A blog by a politically left leaning mom of 2 boys

Wordless Wednesday: Veteran's Day Salute

theewens@gmail.com (Ilina) — Wed, 11 Nov 2009 11:25:00 +0000

"Um, why are we getting the day off from school to honor animal doctors?" Bird, age 6

Steaz, Please

theewens@gmail.com (Ilina) — Tue, 10 Nov 2009 01:52:00 +0000

I've been drinking.

I recently got some samples of a new beverage hitting store shelves. While it's not of the alcoholic ilk to fit right in with 5:00 Fridays, it's a dandy drink nonetheless. And let me be clear here in the interest of disclosure: I got these samples for free, with no obligations to write a darn thing. You know that being the opining foodie and mixologist that I fancy myself to be, I like to share the little things that I discover and dig.

With that being said, as soon as I took one sip I tweeted that I want to marry this company.

I don't generally drink anything but water, coffee, wine, beer, and whatever I'm serving up at 5:00. We don't have soda in the house, and there aren't iced tea fixins to be found (reason enough to kick me out of the South...Shhh...mum's the word). My children get the choice of water or milk with the occasional juice (that I dilute with water). We do indulge in fresh apple cider in the fall and egg nog as soon as it lands on store shelves (sans brandy for the boys, natch). But this new stuff has just expanded my thirst quenching repertoire.

Well, I suppose by now you want to know the nectar of which I speak.

Steaz.

It's an all natural, fair trade, organic iced tea. Iced tea. Here comes another gonna-get-me-kicked-out-of-the-South confession: I am not a fan of sweet tea. But Steaz has an ever so slight hint of sweetness that is neither treacly like Bojangles tea nor nauseating in that carcinogenic, fake sweet way that the aspartame/Splenda crowd tastes. The flavors of Steaz are amazing. I think the pomegranate with a hint of lime is my favorite. I wouldn't normally be so gaga over a lousy iced tea, but anything that is all natural, fair trade, organic (and tastes good) totally speaks my language.

Let me be clear. Steaz is no big brand disguised as a newbie. Steaz is the consummate little fish in a big pond story. Make that a little fish in a Michael Phelps kind of way. Did I mention that you can buy Steaz in the ultimate of brand distribution hot spots. If you guessed Target you hit the bullseye! Happy dance that I can easily find this delectable refreshing treat that comes in a great big ole can!

But let's be clear, this stuff is so good, I might not share. Lucky for you there's a buy one get one coupon deal going on right now.

And don't be surprised if I try Steaz with a shot of some Rain organic vodka one of these days.

I Just Don't Get It

theewens@gmail.com (Ilina) — Mon, 09 Nov 2009 00:42:00 +0000

Based on some recent and some not-so-recent observations, I've been chronicling things that I just don't get. Some of this stuff simply makes my scratch my head (but not in that "That little itch could be telling you something." kind of way). Some of it simply irks me. All of it leaves me thinking "I just don't get it."

The Dirt & Noise I Just Don't Get It List

People who keep their dining room tables set at all times. Even though they never sit down for a meal there. Ever. Don't those dishes and swan folded napkins just get all dusty? Seems to me that after a while, your dining would start feeling like a restaurant that no one patronizes. It becomes a sad place rather than the hub of family time, festivity, and fabulous fare.

People who have formal living rooms with hand carved chess pieces left just-so on an ottoman by the fireplace. Keep in mind, these are people who are not clever enough to play chess.

People who have formal rooms that children are banned from. I figure my house is my kids' house too so why would I ban them from playing where they want to? Sure, we have rules. Like no sumo wrestling in the living room. No playing frisbee inside the house. I've been jolted by the sound of a pottery lamp shattering and multiple spills of a kelanchoe plant (three times in just one evening of late). Such is the price we pay to having children dwell among us. What are the alternatives? A kennel? The garage? The neighbor's tree house? Look, having children is what makes this house a home. I'll be damned if I ban them from being playful children in their own home.

Raisins. Why ruin a perfectly good grape that could be eaten in its juicy succulence or smashed into wine? Hmmmm...wine or trail mix filler? You tell me the better use for a grape.

Ferrets. And their owners.

Scrapbooking. Oh, I'm sensing some hate mail here. What I mean is that I don't get the actual crafty act of scrapbooking. I totally appreciate the end result but I don't want to paste a bunch of forget-me-nots and argyle socks and candy canes all over a book laden with cutesy captions. Call me old fashioned but I sorta prefer the ol' photo album (acid free paper, natch). And did I just use "scrapbook" as a verb?

Vanity plates that boast the make of a car. Like "BMW" on a BMW. Um, doesn't the logo already tell me that, dude? Redundancy (and idiocy) at its finest. Waste of money there. Clearly someone who has money to burn yet not a brain cell lit up.

I'd like to add Bible verse license plates too. This is not something I saw until moving to North Carolina. Tell me, Midwestern friends and readers, do you see this anywhere in the frozen tundra? I don't recall any of that from my 10 years freezing my bloomers off up there.

People who eschew cake frosting. Worse are those who prefer whipped cream topping to frosting. Blasphemous cake eaters!

Wall-to-wall carpeting. I've had it in all the apartments I ever lived in. I never liked it. It smells like carcinogens. What's the point exactly?

People who hang a big ass television over the fireplace mantel. In my world, that's an interior design no-no deserving of a Glamour magazine black bar. This one's for you, Sam. wink. wink.

Couples who take separate vacations. I mean separate his and hers getaways all the time yet no rendez vousing together. Nothing better than Mac Daddy by my side and a lazy stroll following our taste buds' every whim through the streets of a new city. I reckon that might happen again in oh, about 14 years. Til then, it's Family Vacation. Chevy Chase style, baby.

People who don't read. Books are my drug. My escape. My fantasy. My brain stretch. My dreams. My love. Nothing in my life has made me prouder than watching my son, my Bird, learn to read.

So tell me, what's on your "I just don't get it" list?

5:00 Fridays

theewens@gmail.com (Ilina) — Fri, 06 Nov 2009 12:55:00 +0000

It's no secret that I love coffee. Coffee ice cream is even my favorite flavor. One of the reasons I grind my own beans is that it just smells so dang good. I love the sound of peeling the foil off a new canister of beans. I stick my big fat nose right into the top and inhale. Deeply. Then I do it again with gusto. This is quite possibly what heaven smells like. I'd wear coffee perfume if I had it. I've found that a dab of real brew isn't so effective. And it can burn. Ouch!

I never understood the point of mixing a perfectly good cup of coffee with a perfectly good shot until I tried this:

Coffee Fit for a Nut

1 steaming cup of coffee
1 shot of hazelnut liqueur (Frangelico is one brand I bet you recognize.)
1 shot of creme de cacao
whipped cream (Not Cool Whip or the canned variety! Use the real deal.)

If you have one of those tall glass mugs that restaurants have, go ahead and use it. I prefer things more homespun so I just use a big ole mug my brother got as swag from TBS about a century ago. Pour the hazelnut liqueur and creme de cacao into the mug, add hot coffee. Top with generous amounts of whipped cream. Garnish with a cinnamon stick that can double as a stirrer. If you want to be little miss fancy pants, add some chocolate shavings to that puppy. Your friends will ooh and aah...but that means you'll be stuck making drinks for everyone all night. I'm a DIY kind of gal when it comes to mixing drinks.

If you really want to make friends and influence people a la Dale Carnegie, serve your coffee artistically. See how lame your coffee skills (and mine) are compared to Micheal Keen's. If you master this, you'll be all the rage. Maybe you'll even be hired out to work the party circuit. Cha-ching!

Since this drink is technically brown, it would be perfect for our weekly neighborhood Brown Liquor Night!

Wordless Wednesday: Shaded

theewens@gmail.com (Ilina) — Wed, 04 Nov 2009 11:24:00 +0000

Ace of Cakes Cake Bakery Flops

theewens@gmail.com (Ilina) — Wed, 04 Nov 2009 00:52:00 +0000

Alternate Title: Let Them Bake Cake!

There's nothing like a little Food Network to bring a family together. Other than Phineas & Ferb, it sure beats the other crap on TV that is fit for kids' consumption (not to be confused with the consumption of kids, which would just be plain creepy and disgusting).

I happen to love food. I could watch the Food Network 24/7, and for those times that I am holed up in bed with a fever, I do just that. But let's be real, no mother with a fever gets to hole up in bed; no rest for the weary as they say. I don't know who "they" are, but they sure do know what they're talking about. If there's one thing I want to impart to my sons, it's a love of food. I want them to see that food is about so much more than sustenance. It's tradition, culture, adventure,

The boys like to watch the Food Network Challenge. We don't much care about the wacky burger recipes or food styling competitions. Bring on the cake challenges! The next best thing to eating cake is watching the pros making cake. It's good fun to see the extreme decorating and smoking, spinning whatchamacallits. We teeter with tension when it's time to move the cake to the judging table. We all hiss at the mere sight of sugarcraft hall of famer Kerry Vincent. She's like the pinch nosed Simon Cowell of Food Network Cake Challenge.

The one show we all love best (though Mac Daddy would still put anything with Giada in it at the top of his list), is Ace of Cakes. I've been a huge fan since before Duff, Geof, and Mary Alice were household names. I can't bake worth a lick so I live vicariously through the team at Charm City Cakes. What I really want is to share a whole mess of 5:00 Fridays with the crew and laugh until my jaws ache. I also really want to chow down on all those carved off bits of cake (The waste is criminal! All that lost cake...sigh.). Bird, Deal, and I gasp whenever we see those carved off hunks of delectable cake brushed into the garbage. Cake!

Bird and Deal like to pretend to make and decorate cakes. They use Kapla blocks, LEGO, cardboard remnants. Then Deal grabs the toy mayonnaise squirter from the toy kitchen and pretends it's frosting. He conjures up all kinds of wacky odds and ends to manufacture his own brand of gum paste. Bird was doing his homework the other day and asked me how to spell "fondant." The boys love to play Ace of Cakes. Bird is always Duff (the boss, no surprise there), Deal assumes the role of Geof, and I am Mary Alice despite my whining to be Elena since our names are so much alike. Mac Daddy is always Ben, particularly fitting on Sundays when he hasn't shaved all weekend. Whenever we see a dalmatian Deal is relieved that Duff isn't around because he apparently has a fear of dalmatians. And yes, Deal even mentioned this to the fire chief on a recent field trip to the local station.

I have been thinking about getting the boys some sort of Ace of Cakes present for Christmas. Perhaps this. But not this.

Now take a moment to click on those links or the rest of this post won't make a lick of sense to you. Go on. I'll wait.

<Insert Jeopardy music here.>

Jeopardy waiting music sound bite

I find it pretty disappointing that Duff, a tough yet affable guy who bakes cakes for a living, is supporting a product so clearly geared toward girls. Does he really want to limit his brand like that? Does he really want to turn off (and away) all the boys who finally have society's permission to explore the kitchen? For starters, the company is Girl Gourmet. The colors, while not treacly pink, are decidedly girly and definitely not unisex. Bird and Deal would have loved this toy, but the packaging would be a big pee-ewww (best said with your nose plugged for full effect). And sure, being the liberal progressive mom that I am, I should go ahead and buy it. And I just might. But that's not my point.

I'm wondering why such a toy is targeted just to girls in the first place. As if the pink irons and dishes and brooms aren't bad enough. The toy aisles are clearly demarcated by a gender line these days. Girls engage in domesticity while boys flirt with violence. Do you have any idea how hard it was to find a gender neutral play kitchen and accessories for my kids? And pink tools in the aisles of Sears and Home Depot and Lowes?! Don't get me started. Alas, I have already started. Who's sponsoring the time travel back to 1952 trip here? Is Dr. Laura lurking around the exhibit booths of the Toy Fair, saddling manufacturers and buyers with subliminal messages of feminine obedience and servitude? Girls should be encouraged to do more than cook and clean, no? If anything, boys could use some bolstering in that department. I live with three of them. I should know.

The Problem with Reading a la Bret & Jermain

theewens@gmail.com (Ilina) — Sat, 31 Oct 2009 10:42:00 +0000

The problem with Bird learning to read is that I ca no longer wear my favorite T-shirt that my friend Will brought me from a Flight of the Conchords concert (never mind that he bought the shirt in a youth size for his son and in his Newcastle stupor he didn't realize that the shirt looked like this).

5:00 Fridays

theewens@gmail.com (Ilina) — Fri, 30 Oct 2009 11:19:00 +0000

Funny how all holidays are colored with signature hues. Green and red for Christmas, despite the Ballard Designs and Pottery Barns of the world trying to trick us into adopting purples and blues and pinks. Red, white, and blue for Fourth of July. Brown for Arbor Day. Green for my Half Birthday, I mean St. Patrick's Day. Naturally Halloween conjures up spooky images of black and orange.

Store aisles have been festooned with the color combo since, oh, July (and what a clash with the red, white, and blue!). While the Halloween imagery used to teeter somewhere between cute and creepy, it has turned plain macabre in some places. There seem to be dead dudes with bad hair all over the Target aisles, and even the grocery store has one too many severed hands served up in a candy bowl to make me want to shop for food., at least not meat.

If you people want the creep factor exponentially revved up from years past, who am I to disappoint? These 5:00 Fridays libations are for the over-21 set anyway. If you have nightmares just hum "Love Will Keep Us Together" by Captain & Tennille like I did when I was a kid and got spooked by things that went bump in the night.

Today I bring you an unique concoction from our friends across the pond who speak with a lovely lilt and use the word "mate" as a noun.

Blavod Black Vodka Screwdriver (in the spirit of gory Halloween and revenge, let's pretend that this particular screwdriver bored its way into the brain of the asshole who just made snide racist comments about my friend's adorable little children yesterday...note the use of "bored," yet another homonym!)

2 shots Blavod black vodka
3 ounces pulp free orange juice or tangerine juice
corn syrup or honey
red food coloring

In a shallow dish, mix a couple of tablespoons of corn syrup or honey with several drops of red food coloring. Dip the rim of a highball glass into the mixture. It will drip down the sides like oozing blood. Add ice cubes and orange juice. Slowly pour the Blavod black vodka on top so the orange and black colors are layered. Serve with a straw or swizzle stick. This cocktail is best stirred before drinking, but the layered look packs a punch for Halloween presentation.

Boo!

Halloween, Dirt & Noise Style

theewens@gmail.com (Ilina) — Wed, 28 Oct 2009 23:49:00 +0000

I happen to be a big fan of Halloween. I love eating candy, dressing up in costume, being spooked, eating candy, dancing to the Monster Mash, snacking on candy corn mixed with dry roasted peanuts (a deliriously divine treat that my friend @turnaroundart turned me onto!), carving pumpkins, eating candy.

I also happen to look good in orange so I embrace any chance I get to sport it. If I keep on eating candy I just might look like a pumpkin myself one of these days. That'll save me money on my costume I suppose.

The boys of course love Halloween for all the same reasons I do. Mac Daddy hates Halloween for all the same reasons. He detests dressing up, could care less about spooky movies (He flat out laughed at Blair Witch Project whilst I peed in my pants.), hates candy corn, thinks dancing to Monster Mash is dorky, and is painfully uncreative when it comes to carving a jack-o-lantern. Meanwhile I buy pumpkins at every turn and even planted a kitschy scarecrow in our yard. Our table is bedecked with sparkly black and orange place mats, candy corn shaped candles, and plastic spiders. I listen to the Monster Mash station on Pandora and read Halloween stories in creepy voices with much ballyhoo.

I sounded every single one of my 41 years when I proclaimed to the boys that we'd be making our own costumes this year. Their mouths hung agape. And Mac Daddy laughed. Then these preachy words came out of my matronly mouth: "When I was a kid no one bought costumes. We used our imaginations and creativity to make stuff up. We were green without even realizing it. No one wasted money on costumes, even if that meant dressing up as a hobo or the unknown comic every single year of grade school." I must have spoken with authority because no one questioned me...though they clearly questioned my sanity. And for the record, I am the least crafty person I know. Luckily the boys are too young to know how ridiculous they might look, and by the time they figure it out, they will hate me for many more reasons (like the bowl haircut Bird seems to sport in every school picture).

I do hate all the high fructose corn syrup that cannot be avoided without paying an arm and a leg for carob bars or other such crap that the children would toss out with the razor bladed apples and arsenic laced popcorn balls. I wish there were some viable alternatives (stupid tombstone shaped erasers and skull emblazoned super bouncy balls aside). I suppose next year I could serve the fair trade natural stuff and rig up a fake gory arm and leg with a sign stating "I paid an arm and a leg for this candy."

Or I might just put up a sign that says "I paid an arm and a leg for healthcare. Can't afford candy."

In the mean time, I'll be dressed up as Rizzo and trawling the hood for candy. Bird will be a ninja warrior, and Deal will be his own super hero known as Super Deal. Mac Daddy will be dressed up as a corporate cube dweller who works for Da Man.

Wordless Wednesday: OUCH!

theewens@gmail.com (Ilina) — Wed, 28 Oct 2009 10:45:00 +0000

5:00 Fridays

theewens@gmail.com (Ilina) — Fri, 23 Oct 2009 10:12:00 +0000

I like words. I've been having fun with words ever since I had my first little ditty published in the Mini Pages back in grade school. This tidbit just boosted my cool factor significantly in my 6-year old's eyes. I have even been known to keep an Excel spreadsheet of homonyms. My friend Will gives me endless grief for this, which is clearly a sign that he doesn't have The Gift (never mind that "gift" means "poison" in German. We're sticking with English here. And never mind that if you add an "s" to "poison" you get "poisson," which is "fish" in French...see I told you I like words.). Anyway, I haven't a clue how to use a spreadsheet for numbers, but it turns out to be a fine tool for alphabetizing my homonym list. I've been teaching Bird and Deal about homonyms ever since they could talk. I crack up when they discover one on their own.

"But/butt" was a recent example.

As was "booty."

This is why I don't home school.

Since entertaining season is almost upon us, I wanted to share a recipe for a refreshing, wait for it...punch.

Homonym Punch

In a large punch bowl (I totally looted one from my friend Christy's yard sale pile. I bet your mom or your friends have an equally kitschy one in their attic that you can snag. By the way, that's her up there drinking with me. One look and you can totally tell that she is awesome beyond words, right?), mix one liter (or litre for my British readers) bottle of ginger ale, 1 large can of pineapple juice, about 5 cups of mango juice, a small can of cream of coconut (not to be confused with coconut milk) and gently stir. Add a handful of fresh raspberries, chopped fresh pineapple, and sliced lemons and limes. Add Malibu coconut rum for the grown ups. Keep it virgin for the kiddies or your knocked up friends. But add a paper umbrella to give your drink that hanging-out-barefoot-in-a-hammock-tied-between-two-coconut-trees-on-the-beach feel. Even if it is Thanksgiving or Christmas. This is one way to give yourself a winter vacation on the cheap.

Cheers!

And if you have a favorite homonym, let me know in the comments. I could always use some new material in my spreadsheet.

By/Bi-/Bye!

Wordless Wednesday: The Prince and the Pea

theewens@gmail.com (Ilina) — Wed, 21 Oct 2009 10:44:00 +0000

Food Safety: Caveat Emptor

theewens@gmail.com (Ilina) — Tue, 20 Oct 2009 00:19:00 +0000

"Caveat Emptor: is one of the many phrases I remember from my early days of Latin in the esteemed Dr. Larrick's class. (Sidebar: Every student should have been lucky enough to have had Dr. Larrick. He continues to inspire students in ways few can. Teaching is a gift. One that he keeps on giving. And for that we are thankful.) Anyhoo, "Caveat Emptor" is of course the commerce principle that means the buyer assumes the risk. It translates to "Let the buyer beware." We generally think of this in terms of purchasing cars, property, and pretty much anything from eBay, Craigslist, or the classified section (that is, if anyone still lists and buys stuff that way these days).

I never thought Caveat Emptor would apply to the food I buy.

We take leaps of faith everyday. We trust that the drivers among us will stop when the light is red. We trust our children's schools are secure. We trust that the bank protects our money. We trust that our municipality's water reading is accurate. We trust our cribs are tested and our toys lead-free. We trust the food stocked upon market shelves is safe.

Thanks to the likes of Stewart Parnell, the infamous Salmonella Peanut King, consumers can no longer afford to take a leap of faith when it comes to food purchases. The FDA has long been riddled with powerlessness and plagued with inefficiencies. Food safety, and in effect consumer wellness, has been on the back burner. It seems to me that we as a nation have focused more on making a buck and pulling a fast one on consumers than protecting public health. I'm thinking of the policies and attitudes of a certain eight years in the all-too-recent-past. Ahem. The FDA, through years of neglect and failure to modernize itself, has floundered in protecting us.

Well finally, in a bipartisan leap, the food safety bill looks like it's making headway to overhaul the FDA. Despite the fact that the Senate looks like it will wait until next year to address it, the bill is still getting some much deserved attention. It's at least a starting point. Slow but steady, right? The FDA, the government organization upon which we rely to ensure the food we consume is safe, has had puny resources to actually to its job, making us take leaps of faith in the grocery aisle, off restaurant menus, and in school cafeterias without even knowing it.

Spinach. Peanuts. Cookie dough. Ground beef. Chicken. Pet food.

Pretty basic items on any grocery list, right?

E. coli. Salmonella. Listeria.

I bet those aren't on your shopping list.

So where do we go from here?

Until our government gets rolling on passing and implementing this new food safety bill, it behooves us all to exercise Caveat Emptor in every food purchase we make. Even buying local, organically produced food does not guarantee it's safe for consumption.

Note that I write this a mother, a cook, a consumer. I'm not a pundit, a biologist, a lawyer, a lobbyist, or a politician. And my bet is that if you're not either, you too don't care about the in-fighting. We simply want to trust that the food we serve our children is not tainted. Food is sustenance, and should not be suspect.

Check out these resources for more information.
Safe Tables
@SafeTables on Twitter
Sign up for eAlerts about food recalls.
FDA food safety

PS
Thanks to Senator Dick Durbin of Illinois, Mike Taylor, advisor to the FDA Commissioner, Safe Tables and the fine bloggers (@GloPan, @punditmom, @morningsidemom, @soapboxmom, @jippert) who joined in on an informative call last week about food safety. Cheers to good health instead of just wealth!

5:00 Fridays

theewens@gmail.com (Ilina) — Fri, 16 Oct 2009 10:25:00 +0000

Fall has befallen. Here in North Carolina October usually means flip flops and shorts even though I am itching to pull out my tall boots and sweaters. Well, I got my wish and have spent the better part of this week making sure the shirts I wear have adequate layering because it's cold. Shall we say there's a certain nip in the air?

When I lived in Germany nothing warmed my bones like a steamy mug of gluhwein. There should be an umlaut over the "u" so don't go scolding me for not knowing my Deutsch. Blogger doesn't let me add an umlaut, or if it does, I can't figure it out. Bird learns German in school so all I need is for his teacher to bust me for setting a bad example. In these parts I we'd call gluhwein (just picture the umlaut, OK?) mulled wine. It's a cold weather favorite that just beckons some fuzzy socks, a broken in soft fleece jacket, and heaps of blankets folded across your lap with a loved one's arms draped over your shoulders.

I'm going to whip up a batch to share with friends by the outdoor fireplace this weekend. If there's a nip in the air where you live, you too will appreciate the warmth this pulses through your body and senses.

Gluhwein

4 quarts dry red wine (I go for a zinfandel.)
1 pint brandy (Rum works too.)
1 cup sugar
6 cinnamon sticks (plus more for garnish)
12 cloves, whole
3 generous slices of fresh ginger
2 oranges, sliced
1 lemon, sliced

This makes a big batch so it's definitely for sharing.

Pour the wine into a large pot and heat on low. Add sugar, cinnamon, cloves, and ginger. Stir until the sugar is dissolved. Add the brandy and gently stir. Heat but whatever you do, don't let it boil. Toss in the lemon and orange slices. Continue to simmer on low for about 45 minutes to an hour. Go ahead and add more sugar if you want it sweeter. Just make sure you stir until it dissolves. Serve hot in a mug and garnish with a slice of orange and a stick of cinnamon.

Prosit!

Blog Action Day: Climate Change

theewens@gmail.com (Ilina) — Wed, 14 Oct 2009 23:46:00 +0000

It's Blog Action Day. Almost 8000 bloggers are writing today about a cause that impacts all of us and quite literally, the world we live in.

I'm not going to get all scientific and political on you. I happen to think the environment isn't a political issue. I will, however, be brazen and tell you that I think you're a fool (which is nice speak for "idiot") if you think the planet is not in peril. And you are a parasite if you're doing nothing to protect it from the likes of well, you.

I know people who don't recycle. They claim they don't because the government can't make them do anything. So I'm guessing they don't wear seat belts or refrain from acting on delusional murderous thoughts too. Oh, and I bet they don't pay taxes since the government can't make them. Of course, Uncle Sam will track their asses down when money is concerned. So until there is a penalty, these people will not recycle simply as an act of defiance. I say it's doltish. A simple act of obtuse ignorance. Worse than that even, these people know that recycling is the right, responsible thing to do, yet they don't as their lame retaliation to "big government."

I also know people who think all this talk about global warming and climate change is a bunch of bunk. They believe it's all hooey and media hype. These folks figure the earth has been around for billions of years and isn't going anywhere. And apparently the earth is flat and mood rings really work. It must be easy to live in a shroud of callow fog.

What worries me is that these people are my peers, educated adults who have children and relish the many adventures to be had in the great outdoors. I always say "I hate nature." I say it under my breath and in jest, of course. What I mean is that I am terrified of snakes, creepy crawlies, critters and I detest dirt. I happen to love nature when experienced from a rocker on a porch with a Hendrick's & tonic in my hand. Yet I recycle and live as green a life as I can muster to do my part to save nature. These other folks of whom I speak actually sleep in nature and frolic on kayaks and skis and boats. Yet they don't value the earth and environment in which such frolicking ensues.

Ignorance can be rectified. But how to battle apathy?

I'm no scientist but I can tell you that based on everything I have read, seen, or otherwise consumed, climate change is real. This isn't a political issue; it's a human one.

Our parents and their parents before them, shared the desire to make their children's lives better than theirs. I think it's a common, if unwritten, theme of parenthood. Don't we want to make things better for the generation behind us? Is it not in fact our duty to leave the earth a better, cleaner, safer, saner place than we found it?

I know that I want my sons to know what amazing creatures roam our planet. Whether I actually want to see them up close and personal is another story. I want them to have access to the glorious riches of Mother Nature. I want them to frolic in the water and sands and mountains and meadows. Without a gas mask or chemical warfare suit. Think I'm freely tossing out hyperbole? Well, you're wrong. We have done irreparable harm to the planet, our Mother, our provider. Our folly and hubris will leave us eating crow. Except we'll find that that too is extinct.

On this day, October 14, 2009, Blog Action Day, I urge you to brush up on the real ways climate change affects us today and generations to come after us. I challenge you to find three ways you can live a greener, more sustainable life. I can certainly do more, but here's how I started:

Join a CSA to eat organic, local produce (and let's not forget tasty!).
Reuse grocery bags and be vigilant about bringing your own bags everywhere.
Wash and reuse plastic food containers and zipper plastic bags.
Pack lunches in reusable containers. Trust me, your kids will bring them home. Your husband might not.
Switch to cloth napkins.
Grow your own veggies (I, Queen of the Brown Thumbs - literally and figuratively, even had a bounty this year!)
Be vigilant about recycling - no cardboard container should go in the trash.
Don't use the garbage disposal.
Keep pesticides off your lawn. Set a new paradigm for what a healthy lawn looks like.
Use those funny shaped LED light bulbs.
Keep the temp at 80 in the summer like I do (If nothing else, it discourages house guests.).
Ditch the leaf blower and use a rake!
Walk more, drive less.
Carpool.
Wash laundry only when you have a full load.
Steer clear of any products that contain pesticides.
Use chemical-free cleansers.
Reuse wrapping, tissue paper, and gift bags.
Buy local and seasonal; tomatoes in November taste like crap and aren't worth their carbon footprint!
Use the library.
Swap clothes and household items with friends.

In aggregate, every single little thing we do makes an enormous impact. It's not just a lousy cliche. Perspective, people. Just like your one vote, it matters. Look, it's not hard. It's not a crippling change for your family. It's easy to get the kids on board.

After all, this is for them.

Love Your Mother.

Wordless Wednesday: Headlock Love

theewens@gmail.com (Ilina) — Wed, 14 Oct 2009 10:52:00 +0000

Toto SoftClose Toilets in Every Parent's House

theewens@gmail.com (Ilina) — Mon, 12 Oct 2009 23:59:00 +0000

It's a wondrous life we parents lead, thinking our little children adore us. I know I for one picture a gaze of love and wonder and respect when Bird and Deal daydream about how darn right awesome I am. Oh I have intricate, if not deluded, images of how fantastically perfect I am and that they relish in winning the mommy lottery. I like to imagine that they truly believe that mommy rocks. I sometimes trick myself into thinking that they'd never trade me for the mom who buys Lucky Charms and Lunchables and never utters the phrase "Mind your table manners." Granted, what's lucky about motherhood is that my sons have no other reference points.

We moms and dads like to think that we are the proverbial apple of our children's eyes, as they are ours (most of the time, ahem). What's with all the apple analogies anyway? (e.g. Apple of my eye. Apple that didn't fall from the tree. One bad apple ruins the whole bushel. And let's just toss in the whole apple a day bit for fun.) Anyhoo, we figure it's well into the tween years that our children start finding our faults and uttering the I hate yous and slamming doors in our faces. I don't know if you've ever used a Toto SoftClose toilet before (pegged as "The Ultimate Toilet Seat"...who knew there was such a thing?!), but I'm telling you, there's a market here for SoftClose doors.

Pardon me while I digress a moment. I'm about to impart incredibly important information. Did ya catch the alliteration there? Alliteration comes second to homonyms in the hierarchy of my love of words and all the tricks they do. This is why math is no fun. Math is right or wrong. No tricks. No sleight of hand. Just a bunch of black and white aha moments tied up in a neat bow with exactly the same lengths of ribbon. Now where was I? Aha! Toilet seats! So the Toto SoftClose toilet seat has a lid that doesn't slam. All four of our bathrooms are outfitted with these puppies. Think about it, I have three boys lifting (and closing because I have taught them all about staph germs and manners) toilet seats around this joint. All I need is a trip to the ER because of a slammed little johnson. And I'll never jump in shock while slicing kohlrabi from the sound of a SLAM! What? You don't know what kohlrabi is? What is wrong with you people?! Just trust me when I tell you that toilet seat reduces injury. And it reduces noise. I'll do anything to make my house a quieter home. If it were self-cleaning like my oven we'd be on to something.

Stick with me here, I promise you this toilet seat potty business is going somewhere. We're going places, I tell you!

So I think we need to plan for the teenage years of doors inevitably slamming by installing the Toto SoftClose hinges on all our doors. You parents of girls should definitely heed this. I recall slamming many a door in my day. And wow what a satisfying feeling that was. Better than a Snickers at 10:00 AM behind closed doors. I have a hunch many doors will be slammed in my house. If a smushed johnson doesn't land us in the emergency room a lost finger just might. Wally Lamb said it best, I know this much is true.

Now back to our previously scheduled post.

While we mommies and daddies might fool ourselves into thinking that our children find us irresistible and spectacular, I'm here to burst your bubble that's firmly perched on a high horse.

Allow me to spin a speedy tale.

My friend's 4-year old daughter was wielding a toy magic wand (as opposed to a real magic wand, duh!). This little girls loves to deck out in pink and tutus and tulle. She is really a princess who simply poses as the girl-next-door type of regular kid. We're on to her bewitching shenanigans. And I can tell you that this little girl worships her mommy. So while wielding said wand she asked her mommy what she wanted to be turned into. And my friend, princess' mommy, smiled warmly, fanned the tiny yet powerful flame in her heart, and replied, "Well dear, all I want is to be a beautiful mommy."

Poof.

Fire's out.

Her 4-year daughter replied, "Mommy, pick something else. I don't have enough magic for that!"

Proverbial door slammed in my friend's face. Woulda hurt less if the words had a Toto SoftClose.

5:00 Fridays

theewens@gmail.com (Ilina) — Fri, 09 Oct 2009 10:30:00 +0000

Today's drink was inspired by a brush from my childhood and a long lost peek into the girl I was and the character I dreamed of becoming. I had an old clock radio as my only source of electronic entertainment (That is, until I got Merlin for Christmas one year). My clock radio was the kind where the numbers were cut in half and flipped over with an audible click instead of the new fangled digital gizmos out there today.

I cranked up the radio when Glen Campbell came on. I turned that little dial as far as it would go, giving nary a thought to the lousy reception, distortion, or static. I had to crank it up as loud as I could to drown out the sound of my older (and much hipper) brother yelling at me to turn that crap off. I closed my eyes, pictured myself on the back of a horse in a rodeo ring, suede chaps, red cowboy boots, thick ponytail flapping out from under my hat, and the crowd losing their shit over me. I swayed and sang along, fancying myself a cow girl.

Never mind that I had never seen a horse up close and didn't own cowboy boots until I was 32 years old. These hard facts are irrelevant to my childhood fantasy. Play along.

So on the way home from Deal's karate class yesterday, Rhinestone Cowboy came on the radio. It was a during a particularly vulnerable moment when I was feeling like the outside world viewed me as a suburban pot pie making, minivan driving, denim capri and Keds wearing, soccer mom. Never mind that I do not drive a minivan, do not own capris or Keds of any kind, and neither of my sons plays soccer. You get my drift. When I heard Glen on the radio yesterday I was transformed to my school girl, daydreaming self.

I cranked my factory installed no name radio and was a cowgirl, baby.

And here's my Cowgirl's Prayer, straight from The Cocktail Bible that Morningside Mom generously gave me for my birthday at our very first meeting at the Type A Mom Conference. For the record, I bet you the entire balance of my 401k that she'd be singing along too. I know she'd belt out Rhinestone Cowboy in her best a capella performance voice. We better add this ditty to our road trip mix tape.

Cowgirl's Prayer

Fill a tall glass with ice. Pour in 2 shots of golden tequila (good quality here, folks...we outgrew the cheap stuff in 1989). I ounce of fresh lime juice. Finish off with lemonade. Stir ever so gently and garnish with a slice of lemon, lime, or be crazy and use both.

Now, about that cowboy hat and red boots I've always coveted...

Wordless Wednesday: Rounding Out Deal

theewens@gmail.com (Ilina) — Wed, 07 Oct 2009 11:04:00 +0000

What My Bathroom Cabinet Doesn't Say About Me

theewens@gmail.com (Ilina) — Mon, 05 Oct 2009 23:47:00 +0000

I'm not much of a prissy girl. With this new haircut of mine I really don't need much more than a dime size drop of drugstore gel and my fingers to get gussied up. Did I just say "gussied up?" Indeed I did. And I meant it. My entire regimen in the morning is 30 minutes, tops. Even on my wedding day. I guess you might think I didn't care or look all that great. But the reality is that I wanted to look like me in my photos, not some Glamour Shot glimpse of a girl I knew for a mere 24 hours. And for the record, I think I looked pretty good on that hot March day back in 2000 in Key West. Whether I still fit into that sheath of a dress is another story.

Despite what you might think or what my friend Will proclaims to all who will listen, I am a relatively low maintenance woman. Black tie gala with Mac Daddy, jaunt around the lake with the boys, or brunch with girlfriends, it will take me 30 minutes to get ready. In a crunch I can do it in 20.

Try me.

So all this leaves me wondering why I have so much crap in various size bins under the cabinet on my side of the bathroom sink. You know by now that I am a neat freak and I love compartments so everything has a home. No random bottles or potions stacked upon each other every which way on my watch. I did a quick inventory today, and this is what I found:

nail polish (15 bottles, 5 of them red)
nail polish remover (acetone free, 2 bottles)
2 sets of foam toe separators
2 bags of cotton balls
box of Qtips
bag of make up sponges
1 bottle eye makeup remover
1 pouch of makeup wipes
tray of makeup, including 4 mascaras (2 of which are Lash Exact), 6 liquid eyeliners (4 of them black), various brushes (I don't use anything that requires a brush so I'm not sure why I have all these. Also 4 eyeshadow palettes; I don't even know how to apply eye shadow.)
3 bottles of face cream in varying SPF ratings
spray water bottle
1 large tub Aquaphor
2 bottles of lotion
1 bottle of rubbing alcohol
1 bottle of witch hazel (What the hell is this stuff even for?!)
1 eyelash curler (never used for fear of blinding myself)
2 pots of hair wax or some such thing
1 bottle of spray hair gel
1 tube of hair gel
1 unopened tube of black hair color (the temporary kind you brush on with a mascara wand looking thing...I'm pretty sure I specially ordered this from the salon.)
2 shower scrubby/spongey thingees
1 huge can of hairspray (unopened)
1 bottle of mousse (Not the chocolate kind, unfortunately.)
2 bottles of face wash
1 pot of cucumber eye gel
3 tubes of eye cream
1 tube of eye gel
1 pot of night cream
2 sticks of deodorant (Degree and Secret for a "pit off." So far Secret is winning.)
1 bottle of neck and decolletage cream (I couldn't make this up.)
1 flattening iron (I have hair shorter than most boys so this will do me no good.)
3 hairbrushes in various textures, sizes, and shapes
5 combs, unsure of origin

So what's a girl like me doing with a veritable pharmacy of beauty products? My cabinet looks as if I looted a Walgreens delivery truck. Granted, most of the products are unused. I don't even know what to do with half the stuff. I shower, lotion up, put on some sunscreen and eyecream, concealer under my eyes, a swipe of black eyeliner, a coat of mascara, lip balm, finger comb some gel in my hair, roll on deodorant and am out the door. Well, I do get dressed, natch.

Is it hard wired in all women to flock to the health & beauty aisle and just stock up on crap we don't need? Is this why Mary Kay and Avon are so popular? I admit to having a slight orgasmic reaction in Sephora or Ulta stores, even though I don't know what any of the stuff is for. What makes us buy all these lotions and potions and gels and creams? I am not generally a sucker, but my bathroom cabinet would prove otherwise. I look at that cache and am left wondering who the hell I am? Tell me I'm not alone.

Conversely, under Mac Daddy's sink:

1 bottle of lotion (Unused. I bought it and put it there so he'd moisturize in winter. He hasn't. Ever.)
1 bottle of SPF 30 face cream (Ditto above.)
1 can shaving cream (top off)
1 razor
deodorant

I wonder what an anthropologist would say about us? I'm a consumer researcher by day, and I sure know how I'd sum us up.

But I'd be totally wrong.

Simply having the trappings doesn't make a girl prissy. I know this much is true.

5:00 Fridays

theewens@gmail.com (Ilina) — Fri, 02 Oct 2009 11:09:00 +0000

My neighborhood enjoys a weekly tradition fondly called "Brown Liquor Night." I'm not even sure how this all started other than our resident fix-it man, crime watch extraordinaire, clever craftsman, and all around funny man needed an excuse to get all the y-chromosomes together in a way that didn't involve sports, gambling, sweating, or manual labor.

Brown Liquor Night was born.

Many of us have outdoor fire pits or fireplaces so we engage in porch pyrotechnics on a regular basis. Brown Liquor Night just begs for some rocks glasses clinking fireside. So far the drinks flit between whiskey on the rocks or bourbon on the rocks. It's high time to jazz things up a bit, no?

So for the gentlemen (and occasional gentle women who join the par-tay) here's my contribution to Brown Liquor Night:

Porch Rye

1 ounce Templeton Rye
3 ounces ginger ale
2 teaspoons basil simple syrup (or a tish more if you like it sweeter like I do)

For the simple syrup:
Stir together 1 cup water, 1 cup sugar, 1 cup torn basil leaves in a saucepan over medium-high heat. Stir frequently and heat until sugar is dissolved. Strain into a container and chill about 30 minutes. This should keep up to a month in the fridge, but I bet you'll use it up before then.

Mix all the ingredients together in a rocks glass filled with ice. Garnish with a basil leaf or two. If you are feeling particularly industrious, add basil leaves to an ice tray, fill with water and freeze. Voila, basil ice cubes! Go on and go all Martha Stewart on your friends.

And hey, as I write this, Mac Daddy is sipping some rye, wiping his upper lip dry, and sighing a satisfied "ahh" on a neighbor's porch somewhere up the street.

Sidebar:
I tasted Templeton Rye for the first time at BlogHer this year. I enjoyed Raspberry Old Fashioneds (or was it Manhattans?) with some bloggers whom I adore. My cool factor was exponentially upped just by getting my boogie on with them. Cheers to Whit, Matt, Kim, Shawn, and the other amazing writers who can get a groove on as well as they can write.

Journal Therapy

theewens@gmail.com (Ilina) — Thu, 01 Oct 2009 15:43:00 +0000

When I was a junior in high school, Mr. Harrison made us keep a journal. I found writing cathartic, as I do now. I never looked at that black and white composition book as homework. I regarded it as an extension of my brain, my heart. I could be creative or sassy or impudent. I wrote with unabashed flair about my crushes, my longings, my worries. I didn't care that my English teacher was reading. I got lost in a world that was 100% my own.

My pen my voice, my paper my therapy. And being the anal perfectionist that I was (rather, am, ahem), I used lined paper only. Still do.

One of the most simple exercises I'd write every so often was a list of 10 things that made me happy and 10 things that made me shudder. It's been a good 20+ years since I've done this, but here goes:

10 Things That Make Me Smile

The sound of Whoppers when you shake them in the cardboard container. Try it. It will make you want to dance.
Smores. Preferably cooked over our outdoor fireplace, with the boys and I eating the marshmallows before they hit the graham crackers.
The sound of my Bird when he says "Bye bye, Mommy" as he ambles out of the car to school in the morning.
I'm Not Really a Waitress on my toes.
Chai, the homemade kind with honey instead of sugar.
Deal's voice when he mispronounces his "l's" and turns them into "w's."
Mac Daddy when he sends me a text message just to tell me he loves me.
Fall cooking; nothing like the smell of root vegetables roasting!
Indulging in People magazine and not having to pretend to be erudite and deep at the coffee shop.
Discovering blueberries in my freezer.

10 Things That Make Me Gag

Ill mannered people.
Spam, in my inbox and the icebox.
Camel toe and Tammy Faye mascara clad women at the gym.
Discovering snot or other bodily juice on my shoulder...at the end of the day when I'm changing out of my clothes.
Hearing "Stop that or I'm going to spank you" in the grocery aisle.
Men who leer and can't make eye contact.
Gum stuck under the restaurant table.
My kid rolling said gum around in his hand.
Fathers who call parenting their own children "babysitting."
The smell of my car when it rains: a most unfortunate lingering effect of leaving my sunroof open during a torrential downpour.

So tell me, what makes your Smile/Gag list?

Type A Mom, Yup, That's Me

theewens@gmail.com (Ilina) — Tue, 29 Sep 2009 18:33:00 +0000

I've never really considered myself Type A. Sure, I'm anal, organized, ambitious, and driven. I thrive on structure and often fumble in the face of flexibility. However, I also lack motivation at times, hitting a writer's block plateau more often than not these days. I am not aggressive and I shy away from competition (unless it involves board games, don't mess with me when it comes to Taboo and Scattergories.). I do share the traits of impatience and need for control with the Type A folks out there but I don't characterize myself as excessively aggressive or obsessive.

Perhaps Mac Daddy would beg to differ.

When it comes to parenting, I surely don't consider myself Type A. In fact, most of the time I feel like Type F, as in Failure. We moms are hard on ourselves, feeling like we could always do more, better, faster, tastier, tidier. We rarely look upon our accomplishments and savor the little miracles of everyday. "Relish" in our book is nothing more than a condiment.

That stops today.

I'd like to pay homage to some of the amazing women I met at the Type A Mom Conference. Women who were my imaginary friends, as Mac Daddy says. Women who are real friends now. Women who I admire. Women who make me laugh, think, cringe, question, applaud, act, discover, cheer, revel, celebrate. If being a Type A Mom means being counted among the likes of the following utterly amazing women, then count me in (in no particular order):

Morningsidemom - My blog love affair and sister, separated at birth. Seriously, how have we gone 40 years (give, in my case, take, in hers) without knowing each other IRL?
Down to Earth Mama - A gloriously funny, self proclaimed geek. I am amazed at her writing and photography that captures spirit beautifully.
Pundit Mom - Really, need I say more? I was on her like beans on a stalk. Smart. Smart. Smart. I beam just to be able to say that she's my friend.
Deb on the Rocks - I stalked her from afar at BlogHer and was all over her awesomeness at Type A Mom. She's gonna have her own sitcom one day. I might be duking it out with MorningsideMom to see who's her biggest fan.
Modern Mami - Beat It is our theme song, and she's a rock star.
Egg Marketing - Susan thought I was a rap star. I hope I didn't disappoint. She sure didn't.
Cecilyk - A woman who proclaims she is more liberal than drag queens is alright by me.
Canape - Founder of Triangle Mamas and most impressive Wii Rock Band drummer. Real life musician who is every bit as cool as you'd imagine.
Abbyjess - Fellow Triangle Mama, Wii Rock Band vocalist extraordinaire. Her snark is hidden by her adorable awesomeness.
Upsideup - Always a joy to run into my friend. Kirtsy founder, designer, all around smart chick. Counting down to seeing her again next month at the Social Media Business Forum.
Sugar Jones & Angela England - I'm lumping these two brilliant women together because their graciousness taught me an invaluable lesson: Heart matters. Regardless of our political views and religious affiliations and histories, we can all get along in earnest. We share mutual respect for our outlooks, experiences, crafts, and talents.
TypeAMom - Oh, words escape me. My fellow foodie, francophile friend. I aspire to be half as awesome as she is. Kudos for planning and pulling off one helluva conference! I bow to her.
Mamikaze - Seriously, her name alone is worthy of our love, right? Kudos for making it a fantastic conference. A good time and a helping hand who can rock the hell out of an organic T-shirt made from recycled plastic bottles.
High Impact Mom - Always a joy. A kind soul who's always game for a good laugh and would never make a girl drink alone.
Vdog - I almost climbed into her lap at BlogHer because I was so excited to meet her. Now I am left speechless or ramble about nothingness when in her presence.
Writing Roads - I dream about being an ounce of the writer she is. Funny and liberal to boot. I think I love her.
Shash - She wins for coolest shoes. And you know how I am moved by a pair of awesome peep toes.
Mommy Niri - My fellow Indian blogger who doesn't write about techie stuff and isn't a geek! Words of wisdom flow from her ever-so-candid conversations.

I hung out with many other awesome bloggers at the Type A Mom Conference. We rocked out. We toasted one too many local brews. We indulged. We squealed. We cried. We snortled. We embraced. We cavorted.

We all found each other online, whether on Twitter or other such vehicle, have read each other's writing, commented on touching posts, offered condolences and congratulations, formed a friendship. What is astounding and refreshing is that the people I imagined to be cool turned out to be even more so. We shared a connection through our writing. A certain intimacy becomes apparent after you realize that peering into someone's soul through her words can truly move you. Such is the power and beauty and mystery of writing.

Our words connected us online and have brought us together in person.

Cheers to the Type A Moms out there. Mwah!

5:00 Fridays

theewens@gmail.com (Ilina) — Fri, 25 Sep 2009 12:09:00 +0000

I am honored to write this guest post for Dirt & Noise 5:00 Fridays cocktail. I met Ilina, your hostess of this web space, about a year ago, and I count her as one of my good friends. For readers that have never met her, you need to find some excuse to meet this great lady in person, but just don't loiter outside her home for fear of her not only calling 911 on you, but calling you out in a diatribe on her blog as an inconsiderate fan that just can't give people their privacy. So maybe you should just get by with knowing her through her writing. That's not a bad thing, as she is one of the most open and honest bloggers I have come across. I often relate to her parenting posts, laugh out loud at her "woman" posts and nod my head in agree at her observations of the contradictions in modern society. Sometimes I am even shocked by what she reveals to her readers, all of whom she considers friends.

Today's 5:00 Fridays post is not about a cocktail you can make at home, but about a kind of wine. Actually, it is less about a particular bottle of wine, than about what I have learned drinking wine. And how good is life if you can learn things by drinking wine? I do a wine show on the internet (see shameless plug below), which should make me qualified to write a guest post about wine. As it turns out, I am a co-host on a wine show, and I am the one who is learning about tasting and describing wine in our show about North Carolina wine. One of the best wines we have tried in nearly 50 episodes (one bottle per show) is from Raffaldini Vineyards in North Carolina's Yadkin Valley. This is our concentrated wine region with over 20 wineries and the first of North Carolina's American Viticultural Areas (AVA).

The Raffaldini 2008 Vermentino is a white wine made from an Italian grape that is not grown much in the United States. Raffaldini, which features a large Italian villa, exclusively grows Italian grapes and makes Italian wines. The best way to describe the Vermentino is that it is a red wine drinker's white wine. I am not going to get into the wine tasting terminology, except to say that this wine has a lot going on with a complex array of aromas and flavors. It is not a light summer sipper, but a wine that pairs very well with food. You can read the winery's description of the wine here (http://raffaldini.com/displayProduct.aspx?qryProdID=57), and you can also order it, but the point of this post is not to sell wine. Although I would like to note that this wine was chosen by the White House to present to the Italian president as representative US wine with an Italian heritage.

I have always enjoyed drinking wine, but in doing our wine show, I have learned to enjoy wine even more. And the reason for this is simple. As we try each wine, we talk about what we are smelling and tasting. This is not a snooty approach, but one that makes you reflect on what's in your glass. Taking more time with wine by describing it enhances the experience. I still have no idea how grapes can taste like lemons, grapefruit or honeydew, but I know that sometimes I can taste it. Other times I can't. I have learned that some of these tastes are subjective, and sometimes I just don't have enough experience to taste them. This is an acquired skill for most people, as I have gotten better at this the more I have done it.

The other thing that has increased my enjoyment of drinking wine is that we apply a rating to every wine we try. This means I need to put every wine in its place as compared to other wines we have tried. This is where we try to be objectively subjective. How does this white wine compare to other white wines? And not all white wines, but similar white wines. Again, this process of really thinking about the wine and deciding how it compares to other wines forces me to form an opinion. And give a reason for that opinion. Since we shoot our show in one take, and generally the first time we try a wine is on camera, this can sometimes be difficult. I have found myself stalling for time, while the whole internet is watching, as I form an opinion about a wine and have to explain and justify that opinion.

But what this process has done is allow me to really understand what kinds of wine I like, and why. The extra time of really tasting the wine, describing it and giving it a rating against other wines I have tried helps me remember what I thought of each wine. We eat a lot of food and drink a lot of beverages over the course of our lives, but if you take more time to savor these experiences, the standouts will stand out even more and the average will still be memorable.

Jeffrey L. Cohen is a Marketing and Social Media Strategist and Partner at OurHashtag (http://OurHashtag.com), which brings together the elements of community, marketing, business and technology to provide platforms for connection and engagement both online and off-line. Jeff is the Producer and Co-Host of http://NorthCarolinaWine.TV and blogs at http://SocialMediaB2B.com and http://DigitalPapercuts.com.

Wordless Wednesday: Jail Bird & a Deal

theewens@gmail.com (Ilina) — Wed, 23 Sep 2009 10:27:00 +0000