When Pigs Fly

Almost Famous

2009-09-30T23:54:00.003-06:00

These things write themselves now....

Ides of Snow Day

2009-03-27T07:37:00.005-06:00

"It is getting dark and time he drew to a house,
But the blizzard blinds him to any house ahead.
The storm gets down his neck in any icy souse
That sucks his breath like a wicked cat in bed. "

Robert Frost (1874–1963), U.S. poet. “Willful Homing.”

There's something strange and wonderful about this 27th day of March.

It's strange, and I'm wonderful. (Yuck, yuck.)

After barely a flake of snow since Christmas and temperatures parked between 50 and 75 for weeks on end, the innocent Denverites had been lulled into giddy submission. No need to keep the freezer stocked with just-in-case-we're-snowed-in food. No need to count the potatoes, time the milk deliveries, or tune the snow blower. We were going to slide right into Easter without Winter.

Our household should have known better. Nothing brings on a good blizzard faster than Spring Break on the calendar. Shannon was home for it last week. No snow. That could mean only one thing.

We would have snow this week. Major league snow. Meredith is on Spring Break. And, it just wouldn't be like the previous six Spring Breaks in Highlands Ranch without the sight of deciduous trees in full flower, bowed by heavy, wet snow. That seemed to circulate repeatedly from the sky like a lake effect, without the lake.

I should be in the car, traveling to my new employer in the Denver Tech Center. But, we were sent home midday yesterday. The day started innocently enough. The signs and warnings were firing from every cylinder. But, I was in denial. Until an office President born and raised in Minnesota declared at 10 a.m. that he was going to close the office. That sounded serious. I thought he was joking.

It was. Serious. Not a joke. We forged ahead with our previously scheduled meeting. Within the space of the last half hour, the street conditions went from plausible to barely discernible. We could see it out the panels of glass in his 14th floor office. Still, I thought I would zip over to the grocery store, pick up a half dozen essentials, run back to the car, and speed to the house before conditions progressed to life-threatening.

Wrong again. Just the walk from the front door of our office tower to my car in the open parking lot -- couldn't have been more than 25 yards -- was a real-life comedy. I was coated in snow from head to toe while the inside of the car attained it's own fresh-powder dusting in the span of opening and closing the door.

Sideways snow. Horizontal, wind-whipped, cornflake-sized pieces of danger flew around with no strategic plan.

Ninety minutes, 1/8 of a tank of gas, and the view of three pile-up incidents later, I turned the final right from the neighborhood entrance for the house after the 12-mile journey. I knew what came next would present the greatest challenge of all.

Getting into the garage without hitting the dog.

I hit the button early. Right on cue, the door rolled up. She sprung from her house in the garage to see who was coming home. Meredith had brought her inside. Rightfully so.

In my little car, I must make the turn into and up the driveway in one, uninterrupted motion if I expect to land inside the garage. When there is already about a foot of snow on the driveway. I need for the dog to decide if she's going to venture out for a bathroom break or run back in horror to her house when she reaches the lip of the snow bank. I need for her to be clear of purpose, single-minded in her focus, and cognizant of the consequences should she elect to stand frozen in awe of the white wonder before her.

Nothing doing.

At the critical go/no-go moment in my trajectory, she decided not to decide. She was right in my line of sight when she finally decided that it was too cold, too wet, too snowy, and just too downright weird to do anything but stand right in my path with a look of "aren't you supposed to be at work" on her sweet doggy face.

I slammed on the brakes. That's when I know that one of only two things will happen next.

I'm going to slide down the hill into the street and take as many runs up the driveway as I need to get that car into it's side of the garage. Or, I'm going to leave the car in the driveway, parked at just the precise angle that no other car in the family will be able to get into the garage either. And, step into that foot of snow without boots, trudge through it with my three black bags in hand, leave all the wet clothes in the laundry room for another day. All while giving the dog that is already back in the doghouse a stern lecture about how she is really in the doghouse This Time.

It took seven runs up the hill. I was in the garage. I was in at the precise angle necessary to give the other car, behind me by mere minutes, the precise angle it needed for the driver to emerge without his door hitting my door.

All was right with the world. Sort of. The dog was in her house. Meredith was in her house. Mark was going to be in his house, God willing, in a few minutes.

On to the next question. Did we have internet?

Dueling laptops would be fired up, next to a fired-up fireplace.

Today, it's more of the same. The clock says I should be at the office by now.

I'm coming, I'm coming. The switchboard message said we're closed. But, we're not closed. We're just "working from home."

Easier commute this morning. Going to walk downstairs now and take my seat at the laptop table. With its 180 degree view of the Spring Blizzard of 2009.

Plain Vanilla

2009-03-12T08:51:00.006-06:00

"You are very sweet and mellow. You are easy going and easy to like. You are drawn to those stronger personalities. You get along with powerful people.

"You are like a cupcake because you appeal to almost every type of person. You are friendly and accepting. You bring out other people's best qualities. "

CRD Results from "What Flavor Cupcake are You?" test on blogthings.com

White with fair skin. Yep, that's me all right. But, plain vanilla?

I don't think so, girlfriend.

Do the test lie? Well, I don't know how much of a test it is. But, I recently latched onto http://www.blogthings.com/ just in case my upcoming work responsibilities keep me from waxing eloquent here on When Pigs Fly. I thought it would give folks something to do while I'm doing whatever I'm doing.

But, this cupcake thing has me a bit concerned. Here I thought I was chocolate to the core; and, now, I find out I'm probably the flavor that is left behind in the box after everyone fights over the chocolate cupcake with chocolate frosting and chocolate sprinkles.

I wouldn't have felt so bad if I had tested out as Red Velvet. Everybody's new favorite cupcake. New favorite friend. A bright red cake with a hint of light chocolate flavor and a cream cheese (cheesecake, anyone??) topper for good measure.

But, no. I'm vanilla. I'm thinking about retaking the test, but which answer would I change? Alas, I'm too honest -- too vanilla -- to cheat.

Not one to take this slight without a fight, I had to research the possible reasons why being vanilla could be something to which I might actually aspire. Let me count the ways.

1. Vanilla is derived from orchids.

YUM! I love orchids, especially white Phalaenopsis. Also known as butterfly orchids. I carried them at my wedding, my husband bought me a gorgeous print of them crafted on sculpted paper for an anniversary gift one year, I used to always have one in the bathroom in California, I've killed two of them since moving to Denver, and I broke my personal rule about no fake flowers when I finally relented on a silk version that won't mind the dry Colorado climate.

OK, so the butterfly orchid is NOT the source of vanilla. I can dream, can't I?!?

2. Vanilla is the second-most expensive spice after saffron.

Vanilla is labor-intensive. Is that the same as high-maintenance? I don't know, but I like being rare and expensive.

3. The flavor is "pure, spicy, and delicate" with a complex "floral aroma."

That doesn't sound common to me. OK, I'm good with "complex."

4. Old medical literature stated that vanilla was an aphrodisiac. No comment. When Pigs Fly is rated "G" for General audiences.

5. That same old literature said that vanilla was also a remedy for fevers.

Well, that can't be right. Everybody knows that the only prescription for fever is More Cowbell.

Mint Condition

2009-03-07T12:18:00.014-07:00

" Subtraction? Oh, yes, ma'am, I can explain it. Subtraction is the awful feeling that you know less today than you did yesterday."

Patricia "Peppermint Patty" Reichart, November 13, 1978

I know, I know. I already did a note about a mint cupcake. It had a big swirl of creme de menthe Italian Meringue buttercream and an Andes mint on the top of a rich, complex chocolate cake.

This one is different. This one is more accessible. The only difference between this one and a plain, old chocolate cupcake with vanilla buttercream frosting is a tablespoon of peppermint extract and a bag of York Peppermint Patties.

This cupcake is more of a recession cupcake. Although, at 14o calories per peppermint patty, the addition of the York significantly ratchets up the total calorie consumption to a genuinely indulgent level.

We shall not care. We shall eat cake. And, we shall like it.

I don't have a recipe for you. But, you can tell by the picture that you don't need one. Unwrap half the number of peppermint patties as you expect to have cupcakes. Cut them in half. Put one half in the bottom of each cupcake cup. Cover the mint with your chocolate cupcake batter and bake.

When you are ready to top your cupcakes, make your regular vanilla buttercream frosting and add a tablespoon of real peppermint extract. Less if you don't want that frosty, Rocky Mountain crisp air afterbite. But enough to know that you put some in. After you top the chocolate cupcakes with the peppermint frosting, unwrap half the number of peppermint patties as you have cupcakes. Again. Cut them in half. Top each frosted cupcake with one half of a peppermint patty.

Eat. Inhale. Relax. Repeat.

Thin Air

2009-03-06T07:21:00.004-07:00

"Trust is not a matter of technique, but of character. We are trusted because of our way of being, not because of our polished exteriors or our expertly crafted communications."

Marsha Sinetar, educator and author

In about eight hours, it would have been an entire week since I began holding my breath. Not that I had a good reason to do so, but I did it anyway. In the spirit of "it's-not-over-til-it's-over."

At 3 p.m. Mountain Time last Friday, I finished a phone call in the "C" terminal of Denver International Airport with the internal recruiter of the company I'm going to work for beginning March 15. He had expected to reach me before I got on the plane in Salt Lake City, but got my voicemail instead. I was already in the air. Trying not to worry about whether I would get a phone call on Friday or wait through the weekend to learn the results.

Because the company is so very large and conducts a business that involves the government sometimes, a chain-of-custody drug test is required.

That's not why I was holding my breath. The strongest pill I took this week was an Advil. In that way, this week was like any other.

But, the other requirement to confirm employment is a background check. Not a phone-your-reference-list background check. A systematic confirmation of everything I submitted in an electronic application form. And, maybe, stuff I didn't submit. By the largest database organization in the world. The kind that not only knows your mother's mother's maiden name, but also how much cash she kept in the cookie jar.

Not that I should have been holding my breath about that either. I didn't lie about anything on the application, and the truth I told didn't contain anything that would disqualify me.

But, just the idea that two hurdles must be crossed before I could officially consider myself an employee caused me to deeply inhale. And, hold it until 7 a.m. today, when I got a phone call that casually revealed that the background check was "confirmed."

That whooshing sound. That's me exhaling. I am officially employed.

Well, pending the drug test results.

Like I said, I am officially employed.

Finding My Inner Piglet

2009-02-28T07:46:00.007-07:00

"When the ashes clear from this economic Armageddon, the leaders and organizations left standing will be the ones that stand for something. That have a clear purpose.

I’m sure of this because I worked with two CEO-founders who indeed stood for something: Herb Kelleher of Southwest Airlines (LUV) and Sam Walton of Wal-Mart (WMT). I worked with these iconic entrepreneurs on their companies’ advertising, marketing and internal culture. They taught me that performance is driven by the core purpose of an organization. This is true particularly when crisis is all around.

So what is purpose anyway? Purpose is the definitive difference you make in the marketplace and the world."

Roy Spence, Fortune, 2/18/09

I got what I wanted this week. I was offered the opportunity to join something really big. A big company. A big subject. A big group of amazing, professional, values-driven people. At a very big time in history.

I've never felt smaller.

For me, feeling small is a new sensation. My height has never earned me the "small" label. I can't think back far enough on my own to remember a time when I would have truly qualified as small. I was always kind of like a pony growing up. Mostly legs. A token bit of torso. Fortunately, a high-energy brain was attached to the end of all of it. And, a beating heart.

The brain is what earned me the opportunity to even be in the discussion about being big. But, that heart and the heart that is my heart got me the job.

I've learned about heart from my oldest daughter, now seven weeks from her 22nd birthday. 2009 will represent the first year since she was six years old that she will not be listed on somebody's soccer roster. Despite all of her best efforts, expectations, hard work, endless rehab, and long-term potential, career-ending injury overtook her last Fall. For the good of her overall well-being and the fruitful life that we hope lies ahead for her, she made the decision with her remarkable head coach and her equally-remarkable and compassionate surgeon that she must hang up the cleats. Not for the wearing of them as a coach or mentor, but as a competitive player. Something she's been for so long, she can't remember on her own when she wasn't that way.

She was like a pony growing up, too. The scenes of her galloping up and down the soccer field at an early age and scoring goals in bunches got her effectively booted out of the recreational league. We endured the glares of angry moms who thought the egalitarian AYSO games were about sharing the ball. Less about winning.

Turns out she was all about winning. All the time. She hated to lose more than she loved to win. Winning came easy. Winning was expected and became the norm. But, real life-learning came from both winning and losing.

Losing the ability to continue to compete on the field caused her to completely reevaluate what she wanted to do with her life off the field. And, she went after the subject with the same ferocity that vaulted her to national recognition in her sport by the age of 13.

Sometimes we spend so much time mourning what we have lost, we can't see what we might have gained in the process. I know that I have struggled with this challenge in recent months.

The only thing I can say with a certainty is that nothing on earth lasts. It's all fleeting. The good times never last. And, fortunately, the bad times generally don't last forever either. At least, not in their most dire, bottom-of-the-pit bad times form. You eventually come out of whatever you're in.

If you're paying attention, you know that you don't come out of the pit the same way you went into it.

As I plopped into the center seat closest to the front of the Southwest flight back to Denver from Salt Lake City yesterday, I thought that the resolution I had wanted for Friday, February 27, 2009 would not be forthcoming. I tried to make myself smaller in the seat so that the people who had fought for -- and won -- the right to the aisle and window seats wouldn't feel so cheated.

While my cell phone slept in the air, I was unaware that bigger and higher things than me were working on my behalf. Rapidly. Working an entire array of other phones. Lining up the pieces.

Making a big thing happen. Making it happen for little, 'ol me.

Time to Fly

2009-02-23T06:59:00.004-07:00

"A silent pig digs the deepest root."

Lithuanian proverb

I don't know what that means. Seriously. I was just looking for something that had the word "silent" and the word "pig" in it. And, that's what I found.

When Pigs Fly went silent last week. About a quarter to the middle of last week. Somewhere between "Trojan Pig" and a phone call that will, hopefully, change my life.

Twas not for lack of porky subjects. I just wasn't in the mood to tell a story. I'm not in a mood to tell a story today either. But, I wanted to sign on today, just to sign off for the week. I have some things to do that don't require my undivided attention. But, I think I will pretend that undivided attention will effect a positive outcome.

I don't usually struggle with multitasking. But, I'm not going to take the chance that a whirling dervish is just as good as a stoic, with laser-focused attention to detail. Not this week. I'm looking to dig a deep root.

See you next week.

Trojan Pig in Our Town

2009-02-18T08:51:00.006-07:00

“I always listen to the speech of Obama in the commercial that he will help pay the rent of (our) house.”

Third-grade boy somewhere in Colorado.

Denver was once considered a "cowtown."

You know a cowtown when you see one. First, it's a "town," not a city. A "town," of course, is any urban area with a fixed boundary. No spilling out into an unending array of little towns, one after the other, connected by a north-south Interstate highway.

Yes, there was a time when one left the Denver city limits and didn't encounter anything but a few, scattered country dwellers until one reached the city limits of Colorado Springs.

The "cow" part is even better understood. If your town is located in one of the cattle-raising sections of North America, you might be a Cowtown.

Across the street from our neighborhood, the last remaining land available in Highlands Ranch for new home construction used to be an open field for cattle grazing. The cows -- black, brown, black-and-white -- would come right up to the barbed wire fence to graze. Wildcat Reserve Parkway was a two-lane avenue destined for four-lane greatness. We knew when we moved here that this bucolic view would disappear in part once the graders started preparing Back Country for its 16-section community development.

With time, the cow appearances were fewer. And, farther between. Once the roads went in and framing began on the community entrance, we didn't see the cows for a long time.

But, curiously, at the far east end of the enormous parcel, a small sliver of private land must still be operating. One day last week, coming over Wildcat Reserve at the summit, by Mountain Vista High School, I was unavoidably distracted by the appearance of cows. Right by the fragile-looking fence. Right by the road.

That this sight used to be commonplace and isn't anymore was as much the distracting thought as the sight of the cows.

Yesterday, a new animal made an appearance in our fair City. Yes, it's a City. It's a metropolitan area of no fewer than 2.5 million people. Not big by Big City standards. But, pretty dang big for a former Cowtown. And, the Capital of the Great State of Colorado.

Yesterday, a dude named Nathan the Pig was one of two guests of honor at the big "You Don't Know Stimulus" anti-pork rally on the Capital steps. He must have been relieved to learn that he wasn't serving as the other guest of honor. That would be, of course, a whole, completely slow-roasted pig that was asked to lunch. To BE lunch.

Meanwhile, the Porkulus Bill was being signed within the City limits. It took two 747s, a motorcade with about 150 police escorts, and a long string of speeches to get to that point. But, get to that point we ultimately did.

One of the pre-President speakers was the CEO of a Boulder-based solar company. He made it sound like his fledgling business had no chance of survival without the Porkulus Stimulus. But, his company website forgot to take down the long list of government subsidy already in place.

You might not be interested to read all of it. But, if you really want to get a tingle up your leg, read the very last section. The one about company benefits.

I've worked in business all my life, which is about 2,486 years in dog years. I've never had more than three weeks of paid vacation in a year. In my life.

Obviously, I've been in the wrong bizness. But, if this company represents that it could hardly stay afloat with all of this existing help, why would anyone shovel more money in its direction?

Why, indeed.

Hope it's not another ethanol boondoggle in the making.....

"Blake Jones, CEO of Boulder-based Namaste Solar, said his company’s future is already looking brighter with the signing of the bill. Jones, who led Obama and Vice President Joe Biden on a tour of solar panels his company installed on the museum’s roof, said he had been considering laying off some of his 55 employees. Now, he’s looking to expand his work force by 40 percent by 2010, he said.

“We’re just one small business, creating one to two dozen jobs,” Jones said. “The point that I want to stress is that there are thousands of businesses just like ours that will be doing the same thing.”
From the company website:
OVERVIEW:

On both National and State levels, there are programs in place to help “level the economic playing field” between green, renewable energy sources (like solar electricity) and polluting, finite energy sources (such as fossil fuels and nuclear energy). The latter already receive billions of dollars annually in subsidies and incentives, so we’re extremely pleased that renewable energy technologies are now receiving government assistance as well.

GEO solar rebates now available for customers in Fort Collins, Longmont, United Power, Poudre Valley, Estes Park and other territories! Click here for more information.

Residential Systems (smaller than 10.0kW):

* 40-50% utility rebate ($3.50 per DC watt) for Xcel customers
* 30-40% utility rebate ($3.00 per DC watt) for Fort Collins, Longmont, United Power, Poudre Valley and Estes Park customers
* 30% federal income tax credit
* 15% rebate of City sales and use tax for projects within Boulder City limits

SUMMARY OF INCENTIVES IN COLORADO:

Residential Systems (smaller than 10.0kW):

* 40-50% utility rebate ($3.50 per DC watt) for Xcel customers
* 30% federal income tax credit
* 15% rebate of City sales and use tax for projects within Boulder City limits

Small Commercial Systems (smaller than 10.0kW):

* 40-50% utility rebate ($3.50 per DC watt) for Xcel customers
* 30% federal income tax credit
* 5-year MACRS accelerated depreciation schedule
* 15% rebate of City sales and use tax for projects within Boulder City limits

Large Commercial Systems (larger than 10.0kW):

* 25-30% utility rebate ($2.00 per DC watt) for Xcel customers
* 20-year utility payments for system’s “REC” production for Xcel customers
* 30% federal income tax credit
* 5-year MACRS accelerated depreciation schedule
* 15% rebate of City sales and use tax for projects within Boulder City limits

The Bottom Line
In practical terms, state and federal incentive programs can reduce your total “out-of-pocket” costs for a solar electric (PV) system by as much as 60-70%!!!

…THE EMERGENCY ECONOMIC STABILIZATION ACT OF 2008:

On October 3, 2008, President Bush signed the Emergency Economic Stabilization Act of 2008 into law. The new energy bill extends extends the 30-percent federal investment tax credit for both residential and commercial solar installations for 8 years (2009-2016). The legislation improves upon the previous investment tax credits by removing the $2,000 cap for residential solar PV systems and allowing Alternative Minimum Tax (AMT) filers to take the tax credits.

…COLORADO’S AMENDMENT 37 AND HOUSE BILL 1281:

In November of 2004, Colorado voters passed Amendment 37 (A37), mandating that a certain percentage of Colorado’s electricity come from renewable sources such as wind and solar power. The rules were finalized and Xcel began paying out rebates in the Spring of 2006. House Bill 1281 (HB1281) was signed into law by Governor Bill Ritter in early 2007 and effectively doubles the original goals of A37 to 20% by 2020. The incentive is divided into a $2.00 per watt rebate and a $1.50 per watt Renewable Energy Credit payment (REC). Because a typical flush-mount roof array costs about $8 to $9 a watt, the combination of rebate and REC from Xcel, along with the federal tax credit, means that your final out-of-pocket cost can be reduced by about 40% to 50%. This assumes that your system can be installed such that it produces at least 90% of what an optimally positioned array in a shade-free area would produce. If your installed system is predicted to produce less than 90% of optimum, then the REC portion of the Xcel incentive (which is production-based) is reduced accordingly.

…CITY OF BOULDER REBATES & INCENTIVES:

Solar energy systems installed within Boulder city limits are currently eligible for a tax rebate. Boulder City Council approved an ordinance in November 2006 to provide rebates for a portion of sales and use tax on both solar electric (photovoltaic) and solar thermal (hot water) systems. The ordinance was passed to encourage residents and businesses to install renewable energy systems in the city of Boulder. The end effect is a 15% rebate on the Boulder City sales and use taxes paid on a solar PV system.
"Environmental concerns would be a driving force in every aspect of the company.
• Six weeks of paid time off.
• Employees, no matter what their job description, have the same pay scale.
• One percent of yearly revenues goes to solar systems donated to community groups.
• All major decisions would be made by consensus of all company employees."

Every Valentine's Day is Post 9-11 Now

2009-02-14T08:59:00.006-07:00

"Beverly Eckert, of Stamford, Connecticut, a 9/11 widow, was identified as one of the passengers on the Continental commuter plane that crashed near Buffalo, N.Y., the Associated Press reports. Eckert was heading to Buffalo for a celebration of what would have been her husband’s 58th birthday, said Mary Fetchet, a 9/11 family activist.

She also had planned to take part in presentation of a scholarship award at Canisius High School that she established in honor of her late husband, the Buffalo News says.

Fetchet says she learned Eckert was aboard the plane from another close Eckert family friend. Officials investigating the crash have not yet confirmed Eckert was on board the plane.

Eckert was part of a small group of Sept. 11 widows, mothers, and children who became amateur lobbyists, ultimately forcing lawmakers in 2004 to pass sweeping reforms of the U.S. intelligence apparatus."

USA Today, 2/13/09

A "9-11 widow."

For years to come, people who lost loved ones in the 9-11 attacks will also die. Some of them will die tragically, like Beverly Eckert. Some of them will die in obscurity. But, all of them will have that parenthetical label. "9-11 survivor." "9-11 widow." "9-11 widower."

Every time these losses make the news, we will relive that day all over again.

It's very different than saying "former Heisman Trophy winner." Or, "former Presidential candidate." Or, "loving wife."

The intersection of "loving wife" with "9-11 widow" in the story of Beverly Eckert is almost too much to bear. Her recounting of the final minutes of her husband's life in the Tower, along with her witness by phone of his death as the Tower fell, is as heavy as any story we will ever read.

It's Valentine's Day, the day for love stories, fictional and true. This one is true.

Rest in Peace, Sean Rooney and Beverly Eckert.

Due Fratelli

2009-02-13T08:48:00.010-07:00

"Everything you see I owe to spaghetti."

Sophia Loren

FETTUCCINE WITH PRAWNS VENEZIANA $14.50

Sauteed jumbo prawns prepared with aromatic saffron, zucchini, sundried tomatoes, scallions, and cream; flamed with white wine and served over a bed of fresh spinach fettuccine (Veneto).

It's another one of those days, when I crave something I can't get in Denver. Maybe I CAN get it in Denver, but haven't found it yet. The last time this happened to me, we were in the middle of a big snowstorm. All I wanted was a few things from Tommaso's in San Francisco. It didn't happen then. And, it's not going to happen today either.

All I want to do is cruise down Contra Costa Boulevard in Pleasant Hill, California to Melo's for a plate of Fettuccine with Prawns.

Thanks to two guys from Italy (who, thankfully, restrained themselves from naming their California restaurants "Two Guys from Italy"), I am obsessed with this dish today. Carmelo and Gaetano don't miss me as much as I miss them. Actually, they don't miss me at all. Their large restaurant was always so crowded, there was no room to be recognized. They always greeted us like family. But, that's the way they greeted all their customers.

That picture at the top, that looks like Fettuccine with Prawns, probably isn't. I don't see the sticks of zucchini or the sun-dried tomatoes on that plate. It looks more like Tagliatini Fellini, "....Fresh lemon tagliatini pasta with aromatic sauteed jumbo prawns in a delicate shrimp rosa sauce with vodka (Rimini)." That's a good dish, too; just not as good as Fettuccine with Prawns.

The order was always so large, I could eat my fill for dinner and have enough left over for lunch the next day. I always thought about that to justify the price; which, by the way, isn't much higher than it was when we lived nearby, only as recently as 2002.

We had a lot of good times at Melo's and we contributed our share to their very active take-out business. We started eating there when the girls were really little. In those days, the restaurant was completely inadequate to the demand. The wait for a table was often too much to bear with small children. We ultimately got into the habit of take-out.

We weren't the only people who knew about Melo's. So, the inevitable expansion project began to double the size of the restaurant. They doubled the number of pizza ovens. It was like doubling the number of lanes on a freeway. The extra space didn't do much to shorten the wait times. It just encouraged more people to come to the restaurant to wait.

After the expansion, one of our fondest memories of the place involved the new bar by the newly-expanded kitchen where the pizza dough was prepped. Children were encouraged to sit there at the counter, where they would be awarded a small ball of pizza dough while their family waited for their meal. Or, the dough could be brought to the table for the really little children who needed to stay near their parents. Our girls never tired of playing with the dough, even as they grew. But, the advantage of sitting at the bar was that every child could ooh and aah as the large circles of dough were spun high into the air. And, never dropped on the floor. Fascinating.

I wonder if the food would taste the same now, without the presence of those little, but very long fingers to play with pizza dough while the tantalizing aroma and warmth from the big ovens made the wait unbearable.

I'm willing to find out. I just don't think it will be any time soon.

http://www.melospizzapasta.com/

Junk in Space

2009-02-12T07:05:00.009-07:00

"A commercial satellite owned by a U.S. company was destroyed in a collision with a defunct Russian military satellite in what NASA said was the first such accident in orbit, raising new concerns about the dangers of space debris."

Wall Street Journal, 2/12/09

Clean up, Aisle One!

Somewhere, somebody is paid real money to babysit the orbits of all kinds of stuff orbiting the Earth. Following the big bang between a U.S. communications satellite and an apparently defunct Russian Cosmos bird, it's not comforting to read where one of them started a sentence with "in retrospect...."

Now they tell us. They now think they should have seen this one coming. With stuff speeding in a circle at the rate of 17,500 miles per hour, I 'm not sure what would have been so obvious about these two particular satellites and their respective paths through the garbage.

Could it be some sort of harbinger? Of impending doom not heretofore contemplated? Who is responsible for picking up the trash in space? Is this group on the stimulus earmark list? Who pays for it? What day is "trash day" for the U.S. government??

(Chortle. The correct answer to the last question is "every day is trash day." Duh.)

I don't know if it's a metaphor for the economic climate, but in the weeks since Christmas, we've noticed erratic patterns of behavior coming from our Monday trash pick-up in Stonebury. These guys were in their orbit, without interruption for a long time. Even if we put out the trash on Sunday night, we could be certain it would sit at the curb until at least Noon the following day. Sometimes, it would sit there until 2 or 3 o'clock in the afternoon.

We were lulled into complacency. We weren't paying attention to the fact that these guys could change their routine any time they pleased, and we wouldn't have anything to say about it. That we could awake to find ourselves held hostage by the trash guys.

Sure enough, one very cold, snowy Monday morning in early January, they thought it would be fun to cruise the enclave at 8 a.m. Only those residents who left at the crack of dawn or preferred to have their barrels sit out all night in freezing weather and be coated in snow would therefore be served. The rest of us would just have to store our detritus for another week. And, they would speed through the neighborhood at warp speed, since only about every seventh or eighth house would have read the invisible memo.

Not to worry. Our neighborhood isn't known for wallflower homeowners. In fact, the collective rate of Type A behavior hasn't always been the best mix at any venue where more than one beer was served. I knew that I would not even need to pick up the phone. When I saw the truck driving by our house, I calmly walked to the garage, raised the third door, and rolled the cans out to the curb. They would be back. They would get the call from headquarters to take another twirl through Stonebury.

Sure enough, they were back in the neighborhood at their normal Noon time to take another tour around our circle. Through our space. All the cans that weren't at the curb at 8 a.m. had migrated at their usual pace, many of them completely oblivious to the fact that at least one, but more likely, multiple residents had raised their voices in united opposition to this show of arrogance by the "WM" Waste Management crew.

Since then, they appear on Monday across a newly-lax timeframe of somewhere between 11 a.m. and 2 p.m. I got the message. I don't wait to get those cans to the curb now, under threat of having to keep anything I don't want anymore for one more day.

Trash day used to be one of my favorite days of the week. It still is, mostly. But, I've noticed that the guys on the truck have found new ways to express their displeasure about how the neighborhood brought them back into line.

They now throw lids and cans helter-skelter after they empty them, as if the cans themselves had anything to say about it. If trash doesn't fall into their truck while they're emptying the cans, they just leave it on the ground.

The last time this happened, I thought about all the people who would love to have their jobs right now. To have the security from knowing that trash is constant, never in short supply. To know that their jobs are completely safe. Because, no matter what other belt-tightening might occur in households around the community, HOA dues are non-negotiable, along with the trash pick-up part of the tab, along with the contract to WM.

Well, that last part might change. I recently learned that some effort is afoot in Highlands Ranch to permit homeowners to make changes to their existing trash service. I don't know if anything will really change, but it does seem that this particular group of guys should probably clean up their act. Turns out they might not be so indispensable after all.

Flying Pork Barrels

2009-02-11T07:17:00.006-07:00

"A billion here, a billion there, pretty soon it adds up to real money."

Everett Dirksen, Senator from Illinois (1896-1969)

http://thisiswhyyourefat.com/

"Where Dreams Become Heart Attacks"

$2 billion earmark for FutureGen near zero emissions powerplant in Mattoon, IL
$39 billion slush fund for “state fiscal stabilization” bailout
$5.5 billion for making federal buildings “green” (including $448 million for DHS HQ)
$200 million for workplace safety in USDA facilities
$275 million for flood prevention
$65 million for watershed rehabilitation
$200 million for public computer centers at community colleges and libraries
$650 million for the DTV transition coupon program
$307 million for constructing NIST office buildings
$1 billion for administrative costs and construction of NOAA office buildings
$100 million for constructing U.S. Marshalls office buildings
$300 million for constructing FBI office buildings
$800 million for constructing Federal Prison System buildings and facilities
$10 million to fight Mexican gunrunners
$1.3 billion for NASA (including $450 million for “science” at NASA)
$100 million to clean up sites used in early U.S. atomic energy program
$10 million for urban canals
$2 billion for manufacturing advanced batteries for hybrid cars
$1.5 billion for carbon capture projects under sec. 703 of P.L. 110-140 (though section only authorizes $1 billion for five years)
$300 million for hybrid and electric cars for federal employees
$198 million to design and furnish the DHS headquarters
$255 million for “priority procurements” at Coast Guard (polar ice breaker)
$500 million for State and local fire stations
$180 million for construction of Bureau of Land Management facilities
$500 million for wildland fire management
$110 million for construction for the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service
$522 million for construction for the Bureau of Indian Affairs
$650 million for abandoned mine sites
$75 million for the Smithsonian Institution
$1.2 billion for summer jobs for youth
$412 million for CDC headquarters
$500 million earmark for NIH facilities in Bethesda, MD
$160 million for “volunteers” at the Corp. for National and Community Service
$750 earmark for the National Computer Center in MD
$224 million for International Boundary and Water Commission – U.S. and Mexico
$850 million for Amtrak
$100 million for lead paint hazard reduction

Old Dog. Old Trick.

2009-02-10T22:14:00.003-07:00

"Experience is a comb which nature gives to men when they are bald."

Chinese Proverb

I'm a very casual Westminster Dog Show viewer. Something like a fair weather friend to the contest. I don't get too excited until one or two category competitions just ahead of the Best in Show.

Last year, so much publicity surrounded the candidacy of "Uno," the American beagle, I had to get excited a day early. I yelled at the TV like an idiot every time that dog's mug filled the screen, as if that would somehow persuade the Best in Show judge -- just released from his sound-proof, hermetically-sealed hotel room. I almost cried when Uno won the cup. He was achingly cute. He was America's Dog.

This year? Not so much. I got into it about 90 minutes ahead of Best in Show. I figured, someone had already done a lot of work to narrow down the enormous field to seven top dogs in their respective classes. And, there was nothing to get hung up about.

Wrong.

The field was typically diverse, but contained some of the most astounding-looking dogs in a single collection I could recall. I didn't know anything about the dogs - their personal stories, their names; and, in some cases, I didn't even recognize their breed. But, one dog really stood out to me. What I know about dog shows and dog judging barely fills the bottom of a thimble. Nevertheless, I spotted my winner. I didn't know his name, but he had the most beautiful coat. And, not just an attitude. A quiet confidence. An air of, "well, I know who I am, and I don't really care what anyone thinks of me." That look of a life well lived and nothing left to lose.

I didn't know his story until the competition was complete. Until about a minute after I was yelling again at the woman who emerged from the tunnel in an evening gown for her 13 minutes of fame. Yelling at her in plain English, "THE SUSSEX SPANIEL." Like she could hear me. Like she might not see the real beauty of the Giant Schnauzer or the amazing grace of the Scottish Deerhound.

'Thank you all,' I heard her say. Oh, please! Please say, "may I have the Sussex Spaniel."

Then she said, 'I love you all, but tonight it's the Sussex.'

I WIN. I WIN. I WIN.

Old dogs everywhere win. I win.

"10-year-old Sussex spaniel wins Westminster show"

By BEN WALKER

NEW YORK (AP) — An old Sussex spaniel taught dogdom a new trick.

At 10, Stump became the oldest best in show winner ever at the Westminster Kennel Club, coming out of retirement only last week and walking off with the top prize Tuesday night.

A nearly full crowd at Madison Square Garden cheered loudly when judge Sari Tietjen pointed to the new champion. Perhaps the fans knew Stump's backstory — he almost died in 2004 from a medical condition, saved by the vets at Texas A&M.

Or perhaps the people just liked rooting for the old guy.

He's almost 70 in human years!

Never before had a Sussex spaniel won the nation's top pooch show. The previous oldest winner was 8.

With floppy ears and a slow gait, the golden-red Stump beat out a sparkling field. Expert handler Scott Sommer guided him past a giant schnauzer that was ranked the nation's No. 1 show dog, a favored Brussels griffon, a Scottish deerhound named Tiger Woods, a standard poodle with 94 best in show wins, a Scottish terrier and a puli.

Nearly 2,500 dogs were entered at the 133rd edition of Westminster. Last year's champion, a beagle named Uno, was perhaps the most popular winner ever.

Can't Buy Me Love

2009-02-09T10:00:00.006-07:00

"Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old Time is still a-flying:
And this same flower that smiles today,
Tomorrow will be dying."

Robert Herrick, 17th Century English Poet (1591-1674)

Like many things on the internet, I'm not exactly sure now how I stumbled upon it. I know I wasn't using StumbleUpon. But, somewhere between Google and an unsolicited eHarmony ad in the margins, I discovered SocialGrid and its somewhat complex "Soulmate Manifesto."

Not that I'm looking or anything. I'm sure I found my soulmate at a backyard barbeque in 1968. That's my story, and I'm sticking to it. But, for anyone not yet so fortunate, I wondered if this left-brained approach to love could be useful.

Since I've always made my living in bizness, I was naturally drawn immediately to "Love Economics," which was defined in one, simple sentence: "...a new love theory to promote intelligent dating by explaining love using simple math equations." I rattled around in this section just long enough to multiply my gratitude for not being in the dating arena times my age in dog years, cubed by my shoe size. I solved for a familiar-looking number, somewhere in the region of 9,700,000,000,000.

It didn't take much more calculating to see that I was bored and dismayed by this analytical approach to matchmaking. But, I did take note of one prong of the Love Economics model that seemed to make a lot of sense. I probably know at least 20 people between the ages of 17 and 30 who should consider the implications surrounding "Opportunity Cost of Love."

Forsooth: "Opportunity cost is the net benefit from being in another relationship. Most people are not aware of this hidden cost. While you are in love, you could have been in love with someone who is much better for you. Also, the time, money, and energy that were invested in the relationship could have been spent in having more friends, finding your calling, or furthering your career."

Yes, that's cost I can believe in.

Hit By a Box

2009-02-07T22:57:00.006-07:00

"In terms of fast food and deep understanding of the culture of fast food, I'm your man."

Bill Gates

http://www.hangintherejack.com

Sometime in late 2008, I wrote about my irrational love for Jack in the Box tacos. Somebody at Box headquarters must have read my blog, because they decided to line extend the two for $.99 wonders into a new, higher margin item. I know, because I was there tonight. It was supposed to be just a quick stop for two tacos. Which, with my complete cooperation, morphed into four.

If JITB tacos aren't bad enough -- and, there has always been some question about whether they actually constitute "food" -- the JITB product people have now mercilessly unleashed "Taco Nachos." The two for $.99 tacos cut into four wedges (the shape of nachos!), spread over a bed of shredded lettuce (that would otherwise be put inside the tacos!), topped with sliced jalapeno peppers (real nacho stuff!), and covered with classic not-really-cheese nacho cheese sauce. Thereby eliminating the need for the half-slice of American cheese in the regular tacos.

For this culinary adventure in a plastic tray with a plastic lid, they charge $1.99. The incremental profit for this item over the two for $.99 tacos must be at least $.50. God Bless America!

I will try (almost) anything (at least) once. I ordered the Taco Nachos and two Tacos. And a small soft drink.

Verdict? Two for $.99 tacos cannot be beat.

But, that's not the biggest piece of learning at the foot of the JITB marketing temple tonight. No, that distinction belongs to the "get well" poster for Jack Box situated in the front window by the front door. JITB has launched another web-based underground marketing campaign that, this time, leverages Facebook, Twitter, and Flickr to promote breakfast for dinner, dinner for breakfast, and lunch for late-night snack.

In the late 1990's, JITB created the "Meaty Cheesey Boys," a fictional boys band to launch their "Ultimate Cheeseburger," a double quarter-pound hamburger monstrosity with three or four slices of cheese on it, I can't remember which. They also teased the possibility of the "Spicy Crispy Chicks" in a TV ad for their Spicy Crispy Chicken Sandwich on a Bun, but Jack rejected it as too sexist.

Now, we learn tonight that Jack Box is fighting for his life in a southern California hospital after having been hit by a bus. His surgeon used all his glue gun skills to repair the massive head wound on Jack's massive head, but he's reportedly clinging by a thin thread at this very hour.

Needless to say, this news is quite disturbing. The accident occurred on February 1, but apparently the mainstream media thinks they have better things to do than keep the JITB family informed about Mr. Box's health. What, they don't think the stock price will be affected by this???? For crying out loud, Apple took an enormous hit just on the rumor that Steve Jobs had an eating disorder.

I am outraged. And, based on the information I've pieced together tonight, I believe the evidence will eventually point to the acting-CEO as a person of interest. Either he put out the hit on Jack, or he's a co-conspirator with a jealous competitor. Probably someone located in or near the Indianapolis area.

I've known Jack since back in the day. When they blew him up. Literally blew him up!!! He was just doing his job, sitting in his box, day after day after day and night after night after night. Helping customers in the drive-through. Speaking only when spoken to. Never had a harsh word for anyone and never hurt a fly. Sure, he was boring. But, his job description didn't ask him to lead the company, invent new products, or take a hit for his employees. Well, now someone has gone and done it again!!

In what can only be described as a miracle, Jack survived that murder attempt. He rose from the ashes to take control of the company and lift it to heights never before imagined.

And, if I know Jack, he'll pull through this latest conspiracy, too. I don't know if he'll be able to show his face or get his head through the door ever again, but he'll be back.

Hang in there, Jack.

Know Your Pig

2009-02-07T19:17:00.006-07:00

"Better beans and bacon in peace than cakes and ale in fear."

Aesop

In the spirit of all things stimulating, I'm delighted to learn that inventive pork lovers can make bacon sandwiches without those pesky gaps and breaks. If you don't already know about it, you've come to the right Piggy blog. I guess this thingy was invented more than a year ago. But, I was in my NBZ - No Bacon Zone - and missed it altogether.

As Martha would say, that was probably a Good Thing. But, now that I know about it, I cannot resist the urge to chronicle its incredibleness on When Pigs Fly.

Yes folks, I'm here to be certain you know everything you need to know about Bacon Weave. BACON WEAVE! A.k.a. Bacon Placemat.

Yes, you read that right. Let's face it, anything in strips can be woven into stuff. Placemats, baskets, throw rugs. Sandwich filling. I don't care what you do in the privacy of your own home, but I'm recommending you limit your weaving to sandwich filling.

If you love bacon....Or, you're hoping to die a bacon-related death.....and you're still reading this note....your life is about to change forever. Or, for as long as you live. However long that might be. And, probably, not for the better.

Step 1:

Weave bacon on a sheet of aluminum foil

Step 2:

Bake in an oven, somewhere between 350 and 400 degrees F. until done.

It seems like you would want to put the bacon on the foil into an bake-proof skillet to ensure you don't have dripping bacon grease all over your oven. Or, a nasty house fire.

Step 3:

What you do with your bacon weave at this point is your business.

Step 4:

Call cardiologist, if desired.

Coughing Fit

2009-02-06T15:12:00.002-07:00

"Would you like me to give you a formula for....success? It's quite simple, really. Double your rate of failure. You're thinking of failure as the enemy of success. But it isn't at all...you can be discouraged by failure, or you can learn from it. So go ahead and make mistakes. Make all you can. Because, remember that's where you'll find success. On the far side."

Thomas J. Watson, Founder of IBM, 1874-1956.

I wonder what Bill D. Cat would say about the world today. When he was around, he spoke English and had a very advanced vocabulary. But, he frequently choked on hairballs. And, to that he generally responded "Tbbbbbt." Or, "AAACK!"

Based on everything I'm hearing today, either one of those outbursts would fit the occasion.

His creator, Berkeley Breathed, has said that his goal was to create a character so repulsive, that it would have absolutely no merchandising potential. But, as if to illustrate how powerful capitalism really is as an economic concept, all sorts of Bill the Cat trinkets and trash have sold around the world.

A few weeks ago, I took a trip to the far side of fear, uncertainty, and doubt. I tried to write about it. That didn't help. Of course, it didn't change anything either. Everything is much worse now than it was then. And, it's much worse now than I could have ever imagined that it would be now. But, I'm not going to start writing about it again.

I do know one thing. Fear, uncertainly and doubt never jump-started anything.

I heard recently that one of the wacko members of the American Dynasty stated before Congress that pig farms are more dangerous than Osama bin Laden.

OK. Good to know. But, When Pigs Fly isn't going anywhere.

Seeing Red

2009-02-06T09:45:00.002-07:00

"The true colour of life is the colour of the body, the colour of the covered red, the implicit and not explicit red of the living heart and the pulses. It is the modest colour of the unpublished blood."

Alice Meynell, British poet and essayist (1847–1922): “The True Colour of Life,” Essays (1914)

http://www.nhlbi.nhi.gov/education/hearttruth/

"Celebrate National Wear Red Day–the first Friday in February–when Americans nationwide wear red to show their support for women's heart disease awareness.

"The Heart Truth–a national awareness campaign for women about heart disease–created and introduced the Red Dress as the national symbol for women and heart disease awareness in 2002 to deliver an urgent wakeup call to American women. The Red Dress reminds women of the need to protect their heart health, and inspires them to take action. National Wear Red Day promotes the symbol and provides an opportunity for everyone to unite in this life-saving awareness movement by showing off a favorite red dress, shirt, or tie, or Red Dress Pin.

"Join the National Heart, Lung, and Blood Institute; Office on Women's Health, U.S. Department of Health and Human Services; WomenHeart: the National Coalition for Women with Heart Disease; American Heart Association; and many other groups to promote National Wear Red Day in your local community. Visit The Heart Truth's National Wear Red Day toolkit to get free information, ideas, and materials to help share this special day.

"See how other groups from across the nation are supporting National Wear Red Day."

Lemon Law

2009-02-05T11:09:00.023-07:00

"We are living in a world today where lemonade is made from artificial flavors and furniture polish is made from real lemons."

Alfred E. Neuman

Since the high temperature today in metro Denver is forecast to be around 70 degrees, it's hard not to get an early dose of spring fever. No sooner had I pondered the chocolate possibilities for Valentine's Day, and my mind had already wandered over to the next set of somethings that might come next. In my world, "something" in Spring will likely involve fresh lemons .

It didn't take long to find a great-looking lemon cupcake with lemon frosting, a little heart cut from lemon rind, and a fresh raspberry on top. My kind of cupcake. My kind of spring cupcake. But, serendipity being what it is on the internet, I found a lovely lemon subject that looked like it actually got its start on Valentine's Day. Hmmmm.

I've saved similar recipes in the past and never made them. And, the cut-off cupcake top is not a new idea. But, this one looks so sweet and light. I need another cupcake recipe or cupcake idea like I need another heart-shaped cookie cutter -- not much.

But, I can't help myself. It's a 'lil keeper.

Cupcake ingredients
2 sticks butter, softened
2 cups granulated sugar
4 large eggs
2-3/4 cups all purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 cup milk
2 Tablespoons lemon zest
2 Tablespoons freshly squeezed lemon juice
*Confectioner’s sugar for dusting, later in the assembly

Pink Lemon frosting
4 cups confectioners sugar
1/2 cup butter - softened
2 Tablespoons freshly squeezed lemon juice
(about two fresh lemons)
1 teaspoon grated lemon zest
2 Tablespoons milk
Gel food color - pink

Preheat the oven to 325 degrees, and prep a cupcake pan with liners.

In a mixing bowl, cream together the butter and sugar until light and fluffy. Add the eggs, one by one, beating after each one.

In a separate bowl combine the flour, baking soda and salt.

Add these dry ingredients to the butter mixture, alternating with the milk. End with the milk (for smoother batter). Mix in the lemon juice and lemon zest.

Fill the cupcake liners TO THE TOP. This will insure that the cup runs over, which is required to cup off the tops. Yield should be about 20 cupcakes. Bake for 20 minutes, test with a toothpick, and cool on a wire rack.

For the frosting:

With an electric mixer, beat sugar and butter. Add the lemon juice and the zest until combined. Then add the milk - increase mixer speed until it becomes light and fluffy, then add gel tint to achieve your desired color, and mix until the color is completely combined.

When the cupcakes have cooled, use a serrated knife to gently cut off the fluffy tops, right at the paper. Using a small heart, or any tiny shaped cookie cutter, cut out the center of the tops. Put the centers aside. Dust the tops with confectioner’s sugar.

Cover the tops of the flat cupcakes with the pink frosting. Place one of the sugar-dusted tops on top of each cupcake. The remaining hearts can be dusted with powdered sugar and served separately.

Half-Baked

2009-02-04T08:16:00.014-07:00

"Do your work with your whole heart, and you will succeed -- there's so little competition."

Elbert Hubbard

We're only 10 days away from Valentine's Day, and bakeries around the world are gearing up for it. For a long time, but especially in the vast world of cake molds, bakers have been able to squeeze their favorite recipes into a heart-shaped dessert. Looking to capture the full measure of each seasonal merchandising opportunity, retailers unveiled their displays of the heart-shaped offerings at about the precise moment the Christmas tree-shaped offerings were whisked off the floor.

I've contributed my fair share to the industry. My heart shapes include a 12" cake pan, 4" tart pans, and cookie cutters in 12 sizes. In the most ambitious years, when we lived on a cul-de-sac with 17 children in seven homes, I sent forth gifts with heart-shaped tags. First names rendered in careful calligraphy. The obligatory hot pink or red cellophane wrap.

It was fun. It was original. And, it took a lot of time.

In the working world, such time for fun and originality is often in short supply. And, I've reached a stage where I either lack sufficient target recipients or the desire to swap my time in the office for time in the kitchen. The only bakery item my husband cares about is the strawberry cake he hopes he'll get for his birthday. That won't happen until April, so he's not even dialed into what he might be missing.

This year, I'm thinking I should just indulge in the window-shopping opportunities that present themselves online. I won't look twice at the over-burdened bakery tables by the entrance to the grocery stores anyway, since none of it eats as good as anything I could make. I probably shouldn't fire up the ovens for heart-shaped anything.

But, I know that I can do it if I change my mind.

The heart-shaped shortbread cookies,
sandwiched with raspberry jam and half-dipped in melted semi-sweet chocolate.

The red velvet cupcakes with buttercream frosting tinted whatever color dresses well for Valentine's Day. Maybe some candy sprinkles from my red, white, and pink mix. Or, the mix with the little red hearts.

The rolled-out butter cookies, cut into a family of heart-shaped sizes, coated in candy-apple red, powder pink, fuchsia, and white icing.

The double-secret brownie recipe, either baked in the heart-shaped tart pans or cut out from a sheet pan into heart shapes with the cookie cutters.

Oh yes, I can do it.

Maybe I should just go to the cabinet to be sure I have enough powdered sugar on hand.

Just in case I change my mind.

Future Chocolate Shock

2009-02-02T21:39:00.003-07:00

"I have this theory that chocolate slows down the aging process.... It may not be true, but do I dare take the chance?"

Unknown

I don't know when it will happen, but it will happen. Someday. Someday soon.

I will make this cupcake. I will eat it. And, it will be good.

Thanks to www.cupcakestakethecake.com for adding to my Cupcake T'Do List.

Moist chocolate mud cupcakes with creme de menthe infused italian meringue buttercream and topped with an Andes mint.

The Worst of Times

2009-02-02T15:31:00.004-07:00

"The fan fave, "Free Doritos," was created by a couple of non-advertising people, who entered a contest called Doritos "Crash The Super Bowl" program. "

CBS Early Show, 2/2/09

Most years, I watch the Super Bowl for the commercials. It's been that way since 1984, when I had a big dog in the hunt. The one that actually changed the way marketers viewed and used the Super Bowl. But, this year, I cared about the game. I wanted the Arizona Cardinals to win, and I wanted Troy Polamalu to win. So, that was a problem. Arizona almost won, which means they lost. And, Troy Polamalu won. One outta two ain't bad.

Meanwhile, I took my "breaks" during the game to avoid missing the possibility of a really great spot. Too bad that a bunch of people have ruined some of the suspense by airing their spots on YouTube early. Or, funneling segments to news and talking head programs to judge before they've even aired in their entirety and in context.

By halftime, I didn't think I was going to miss anything anymore. The fourth quarter was actually about football -- really, really great football -- so, I took my "break" during the ads. If I missed anything, I can't find it today on any of the online fan voting sites.

Not to worry. I managed to name a favorite spot. Actually, it didn't air inside the game. It ran twice that I know about -- once in the final hour of the seven-day pre-game show and another time in the post-game show that was mercifully short to make way for "The Office." Which was insanely great. Maybe some of their writers can get involved in the Super Bowl ads next year....

I guess most of the fan sites voted for "Free Doritos" as their favorite. Hard to argue with that. I laughed out loud like a fool. But, it's another one of those spots that has a single punch line that makes it. And, depending on your attention span (mine is short), you might find it funny a few more times. Me? Laughed out loud one more time. That's it. That doesn't mean it wasn't great the one time it ran inside the game. But, I don't believe it's a good sign for the ad industry that the fan favorite was conceived by amateurs. I don't know what it means for the economy.

And, I know that some people are just really put out by the E*Trade baby. Sick and tired of him. Sick of seeing him be sick on camera. Tired of him nailing the jocular BMIC (Big Man In highChair), tired of the Blackberry, etc., etc. The spot that ran inside the game was fun -- "Take these broken wings..." I laughed a lot. But, "Big Game Singing Baby" didn't get my first place vote.

I vote for E*Trade "Golf Baby." The Taylor Made visor. The golf club setting.

"Frank, it was on the cart path...."

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5431p7gxWOM

Soup for You!

2009-01-31T19:24:00.011-07:00

NEWMAN: "Elaine's down there causing all kinds of commotion. Somehow she got a hold of his recipes and she says she's gonna drive him out of business!

"The Soup Nazi said that now that his recipes are out, he's not gonna make anymore soup! He's moving out of the country, moving to Argentina! No more soup, Jerry! No more soup for any of us!"

"Seinfeld," Episode 116; 11/2/95

I had another one of those situations where I realized that about two cups of leftover chicken stock from Christmas needed a home, along with a couple of potatoes and a package of mild cheddar cheese that had been purchased by mistake. We don't eat mild cheddar cheese. I mean, I don't eat mild cheddar cheese. Give me sharp or give me nothing. While you're at it, give me extra sharp. But, mild? It's only hope would be as an incredient, because there would be no eating it from the package.

I recently tuned into a trick I read about on a food blog. It was designed for people who only had three things in their refrigerator, but I knew it would work for me, too. The idea was to put the three ingredients you had on hand into a google search, then stand back and watch the amazing recipes that would magically emerge from the internet. Unheard of ideas that would take your three, potentially completely unrelated items and produce something you could actually eat.

I put "two cups of chicken broth, potatoes, cheese" into a search knowing that a long list of potato cheese soup recipes would likely emerge. The only question would be whether I would find a recipe that called for other ingredients that I had on hand or wanted to use in a soup. No respectable potato cheese soup comes together without some other stuff. Although I also had sour cream and heavy cream in the refrigerator, I certainly didn't want to add to what would likely be an insanely high calorie count for any soup using milk.

The other challenge would be to find a recipe that would come together properly with 1% milk, since that is all we drink. Without the heavier fat content, it would certainly help the nutrition calcs, but the lack of fat might lead to some other, unforeseen disaster.

It didn't take long to see that the "Ruby Tuesday's Potato Cheese Soup" from recipezaar.com was the one I needed. Now, I don't know if it is really the recipe for the potato cheese soup served at Ruby Tuesday's, since I've never had it. The good news was that it didn't make very much. So, the risk of making it and having it turn out poorly wasn't very high. I was using up extraneous ingredients that might go bad without trying it; I hate few things in life more than throwing out any food that passes its shelf date or withers in a vegetable bin. I waited a few days to see if my interest would wane.

Today was another "sun" day in metro Denver ahead of what was forecast to be colder temperatures and snow for Super Bowl Sunday. But, who knows?! I rarely plan my food around the weather here because you no sooner get your mouth set for something warm, and the sun burns down on you. Or, vice versa. I had three or four things going already -- lemon poppyseed bread in the oven, onions on the stove to caramelize and top bisquits for a recession-style pissaladiere, and two loads of laundry in various stages. Another pot on the stove wasn't going to be a big deal.

To my great surprise, this soup was very good. I have never put white vinegar into a soup pot and almost left it out because I wondered if it would impart a sour flavor. Since the whole thing was a kitchen experiment anyway, I added it. It smelled strong, and I could smell it throughout the cooking time. I thought it was a mistake.

I knew that vinegar was an acid in this recipe, like lemon juice or wine. But, it really seemed to marry all the flavors of the ingredients and sharpen the cheese somewhat. That was an added plus, since I wondered if mild cheddar cheese would disappear on my taste buds and leave me with plain, old potato soup.

The other thing I liked about this recipe was that the soup did not water down as I ate it. I cooked it for a long time on very low heat, since I'm at 6100 feet. Everything requires more cooking here, and I didn't rush it. Using one percent milk meant that it was going to be thinner than recipes that use sour cream or heavy cream. But, I didn't boil it down to reduce it. It wasn't really thick, but it didn't taste or eat like a thin, watery soup either. Not using heavy boil at any point in the recipe probably contributed to this outcome. Even the broccoli cheddar soup at Panera waters down after a few spoonfuls, so I thought the consistency got the same high marks as the flavor profile.

It will be a cold day in Denver before I make this soup again.

Or, maybe it won't.

Ruby Tuesday's Potato Cheese Soup

1.5 hours/50 min. prep

Serves 2

2 large russet potatoes

2 tbsp. finely minced celery

1 tbsp. finely minced onion

1 tbsp. grated carrot

2 cups chicken stock or chicken broth

1 tsp. salt

2 tsp. white vinegar

2 tbsp. all-purpose flour

1.5 cups milk

1 cup shredded cheddar cheese, plus

1 tbsp. shredded cheddar cheese

1 tbsp. shredded monterey jack cheese

2 slices bacon, cooked and drained

1 tbsp. chopped green onion

1. Peel potatoes and chop into bite-size pieces.

2. Make sure vegetables are minced into very small pieces - carrot should be grated, not shredded.

3. In a large saucepan, combine vegetables with chicken stock, salt, and vinegar over medium heat.

4. Bring to a boil, then turn down heat, cover, and simmer for 20 minutes.

5. In a medium bowl, whisk together flour and milk.

6. Remove saucepan with vegetables from heat and add flour and milk mixture.

7. Return pan to heat and simmer, uncovered, for 5 to 8 minutes or until soup has thickened.

8. Add 1 cup shredded cheddar cheese to soup and simmer until melted.

9. By now, the potatoes should be tender and falling apart.

10.If not, continue cooking until soup is as thick as you like it.

11. To serve, divide soup into 2 bowls.

12. Divide remaining 1 tablespoons of Monterey Jack and Cheddar cheeses and sprinkle on the soup.

13. Crumble bacon and sprinkle evenly over the cheese.

14. Top each bowl of soup with chopped green onion.

CRD Note: Swanson's Chicken Broth is my preference for this recipe and those like it. The flavor and consistency results beat any recipe that only uses water, by a lot.

The Power of Pink

2009-01-30T23:27:00.017-07:00

Sandra Kay Yow
Head Coach, North Carolina State Women's Basketball
1942-2009

Pink will never be the same because of you.

"Yow's goodbye crafted in her selfless way"

By Caldon Tudor
Raleigh News & Observer

Posted: Saturday, Jan. 31, 2009

CARY -- Kay Yow's good-bye message on Friday reminded me of the first time I met her, which was 30 or so years ago on a chilly afternoon in Maryland's Cole Field House.

Then, as in death, Yow refused to let anything be about her. It was all about others – the people around her, even the people she didn't know or could never know.

In a video recording that the former N.C. State women's basketball coach filmed some weeks ago, she emphasized the importance of religion. Her parting wish was that those in attendance at Cary's Colonial Baptist Church – and far beyond – seek a greater reward from life than gold medals and gold bullion.

Coach Yow may have been the most selfless person I've ever met, and she was that way long before religion came to play such a prominent role in her life. The lady was a hopeless optimist. I told her that once and her response was classic: “Hey, if you just take time to look for the best in people, you'll find it in no time at all.”

The day I met her was during the first round of the ACC women's tournament in the late 1970s. Women's basketball, in those days, was only a slight cut above intramural athletics. I was the only sports writer at the game, and there weren't many more fans in the arena that afternoon than sports writers.

N.C. State won the game by at least 30 points and that was only through the grace of Yow. It could have been 60.

At game's end, I waited outside the locker room to ask the coach a few questions. She was fully startled to see a reporter of any type, much less someone from The Raleigh Times.

“My goodness!” she said. “Are you really going to do a story on our game?”

After I assured her that a game report on the Wolfpack women was my lone assignment of the day, her only item of urgency was that I interview her players.

“I'll go get some of them for you to talk to,” she said. “You wait right here. Don't you dare move. Stay right there. Don't budge. These girls are so dedicated, and they're such wonderful kids, and just one story would mean so much to them, and they've worked so hard for so long, and their families drive all the way to these games, and they all bring school books along all the time, and they make good grades, and we had bus problems getting up here, and it didn't take anything away from their enthusiasm whatsoever, and we'd love for you to come to practice one day and see how much effort they put into it, and there are so many great young gals hoping to see women's basketball survive, and it's such a great opportunity for girls.”

And on and on and on.

I was embarrassed to tears.

But not the sort of tears I fought to hold back Friday.

And, of course, all the players wanted to talk about their coach. Yow, in turn, didn't like that drift and insisted that the story focus on the players.

At long last – after Yow virtually dictated the storyline to me – I returned to courtside, pulled out my trusty Royal portable typewriter and went to work on my first-ever women's basketball game report.

Sure enough, about 10 minutes later, Coach Copy Editor Yow was peeking over my shoulder with stern advice. “Now don't forget,” she warned, “this should be about the players and women's game.”

One other thing: Beneath the hundreds of chairs in the church building Friday, there was a basketball court. That, she would have liked. It wasn't Coach Yow Court. Just a simple basketball court, where young girls years from now will learn to dribble, shoot and discover lessons much more important than a game score.

In the Paint: SI.com's All-American Hoops Blog

"The Kay Yow Movement"

Posted by Nicki Jhabvala

Kay Yow never stopped fighting. (AP)

"To me, there are three things we all should do every day. We should do this every day of our lives. Number one is laugh. You should laugh every day. Number two is think. You should spend some time in thought. And number three is, you should have your emotions moved to tears, could be happiness or joy. But think about it. If you laugh, you think, and you cry, that's a full day. That's a heck of a day. You do that seven days a week, you're going to have something special."
-- Jim Valvano (March 10, 1946-April 28, 1993)

Hues of blue and deep reds starkly divided the crowd of thousands. Kay Yow's seat on the North Carolina State bench was placed directly at half-court, where the contrasting shirts met, as if to bind the opposing sides. On the court, the players donned pink shoelaces, and pink ribbons were attached to their jerseys. Superficially, it was an eyesore. But in that moment, it was beautiful.

It was March 2007, and the women's Atlantic Coast Conference tournament was coming to a close at the Greensboro Coliseum in North Carolina. But it wasn't just a tournament; it was a battle. For everyone -- coaches, players and fans -- it was an emotional battle.

During halftime of the semifinal matchup between the North Carolina Tar Heels and the Maryland Terrapins, Yow and Virginia coach Debbie Ryan were honored as co-recipients of the Bob Bradley Spirit and Courage Award. The two had fought cancer (Ryan with pancreatic, Yow with breast cancer), and Yow's then-20-year struggle had picked up steam as her previous mastectomy, radiation treatment and hormone therapy had done little to keep the disease at bay. Yow's fight had drawn supporters from around the country, but especially in the conference. After all, she was born in North Carolina (Gibsonville), schooled in North Carolina and had spent her entire coaching career in North Carolina. This was her home.

In her 38 years of coaching -- four with Elon College, 34 with N.C. State -- Yow compiled a 737-344 record. She led the U.S. Olympic team to a gold medal in 1988 (a year after her cancer diagnosis) and the Wolfpack to four ACC tournament titles, 20 NCAA tournament bids and a Final Four appearance. And in 2002, she became only the fifth female coach inducted into the Naismith Basketball Hall of Fame.

During the 2006-07 regular season, Yow took a 16-game leave to focus on her treatment. When she returned to the sidelines, her strength had yet to return with her. But for her team -- to have its coach back on the bench, back where she had always been for the past 26 seasons with N.C. State - Yow's homecoming brought a renewed sense of dedication and a wave of inspiration. The Wolfpack's home court, Reynolds Coliseum, was renamed "Kay Yow Court," and the team won 12 out of its last 15 games, taking down conference rivals North Carolina and Duke before falling to Connecticut in the Sweet 16 of the NCAA tournament.

As N.C. State plowed forth in the conference tournament that year, a record of nearly 70,000 spectators filtered in and out of the coliseum over the weekend, not only to watch some of the top players and coaches in Division I basketball go head to head, but to also take part in an inspirational movement. Though not officially named, it was the Kay Yow movement against cancer, and it was shared by all -- strangers and rivals alike.

In the press conference following the final game, which the Wolfpack lost to the Tar Heels 60-54, even the stoic demeanor of reporters were tried as Yow struggled to speak -- her chemotherapy treatment, just a week prior, cut away at both her strength and voice. Her once glowing visage looked drawn and tired, her eyes drooping and vacant.

A couple of ambulances were parked discreetly at the rear of the coliseum, while emergency medical personnel were scattered throughout as eerie reminders of what could happen. While her team was on the floor, the once energetic and physically involved coach struggled to adhere to doctors' orders. Her assistant, Stephanie Glance, who had taken over the team in Yow's absence to lead the Wolfpack both in play calling and in spirit, played the role of guardian on the sideline. Her primary duty: keep Yow from getting too excited. Keep her seated. Keep her from expending too much energy.

During the regular season, UNC coach Sylvia Hatchell and Ryan carpooled over to Yow's house in Cary, N.C., to spend time with her, to talk about life and relationships -- to enjoy each other's company outside of the gym, the rivalrous tensions cast aside. Hatchell remembered it as "a really special visit."

For the thousands at the Greensboro Coliseum that weekend in March, Yow's appearance in the midst of a tiresome fight for her life was their special visit. Because, in taking what her late N.C. State counterpart, Jim Valvano, once said, cancer could take away her physical abilities, but she refused to let it touch her mind, her heart or her soul. She refused to stop fighting.

AP: N.C. State women's coach Yow dies at 66

ANDERSON: We've learned not to count out Yow

Bugs on My WindowPane

2009-01-30T12:53:00.012-07:00

Q: How many Windows programmers does it take to change a light bulb?

A: 472.
One to write WinGetLightBulbHandle...
One to write WinQueryStatusLightBulb...
One to write WinGetLightSwitchHandle...

About a year ago, I learned that the term "Trojan Horse" in the 21st Century wasn't necessarily referring to my beloved Traveler, faithful mascot at USC, my alma mater. It came as a bit of a shock.

Oh yeah, I had heard about spyware, malware, and adware. I thought "adware" had something to do with software in the advertising business. "Spyware" obviously had something to do with bad guys getting into my files, probably teenagers living in the basement of their family homes with career goals of "hacker." Who lived to hack. Who engaged in hacking. Oh yeah, I could conjugate "to hack" and use it correctly as a noun in a sentence, too. Hacks!!

"Malware" was -- well, I didn't know what that was. I quickly learned.

It all began when I couldn't log on to Internet Explorer. Or, if I slipped into it, the system crashed. That wouldn't have been so terrible with my other available options like Mozilla Firefox. But, our small business interface with our corporation wouldn't run (and doesn't run now) on anything except Internet Explorer. So, we had to do everything necessary to get Internet Explorer to run again.

My husband is usually capable of diagnosing such problems and magically making them disappear. Of course, it comes with the usual grousing about all things Microsoft. Internet Explorer, Bill Gates, Windows, Microsoft, greed, the end of the world, criminal prosecution. Stuff like that. But, I tolerated the monologues for the sake of computer recovery.

He tried everything. We ran endless cycles of anti-spyware, anti-malware, and anti-adware, which was conveniently name "AdAware." Days went by. Nothing worked. He finally declared that I must save anything I wanted from the hard drive, and he was going to scrub it. Hopefully, it would be usable again.

I don't recall how many hours I spent copying pictures, documents, e-mails, and other sundry stuff onto CD's. It could have been worse -- I had only been on the system for about a year, so I had not even had the time to amass what I would normally store. Meanwhile, Mark continued his research about other possible remedies, and the Microsoft-related grousing continued along with it. He called the Windows "Help" desk multiple times with multiple questions, and no one encouraged us NOT to scrub the hard drive. So, we thought that was the right thing to do.

Meanwhile, we decided that I would trade printers with him because I needed a different color capability for the work I was doing. I finished up all the CDs, and he went upstairs to install the new printer.

Suddenly, I heard him yell, "you have GOT to be kidding!" I wondered what new Microsoft atrocity had been meted upon him. I ran up the stairs.

Sure enough, the simple act of switching printers had identified the Trojan Horse that was causing all the problems. Importantly, once unmasked, the system had "captured" it and asked if we wanted to kill it.

Yes, we really wanted to kill it.

So, we killed it, and everything went back to normal.

Well, except for the fact that I didn't have any files, photos or documents to access directly. But, after almost a week of no progress on the matter, we were appropriately grateful.

After so many days of frustration, it's no wonder we were grateful for a solution. We celebrated like we had found the Holy Grail. It was over!!!

Yes, the problem was solved. But, I celebrated quietly to myself about the best part of the remedy for me.

No more patient head-nodding and tsk-tsking to the sermonette about that evil Bill Gates.

I saw him in person for the first time during the inaugural Softcon in New Orleans at the Louisiana Superdome. It was a few weeks after the national launch of the Apple Macintosh in a :60 spot airing one time on the Superbowl. February, 1984. He was wearing an ill-fitting khaki cotton seersucker suit with dark brown oxfords and a blue tie. His pants hit him just above the ankles, revealing his white crew socks. He was a skinny mess with a haircut that looked like he had done it himself and eyeglasses from the 1970's. He was walking with an equally nerdy-looking fellow who dressed almost the same.

That guy's suit was all-white cotton, with a blue shirt and a navy tie. His pants hit him just above the ankle, too. They looked like a couple of dweebs who had just come out of their high school science club fair, and their goofy smiles suggested they had taken first place.

To be sure. Gates didn't have any social skills, and a lot of people who passed him didn't recognize him. But, they knew his friend.

Steve Jobs was set to make some sort of speech -- not the keynote, but close -- and, they were headed to the event together. They were uneasy colleagues, temporarily bound together by the Macintosh. Jobs trying to assert a different operating system, and Gates throwing himself into the early software as a development partner because he didn't want to miss something big. It wasn't the last time they strode the halls of an electronics show together, but it was close to the last time.

I had a great room in the French Quarter and the opportunity to eat at Paul Prudhomme's K-Paul's Louisiana Kitchen and the very famous Commander's Palace. On the last night, I ate somewhere in the French Quarter, and the name of the restaurant escapes me now. I was encouraged to get the house specialty, which was an entire platter of whole shrimp coated in cajun spice.

It went down easy in the Big Easy. And, it almost came up again the next morning when my flight to San Francisco had to descend into Houston for a connection. I remember four things about that trip: the floor of the Superdome, the navy blue pumps that I wore all day, every day, without hurting my feet (youth???); the sight of Gates and Jobs, and the green color of my face on the trip home.

So, it's really hard for me to picture the evil Bill Gates in the context of today and the reality of what happened after that. No matter how many pictures I see of him now, the overview of his incredible property in Washington, or the reports of his personal wealth and foundation exploits, I just can't get that picture of him in New Orleans out of my mind.

He may control my computing life now. But, he sure went a long way, Baby, to get where he got to today.

The archives of TIME still house their story about the first ever national software trade show. The link is not trustworthy. But, if you're interested, search for "The Stepchild Comes of Age" dated March 5, 1984.