Vagablonde Bombchelle

German Dijon Chicken

noreply@blogger.com (Vagablonde Bombchelle) — Thu, 12 Jan 2012 02:41:00 +0000

Saveur is one of my favorite magazines. It combines my love of food, travel, human interest stories, and kitchen gadgets and lays them them out on pages with nice, pretty photos. I was immediately intrigued by a Chicken Dijon recipe; it's simplicity, the story, the photo. I've also spent most of my life with a huge disdain for mustard, the very smell would make me puke. Over the course of the past few years I discovered I like stone ground mustard (note: our taste-buds change about every 7 years, meaning foods that used to taste gross can taste good over time). I was excited to take my new love of mustard and cook with it.

It wasn't until I went to go make the recipe that I realized it contained an ingredient that I don't have in the house, because no matter how much I try it I hate it; coriander. But I was committed to making Dijon chicken and started to change up the recipe. Channeling my German heritage, I switched the coriander with caraway seed and then kept making changes along the way. The following recipe for German Dijon Chicken is loosely based on the original Saveur recipe, but it was delicious.

1 teaspoon caraway seed
2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
8 piece chicken (about 3 pounds)
Salt and freshly ground pepper
1/2 cup finely chopped shallots
2 cups chicken broth
1 cup of dry white wine
2 tablespoons whole-grain mustard
3 tablespoons sour cream
Crusty bread, for serving

Pre-head oven to 300 degrees
In a large skillet, toast the caraway seeds over moderately high heat until fragrant, about 2 minutes. Transfer the seeds to a mortar and let cool. Crush the seeds coarsely with a pestle.
In the same skillet, heat the olive. Season the chicken with salt and pepper, add breasts to the skillet and cook over moderately high heat, turning, until golden brown all over. Over the course of 10 minutes add the thighs, then the legs, then the wings (by size of piece to promote even cooking).
Remove chicken from skillet when it is a nice, golden brown.
Add shallots to skilled and cook, stirring occasionally, until softened, about 3 minutes.
Add the broth and wine, stirring with the onions and getting the chicken “brown bits” off the skillet and into the liquid for flavor.
Add chicken and bring to boil.
Cover put chicken in oven to braise in liquid for about 2 hours, or until chicken is almost falling off the bone (check occasionally to flip chicken if it’s not fully immersed in liquid).
Remove chicken from oven. Transfer the chicken to a platter, cover and keep warm.
In a small bowl, whisk the mustard with the sour cream. Whisk the mixture into the skillet and simmer the sauce over moderate heat until thickened, about 5 minutes.
Return the chicken to the skillet and turn to coat. Serve the chicken with crusty bread.

NOTE: I added brussel sprout leaves from the top of the brussel sprout stalks to the skillet prior to braising. I have a freezer full of these because they are delicious and I get them from the farmers' market in the fall. If you too want to add a vegetable to this to give it extra flavor, vitamins, and fiber, add collard greens.

Top Eleven Things I Learned in 2011

noreply@blogger.com (Vagablonde Bombchelle) — Sat, 31 Dec 2011 17:17:00 +0000

I could switch jobs and still be very good at what I do for a living.
Avis disables the Four-Wheel drive on their Jeeps in Cozumel, Mexico.
Champagne Sabering is just about the coolest way to open a bottle of alcohol.
Nothing brings 60,000 people together like a good concert in the pouring rain.
No matter how many body builders and athletes I meet the strongest person I know is my two-year-old niece.
“Boy push-ups” aren’t just for boys.
175 pounds of lean muscle is smaller and sexier than 169 pounds of flab.
A dog’s Achilles tendon is called the Superficial Digital Flexor.
Dogs can have Orthopedic Surgeons, Physical Therapists, Acupuncturists, and durable medical equipment.
The most beautiful words in the English language are, “it’s benign.”
You are never too old to make new friends.

Challenger Disaster Remembered

noreply@blogger.com (Vagablonde Bombchelle) — Fri, 28 Jan 2011 22:11:00 +0000

25 years ago today the US Space Program and the people of the United States suffered a major loss when the Space Shuttle Challenger blew up 73 seconds after lift-off. 25 years later I still recall with vivid detail watching the launch from the living room couch. I was ten and home sick from school. I cannot remember if I was sick or “sick;” it is perfectly conceivable that I played sick to stay home and watch the launch. This is something my mother would have let me play sick for because I was obsessed with the Space Program, like so many ten year olds. But unlike many ten year olds I was lucky enough to witness the very first Space Shuttle, Columbia, launch on April 12, 1981 when vacationing with my family in Florida. I remembering the earth literally shaking as the shuttle lifted from the ground and rose to the heavens above. I was not even six yet, but remember distinctively thinking to myself “when I grow up, I want to be an astronaut."

Prior to 9/11, “Where were you when the Space Shuttle Challenger Exploded” was like the “Where were you when JFK was shot” for late Gen-Xers. My sisters, who were also sick, and I were eating chicken noodle soup nestled behind our TV trays and glued to the Price Is Right. Our mother turned the TV to CNN right after the first showcase showdown and the Space Shuttle in all its amazing aerodynamic glory sat upon the launch pad ready for liftoff. In unison the three of us counted down with mission control from 10, 9, 8, 7, 6… the rockets firing and the amazing power of lifting something so large off the ground and into the sky. The sky was clear and with each second the Shuttle appeared whiter and whiter against the sky as it ascended into the deeper, darker blue of the atmosphere.

For someone who had witnessed many of the launches, both in person and on TV, I knew every stage of the process; what happened with each throttle, and when the booster rockets departed ways from the aircraft. I was baffled when the ball of fire engulfed the shuttle and mission control was still talking as if everything was okay. It was so obviously not okay. The CNN commentator when silent, everything was so very quiet and eerie and it seemed like forever before the words I will always remember were broadcast from mission control. “Obviously a major malfunction.” I started to cry, as so many people did. We sat glued to the tv for hours, I remember when the news focused on parachuters descending from the sky, hoping it was possible that crew members ejected themselves from the fiery wreck and then saying it was just a rescuer. After a while hope was gone and we were faced with the reality that 7 Americans gave their lives during the mission.

The Challenger explosion had a major impact on the trajectory of my life. Up until that point, I wanted to study science, become an Astronaut, and fly to space. The reality of the situation hit me like a ton of bricks, my innocence lost. This was no longer a cool job that included space walks, zero-gravity, and funky space suits. This was a dangerous job where people died. It scared me, and it was the first time I ever really thought of and faced my own mortality. Before 11:38 EDT on January 26, 1986 I wanted to be an Astronaut. After that time I didn’t and honestly, still don’t truly know what I want to be when I grow up because no job seems as cool and amazing. I still have a photo of the Challenger crew and sometimes wonder what life would have been like had I not been scared away from my childhood dream job.

I will always remember the exact date of the Challenger disaster not only because it changed my life and desired career path, but because January 28th is my Grandmother’s birthday. Ironically, I will always remember where I was when the Space Shuttle Columbia disintegrated upon reentry to earth. February 1, 2003 was one of the more difficult days of my life. My Grandmother passed away on January 29th, mere hours after her 91st birthday. A few days later we were driving from her funeral church service to the cemetery to lay her to rest when the news hit the radio of the Columbia disaster. Both these events remind me of my old dream to be an Astronaut, and of my beloved Grandmother. I like to believe Grandma and these American heroes are now amongst the stars.

Not So Explosive Bombchelle

noreply@blogger.com (Vagablonde Bombchelle) — Thu, 27 Jan 2011 20:44:00 +0000

RIP Explosive Bombchelle, the blog I was barely keeping on life support over the past two years. Explosive Bombchelle started in 2005 because:

“After ten years of writing executive summaries and bulleted powerpoints in corporate America, corroding my ability to creatively express myself through words, I realized it was time to start writing again. This blog is for me, to engage the right side of my brain and utilize all those years dedicated to learning the journalistic craft. This is not a single topic blog focused on one facet of my background or personality, but meant to explore a diverse range of issues and topics covering everything from my love of dogs, my move from the east coast to the mid-west, my inability to sit still, my passion for travel, the art of photography and the decision to be childfree. I sincerely hope you enjoy my contribution to this community of writers.”

It is with some sadness that I lay the moniker Explosive Bombchelle to rest. I stopped writing with any regularity for a variety of reasons like paralyzing writers block and spending more time in the gym and less at the computer. Every January I vowed to kick-start the blog again with limited success. Last week while in the shower (I always do my best thinking in the shower) it dawned on me that I wanted to write, but had creatively backed myself into a corner. By titling the blog Explosive Bombchelle I inadvertently put pressure on myself to be “explosive." I had a flurry of writing ideas but only a few so mind-blowing or scandalous they could land in New York Times. I do have an opinion about almost every topic and am not afraid to share it, but suddenly it felt like the only thing I should write about are those opinions, to get a rise out of people and spark debate. I can be explosive, but I can also be funny, flirty, sad, sardonic, obnoxious, and inquisitive. Rather than crumble under the pressure to focus on one side of my personality, the opinionated instigator and debater, I decided it was time to kill Explosive Bombchelle and resurrect the blog under a new title.

Welcome to “Vagablonde Bombchelle,” a place where I can share some of my thoughts, observations, opinions, images, missives, recipes, reviews, and commentary as I travel the world, and wander through through daily life.

Quote of the Week

noreply@blogger.com (Vagablonde Bombchelle) — Fri, 21 Jan 2011 03:41:00 +0000

It's hard to live this quote as the thermometer dips below negative double digits, but this is the very night of the year when it's important to embrace our 2010 holiday message:

"People don't notice whether it's winter or summer when they're happy."

-Anton Chekhov

Fit is the new beautiful

noreply@blogger.com (Vagablonde Bombchelle) — Thu, 13 Jan 2011 18:43:00 +0000

It didn’t begin with a single step, it began with 26; the 26 steps that make up the flight of stairs in my office building. Just over 3 years ago I climbed those 26 steps and was out of breath before making it to the second floor. I then marched to the ladies room, locked myself in a stall, and started to cry. Sitting on the toilet and sobbing into cheap, scratchy butt wipe, I mourned previous versions of me who could run miles, skate marathons, and swim for days. I was fat and out of shape... again. It had been years since I liked what my body looked like, but this moment was worse than any dressing-room mirror horror show. It was one thing not to like the looks of my body, but devastating realizing my body couldn’t make it up a set of stairs. 32 year olds with two healthy legs shouldn’t struggle with climbing a lousy 26 steps and I made it my mission to climb those stairs without struggle by my 33rd birthday.

I had sworn off diets; they don’t work. Sure, I lost 40, 50, 60 pounds in the past on diets people swear by, but I always gained the weight back. I vowed to start eating better but focus primarily on exercise as a means to get my stamina back. If I didn’t lose a pound with this plan so be it, this wasn’t about fitting into a smaller size it was to avoid becoming a person who takes the elevator one floor.

At first I did one aerobics class a week; it was all my body could take. As I sucked on an inhaler and downed a gallon of water I would stand in awe of people who went to the gym every day and was in awe of people who did more than one class a day. There were a few people I actually considered admitting to a mental institution because they worked out two hours a day and appeared to enjoy it. Rather than get intimidated by the most in shape people I’ve ever met I reminded myself that I wasn’t looking to win an Olympic medal in aerobics, I just wanted to climb a freaken flight of stairs and not sound like a breathy sex line operator.

Within a couple of months I was going to the gym two days a week, then three, then four. On my 33rd birthday I could do the stairs at work, not with total ease but no one was reaching for the portable defibrillator when I finally made it to my cube. Upon the advice of some friends and trainers I added spin to my routine. I hated every torturous minute I suffered upon that little bike but could tell after a few weeks how my lung capacity had grown. After nearly a year I was spinning twice a week, and on some days when the moon and sun align perfectly I can get through class without feeling like I’m going to die.

This past Sunday I completed my first two-hour spin class at my gym, The Firm in Minneapolis. Those who have spun will appreciate the intensity of 2 hours atop a spin bike, especially at a super high-charged gym with top notch instructors. I stepped into the spin studio with fear and trepidation; I didn’t think I could do it, but I was going to try. I won’t lie, it was one of the most grueling things I’ve ever put my body through and I’ve put this body through a lot. My legs burned, my lungs ached, and my body was drenched in sweat. At the 1 hour and 45 minute mark, hunched over the bike with my muscles screaming mercy, I realized it had been just over three years since I took the first 26 steps to this point. It was 3 years since I sat crying in the ladies bathroom at work because I struggled with a flight of stairs and now I was 15 minutes away from finishing an insane two hour workout. I started to cry, but this time with a smile on my face.

Today, my body can skate, bike, skip, swim, walk, trapeze, rock climb, carry heavy stuff, and even run up those damn steps at work. Losing weight was a nice side-benefit of gaining strength and endurance. My body image and self-esteem has never been better. Don’t get me wrong, I still have days where I obsess over a number on the scale and bad-mouth my thighs; it’s hard not to be critical of ourselves in a world that bombards us with the message that thin is beautiful. The message we need to hear is that beautiful bodies aren’t necessarily the ones that fit in a certain size or grace magazine covers in bikinis, beautiful bodies are strong and healthy enough to take you where you want to go (even if you just want to go up the stairs).

2011 New Year's Resolutions

noreply@blogger.com (Vagablonde Bombchelle) — Tue, 04 Jan 2011 21:00:00 +0000

Unlike most of the population, I am a New Year’s Resolution person who remembers their resolution well past January 2. This wasn’t always the case. For many years I made the same resolutions with the same poor results. I always vowed to lose twenty pounds or stop biting my nails. 364 days later I’d be celebrating New Year’s Eve with short nails and a big bottom. A few years ago I had the opportunity to work with a wellness coach who exposed my resolutions for what they were; vague, unmanageable, intangible, and unrealistic. My resolutions were admirable, but I kept setting myself up for disaster without the right tools for success.

The tool I was given was the concept of SMART goals; Specific, Measurable, Actionable, Relevant, and Time-bound. 3 years later I’m down over 30 pounds, have visited several new countries, and spend more time with my spouse (admittedly, I still bite my nails). Each goal has to be something I can take action on, measure that action (I’m a check-list/spreadsheet kind of girl myself), and have someone hold me accountable for. Rather than set a goal of losing 20 pounds, I set a goal of losing 10 pounds through exercising X number of days per week, and cutting back on my social drinking. As anyone knows me can attest, I haven’t done very well with any resolution focused on writing more but it’s a new year and time to try once again to become a better person mentally, physically, and emotionally and share the journey with you.

Goals: What do I want to accomplish this year?

Career: Attain a new job. This might not happen this year but I need to start taking steps on taking my career to the next place/level.
Finance: Become more financially responsible. I’m awful at finances. I have no debt, but I have no savings beyond the retirement stuff I can’t touch. I’m 35 now, time to get my finances in order.
Health: Lose 10 Pounds. This is a stretch goal. I’m at the last 10 and understand it will come off slower. It’s also not 100% necessary, I only need to lose 5 to have a “normal” BMI.
Health: Practice Preventative Care. Everyone should make this a goal, catching health issues early is the best way to stay healthy and alive.
Home: Organize Home. We’ve been in our casa for nearly 6 years and there is still so much to make it run smoother, happier, and be ours.
Personal Growth: Keep growing. I like being smarter, having new experiences, being more well-rounded. I think it makes me a better person.
Relationship Be a better wife and friend.

2011 New Year’s Resolutions: How I plan on accomplishing my goals.

Update Resume by 3/31/2011 (Completed by 1/15/2011)
Interview for another job by 6/30/2011 (Completed by 1/14/2011- New Job 4/18/2011)
Do not buy anything from China or India in 2011 (rationale: it’s usually cheap shit I don’t need)
Save $4000
Practice an average of four AFDs per week (208 for year)
Workout at least 260 days this year with a minimum of 225 group fitness classes
Spin at least 1.75 times per week (91 for year)
Resistance train (Yoga, CORE, Strength) 2 times per week (104 for year)
Conduct Self Breast Exam one time per month (12 for year)
Have Yearly Medical Exam (Completed 2/17/2011)
Hang Hallway Portraits
Paint Dining Room (current color = gross)
Paint and Organize Garage
Learn Backgammon
Read 12 Books (2 Career Related)
Take 1 Photography Class
Write 12 Full-Length Blog Articles (52 is just way too demanding)
Call Long-Distance Friend 2 times per month (24 for year)
Go on in-town date with Wade one time per month (12 for year)
Romp in the Hay at least twice a week (104 for year) (Been married almost 10 years and must make sure we stay atop each other's priority lists)

2010 Resolutions: I had them, didn't write about them (really bad adhereance to writing resolutions). I worked out, I added a new continent to my passport, I finished painting the interior of the house, I didn't save money, write enough, or sadly, have enough romps in the hay.

2009 Resolutions

2008 Resolution Recap

2007 Resolution Recap

2007 Resolutions

Terrorized by the TSA

noreply@blogger.com (Vagablonde Bombchelle) — Wed, 17 Nov 2010 20:32:00 +0000

The United States is land where all are created equal and all, in theory, should be subjected to the same airport searches and screenings regardless to race or religion. Many believe that racial profiling shouldn’t be used as a means to identify people for screenings or detentions. In an effort to avoid law suits and bad press the TSA agents are supposed to randomly choose individual travelers for increased security measures such as bag inspections and pat downs. As a long time frequent traveler I can say beyond a shadow of a doubt that in my experience there is nothing random about who is chosen for these increased screenings but race and religion has nothing to do with who is chosen.

The new full body screenings are just the latest in a long, nine-plus year battle I have with airport security. Beginning shortly after 9/11 I spent every Thursday afternoon receiving a full-body pat down at the Philadelphia airport, including a bra strap and wire inspection, for my weekly flight back to Minneapolis. Even at that time of heightened security and fear when it was typical to wait in over a two hour line to clear security, only a small number of people were plucked out of line for this extra special treatment. Statistically speaking, I broke the odds week after week with what we started jokingly referring too as my Thursday massage appointment.

In the past 3 weeks I was “randomly” chosen to pass through the new full body scanners 4 times out of 4 trips through security. On the fourth time, this past Sunday in Minneapolis, I finally declined. When asked why I declined I referred to reports on groups recommending pilots bypass this technology because of increased radiation and privacy concerns. The response from the TSA agent was of disgust, calling newspapers and reporters “liars who are threatening national security.” I was then escorted for a 15 minute pat down, bypassing not only the full body scan, but also the metal detector. I don’t know if this is standard operating procedure when opting out of the scan, but somehow I didn’t feel any safer knowing that a body pat-down was used INSTEAD of a metal detector, not in addition to one.

The type of attention I get from security is so frequent there is no way it can be random begging the question; am I being profiled. I am not a Muslim man, or a religious zealot, or even in any way shifty. There is nothing about me that screams “suspicious” or “security threat.” I am a tall and curvy blonde with big blue eyes and an even bigger smile who has been informed by friends and strangers alike of her above-average looks. Others have noticed the frequency of my special security “perks” so this isn’t a matter of paranoia; I am purposely being selected for additional screenings.

As the polar opposite of those who typically try to blow up planes, am I being used to offset any racial profiling being employed at checkpoints? “Look here, how can you accuse us of racial profiling? We just strip searched the Nordic girl next door!” Or do agents “randomly” select people based upon their preference to look at unclothed images of and pat-down people with some personal appeal? Or do they just want to cop a feel to settle a bet whether my chest is real or not? Whatever the reason, I am the continued victim of government approved harassment as I traverse our nation and the globe. What recourse do I have? None. If I want to see my family or keep my job I have to fly. The TSA made it very clear that if you want to fly the friendly skies you need to put up with some procedures that we normally leave to only those who are more than just friends.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want the airplane I am in blowing up in midair, but this process is not making me feel any safer. Airports worldwide use personality screenings and profiling to make more educated choices on who deserves some extra special love and attention from security personnel. Yet here we are in the USA, watching the TSA frisk four year olds. Have we let fear and stupidity blur common sense? In our effort to protect the rights of those who look like a threat we are in turn threatening the rights and security of everyone? I don't know what the right answer is, I just know it's impossible to feel protected from terrorists when watching several suspicious looking men breeze through security as I have a pair of gloved hands down the waistband of my pants.

Congress Applies an Expensive Band-Aid on Healthcare

noreply@blogger.com (Vagablonde Bombchelle) — Mon, 22 Mar 2010 13:24:00 +0000

Congratulations to Congress on passing a bill that slaps a band-aid on the health care problem in the United States. Most would agree that more than a band-aid is needed to cure something that is hemorrhaging money, but everyone can pat themselves on the back for applying a few stitches and gauze when a tourniquet was needed. Forcing people to get health insurance or they’ll pay a fine, forcing companies to provide health insurance or they’ll pay a fine, and providing health insurance to people who can’t afford it might lead to a greater number of insured, but it does nothing to address the biggest problem facing healthcare worldwide; cost.

Healthcare premiums for most people and companies have risen to astronomical levels, with some paying double and triple what they did even a few years ago. It is easy to blame the health insurance companies for this but the problem is more pervasive. Unfortunately many health insurance companies are publicly traded (including the one I work for). As anyone who works for a public company knows, Wall Street forces the hand of companies to increase their profits and margins and revenues or risk a crumbling stock and worthless company. Shareholders demand that health insurance companies make money. So yes, insurers are in the business of making money, but for most the margin is a measly 4% (as opposed to most industries who are well over 30% profit margins). Many argue that health care should not be a for-profit business and some states have made it mandatory for certain plans to run as not-for-profits. Perhaps more research should be done on how making health insurance (as well as hospital systems) non-profits could lower the overall cost of healthcare (but after I liquidate all my stock, thankyouverymuch).

Doctors in the US are in business of making money just as health insurance companies are. Doctors have offices to keep open, malpractice insurance to pay for, and medical school loans that rival many of our mortgages. Many countries with socialized medicine also subsidize Med School for their best and brightest. Those governments cover malpractice issues and provide the facilities which the doctor’s practice from. Until we can provide the same for doctors in our country they will continue to charge high amounts to cover their start-up and continued costs.

Health insurance is responding to the ever rising cost of healthcare. Healthcare costs rise faster than inflation because each year new treatments, new drugs, and new procedures are added to what is available. It is not the same gallon of milk costing 3% more each year. It is as if the milk changes every year, tasting better and better, providing more vitamins, and curing diseases. Doctors use to advise to “take two aspirin and call me in the morning.” A single aspirin is about a nickel each as opposed to many of the pills used for treatments these days that cost hundreds to thousands times more than the 5 cent aspirin. Then there are the host of issues that are now treatable with expensive therapies, surgeries, and drugs that used to cost the system nothing as little as 5, 10, and 15 years ago. People with restless leg syndrome used to just live with it (frankly, they probably didn’t even know they had anything until they saw a commercial for a drug). Now they can take a $5 pill every day to keep the twitch away. People who couldn’t have children were told to adopt or find other things in life to do besides have children. Now infertility treatments are readily available and very expensive (which insurance sometimes pays for directly but always indirectly through the complications of multiple births, high-risk ob/gyn visits, etc.). People with bum knees were resigned to be in a walker even as little as 30 years ago. Now people replace their knees like it was as common as having a cavity filled. Men who couldn’t "get it up" were told that was a normal part of old age. Now they have an expensive little blue pill. This list could go on and on and grows with each year. Advances in medical science are both a blessing and a cost-curse. It is great that we can treat so many awful diseases, rid people’s bodies of cancer, treat high blood-pressure, and make sure men can have sex well into their 80s, but better living through science and technology is costly.

Our system is broken because we have a payment system that encourages doctors to do more then they need to do and not tell you how much it’s going to cost. Doctors don’t have a menu of services. You can’t easily find out or see how much a visit for a sore throat will be. I bet if you visited a doctor for a sore throat 3 times in the same year it would cost 3 different amounts based upon what their medical billing department decided.

I recently had an issue with a bill from my doctor. In addition to my $181 well-visit charge I also had a $130 asthma visit charge on the bill. Actually, I had to call my insurance company to see what the two office visit charges were for since the bill didn’t say and I knew I only had one office visit that day. My doctor’s billing department charged me $130 for an asthma visit because I asked for a refill for my inhaler during the course of my well visit. I fought the charge and it was waived but how many people would just say "meh, insurance paid for it so why should I care that the doctor charged me for $130 of services she didn't do on me." And what if my doctor told me I needed a whole host of tests and maybe a small procedure because I mentioned my knees hurt me a little when I run? Would I question these expensive items or just let her go ahead and do them. Insurance has allowed us to take an inactive role in our healthcare. We don’t have to think of the cost of something and whether it is necessary or not. We let our doctors, those same doctors who make more money the more they do, make those decisions for us.

No one likes the finger pointed at them, but we are a collective citizenry who takes better care of their cars than their bodies. People are more apt to remember their oil change than their yearly mammogram or prostate examination. People would never put sugar in their car's gas tank but smoke, eat, and drink to their heart’s content without thinking of the impact those decisions make on the cost of their health. If we kept crashing our car into a tree on purpose we wouldn't expect our car insurance company to keep covering us (or to give us insurance a week after we wrapped the car around the tree) yet we keep wrapping our bodies around trees through unhealthy habits and expect to be taken care of.

Beyond not taking care of ourselves we are a nation of consumers who demands the very newest and very best and this is also true for healthcare. We want the newest iPod, the latest model car, and the recently released drug. The difference between the iPod and the drug is people with health insurance rarely pay attention to how much money that drug, or procedures, actually costs since many only see their co-pay. How many people are guilty of demanding a doctor fill out a prescription? How many people unnecessarily go to the doctor or ER for the sniffles? Every decision we make on how we take care of ourselves and when we take care of ourselves drives the cost of healthcare. Technically losing weight or taking pills are both treatments for pre-diabetes, exercising or taking blood pressure medication are both treatments for hypertension. Too many people take the “easy” way out, taking the pills rather than cutting back the cheeseburgers, which is also the more expensive way out.

Every country, even those who have a century of socialized medicine under their belts, are feeling the pain of healthcare cost increases. They have to make tough decisions on what things they are going to treat and what they aren’t, what drugs they are going to cover and what they won’t. As Americans we are used to getting what we want, when we want it and if we have to put it on credit we will and health care is no exception. We’ve run ourselves in the red and forcing people to carry health insurance isn’t the answer. The answer is addressing the rising costs by educating people on how to be better and more frugal health care consumers, to pay doctors based on outcomes rather than ala carte delivery, to explore ways to make the health care industry not-for-profit, and to take better care of ourselves. Until we solve the rising cost of delivery, something this week’s “monumental” bill did nothing to address, we will continue to have rising cost of healthcare and therefore insurance.

Olympic Fashion Police

noreply@blogger.com (Vagablonde Bombchelle) — Sat, 13 Feb 2010 03:54:00 +0000

Since Joan Rivers wasn’t at the Vancouver Olympic Games Opening Ceremony so I thought I would take on the role of red carpet fashion critic.

Andorra had great hats.
Azerbaijan took a bold risk on their crazy pants. Epic fail.
Bermuda shorts in Vancouver, their one athlete had to be cold showing off his knees.
Czech Republic, bolder move with their crazy pants. Wow. Did zubas come back?
Denmark needs a better designer, for a country that cold they can use more fashionable winter ware then plain red coats.
Estonia embraced winter with the snowflake theme. Brisk baby.
Finland’s crazy coats made me barf a little, very sad since they are the most beautiful people on earth (yes, I’m biased).
I originally thought France got best use of their flag with it cleverly hidden under the arms of their coat but then Hungry had the same coats but with their colors; mass production!
The jury is still out on the pink and blue donned by Germany. The yellow trim threw me off.
French berets worn by Great Britian, how bloody odd.
Italy just broke out their everyday black overcoats like they were going to church.
Monaco looked very regal in their sweaters, Princess Grace would be proud.
I don’t understand why the Netherlands always wears orange but I do appreciate it since it’s my favorite color.
Team Norway looked like half my co-workers in Minnesota.
Serbia’s black coats with red scarves were incredibly classy.
I think I would look quite good in the Slovenia women’s green coats (if anyone from the Slovenian team wants to send me one, I’m a US size 12).
Sweden had some sweet knitted hats, fun, very Swedish. And seriously, could they be any more beautiful?
The USA contingent should thank their lucky stars that Ralph Lauren has taken over their fashion design because he makes some really nice clothes. Too bad the hat is sold out already (although the $75 price tag made my husband choke).
The host country takes the fashion prize. Canada's maple leaf gloves were adorable (and apparently sold out since November). The checkered scarves cozy. And the hats were fun. Nice job!

Like the Oscars, I’m in the Opening Ceremonies for the clothes. I’m quite impressed with the Canadian show for making use of technology. Canada has to use brains rather than brawn since they don’t have a billion people at their disposal to perform like China. Well done neighbor to the north.

Quote of the Week

noreply@blogger.com (Vagablonde Bombchelle) — Tue, 26 Jan 2010 12:51:00 +0000

Happy birthday, Amy! You still have plenty of thirties left to enjoy!

"Women deserve to have more than twelve years between the ages of twenty-eight and forty."
- James Thurber, Time, 15 August 1960

Play Small-ball

noreply@blogger.com (Vagablonde Bombchelle) — Thu, 22 Oct 2009 15:38:00 +0000

I was born in the Bronx and raised a New York Yankees fan. Some of my earliest photos have me donning a blue baseball cap and pinstripes. Many of the fondest memories I have of time with my Dad are watching the Yankees play ball. I was raised to love the Bronx Bombers much like children are raised to love their siblings which makes my mixed emotions over the past weeks are so hard to admit (and potentially earn me getting my thumbs broken by the Yankees Mob). Watching the Yankees face the Twins in post-season play was much like watching my sister get into a fight with my best friend; I’ll always love my “sister” and stand by “her” unconditionally, but I really like my “best friend” a whole lot.

After living outside of New York for over 16 years I understand that a great majority of Americans hate the Yankees. Whether it is over their payroll, tactics, personalities, or history there are many reasons for non-Yankee fans to hate the Yankees. I completely understand the contempt; jealously is an ugly but natural emotion. Regardless, I struggle with many of the same issues non-fans do as the team becomes more a group of hired mercenaries whose soul mission is to win the World Series each year no matter how much it costs or how that cost effects the fans ability to watch games. To the Yankees defense they are not the only team to put forth a high-bucks business model, they just happen to be poster child for the practice.

As the Yankees now face the Angles I am reminded of another reason I just don’t follow my hometown team, or for that matter baseball, like I used to. After watching one homerun after another I realized how boring homeruns are; there’s no strategy, no teamwork, just one person who spends a lot of time in the gym, maybe with a supplement or two, connecting with the ball. My disdain for the homerun driven game spits in the face of contemporary “scholars” who see homerun hitters as crucial to making the game exciting and filling the ballparks. Big brass in baseball turned a blind-eye on the rampant steroid use for simple business reasons; these bulked up super hitters were saving baseball and reviving interest after the strike in 1994 and 1995 soured fans. What this change in players and the game did was attract a new breed of baseball fan, those who hungered for the instant gratification of the homerun. Perhaps the change was necessary given changes to the US overall and the rise of the “me” generation; those who want it all and want it all now.

Personally, I enjoy small-ball. I like it when players work the count. I remember when the leadoff hitter did everything they could to just get on base so they could then steal second and third. A home run was a special treat not a part of your regular diet. As a special treat the home run was fun and exciting, like a trip to the ice cream parlor or cotton candy at the circus. Today home runs are as routine as breakfast cereal is to an 8 year old. Small-ball requires the whole team to work together to manufacturer runs, not just rely on a few superstars to knock it out of the ballpark. Small-ball is what makes baseball a team sport; today’s game is an individual strength competition. Very few players know how to lay down a good bunt anymore. Teams are producing as many stolen bases combined as some individuals used to. The base running blunders we’ve seen in this year’s post season have much to do with the lack of base running practice players get these days; it doesn’t require much skill to jog around the diamond after a home run.

I still love the Yankees, I just don’t like them as much as I used to. I would prefer it if they were a team of players and not just individual guys doing their own thing who happen to wear the same uniform. I still like baseball but don’t enjoy it nearly as much when it was a team sport that required strategic thinking and various skills from each player. Today’s baseball teams are like a band of nothing but tubas; lots of strength, but the sweet music offered by the other instruments is fading away.

Quote of the Week

noreply@blogger.com (Vagablonde Bombchelle) — Sat, 15 Aug 2009 18:07:00 +0000

Surrounded by people who love life, you love it too; surrounded by people who don't, you don't.
- Mignon McLaughlin

I'm Still Standing

noreply@blogger.com (Vagablonde Bombchelle) — Tue, 04 Aug 2009 16:16:00 +0000

I’m back. I think. I am plotting my return from a self-imposed writing hiatus brought to yours truly by something more debilitating than plain-Jane writer’s block; word block. I am no stranger to this odd communication phenomenon. It is so familiar I can tell the signs of its impending arrival much like a tickle in the throat sends us to the pharmacy for some vitamin C and cold medicine. My mind goes blank in mid-conversation, I can’t remember simple words like “dog,” “car, or “beer.” The names of people I see everyday become completely foreign. Simple conversation becomes painful as I struggle to find not just the right words, but any word. I develop a stutter and shut down to hide this inarticulate stranger I become. My most recent struggle with word block was especially painful because I thought I was doing a good job managing what brings about these symptoms, stress, but apparently was not doing as well as I thought.

For most Americans stress-management is as foreign as eating sushi for breakfast; it’s just not done here. Americans could easily be categorized as stress-junkies. Our culture pushes people to take on more; more responsibilities, more debt, more projects, more stuff. It is common-place for people to brag about how busy they are, as if who can fit more into a single day is the ultimate badge of honor. Enjoying a lazy day of doing nothing is tantamount to treason. Who is putting in more hours at work? Who is skipping on vacations and time with family and friends because there is far too much to get done? Who is over-volunteering for a club, a charity, or organization when they barely have time for themselves?

The word block freight train signals that some stressor in my life needs to be dealt with. Addressing the cause of my communication issues often eliminates the block altogether but this time was different. There was nothing I could pinpoint as causing my block. All the things that historically kept me from reaching my upper-stress limits were actively in place; regular workouts, time to read, quality time with people I love, and red wine. Although I was actively engaged in de-stressors, some stress caused me to lose my normally eloquent self.

Eventually I was able to pinpoint what the cause of my stress was; the world around me. Sure, that might seem like a generalistic copout but you can’t turn on the TV, radio, or computer without hearing about the difficult time we live in. Skyrocketing unemployment, plummeting home values, and raging wars caused me to stress out through some type of media osmosis. Reading the paper, watching the news, sympathizing with out of work friends brought on survivors guilt. I still (as of “print” time) have my job. I still have my home. I still have 3 meals a day. I still have healthcare. I still have stability in a world where increasing numbers of people don’t.

Survivor’s guilt is not the only reason for stress. As many corporate survivors will tell you after a layoff, there is incredible pressure to take on more, do more, and demonstrate more value. Employers demand that “survivors” pick up the slack so they can squeeze more out of a smaller workforce, using tough economic times to get more for less. We are told repeatedly that we are lucky to have our jobs, even if those jobs are no longer what we “signed-up” for. Too many find themselves overworked and under appreciated yet unable to express those feelings for fear of losing our jobs.

To weather my stress storm it is important to keep reminding myself that my life isn’t as bad as the media wants me to believe. My home value is in the toilet but we aren’t planning to sell anytime soon. My 401K is shot but I am decades away from retirement. The industry I work for might change dramatically in the upcoming years but the skillset I have translates well to any and all industries. There are many things I could lose if the economy keeps plummeting, but in the grand scheme of things it is those things that I can never lose that are most important to me; the love of my family, my close friends, my education, and my life experiences.

Memorable Meals

noreply@blogger.com (Vagablonde Bombchelle) — Fri, 15 May 2009 15:26:00 +0000

It is estimated we spend 7 years of our life eating. For those of us who love and savor our food, that estimate is probably low. Out of the 60,000+ meals we will each consume in the average lifetime, how many do you remember? Most of us can’t remember what we ate last night let alone years ago, but even as time passes and years blur together certain meals make a lasting impression on us. These meals are often memorable not just because of the food, but the friends, stories, and experience behind the meal. Smell and taste serve as excellent reminders of a point in time, an experience, a pivotal moment in our lives. As a self-professed foodie I can recall many “food moments” because a good dinner is just as memorable as seeing a concert or Broadway show. The list below is a snapshot of my memorable meals. Some were remarkable because of the food, but most were memorable because of the senses the meal satisfied other then taste.

Ivy Cottage “Risotto of the Day” Seafood Risotto
My mother, sister Renee’, and I decided to enjoy the process of choosing a bridal shower location and visited several local restaurants for a glass of wine and a shared appetizer. This allowed us to assess the service and experience the food. We sat at the bar at the Ivy Cottage and ordered a bowl of Seafood Risotto with 3 spoons. After taking a bite we each had the same physical reaction; we placed our spoons down in utter amazement and let the flavors envelop us. While the Ivy Cottage didn’t win our shower business (too small for our group) it did win a place on this list.

Manny’s Scallop Benedict
Perfectly seared scallops, salty bacon, and creamy hollandaise sauce; what more can you ask for in an appetizer?

Cinderella’s Royal Table Beef Barley Soup
Soup is among my top comfort foods and is a staple in my diet. We frequently visited family in Florida and never missed an opportunity to see Mickey Mouse and his friends. After a long day of running from line to line we would have dinner in Cinderella’s Castle and the first course was always the thickest beef barley soup served in a pewter bowl. I hold that soup as the standard for beef barley and have yet to find another that matches its flavor.

Umberto’s Sausage Pizza
Umberto’s of New Hyde Park is one of the last pizza joints in NY who hasn’t messed around with their recipe to save a buck. The crust is perfect for folding the pizza and eating it like a New Yorker. The sauce is rich, thick, fresh, and not over sweet, and the toppings plentiful. I don’t often make it to Umberto’s because Alfredo’s of Westbury is closer and nearly as good, but I will always remember the pizza and Italian food served at our Rehearsal Kegger, er, I mean "Dinner" the night before our wedding. The food at our wedding at The Harbor Club was to die for (the Long Island Seafood Bisque was amazing, but unfortunately the only thing the bride and groom had time to consume that evening). We had plenty of time the night before our wedding to relax with our family and out of town guests and savor the tastes of a fine pizza pie.

Lamb Burgers at St. Leonard’s Vineyard Cottages
Idyllic weather, gorgeous location, amazing company, fresh and local ingredients, and perfectly paired wines transformed an evening meal at a bed and breakfast into a night I will never forget. After a long day visiting the wineries of New Zealand’s Marlborough region my husband and I decided to hit the grocery store and take advantage of the grill outside our cottage (technically the stables if you are interested in visiting these accommodations). The lamb was full of flavor and perfectly seasoned with rosemary, salt, and pepper, served atop a freshly baked bun with tzatziki. Just thinking of that meal I shared with my husband overlooking the countryside makes me smile.

Café Runtz Pork Roast with Sauerkraut
Parisians take their food very seriously; even a one star restaurant serves meals to write home about. Not that Café Runtz is a hole in the wall, but it is a very modest establishment and not mistaken as one of the city’s glitzy and glamorous restaurants. Serving specialties from the Alsatian region of France, the German influences on the food make the meal a much hardier affair then the smaller dishes in many cafes. The Pork Roast melts in your mouth and the sauerkraut is expertly prepared to complement the meal rather than overpower it. If you are visiting Paris make a point to visit this restaurant; you will not be disappointed.

The Natural Resort in Ko Phi Phi
I can’t remember what we ate, but nonetheless this was a meal I will always remember for the setting. Ko Phi Phi is a remote island off the coast of Thailand and we stayed in a little bungalow at The Natural Resort. One evening the wait staff set a private table down on the beach right on the waterline for us, complete with candles and tiki torches for mood lighting. The servers anticipated our every need and went about their business virtually unnoticed, leaving us to focus completely on the moment. Whether we had the Pad Thai or the Thai Dumplings doesn’t really matter; no meal will ever top the romance factor of that dinner on a beach in the middle of no where.

Amy’s Café Paella, Leicester Square Market, London
I don’t know if it was at Amy’s Café or if it was just a stand set up outside the café, but we entered the market and could almost taste the paella in the air. Head downstairs at the market and don’t be shy to order the large size. My husband and I could argue about the best paella ever (the now closed Café Havana in Minneapolis being his favorite) but the paella in the Leicester market is not only delicious, it will be fondly remembered as a dish enjoyed while sitting on the ground that saved me and my friends from an impending hangover disaster.

Coin de Mer Mussels Gratin
Upon entering the Coin de Mer in Brussels, Belgium we began thinking we might be suckers who walked into the first restaurant that offered us a free drink on the Rue Des Bouchers (aka Beenhouwers Straat). Our fears were quickly diminished upon the arrival of a tray of mussels under a sea of molten cheese; two of my favorite things! The rest of the meal (consisting of more mussels!!) was incredible, but nothing compared to that tray of cheesy goodness.

Amy’s Flank Steak with Tarragon Potatoes
My friend Amy has a signature dish, one that she expertly executes for her friends and family. The meal is simple but delicious, but these dishes are remarkable because they are always eaten with a glass of fine wine in a room filled with the chatter and laughter of loved ones.

Sunday Dinner at Grandma and Grandpa’s House
My Grandfather made meatballs with so much garlic and onion that even those with the most iron constitutions would suffer indigestion. Grandma usually served pasta swimming in tomato sauce with a side of ricotta cheese (cavatelli my favorite). Crusty Italian bread accompanied the meal for slopping up the sauce or making meatball sandwiches. This same meal, with some variation on the pasta course, fed my body every Sunday for the better part of my childhood. Through the years I have managed to recreate those meatballs (secret ingredients: paprika and lard) and even managed to perfect the tomato sauce (gravy to those of us with Italian roots). But alas the meal was special not just because of the food served, but because the fun we had playing games, laughing, and spending time with our family. It makes me sad to think how little people appreciate the importance of a slow, traditional meal with their family; I would not be the same person I am today without these Sunday dinners.

Dad’s Beef Stew
Loosely based off of James Beard’s Beef Bourguignon recipe, this meal was a winter staple in the Trombetta household. My sisters and I would help Dad by peeling potatoes and carrots and dumping them practically whole into the broth to simmer for hours and hours and hours. This soup that eats like a meal is best served by the crustiest loaf of bread from Cardinali Bakery in my hometown. I told my father all I wanted for a wedding gift was the recipe and I have tweaked it slightly to make it my own (change number 1: actually cutting the vegetables to bite size!).

Mom’s Thanksgiving Stuffing
American Thanksgiving is one of my favorite holidays and much of that is because it is the one meal a year where my Mother opts to cook rather then call for takeout. Every stop is pulled out and it is an amazing meal shared with our family complete with well over 10 different dishes. The standout dish on the table for me is the stuffing (aka dressing). Mom inherited the recipe from her mother and it is not only delicious but is responsible for a few family members being born right after the holiday (can gas build up actually blow a kid out?). There have certainly been other memorable Thanksgivings in my life. A 5 star chef in Luxembourg cooked an elaborate American Thanksgiving meal for me and my co-workers since we were away from home (and not remembering the name of this fine establishment started my habit of taking a photo of the sign of every restaurant I eat at on vacation). I once celebrated Thanksgiving in Sydney, Australia with a meal consisting of nothing but pie. Last year I hosted a gourmet Thanksgiving for 24 with my husband and Amy. However, nothing beats giving thanks with my family over a plateful of Mom’s stuffing.

Wade’s Chili
My husband’s chili is never the same twice but it is always delicious. Sometimes he uses buffalo, sometimes beef, but his absolute best batch ever was completely vegetarian. My sister visited us and wanted to taste some of this award-winning chili but didn’t eat meat. Wade took time to read every single ingredient and make a completely meat and fish free batch. The chili is award winning and disappears so quickly my Mother gifted Wade with an 18 quart slow cooker so he could make larger batches!

The Food Network ran a special on favorite foods which sparked the interest in writing on this topic (as my husband references in his “The Best Thing I Ever Ate” article). To me favorite food and favorite meal are two totally different things. My favorite food is subject to a different set of criteria than my favorite meal. A favorite food is something that one never tires of, can be eaten every day, and is always satisfying. If someone asks the question “If you could only eat one thing for the rest of your life, what would it be” the answer would probably not be some random food item from a meal on some vacation but something both satisfying and familiar. My favorite meals above range from simple to somewhat elaborate, but my favorite food is something so basic almost every American child (barring an allergy) has subsisted on it at one time or another; the peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Organic, natural, smooth peanut butter. Strawberry or blueberry preserves. Whole wheat bread. Delicious!

Vita Brevis! Carpe Diem!

noreply@blogger.com (Vagablonde Bombchelle) — Fri, 24 Apr 2009 00:11:00 +0000

There are so many topics on my list of things to write about; celebrity obsession, the effect of children on marital happiness, my pesky last 12 pounds to lose. But right now everything I do for a living, write about, think about, and act upon seems so terribly trite. My life, my “problems,” and my musings on American culture feel less important following the untimely death of a college friend. Staring at the glowing screen of the laptop, all I can think about is how healthy I am. How happy that my body can run, jump, lift, dance, and sing. How fortunate I am to have a mind that is sharp, analytic, and balanced. It is a shame that it takes horrible life events to put things into perspective and remind us how lucky we are to be alive.

Wendy, a year younger than me, was a fellow Political Science survivor at Mary Washington College. She somehow possessed personality traits that are often mutually exclusive; shy and outgoing, polite and sarcastic, sophisticated and naïve, anxious and tranquil, silly and serious. Wendy would be the first to challenge a professor, to voice her opinion (to which she had many!), and to take action on a cause she believed in. That same woman who had no trouble going toe-to-toe with our professors would clam up in the presence of a cute guy. Her warmth and charm, evidence of a good Virginia upbringing, made her quick wit and sharp tongue beyond hilarious. Wendy could worry about political strife in the world while kicking back with an adult beverage at a Jimmy Buffet concert. She could communicate volumes and change the world with her smile alone. Wendy could somehow laugh, hug, tell a joke, flirt, answer a question, project her opinion, or get herself out of a pickle just by flashing her pearly whites; the best part was she was so terribly modest she had no clue of that power.

Her life after college followed the path I thought my own would take; job on Capitol Hill, apartment in Alexandria, traveling with friends, and involvement in her community. Wendy was brave enough to follow her dreams, even if those dreams started with a very low paying job as a Congressional aide; I will always be in awe of her sticking to her guns. While her life was short she accomplished more then many could claim in a lifetime twice as long.

Wendy was diagnosed with stage IV lung cancer mere days after I received word that a co-worker from my first “real” job lost his battle with the same disease at the young age of 52. Both Wendy and Dave were non-smokers who followed the prescription for a long and healthy life; eat well, exercise, develop friendships, laugh, and love. They did everything we are supposed to do but both received a diagnosis usually reserved for people who make less than healthy life choices. Some people smoke all their lives and die of old age, some people manage to avoid the cancer sticks and die in their 30s. Not that I am advocating people taking up a 3 pack-a-day habit, but sometimes even an ounce of prevention isn’t enough to combat cancer if it is in our genes. To quote another friend “life is so hideously unfair.”

Wendy battled her cancer the same way she tackled life; head on with equal doses of humor, strength, courage, and sometimes anger. Despite her poor prognosis she continued joking around with her friends and family, even naming her cancer Earl after a Dixie Chicks’ song; that Earl had to die, goodbye Earl. We followed her blog religiously as Wendy kept us up to date with the ins and outs of her life and her cancer treatments. Her candid honesty was sometimes brutal, but more often brilliant. We cheered when there were signs of tumor shrinkage and cried when her cancer spread. She opened up about her struggle with hair loss and in turn received a boat load of hats from far and wide. We shared her excitement about her upcoming trip to the Dominican Republic and felt immense disappointment that she couldn’t enjoy her passion of travel one more time. Through it all Wendy was not a cancer patient but still her opinionated, open-minded, bacon loving self who happened to have cancer.

Earl ended up being far too strong and aggressive, taking Wendy from us after only 32 years of life. Her Facebook page, which now serves as a make-shift memorial for all those who miss her, includes a powerful reminder for all of us. Wendy left for us a quote from the movie Shawshank Redemption; “Get busy living or get busy dying.” Her legacy will live on in the spirit she so generously left to her friends and family and her reminder that life is short. Seize the day!

Quote of the Week

noreply@blogger.com (Vagablonde Bombchelle) — Tue, 21 Apr 2009 18:12:00 +0000

Thanks to Amy for sending these fun words to live by...

Be what you are.
Give what is yours to give.
Have style.
Dare.

- Stanley Kunitz, American poet

Losing my Religion

noreply@blogger.com (Vagablonde Bombchelle) — Tue, 07 Apr 2009 11:57:00 +0000

Holidays are a time to gather family to eat a fine meal, connect, and create lasting memories. Religious holidays are often the reason for formal family gatherings, filled with time honored traditions that are passed down from generation to generation. Some of my most vivid childhood memories took place at my Grandmother’s or parent’s dining room table during these holiday celebrations and I attempt every year to bring that magic to my own home when hosting. The one holiday we consistently host every year, not splitting between Minnesota and New York is Easter; my obligation to travel home for Easter ended during college. We love entertaining and hosting family and friends for Easter brunch but the irony of this being “our holiday” doesn’t escape me. Easter is, even with the advent of the bunny, a very religious holiday and I don’t believe in the reason for this season.

For several of my formative years I was dragged kicking and screaming to a “megachurch” with so many members it required large movie screens so the back row wouldn’t miss the three hours of worship. Followers prayed out loud, threw their hands up to God, and supported the preacher and his brood of children through weekly offerings. I would not be surprised if snake appearances and people fainting in the aisles actually happened, but they kept that stuff away from Sunday school area. Even in my youth I was clever enough to see through the smoke and mirrors of this cult. The “leaders” used unhealthy tactics to keep people coming and giving week after week; making the congregation feel guilty about their thoughts, uneasy with their bodies, disempowering their ability to learn, think, feel and believe in themselves. This wasn’t faith, it was a money making business, and the business plan included preying on people who had no faith in themselves and making everyone feel terrible so they needed “healing.” In bible school we learned to love our neighbors but hate non-believers and gays. We learned that we were all beautiful in the eyes of God, but men were more important in his eyes. Upon declaring I didn’t want children, I was told there was something wrong with me and I needed healing because women were put on earth to make more disciples. Needless to say this experience left me very cynical about organized religion and more then a little battered by their belittling, sexist teachings. Through the years I returned to the denomination I was baptized under, Lutheranism, but often attend not for the word of God but for the music; where else can you get a good performance for a tax-deductible donation?

This disdain, fear, and suspicion of organized religion led me to look at the world of religion from a magnifying lens. Studying political science after attending a cult-like church only deepened my cynicism of organized religion, examining social conservatism’s heavy reliance on the relationships between politicians and religious leaders. Those seeking power throughout history often used religion to achieve political objectives. Church services became a strong campaign medium, promoting candidates and causes through the exploitation of faith. “What Would Jesus Do” morphed into “Who Would Jesus Vote For” and congregations nationwide faced the ultimate peer pressure from their church to conform politically. “Followers” learned that that voting differently then their church leadership was an act against God. A few church leaders were so vocal from the pulpit about their political standings they were charged with violating the terms of their church tax-exempt status.

Separation of church and state is a nice idea in theory, but governments rely heavily on religious organizations to teach and enforce a code of morals and ethics. Even the most secular societies recognize religious holidays, encourage worship attendance, promote religious donations through tax-deductions, and support faith based volunteerism; religion is a tool used to maintain a happy, healthy, and reliable population. Religion teaches lessons like “thou shalt not kill,” “love thy neighbor as thyself,” and “forgive those who sin against you” but it is society as a whole, therefore government entities, who benefits from basic moral lessons. Religion is used as a means of enforcing order, law, and control in chaotic societies. Throughout time government, rulers, dictators, and other leaders recognized the power of religious faith; often people who would rebel against political leadership would blindly follow their religious leaders. Naturally many politicians and preachers recognized the benefits of combining forces; politicians get more votes and a better behaved populace, churches get tax breaks, attendance laws, and greater recognition.

There are plenty of churches and teachers that are true to God’s word, uninfluenced by political agenda, but my struggle with organized religion includes the historic interpretations and writings. I don’t know whether the Bible, or any other books like the Torah, Qur’an, or The Book of Mormon, is truly “holy.” Did messages get lost in translation, misinterpreted in a “game” of scripture telephone? Are holy scriptures more a reflection of the writers’ beliefs than divine message? Have we taken fictional literature and declared them God’s word? Were the messages in any or all these holy books manipulated to serve the political and social needs and beliefs of the very humans writing the verses? Our cultural rules of “polite conversation” and “don’t discuss religion and politics” make it nearly impossible to engage in any intelligent conversation on these difficult questions; it’s much easier and less volatile to discuss celebrity gossip.

People can say I’ve lost my faith or that I am a heathen but I’m not alone. According to recent data nearly 25% of American Christians and 60% of American Jews question the existence of God. 70% of Americans with a religious affiliation think salvation can be found in a variety of religions and not just the one they practice. Churches are closing in record numbers and many churches face decreased attendance and an aging population. Many churches now close on Christmas, unable to draw in people who are too busy opening up their Santa presents. Practicing Catholics and Evangelicals are often at odds with church teachings on birth control, abortion, women’s rights, homosexuality, and pre-marital sex. Muslims and Jews often eat bacon, forbidden by both religions. More and more people pick-and-choose what they believe in; practicing the parts of religion they like and leaving the rest on the table. I just happen to be on a very strict diet when it comes to organized religion.

This week I celebrate Easter even if that makes me a hypocrite for questioning whether I believe Jesus was the son of God or his ascension into heaven. I consider myself a spiritual person despite my skepticism of recognized world religions. I do believe in a higher being and she is not too happy with how we humans have distorted and manipulated her teachings or planet. I believe in not one but many higher spirits that would be more pissed at how we rape our soil, overpopulate our land, pollute our water, torture our creatures, discriminate, and hate than eating meat on Fridays during lent. This Easter Sunday I celebrate the changing of the seasons and pray to the gods above that our earth continues to provide the bounty on my family table. I applaud the Lutheran Church and the University of Minnesota's Eco-Palms program; ensuring leaves used for Palm Sunday, for a growing number of churches, were harvested in an environmentally sensitive manner by workers getting paid a fair price. I am thankful to those churches that promote acceptance and togetherness, organize their communities, promote volunteerism, and deliver services for the greater good. I thank the heavens above for providing me with the strength, will, intelligence, and determination to succeed in my “chosen” profession. I give thanks for the family and friends who provide me love, support, guidance and remind me of what is important in life. Most of all I celebrate living in a country where I can question its religious and political leaders without fear of persecution or crucifixion.

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Summary from my “Facebook 25”
23. I am not religious. I celebrate religious holidays because of tradition and family togetherness, not because of the true meaning of the day. Christmas for me is a celebration of winter. Easter is a celebration of spring. I (occasionally) attend church because it is a place to listen to cheap, beautiful live music. If there is a higher being then I think there is more than one required to do all the work required of higher beings. I guess this technically makes me a neo-pagan for those who must put me in a neat little religious box.

Feast or Floodin’

noreply@blogger.com (Vagablonde Bombchelle) — Fri, 03 Apr 2009 14:21:00 +0000

“Why would people live there?” This question is often asked when a part of the world suffers from a catastrophic disaster; hurricane, tornado, fire, earthquake, drought, famine, volcanic eruption, blizzard, flood, et cetera. Sometimes the answer is easy to comprehend. Californians deal with earthquakes and fires in return for good weather. Residents of the dry Denver desert fight over water rights but have mountains to admire and slopes to ski. Miamians spend hurricane season at Home Depot buying tape and plywood to protect their homes but lazy days on the sand and surf make up for that inconvenience. The risks of living in these areas have rewards that people from major metropolitan areas can understand, but those urbanites are baffled when catastrophic news arrives from a place like Fargo, North Dakota, or Moorhead, Minnesota.

Admittedly I would never live in Fargo, North Dakota; I already experienced enough of a cultural seismic shift moving from New York to Minneapolis. I know many “big-city” dwellers residing on both the left and right coast who cannot comprehend why people live in “fly-over” states like Iowa, Nebraska, Missouri, North and South Dakota, and Minnesota to name just a few. Disasters that strike these areas, whether it is a flood, tornado, or blizzard, leave your average urban/suburban American wondering about the sanity of residents and seriously questioning why people rebuild and return to these places after surviving the wrath of Mother Nature.

Most perplexing is how many of the same people who wonder why money is spent rebuilding cities and towns on our nation’s great rivers think nothing about rebuilding and protecting places on our shoreline. Hurricane drinking and gumbo eating tourists think that rebuilding New Orleans is critical because of its cultural and historical importance although its contribution to our national economy is miniscule at best. Golfers and beach bums wouldn’t think twice about protecting and saving homes and businesses in coastal places like Myrtle Beach. It would be considered unpatriotic to question rebuilding the World Trade Center in New York although its location will forever be a terrorist target. People rarely question the sanity of people living through disasters in these “desirable” areas but are perplexed why anyone would want to live by raging rivers, deal with brutal winters, or be hours away from the nearest Target. Those who wonder why anyone lives in the middle of our country should all be thankful they do; the “fly-over” states might not provide US residents with popular vacation destinations, cottages on the shore, or Mardi Gras but they do supply us something very important that should never be overlooked; our food.

The human race is fueled by food and much of what we are accustomed to eating still comes from places affected by natural disasters; farms in the mid-west and California. Food doesn’t come from your grocery store; most of it comes from our nation’s heartland. People forget the dependence their diets have in far away places in our industrial food chain and if they did not get their food from places like Nebraska it would come instead from China and I personally won’t even feed my dogs food from China. Those who are mindful about where their food comes from, locavores attempting to live off of land as close to their homes as possible, are well aware of how much our food supply depends on far away farmers. Kansas and North Dakota supply most of our wheat, Iowa and Illinois are responsible for a bulk of our feed corn production, and Minnesota produces most American’s Thanksgiving turkeys. If residents of flood plains in the mid-west decided to throw in the towel after a disaster and move elsewhere the effects on our food-chain would be felt worldwide. We shouldn’t be questioning why these residents decide to stay, we should be forever thankful that they do.

Many thanks to all of those citizens who roll up their sleeves in times of crisis saving their homes, farms, communities; and, in turn, our lives. Thank you for showing us the power of a community that works together and asks not what their country can do for them, but what they can do for their neighbors. Thank you for electing competent citizens to your local offices who are capable of managing the complex logistics of disaster preparation and recovery. Thank you for reminding those who are all but disconnected from their family and neighbors that when the fit hits the shan those people who can rely on and help of a local network fare better then those who have to turn to strangers. Most importantly, thanks for all you do to keep our bodies running.

Trickle Down Weight Loss

noreply@blogger.com (Vagablonde Bombchelle) — Wed, 01 Apr 2009 13:51:00 +0000

Last year I decided once and for all to stop dieting and learn to eat healthy well-balanced meals with the hope of someday attaining a healthy weight. After embracing a healthier lifestyle my weight initially climbed; I had been starving myself prior to this epiphany and needed to reset my metabolism. After climbing back to ‘pre-starvation diet’ weight the scale has started to trickle downward again, slowly but steadily. Losing weight slowly through lifestyle changes is proven to be the most permanent and effective way to maintain a healthy weight; but unfortunately I, like many women, have a one major issue with trickle down weight loss.

Our faces and neck are often the first places people report noticing weight loss. The scale goes down and people start saying “your face looks so thin” but the fat-pants are still tight. If you continue to lose weight beyond the thin-face then upper arm definition starts peeking out from beneath a former layer of fat. This period is often marked with increased usage of tank tops and cap sleeved shirts. Just when we begin to gain a little body confidence we unfortunately begin losing the part of our body that most of us would prefer to keep; our boobs.

Losing weight from the top down is one of the cruel ironies of dieting, fitness, and weight loss. The very areas that most women despise, our hips, butt, thighs, and tummy, are the last to disappear. Yet our breasts, the one body part that even the waif promoting fashion industry likes large, shrinks before our eyes. For most of us lucky enough to get the “T” the “A” isn’t far behind; karmic balance. I know life isn’t fair, but this really isn’t fair. I’ve dropped 2 cup sizes in 15 months, but only one butt size. This isn’t just in my head, during a recent trip to buy undergarments the following traumatic conversation occurred:

Sales Woman: “What size are you?”
Bombchelle: “38D”
Sales Woman: “Oh no you’re not honey, let’s measure you.”
Bombchelle: “I was just measured in November, I’m pretty sure that’s right. I lost a little weight but I already dropped from a DD to a D.”
Sales Woman: “It’ll only take a minute.” (tape measure enters scene) “36C.”
Bombchelle: “WHAT?!?!?!?!?!?!? You’re kidding, right?”

The good feminist in me shouldn't care about the size of my breasts; just think of all the bras I can burn that no longer fit! The drama in Victoria’s Secret is still traumatic for so many reasons. If I continue losing weight slowly (and healthfully) the size of my rear end will take another year to match my incredible shrinking chest. Rather then being well-proportioned I’ll have a heavier bottom then a luxury cruise liner making the suits I have to wear for work very difficult to purchase. On top of this, the Blonde Bombchelle moniker has just as much to do with embracing my curvy, voluptuous body as it does my hair color (which is causing its own drama, turning strawberry blonde in my “old age”). I wonder what cup size Marilyn and Mae sported since silicone was not an option for them (or, frankly, for me). Is there a minimum cup requirement for bombshell status?

If it sounds like I’m whining it’s because I am. After working out hardcore for a year and losing 15 pounds what do I have to show for it; tinier tatas.

Quote of the Week

noreply@blogger.com (Vagablonde Bombchelle) — Tue, 31 Mar 2009 12:32:00 +0000

It's sad to grow old, but nice to ripen.
- Brigitte Bardot

Background Check List

noreply@blogger.com (Vagablonde Bombchelle) — Fri, 27 Mar 2009 12:01:00 +0000

Statistically speaking age at the time of marriage is the number one factor in measuring how long the union will last. Those who get married very young are more likely to see the inside of divorce court then those who wait until their mid-twenties and beyond. Social scientists indicate a number of reasons why the age people get married is such an important factor in success; education, stability, and maturity just to name a few. Every 18 year old thinks they belong to the mature adult club, but they are missing the life lessons that can only come from navigating the complex world of personal relationships. Meeting new people, surviving a breakup (romantic or platonic), living on our own, learning new skills, and travel are just some ways we learn more about ourselves and others on our path to personal fulfillment. It is thought that those who marry too early in their inter-personal maturity cycle miss out on key developments necessary to figure out what and who really matters to them in life. We learn about ourselves and our needs from each person we interact with. I am not a relationship expert or accredited social scientist, but in hindsight it is interesting to analyze my own relationships and what I learned about myself and the world from dating trial and error.

Even if you only watched one talk show episode in your entire existence you more than likely heard the following phrase uttered by a woman scorned; “but I love him.” These four words are often muttered out of the mouths of women who are trying to defend the reasons they stay in an awful and physically or emotionally abusive relationship. He stood me up on a date but I love him. He cheated on me but I love him. He got another woman pregnant but I love him. He beat the crap out of me but I love him. Women who utter these words have no self-respect nor have they learned an important maturity lesson; you can love someone deeply and profoundly and not have a successful relationship or marriage with that person. This lesson applies to more then just the obvious bad relationship signs of abuse and infidelity. It might sound completely unromantic to those who have not “been around the block a few times” but the Beatles were wrong; love isn’t all you need. It is possible to fall in love with someone but still not have the elements necessary for a lifetime commitment. Understanding more about yourself, your goals, and your needs and how they conflict with a person is necessary to know when to walk away from an otherwise good relationship. Too many women (and men) stay in a relationship (or get married) to the wrong person because they are comfortable, stable, and ignoring the subtle signs of doom. Even worse, we often think the conflicting behavior, opinion, or attitude will change over time; people rarely change. Learning this lesson is eye opening but frightening. When it comes to relationships we cannot always trust our heart but we must listen to our head.

Warning signs are ever present during bad dates and in bad relationships, but we often don’t recognize those signs until it is too late. The sound of our brain screaming “no” to pursuing or continuing a relationship is undeniably muffled by the heart screaming “yes.” Our hearts lie to us when we are lonely, depressed, bored, or feeling a little desperate. Common sense is the first thing thrown out the window in affairs of the heart and it is important to have a mental (or physical) list of relationship “must haves,” “nice to haves,” and “no ways” allowing good judgment to prevail over lust and infatuation. New York Times op-ed columnist Maureen Dowd wrote a piece on Father Pat Connor who educates teenage girls on “whom not to marry” before they walk down the aisle with Mr. Wrong. Father Connor’s lessons on what traits and qualities make good husband material reminded me of my own “who can I date” list. Created in jest with friends one night to after one of my more amusing dating disasters, this list proved a useful tool in weeding out a few prospective boyfriends before anyone got hurt. Some argue against the laundry list of dating requirements claiming that they are unromantic, eliminate potential good matches, and make women and men too picky. For those who feel that way go ahead and waste your time in a string of dead end and unhappy relationships, everyone else can take notes on their life experiences to help speed up their process of elimination. Here are some qualities that were on my list (in no particular order):

No jealously or possessiveness: Some women (and men) think people show love when they are jealous or possessive. It seems cute at 16 but at some point it is important to learn that men who are jealous and possessive lack self-esteem, don’t trust you or your relationship, become controlling and manipulative, and should be kicked to the curb at the first signs of these negative qualities.

Macho Man: There is no bigger turnoff for me then the whole macho man showoff routine. I wasn’t looking for an ultra-sensitive “girly man” but the exaggerated sense of power, strength, and dominance often demonstrated through actions like bar fights is repulsive. Machismo is nothing more then men indicating that they think they are better than you just because they were born with a penis and this well-educated, equal rights advocate has no time or tolerance for men like that; romantically, personally, or professionally.

Foodie: One might say I am passionate about food. I love a good meal, love to cook, love an evening out at a fine dining establishment, and love trying new dishes. It would be impossible to share my life with a person who didn’t have the same feelings for food. It only took a few dates with a guy who openly admitted he ate not out of enjoyment but because it was a requirement for staying alive to realize this. He would plan day long dates without any stops for nourishment and look at me strangely when I begged to stop for dinner.

Cheers: I like wine with my dinner, love a cold beer on a hot afternoon, and have an affinity for fine scotch. I didn’t judge men who didn’t drink but they often judged me so it was best to avoid teetotalers. This predicament didn’t happen very often giveen I predominently met men (including my husband) in bars.

Adventurous: Not necessarily jump out of an airplane adventurous, but after a string of dating boring homebodies it became apparent that I required someone who liked to enjoy new experiences, learn new things, and grow as a person. With my love of food I also preferred to date men with adventurous palates and often used the pizza test; if a date ordered nothing but a plain cheese pizza with no toppings the date would end with a handshake and a nice to meet you; have a nice life.

Respectful: How a person treats a waitress or bartender speaks volumes about them. If someone is nasty to servers, talks down to them, and treats them like second class citizens beware; chances are this is how the person will treat you after the honeymoon period is long over. I waited tables and tended bar during college and was amazed at the number of men who acted like they were showing off to their date by ordering around the “help”.

College: Having a college education was a necessity. This is not saying that people who attend college are smarter or better then those who don’t, but my experiences in college shaped much of who I am and sharing my life with someone with similar experiences was very important to me. I went out with a few guys who didn’t go to college and the differences in life experience were too hard to overcome. These were also the same men who expressed jealously and contempt towards women who earned more then them and given the pay gap between educational levels chances are that would become an issue in the long term. Some of these men openly asked me to dumb it down around their friends. I like being smart and don’t think it is something I should have to hide or apologize for.

Dogs: I am a dog person and although I didn’t have a dog during my dating years there was never a question that some day I would have a dog, or two, or three. Men who didn’t like dogs, didn’t want dogs, or thought of dogs as anything less than furry blessings from above didn’t get past the first date.

Children: I am what the childfree community refers to as an “early adopter;” someone who knew from a very young age that they did not want to have children. Even possessing this knowledge about myself I still dated a few people before realizing the effect of this on long-term romances. I wasted my time, and the time of some amazing men who met many of my other criteria, not sharing this tidbit about myself up front. It is kind of a weird thing to bring up, but eventually I realized how important it was to just throw my not liking nor wanting children out in the open early rather then wasting my time and energy with a man who wanted to have 2.4 kids and the white picket fence.

Smoking: No ifs, ands, or butts; after kissing a smoker I realized it tasted like I was licking an ashtray. Not sexy. Nor is the use of any drugs; total deal breaker.

Friends: If someone is a loner there is usually a good reason. Often the loner has a crappy personality that appears a few months/years into the relationship.

Challenging: One might describe me as strong, tenacious, and opinionated. I tended to attract men who were quiet and looking for someone with a more domineering personality. They were fun at first, allowing me to take over the relationship with little to no push-back. After a while these men bored me to tears. No doormats please.

Taller: This is not very PC; I tried to date men who were vertically challenged and the relationships came up short (pun intended). There is nothing small about me and my 5 foot 9 inch frame, often described as statuesque and voluptuous. My inability to handle a relationship with a shorter man has much to do with my lifelong mental and physical structure with my weight. Dating a man shorter then me made the weight struggle worse and I realized I just feel happier and more attractive when I am with a man who makes me feel a little thinner and smaller.

Italian Men: Also not very PC but as a part-Italian girl growing up surrounded by Italian men I learned many lessons about what I did not want in a romantic relationship. (Most) Italian men are jealous, possessive, macho, sexist pigs. They are egotistical Mama’s boy drama queens who think their shit doesn’t stink and the world revolves around them. They believe they are God’s gift to women. Women, in their opinion, were put on earth to have their babies and it is there right to marry those women but keep a few girlfriends on the side. Even if an Italian man somehow escaped his upbringing without obtaining any of these negative characteristics, chances are I would tower over them wearing simple flats. I am still looking for an Italian man out there to defy the sterotypes and prove me wrong on any or all these observations. If you exist and are single let me know; I have plenty of interested friends.

Do you have a relationship checklist? If so, what is on your list?

Quote of the Day

noreply@blogger.com (Vagablonde Bombchelle) — Thu, 26 Mar 2009 12:11:00 +0000

If I had been around when Rubens was painting, I would have been revered as a fabulous model. Kate Moss? Well, she would have been the paintbrush.

- Dawn French

This Body is Just Right

noreply@blogger.com (Vagablonde Bombchelle) — Tue, 24 Mar 2009 11:41:00 +0000

Victoria Beckham is looking a little thick around the middle lately, isn’t she? Posh seriously has lost control of herself and should lay off the cheese doodles and get her fat ass into the gym. It is seriously pathetic how she is just stuffing herself into size 00 clothes; like squeezing ten pounds of potatoes into a five pound sack. She’d better watch that weight or her husband David might turn his eyes elsewhere. How can she even go out in public looking like a two-ton heifer?

Making any reference of the twig-thin Victoria Beckham having even an ounce of body fat on her is nothing short of ridiculous. Promoting that Posh Spice has a figure any woman can or should strive for is just as ridiculous yet magazines publish her diet and fitness secrets with such enthusiasm you think they found some lost scriptures. Her ultra-skinny body and obvious disordered eating are not healthy; her diet lacks diversity and includes calorie restriction mimicking malnutrition. Mrs. Beckham’s reported lettuce, strawberry, and edamame diet, standing at a dangerous 900 calories a day, is not something that women and girls should attempt but they do, following dangerous celebrity diets like they were prescribed by their doctors.

Even worse then the promotion of a “thin at all costs” culture is chastising women publicly who do not fit within some impossible mold created by fashion giants who would rather dress shapeless girls then women. Jessica Simpson is the latest celebrity falling victim to public scrutiny about her weight. She joins other strong, healthy, beautiful women like Tyra Banks, Jennifer Love Hewitt, Jessica Simpson, and Drew Barrymore who found themselves on the cover of magazines after committing what is apparently the worst offense in Hollywood; packing on a few extra pounds. Celebrity mug shots for inexcusable offenses get less press then celebrity “fat” pictures sending a poor message to the world; it is more acceptable to commit a felony then to eat a cheeseburger.

Canonizing waifs and crucifying curves is mentally and physically damaging to the millions of people who suffer from, or on the brink of developing, image and eating disorders. In recent years many tabloids started publishing stories on women who were too thin, almost in an “effort” to appease eating disorder awareness groups. These “efforts” are nearly as damaging to the human psyche as publishing “fat” photos. Celebrity women can’t win the weight game and in turn all women and girls learn that they cannot win. We are either too fat or too skinny. We are either too tall or too short. We are either too happy or too sad. We hear the old adage that you can never be too rich or too thin but are then ostracized for being too successful or to skinny. No where in these messages do people learn how to be healthy.

We are in the midst of an eating epidemic where people who fail at starving themselves to nothing give up for a life of obesity and its related diseases; hypertension, diabetes, high cholesterol, cancer. In between too fat and too thin is just right but how do we understand what just right is in a culture that actually calls that fat? When newspapers and tabloids attacked Jessica, Tyra, Jennifer, and Drew their weights did not classify as overweight or obese but were in the healthy “just right” range. Rather then declare “this is what healthy looks like” newspapers and tabloids sent a loud and clear message that healthy is fat.

Celebrities starting fighting back, commenting positively on the bodies of the media’s latest fat scandals but the fight needs to continue. About the worst thing that can happen from Jessica Simpson’s “fatgate” is for the celebrity to come back ultra-skinny in record time, sending a poor message that women’s talents are worthless unless they are also thin. Jessica Simpson is a gorgeous woman with a beautiful voice who is currently sporting a figure reminiscent of the most iconic woman in our country’s history; Marilyn Monroe. I hope she doesn’t go on some crazy crash diet, revealing her "new and improved" body to generations of women who will receive the message that starving yourself is healthier than maintaining a healthy weight. She and the media have the chance to promote healthy but if healthy doesn’t sell magazines we’ll likely see another woman sellout to societal pressure to be too thin.

Quote of the Week

noreply@blogger.com (Vagablonde Bombchelle) — Fri, 20 Mar 2009 16:09:00 +0000

Every man dies. Not every man really lives.
- Braveheart