed to be walking - a speed walker. With arms pumping (but always one foot left on the ground), he waddled by and said some cute comment, too. What is up with these people? My only goal throughout the rest of the event was to beat these men, them and the 7-year-old who would walk in front of me until I caught up to him, then obnoxiously
Sadly, by the time I reached
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