In the 1970s and early 80s, Patty Des Berg became the most notorious high tech groupie in the United States. Based  in Silicon Valley, she gravitated to wherever the party was – New Mexico, Bellevue, Washington and even New York. Her autobiography, I’m With The Engineers & Programmers, was recently published by Knopf and includes excerpts from the journals she kept during the heady early days of Apple, Xerox, Microsoft and even Atari.

What follows is a selection of her most poignant entries:

April 4, 1975 – Candy and I hitched out to New Mexico because she said she knew some hot guys. I didn’t believe her at first but I have met the greatest computer engineers alive. First off, I will make Bill Gates my lover, he is such a doll. Paul Allen is SEX. I took one look at Bill with his lean slender body and kind of large head and his doe-like eyes and knew it was fate that brought me there, to the men of Microsoft.

August 2, 1975 – George Laurer and I counted all the way up to good old number 69 tonight, if you know what I mean. I was panting hot and heavy, aflame with desire. He took me to a tattoo parlor and I got a tiny UPC code on my ass. Happiness is IBM.

Sept. 24, 1975 – Palo Alto time! It is all too excellent. So many love orgies. Everybody loves everybody. I was with Doug at PARC and he set me up with a Xerox Alto. I’m not supposed to tell anyone and I won’t. I put it in the dining room where I’m crashing with Candy.

Oct. 12, 1975 – Heavy necking with Nolan in his Nova, then he wanted to go back inside to play Pong with the boys. I called the next day but he had already left. What a drag.

March 4, 1976 – Mobo and I ran into Candy on Alma and she told us Nolan is a millionaire. Warner Com. bought Atari for $28 million. Big party at Folgers Mansion. I’ve never seen true insanity until now. Nolan took a full bottle of beer and threw it at Candy’s head and when she screamed that it wasn’t very nice of him, he said, “I know. I take full responsibility.” I split that scene and went to the game room where Al Alcorn was putting on a Pong display. Al Alcorn! I really grooved with him.

April 4, 1976 – I like the PARC guys but they are obsessed with the future and GUI. I met a guy from Stanford, Dean Hovey, who gave me 152,000 goosebumps telling me about his ideas for experimental pointing-devices. Just to be a part of this scene makes me want to scream and cry. I asked Dean if he thought his ideas would one day go nationwide and he said, “THE COUNTRY IS READY!”

July 31, 1976 – Bill Gates is coming to town today. I don’t know whether I want to be with him or not. Why is he so perverted? Or maybe he’s not? Maybe that’s just a rumor…

August 2, 1976 – I’m in the limo while Bill picks up our order at In-N-Out. Here he comes!

August 8, 1976 – We got carried away into some enchanted fairy land. Our bodies were meant to be one. He held my face and said, “This is all I want to look at, besides OS, for the rest of my days.” Yes yes yes, Mr. Gates!

November 1, 1976 – No word from my demented prince for days and days. I ate so much hash while trying not to think of Bill. Mobo and I went to the Commodore party and the STEVES from Apple were there. I was dancing in my low-cut dress and I could feel his (SJ’s) eyes on me and when the song ended he came over and said, “Hello, lovely lady,” and bowed and kissed my hand. Oh, those lips!

January 10, 1977 – I can’t resist Steve J. much longer. He invites me to his bed day after day and I try to be true to my DOS Prince, but to no avail when he won’t even return my phone calls. I was aching for Steve last night. He said, “I really dig you, you know.” What is Bill doing right this minute?

February 23, 1977 – SJ flew me in for the NY press conference to roll out Apple II. Color graphics! Open architecture! Steve is truly amazing, brilliant, spiritually evolved. He was wearing jeans and tennis shoes – it was the most sensual thing I’ve ever seen. The Woz came up to me afterward and said  he’s never seen SJ so happy as when he’s with me… and that he approves! Will my last name be J-O-B-S some day?

August 4, 1977 – Got really high and ate pizza at Nolan’s Chuck E. Cheese. Jasper T. Jowls came alive and tried to swallow my head and I screamed and fell down, dissolving into a puddle on the floor and no one could help me. I cried for hours and Nolan held my hand. I truly thought I was dying. I slept for 14 hours in my dress and lace-up boots.

January 2, 1978 – Bill is in town and hasn’t called. DOES NOT COMPUTE.

March 14, 1978 - Gary at Xerox gave me a private demo of the 9700. He wanted to give me his ID bracelet and he said, “I love you, but quietly.” I can’t tell him that when I look at him I still see SJ and Bill. Never have I known such indecision. I cry ten gallons of tears.

March 23, 1979 – Flew to Bellevue to confront Bill but he was in meetings with execs from IBM so I sat with Paul in his office. He caressed my cheek and kissed me and said, “I’ve wanted to do this for a long time.” I’m tortured and thrilled at the same time. Never got to see Bill so I said, “What the hell?” and slept with Paul. We made TV dinners, watched “The Dukes of Hazard” and made lots of love. Paul really gets me OFF.

April 17, 1979 – SJ invited me to tour PARC with him. I’ve been there a zillion times but he never has. I acted surprised by all we saw but it was dead to me. I pretended not to know Gary Starkweather so SJ would not be hurt. At the end of the tour SJ wanted to do some blow and I had to tell him that I’m having a baby. “Whose baby?” he said. I said I’m not sure and he looked at me so sad. No matter how much code I learn, how many scans I run on my motherboards or how many poems I write about direct and indirect manipulation, I feel him slipping away.

*Much gratitude to the book I’m With The Band by Pamela Des Barres for inspiration and guidance.

Categories: Fan Fiction
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If you haven’t heard much about President William Harrison, don’t feel bad. Dude only made it one month in office. At the time it seemed as if Will got a severe cold during his inaugural bash but he really didn’t get sick until three weeks after that, then died within nine days, partly because he couldn’t find anyplace to rest at the White House.

“Most of Harrison’s business during his month-long presidency involved extensive social obligations—an inevitable part of his high position and arrival in Washington—and receiving visitors at the White House. They awaited him at all hours and filled the Executive Mansion.”

What jerks! The guy was sick.

It’s kind of like in college, after a heavy night of drinking on a Thursday, when your friends goad you when you say you’re not going out on Friday night because you’re too hungover and need to study. They make you go out and drink more, even though this is clearly not what you need, and the next day you feel even worse and look like you spent the night sleeping on a beach and did not wake up when the tide came in.

Or something like that.

Let’s see what cliches we can apply here: “He died doing what he loved.” “He lived life to its fullest.” “”Live fast, die (sort of but not really) young.” “He was a hero.” (anyone who dies is generally a hero in our culture)

But what about his wife, Anna Harrison?

She actually never set foot in the White House. She was preparing to go to Washington DC to join her husband when word came that he was dead. So that’s a major bummer.

Just in case you’re not too bummed by this, in case you have an igneous rock where your heart should be, their 10 kids all died a bit on the young side.

From Wikipedia:

• Elizabeth Bassett Harrison – died at age 50; OK, not too shabby
• John Cleves Symmes Harrison – died at age 2
• Lucy Singleton Harrison – died at age 26
• William Henry Harrison Jr  – died at age 36
• Benjamin Harrison  – died at age 34
• Mary Symmes Harrison  – died at age 33
• John Scott Harrison – died at 74, that lucky son-of-a-bitch!
• Carter Bassett Harrison – died at age 28
• Anna Tuthill Harrison – died at age 32
• James Findlay Harrison – died at 2 years, 11 months

After her husband’s death, Anna lived with her son, John Scott, and helped raise his kids, one of whom – Benjamin Harrison – went on to become president. High five, Ben!

Just because someone has a string of bad luck doesn’t mean they don’t have good recipes, so The First Ladies Cook Book, brought to you by Fritos, graciously includes two for Anna: Roast Wild (or Domestic) Duck and Sauce for Duck. I like that it points out that you can, of course, use a domestic duck. You don’t have to go down to the park or lake and strangle a wild one, for Pete’s sake.

In reading a bit about President William Harrison, I understand that he was quite the hunter and Indian fighter, so the choice of duck is not unusual. Except – duck. I have never known anyone who cooked a duck. I know, I live a sheltered existence. If you would like to cook a duck, if you think that would be a fun activity, here is the recipe:

Roast Wild (or Domestic) Duck

2  1/2-pound wild ducks or 2 4-pound domestic ducks

OK, let me stop right here. You need 2 ducks that weigh a 1/2 pound each OR 2 ducks that both weigh 4 pounds. Does anyone else see that as a major discrepancy?

1/2 lemon
ground pepper
salt
large orange, cut in four, with skin on
garlic cloves
red wine
lump of butter (!)
1 cup orange juice
orange marmalade (and maybe listen to “Lady Marmalade” while cooking)

Remove gizzards, livers, hearts and necks. Feed these to your dog. Scrub fowl inside and out (or just run the birds through the dishwasher). Then rub lemon all over their bodies, inside and out (are we gearing up for some strange duck porn here?). Dry well on paper towel. Season inside with salt and pepper. Stuff quarters of oranges into each duck. Add bruised glove of garlic, a small lump of butter.

Deny the ducks any last shred of dignity by tying them up and arranging them on a rack.

Brush with melted butter. Pour a little red wine in the bottom of the roasting pan (save the rest for basting and drinking – if you don’t get drunk making duck, you’re not doing it right). Roast wild ducks 25-30 minutes in a 450 degree oven; domestic duck shoudl be roasted in a medium slow oven (325 degrees) for 35 minutes a pound. Only wild ducks are cooked at high temperatures and served rare.

Got that? Don’t be gauche and slow roast a wild duck!

Baste occasionally with a mixture of orange juice and red wine. By occasionally I mean, whenever there’s a commercial break. Each time you baste, brush the fowl with melted butter. Turn it on its breast for part of the cooking time. Then minutes before it’s roasted, brush duck with orange marmalade to get a nice glaze.

For ease of serving, carve one duck and arrange the pieces on a hot platter beside the uncarved duck, thus forcing your guests to really think about where their food comes from.

I don’t know about you, but I have better things to do than sit around all day rubbing stuff on a naked duck, then pour hot butter and orange juice on its carcass as it roasts. I don’t spend that much time taking care of my own skin, let alone that of some water fowl’s.

I’m just sayin’.

Want more First Ladies Cook? Click here to check out the past action, including Van Buren Gate, aka The Case of the Time Traveling Huguenot Torte.

Categories: Cooking, First Ladies Cook, Icons
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I finally bought a copy of Betty Crocker’s Cooky Book from 1963. I’ve always wanted it, just for the cover of such Cooky Festiveness  alone:

While pouring over my acquisition, I discovered that a final section of the book is dedicated to “Betty Crocker’s Best Cookies.” The explanation is: “Fashions in cookies – like fashions in women’s dress – have changed down through the years. Here is a nostalgic peek at the pace-setting cookies of seven decades from Betty Crocker’s Kitchens.”

I’ve never heard of a “pace-setting” cookie before. It makes me think of a wild, party-loving celebrity everyone tries to keep up with, like Lindsey Lohan. Or maybe a hyperactive rich guy like Richard Branson. I guess the equivalent for a baked good today would be this ongoing love affair our country is having with cupcakes. Just when I think the cupcake will die away, it rises up like a zombie in a new magazine layout or boutique bakery or makes yet another appearance in a TV show or movie (example – this summer’s Bridesmaids).

Betty Crocker’s staff of cooky experts [Note: In honor of the Betty Crocker 1963 spelling, I will be using "cooky" throughout because it is awesome] begin their examination of the powerhouse cookies of yesteryear – this topic might deserve its own show on the Food Network or VH1 – with the decade 1880 to 1890. Why the 1880s? I have no idea. General Mills, albeit with a different name, was already in existence as early as the 1850s and 60s. Betty Crocker did not come into existence until 1921.

But there seems to be little gained in quibbling over history in this context… so the 1880s it is! And what cooky was winning stomachs and minds in this decade? Why, the Hermit!

The forerunner to the Hermit was the tea cake – a large, round spiced cookie that featured raisins. The name “Hermit” is speculated to come from the word “herrnhutter,” a German name for Moravians who settled in North Carolina and Pennsylvania and liked thin spice cookies.

The key to a sexy Hermit is a lot of spice and raisins to add to that foreign-sounding allure. Here’s how Betty Crocker plays up the exotic nature of this well-traveled cooky:

“One of our earliest favorites – rich with spices from the Indies, plump with fruits and nuts, Hermits originated in Cape Cod in Clipper Ship days. They went to sea on many a voyage, packed in canisters and tucked in sea chests.”

I’m going to have to take Betty at her word , although whenever I read about sea journeys in the 1800s or any other decade, ferreting away a few Hermits for the voyage would seem to be the last thing on anyone’s mind. Better to hide away a dagger and a few oranges to avoid scurvy than worry about cookies. But it’s nice imagery, as is the thing about spices from the Indies as opposed to Cub Foods.

There are some “Historical Highlights” on the page to get one in the mood to bake Hermits. In 1880, Miss Parloa’s New Cook Book was published and distributed with the compliments of Washburn Crosby Company, forerunner of General Mills (product placement! Also, good thing they dumped “Miss Parloa” in favor of “Betty Crocker”).  In 1883, the Brooklyn Bridge opened. And, in 1886, the Statue of Liberty was dedicated at Bedloe’s Island, New York.

That about sums up the decade.

But I was sufficiently moved to make some Hermits.

HERMITS
Spicy, fruity, satisfying (I kind of want to make this my Twitter account summary statement)

1 cup shortening
2 cups brown sugar (packed)
2 eggs
1/2 cup cold coffee
3 1/2 cups Gold Medal Flour
1 tsp. soda
1 tsp. salt
1 tsp. nutmeg
1 tsp. cinnamon
2 1/2 cups raisins
1 1/4 cups broken nuts

Mix shortening, sugar and eggs thoroughly. Stir in coffee. Meausure flour by dipping method or by sifting. Stir dry ingredients together; blend into shortening mixture. Mix in raisins and nuts. Chill dough 1 hour.

Heat oven to 400 degrees. Drop rounded teaspoonfuls of dough about 2″ apart on lightly greased baking sheet. Bake 8 to 10 minutes or until almost no imprint remains when touched lightly in center. Makes 7 to 8 dozen 2 1/2″ cookies.

And here, my friend, is the mighty Hermit:

In fact, I’m eating one right now with a cup of English Breakfast tea. I can attest to the fact that the Hermit is an excellent tea cooky. Spicy, chewy, raisin-y.

Yes, it looks like any other nondescript drop cooky. I eased up a little on the amount of raisins and nuts (I went with the pecan, as that’s what I had on hand but now I’m thinking the walnut may have been the nut of choice) I put in. And although Betty Crocker recommends grating your own nutmeg for the freshest Hermit flavor possible (the spices, they must flow!) I’ll admit mine came from a plastic bottle purchased months ago. Oh dear.

Oh, also, never in my life have I ever baked the amount of cookies a cooky recipe says it will make. Case in point: this recipe says it makes 7-8 dozen. I baked 5. Probably more like 4-and-a-half. Having been raised in a society that thinks the normal size for a muffin is “softball” and a pasta dinner should fill a gallon-sized ice cream bucket, my sense of proportion is all off.

Ahoy, mateys, I’m off to eat more Hermits! And drink tea.

My attempt at a Hermit-esque Still Life

Coming up next: the cookie that rocked the Gay 90s!

Categories: Cooking
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1. The guy who just spit in the sand.

2. The woman who smokes a cigarette while standing in the water.

3. The many strange skin conditions. Many people are no strangers to pus.

4. The police officer who spit in the water while waiting for the two guys he’s busting for open beers to pack up their didgeridoos.

5. That stuff – plant matter, insects, old cig butts – can get caught in dreadlocks while swimming and must be picked out by friends/significant others, making the friend/significant other look  like a chimpanzee grooming another chimp.

6. It is still fashionable to talk about Burning Man?

7. There is a high concentration (73.3%) of homemade tie dyed t-shirts, much higher than in the general U.S. population (4.2%).

8. The preteen with ice cream all over his face is going to use the lake as his wash basin.

9. There are 4, 322 cigarette butts within one square foot of this towel.

10. There is one Port-O-Pot and it smells. There are at least one hundred people. The rate of people using the Port-O-Pot is one every half hour. Where is all the pee going? Oh…

11. There are people willing to canvas door-to-door. There are people willing to network at the beach in order to get such a job.

12. 98% of the population now has a tattoo. Does this make those of us without tattoos the exotic ones now?

13. The tattoo of a tree going up that woman’s spine looks as if it was done with an upholstery needle and a bowl of ink.

14. Armpit hair on women. Like two tiny crotches under the arms.

15. A fat teen boy may have larger breasts than I do.

16. The cigarette that woman was smoking while standing in the water is gone but she’s still in the water. I hope she ate it.

17. The Peace Bears look restless. The Drum Circle plots war. The Didgeridoos were kicked out.

18. The man who looks like George Carlin points out we’re all swimming together in a big bathtub. Then the crabs in his beard pop out and wave hello.

19. I thought this suit with the little skirt was “cute.” The correct term is “matronly.”

20. If you dig just two feet down in the sand, you will find a full set of human teeth, car keys, used condoms and a ticket to the Rolling Stones “Steel Wheels” tour from the summer of 1989.

21. The 25-year-old hipster is wearing the glasses I had in fourth grade. I thought we donated them to the Lions Club?

22. That dog peed in the water. The Port-O-Pot was busy.

* All list points provided by patrons of Hidden Beach, Cedar Lake, Minneapolis.

Categories: Lists
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When I first turned to the President Van Buren section of The First Ladies Cook Book, brought to you by Fritos, I got stupidly excited. There were two drawings! Two women! What happened? Was this wife and well-known mistress? Did Van Buren take up with twins?

Alas, it is not that exciting. I’m not sure you can expect a randy tale from a man who looked like this:

Van Buren’s wife, Hannah, died 18 years before VB became prez. Hannah was his childhood sweatheart, a Dutch hottie who was also a distant relative. Hannah gave birth to six children – five sons and one daughter, who was stillborn. After twelve years of marriage, Hannah died of tuberculosis (see my post Understanding the Olden Days: Tuberculosis for a  discussion about this all-too-common old-timey scourge) at age 35. Life sure can be a bitch sometimes.

Van Buren never remarried. By all accounts, his time at the White House could have been called “The Party’s Over.” After the nonstop fun of the Jackson administration, which featured a lot of receptions and something called “weekly levees.” Now, I always thought a levee was a dike, or dyke, not to be confused with the less nice word for a lesbian. Because that guy in the song “American Pie” drives his Chevy to the levee but it’s dry, which is a major bummer at first but then he gets drunk and it’s all good again.

However, levee can also mean: a reception held by a person of distinction on rising from bed, an afternoon assembly at which the British sovereign or his or her representative receives only men and a reception usually in honor of a particular person.

I hope the levees to which they are referring in the book are the morning kind, held upon rising from bed. Having a party right when you wake up, pre-caffeine, is the kind of partying the band Kiss would be proud of you for.

Where was I?

Oh, right, it was sad times at the White House because Van Buren didn’t like to party. He had served as Jackson’s VP but he wasn’t much like him and certainly lacked the Jackson Charisma. Think of it like Clinton and Gore had Gore, uh, won. We might have dodged a Van Buren bullet there – Clinton liked to party, liked to play his sax, liked the ladies and Gore would have been reading books all the time and worrying about the environment.

Although the bullet we got instead of Gore was much, much worse. So maybe forget that whole analogy.

To be fair to Van Buren, just as he took office the country was seized by the Panic of 1837, which had actually been in the making for a long time, although he got blamed. I bet you don’t know about the Panic of 1837 because you’re too busy listening to podcasts and watching TV. Well, let me tell you that the Panic of 1837 was tough times. The Panic was a result of runaway financial speculation. Like a fever. Much like when a housing bubble bursts wide open.

The Panic happened because banks in New York were ordered to only accept payment in gold and silver coins in the face of out-of-control paper money inflation and land speculation. And the Second Bank of the United States was forced to shut down and the government withdrew its funds, causing a ruckus. And following all this the country went through about five years of depression. I’m really summarizing this here, because I’m assuming you don’t want a lesson in financial meltdowns of the past (but if you do, let me mention that my favorite financial panic/market crash is definitely the Tulip Mania in Holland in the 1600s).

So, to return once again to our task at hand, who is the other mysterious Van Buren lady? Why, she’s Angelita! Actually, that’s the name she used when she was dancing. Her real name is Ruth.

Angelita married one of Van Buren’s sons and she became Mistress of the White House. The book describes her as vivacious, admirable and efficient although it doesn’t say why she is any of those things. She was born into high society and stayed in high society and didn’t really do much else worthy of mention.

Which leads us to the question: whose recipes are these, anyway? The Van Buren ladies are credited with Huguenot Torte and Salada a la Volaille.

And now I’m starting to get ticked at the writers of The First Ladies Cook Book, brought to you by Fritos. Because Van Buren was of Dutch heritage. He was born in Kinderhook, New York. The place, and his family, was so Dutch-y that he spoke English as his second language. Dude was mad Dutch. And so was his wife. All accounts say that she had a strong Dutch accent.

So the writers of The First Ladies Cook Book, brought to you by Fritos, choose a dessert called Huguenot Torte?? You think it’s French, right? Oh, but the plot thickens. Because none other than the New York Times published a recipe for Huguenot Torte, for the first time in 1965, and said this about the origin of the recipe:

“Huguenot torte, a chewy, macaroonlike cake, looks and sounds like a French dish, but it is really a knockoff of Ozark pudding, a Midwestern dessert.”

Really, First Ladies Cook Book, brought to you by Fritos? Also according to the Times, the recipe first shows up in print in 1950. Was Angelita making this dish? Not bloody likely.

But there’s more!

In reading further into the article, I came across this:

“The Times’s recipe came from “The First Ladies Cook Book,” where it is featured in the chapter on Martin Van Buren — a historical impossibility because the dessert was created nearly 100 years after his term.”

Ha! I knew it! I don’t know if I should be pleased that I was right about the fakery or galled that the recipe in the Times comes from this book!

But I’ll try to tamp down my indignity and carry on, if for no other reason than because Huguenot torte is reportedly delicious. This is the first recipe that I would like to eat, although I will hold off on making it until it is apple season. Gonna need some baking apples, bitches, if you wanna make the Hugue.

Also of note: this dessert is very sweet. It was suggested that you mix some crème fraîche into the whipped cream for some tang to serve as the yang to the sugar’s ying. Got that?

Huguenot Torte

2 eggs, whole
1/2 tsp. salt
1 cup peeled and chopped tart baking apples
1 cup coarsely chopped pecans
1 tsp. vanilla
1 1/2 cups white sugar
4 tbsp. flour, mixed with 2 1/2 tsp. baking powder
1 cup whipped cream
1 tsp. almond flavoring

Beat the eggs and salt with a rotary beater until light and fluffy, then gradually beat in sugar. Fold in the apples and pecans with a whisk. Add vanilla, flour and baking powder. Pour into a well-greased baking pan about 8×12 or 9×9. Bake in 325 degree oven for 45 minutes, until crusty and light brown. The torte will swell up and form a crust on top and liquid batter may ooze over the edge unless you open the oven occasionally and prick with a cooking fork to allow the steam to escape.

When done, the torte will shrink into the pan (makes me think of the Seinfeld “shrinkage” episode) and the texture is that of a macaroon rather than a souffle which it seems to resemble. This may be served warm, cut into squares. However, it is best when chilled overnight, cut into 8 squares, which can be lifted out with a pancake turner, and served with the whipped cream.

Does it seem to you as if the writers are suddenly being awfully helpful, like when someone tells a lie and then supplies too many details? The kind of details they would not give if they were telling the truth? No one ever explained to us how to serve that Baked Codfish Pie from the Adams 2.0 administration but now they’re all like, get out the pancake turner, it will be a lot easier.

Harumph!

Want some more First Ladies Cook? Catch up on First Lady action here, including the recently departed Betty Ford.

Categories: Cooking, First Ladies Cook, Icons
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For a long time now I’ve wondered what the deal is with Polyvore. For those of you who don’t know, (and why would you) Polyvore is a site where users can create fashion layouts (called sets – here are some featured sets, if you feel like checking them out) using various design elements, photos of models, photos of clothing and accessories and various type treatments. The official explanation on the site is, “Mix and match products from anywhere on the web to create your own personal style.”

So it’s kind of like playing virtual dress-up while at the same time playing at being the art director for a fashion mag. Think of it as digital collage for the fashion-obsessed. People gain a following on Polyvore just like they do on Twitter. Users create sets, post them and then other users come and say things like, “Bitiful.” “Awesome.” “Soooo cute.”

After browsing the site for awhile, I got to thinking – well, what about a Polyvore set for the less successful, more fashion-challenged of the world? What would that look like? Because that’s the dark and demented side of me.

I spent some time making this (on my own, although it would be interesting to “pull” these products into Polyvore and then see how my set goes over), a Polyvore set I dedicate to the woman who has given up and spends her time knitting, eating Oreos and putting McGruff the Crime Dog stickers on her windows.

Now, if this was real Polyvore, you’d be able to hover over the images and see where they are from and buy them. I’m going to assume that no one wants to buy them, except that “I Don’t Do Mornings” t-shirt, which is something everyone should have to wear to the office at least once a week, making sure it has coffee stains on it. And a smear of raspberry jelly from that danish.

The truth? I might start making real sets on Polyvore. It’s totally addicting!! And I want people to say, “Awesome,” “Amazing,” “I love your use of colors!”

Categories: Look/See
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Project 3: Gnome Terrarium for my sister’s birthday

I had a bunch of gnomes that I bought a long time ago, saving them up for something. They are all holding gardening tools so this seemed like the perfect opportunity to create a gnome tableau.

The big globe/fishbowl is from the ARC thrift store and was 99 cents!

The plants are all succulents or sedum (stonecrops) from the Crassulaceae family – they store water in their leaves. These plants would not do well in a more traditional closed terrarium environment because it would get too wet. But the top is open and it will do great in a sunny spot with the occasional spray down with a spray bottle – definitely don’t need to dump water on this one!

The plants are draba aizoides, rupturewort, rosularia, sedum japonicum (“Tokyo sun”), mini hen and chicks and “jade towers.”

It will be interesting to see how big this stuff gets…

Categories: 99 Projects
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Although there are more pressing matters at hand, I’ve got to get to work on my Bucket List. I thought such things would have faded away by now but everyone in America (and Australia) seems to not only have such a list but has put it online and differentiated between the items that have, and those that have not, been accomplished. I’m starting to feel as though not having a list with at least 47 items on it, with at least one check off,  is a shortcoming.

Interestingly enough, I recently learned about the origin of this pop culture phrase. When screenwriter Justin Zackham was putting together his list of “things to do before he kicked the bucket,” one of the items was “Write A Really Annoying Movie That Would Serve As a Vehicle For Two Once Vibrant But Now Fading Actors.” Voila! The movie The Bucket List was born, changing the lives of middle-aged people across the nation.

[By the way, I would be more excited about Zackham's TV show Lights Out if it starred Tony Danza as the former heavyweight boxing champ struggling to find his identity after the ring AND if that new identity turned out to be being a nanny and housekeeper for two precocious kids.]

I worked with a woman who liked the movie The Bucket List with an intensity that made me uncomfortable. If the room ever got quiet (I worked in a room with two other people, her being one of them) she would break the silence by saying something like, “Rebecca, what’s on your Bucket List?” I would have to bite back comments like, “Item number one is to  say something like, ‘The tribe has spoken,’ and then cut out your tongue,” and make stuff up like, “Bike through Vietnam,” or “Climb that mountain that everyone is always climbing and leaving their trash on top of.”

Then she’d say something like, “My Bucket List includes visiting an elephant sanctuary and helping retired circus elephants,” which was touching and made me sympathetic towards her until she would do something like turn on Zydeco music and dance around the room or tell us about the last time she got to tour a plantation.

People have any number of things on their Bucket Lists. For example, unbeknownst to me, my mother’s Bucket List included being a member of a dragonboat team. I didn’t even know what a dragonboat was until suddenly she was on a team. Paddling on the team makes her supremely happy. The last time I was home she was surfing the Internet, hungry for more dragonboat news. I guess this is a case of Bucket List Gone Right.

If you Google “Bucket List” the first thing that comes up is, of course,  the beloved film. But then there are many websites and blogs dedicated to people’s pursuits of their own lists. There are even sites dedicated to helping you come up with a bucket list if you can’t come up with one for yourself.

Let’s think about that for a moment. You can’t come up with anything you’d like to do before you die… so… you’re ready to die, don’t you think? Unless, “Watch another season of America’s Got Talent,” can qualify as a Bucket List item, I think you’re about done on this planet. Stop taking up resources.

Here are some items I saw on various Bucket Lists on the web:

Take a jumping picture. Now, do you need to write this down? Writing it down would take longer than taking a jumping picture. And if you can’t just take a picture of you jumping then… is it really all that important? “Oh, it’s December 2014 and I still haven’t gotten around to taking that jumping picture and now I can’t jump anymore because of my knees. Well… I guess I give up that dream.”

Cage of Death. I’m not making this up. Someone simply has “Cage of Death” on their Bucket List. I have no idea where this cage is located but I’m going to guess it’s very close to hell. Yes, I would love, love, love to be put into a Cage of Death and then go to get ice cream.

Win a stupid competition. Uh… check.

Get a job delivering pizzas on a motorbike. I guess the motorbike is supposed to add glamor to an otherwise sad ambition.

Make love with guys from each country. I’m telling you right now, Afghanistan is going to be a tough one, Western Devil Temptress! Also, I don’t know… those red beards… not really a turn-on.

Help a child survive. Millions of people do this each day. It’s called parenting.

Sing karaoke with a drag queen (or lip sync). Why??? Let me guess what the song would be… Would it be, by any chance, “I Will Survive?”

Get a joke Lonely Hearts ad in the newspaper. And then you know what would be super funny? If a real Lonely Heart answered the ad, thinking that you were the person he or she was looking for and you could be like, “Ha ha ha, loser! That was a FAKE ad! Which makes you a bigger loser because you FELL FOR IT, silly, hopeful Lonely Heart.”

Get a meaningful tattoo. Which can only mean one thing:  Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck playing hacky sack.

Oh, the fun of looking through people’s bucket lists could go on and on for days! Possibly my favorite bucket list had only two items on it. Number one was, “Make a bucket list,” and number two was “Learn to play a tin whistle,” which couldn’t possibly be very time-consuming or difficult. Setting yourself up for success – now that’s what I’m talking about.

But I still don’t know if I’m confident enough to start my own list. It seems like a huge commitment to doing a lot of zany stuff and, at the same time, a comment upon my very being. One does not want to produce an obvious or boring list. It is not enough to say something like “Sky dive,” because everyone (really – I saw it on about 30 lists) has that on their list. It needs to be more daring and have elements that surprise and delight. So maybe, “Sky dive naked while eating salmon that was not farm-raised.”

Instead of “Drink Dom Perignon while watching polar bears in the wild,” it should be “Have Dom Perignon sipped from my bellybutton while watching polar bears eat seals in the wild but be too drunk to feel bad for the seals.” Instead of “Celebrate my grandmother’s 100th birthday by returning with her to the barn where she was born,” it should be “Take my Grandma to da club for her 100th birthday and order VIP bottle service and then leave without paying so we can joy ride out to the place where the barn she was born in used to stand before it became a Kwik Trip.”

Brevity in Bucketing would not be my strong suit. The truth is that my list would just become a complicated, amended, edited mess that I would start over at the beginning of every month along with my promises to diet and exercise.

Annoyed and confused, I asked Keith if he has a bucket list.

“Nope,” he said.

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. I’m too young.”

Well, I guess that’s one way of looking at it. My attempts to explain that even young people have such lists today, that it’s never to early to start, were met with indifference.

So here’s a Bucket List item that maybe only the band  The Who would truly appreciate: Die before having a Bucket List becomes an issue.

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I interrupt my chronological series on the First Ladies Cook Book, brought to you by Fritos, to pay tribute to Betty Ford, who died on July 8 at the age of 93. Unlike the shadowy Ladies previously covered in the First Ladies Cook! series, there is much to know about Betty, her fortitude and liberal views.

Betty Ford was one of our most honest, down-to-earth  and raaaa-aaad First Ladies. I don’t know about you, but I love a Lady not afraid to speak her mind. While her husband was President, Betty’s comments, often unscripted and not pre-approved for public consumption, caused a stir in the media and confounded President Ford’s advisers.

Among the best nuggets are these:

“Having babies is a blessing, not a duty.” (regarding the right for a woman to have an abortion)

“If I had known what was coming, I think I would have sat right down and cried.” (about her husband’s appointment to Vice President in 1973)

“The search for human freedom can never be complete without freedom for women.”

“The process turns you off, and it’s got to where I don’t even know who’s lying and who’s telling the truth anymore.” (regarding politics and Watergate)

“It’s always been my feeling that God lends you your children until they’re about eighteen years old. If you haven’t made your points with them by then, it’s too late.”

She also acknowledged that her teen children had probably tried pot and said on 60 Minutes that she would not be surprised to learn that her youngest child, 18 years old at the time, was in a sexual relationship.

GO BETTY!

How come sometimes it seems as if we’ve gone backwards in time when it comes to social issues? She said most of this stuff in the 1970s and it’s not like Michelle Obabma would even speak this way today. Today it’s all about eating organic and bringing the troops home, social issues be damned.

I would have greatly enjoyed a public debate between Betty Ford and The Barbara Bush (don’t worry The Barbara, I’ll get to you soon enough) on how best to tackle the social issues facing our country.

As most people know, Betty was an alcoholic and a drug user who conquered her addictions and opened her famous Betty Ford Center in Rancho Mirage, California in 1982. She did a lot to remove the stigma of being drug-and-alcohol dependent and make seeking help a more viable option. The Center has served more than 90,000 people since it opened.

GO BETTY!

Most people associate the Betty Ford Center with celebrities, although obviously most people who go there are not famous. But the list of the famous includes:

Liz Taylor (RIP)
Kelsy Grammer
Johnny Cash (RIP)
Lindsey Lohan (maybe RIP soon?)
Steven Tyler
Etta James
Mackenzie Phillips (can’t win ‘em all)
Ali McGraw

And her honesty didn’t stop with her drug and alcohol addiction. Back when people whispered the word “cancer,” she was open about her battle with breast cancer and her mastectomy. The publicity helped bring the disease into the open. Kind of like when Katie Couric had her colonoscopy on the Today Show for all to see and people were no longer ashamed of their diseased assholes!

So it’s with great sadness that we say adieu to Betty, although she did enjoy a long and productive life, which is the most anyone can ask for. I don’t think, however, that the authors of The First Ladies Cook Book, brought to you by Fritos, felt this way about her. Her entry is surprisingly scant.

According to the book, Betty created an atmosphere of warmth and charm combined with dignity and elegance at the White House. Kind of like a funeral home. It then goes on to say that she enjoyed the “performing arts” without elaborating on whether this was ballet, opera, play-acting or banjo.

And then there is this:

“To support American handicrafts Mrs. Ford used unique items, from antique weathervanes to dolls, as centerpieces at state dinners and for Christmas decorations.”

If being mainly admired for your use of handicrafts (provided you are not Martha Stewart and even she likes to be acknowledged for some kick-ass butter cream frosting every once in a while) as centerpieces isn’t enough to drive a woman to drink,  pop some Valium and become a staunch supporter of the ERA, I don’t know what is.

I imagine her, tipsy in the White House kitchen, tossing Raggedy Ann dolls at the wall in a private moment of frustration and then crawling up to her room for a handful of the pinks before drifting off into a blissful dreamworld in which Dick Nixon’s balls are chewed off by an orangutan as he admits to his wrongdoings and his f’d up childhood.

Ahem.

Betty gets three recipes: Chilled Cucumber Soup, Ruby Red Grapefruit Chicken and Strawberry Mousse. Since its summer I’m going to include the Strawberry Mousse recipe here and, if you feel so inclined, make it in honor of Betty (although I’m sure it’s not really her recipe, these cheating Fritos whores!) and raise a glass of a (non-alcoholic) beverage in her memory.

Strawberry Mousse

1 1/2 pints fresh strawberries
1/2 cup sugar
1 tablespoon kirschwasser (wha-wasser? Yeah, that got me too. It’s a clear, colorless fruit brandy. Yeah. To be fair, this was published in 1982 and maybe Betty hadn’t, uh, emptied her closet yet.)
1 tablespoon lemon juice
3/4 cup water
2 envelopes unflavored gelatin
2 1/2 cups whipping cream

Place 1 pint strawberries, sugar, kirschwasser, lemon juice and 1/4 cup water in a blender; cover. Blend until smooth.

Sprinkle gelatin over remaining 1/2 cup water; heat until dissolved; stir into strawberry puree. Chill until mixture begins to thicken.

Whip 1 1/2 cups cream until stiff; fold into thickened strawberry puree. Spoon into a 1 1/2-quart mold. Chill several hours or overnight until firm.

Unmold onto a serving plate. Decorate with remaining 1 cup cream, whipped and remaining whole strawberries. Makes 10 servings.

Thank You, Betty, For All the Awesome!

Categories: Cooking, First Ladies Cook, Icons
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President Andrew Jackson (1829-1837) has become larger than life – lawyer, U.S. senator, judge, major-general of the U.S. Army, war hero, enemy of Native Americans, slave owner, destroyer of banks and all-around Good Ole’ Boy from Tennessee. Oh, and that brush-back hairstyle gained him some notoriety as well.

What kind of woman married a man nicknamed “Old Hickory” with a penchant for duels (13 in all)? Why, Rachel Donelson Robards Jackson, who happened to be married to her first husband when she married Jackson. He liked that kind of sass in a woman. Once they got that first marriage all taken care of (the first official divorce in the state of Kentucky), the Jacksons married for a second time, in 1794 and eventually adopted two sons and served as legal guardian for eight more children. Some people didn’t cotton to bigamy and their unusual union became a focal point in the presidential campaign of 1828.

During the election, Jackson’s opponents referred to him as a “jackass.” Jackson liked this (not sure if the Old Hickory thing has started yet) and started using it himself, even putting the symbol on election materials but it died out. It’s sort of like when one tries to give oneself a nickname:

“Hey, call me Hammer, everyone!”

“Whatever, John.”

“You mean, Hammer.”

“OK, John.”

It just doesn’t work.

Anyway, Jackson won the election, as we all know, but Rachel died suddenly of a heart attack on December 22, before he was inaugurated, and buried on Christmas Eve. She was 61 years old. Major downer.

Rachel is believed to be among the first settlers of Tennessee (her family founded the infamous Ruby Falls tourist trap) and was considered to be a hot young thang in her day. Her first husband was a brute so they separated and she fell in love with Andrew when he was a boarder at her mother’s house. Theirs was a  true love match and he was devastated when she died, refusing to believe it was true and insisting that they put blankets over her body in her tomb, which he built for her in her flower garden, so that if she woke up she would not be cold. He also hung her portrait at the foot of his bed so it would be the first thing he saw when he woke up and the last when he fell asleep.

Then, 4 months later, he married a 20-year-old.

Just kidding. That would be what happened today.

According to The First Ladies Cook Book, brought to you by Fritos, Jackson enjoyed many large-scale, raucous and sometimes violent parties at the White House, starting with the inaugural party which was  attended by 20,000 guests. I think that number may be a slightly inflated. According to Wikipedia, Jackson invited Rachel’s niece, Emily, to serve as White House hostess, which she did accept when she was pissed at Jackson for a year during the Petticoat affair, some boring Washington scandal that you can read about here.

Eventually Emily died of TB and Sarah, wife of Andrew Jackson Jr., took over all hostess duties. It sure was hard keeping a good hostess during this time period!

The First Ladies Cook Book makes no mention of this rotating cast of hostesses and instead mentions Michael Anthony Guista, the French chef who served the White House during Jackson’s tenure. Then it goes right into two recipes, attributed to no one, really, for Pease Pudding (an English concoction that has never enjoyed much love in the U.S.) and Roast Leg of Pork.

Pease Pudding (Pea Pudding or Pea Puree or, alternately, Baby Food)

1 pound dried peas
the skin from the leg of pork (you didn’t think you were going to get away with not making the pork leg, did you?)
1 onion stocked with 2 cloves
1 small carrot
2 pieces of celery (let’s go easy on these veggies, OK?)
2 ounces of butter
1 level teaspoon nutmeg
1/2 cup sour cream
salt, sugar, freshly ground white pepper, to taste

Put the dried peas in a large deep bowl. Cover with cold water and leave in a cool place overnight. Strain and pour over more fresh cold water. Strain again and put them into a large deep kettle, together with the skin from the leg of pork (mmm… skin), cover with cold water so that the water comes up above the peas about 2 inches. Bring very slowly to a boil and carefully remove all the skin (now you have to fish out the damn skin??!). Add the onion, carrot, celery and the nutmeg and season with 2 teaspoons salt, 1 teaspoon white pepper and 1 teaspoon sugar. Simmer all this together slowly until the peas are very soft (mush) and have absorbed all the water. Stir frequently. Put all through a strainer. Then beat in the butter and sour cream and correct the seasoning. Arrange in a flat dish and serve with the pork. Or serve with a jar of strained apricots, some mashed avocado and whipped ham for a true 10-month-old baby banquet.

Want to check out the First Lady recipes you may have missed? Click here for all the First Lady Cooks! entries so far.

Categories: Cooking, First Ladies Cook, Icons
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