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Posts Tagged ‘Beer and wine’

Dear Dr. G:

Hello, and I hope you are doing well since I last saw you at AEJMC. I’ve been thinking about you lately for a strange reason.

You once called me a dilettante, which made me mad at the time. It wasn’t really accurate for the situation (as I recall, you were upset with me because you wanted me to focus solely on my doctoral work, but I wanted to keep my full-time job, you know, so I could eat and have shelter).

La dilettante

I know your heart was in the right place, and that you were, in your own way, showing confidence in my ability to do scholarly research full time.

Though it may seem like I am a dabbler, it’s not that at all. It’s the opposite, actually. I throw myself into something fully, learn as much as I can, then I move on to something else. More short attention span than dilettante.

sorry-attention-span-length-apology-ecard-someecards

That’s why I have five degrees (yes, five). It is also why my résumé looks like the life of eight different people.

If I could, I’d have more jobs (in addition to the one I have now, which I love). Some of these jobs include:

  • Flight attendant (A waitress in the sky? Yes!)
  • Travel writer
  • Tour guide for some exotic location
  • Cruise ship social director or bartender  (like Julie or Isaac from The Love Boat)
  • Personal chef (Wait … I think I already am.)
  • Character actress (like Rebel Wilson)
  • Personal assistant to someone nearly crazy (Think of the stories I could tell!)
  • NBC page (that’s one of those unfulfilled college ideas)
  • Beta tester for games
  • Game show host
  • Full-time employee at my university’s study-abroad campus in France (!)
  • Owner of a craft brewery
  • PR executive for Disney
  • Train conductor
  • State senator

Maybe Santa can bring me new names for my contact list to help me accomplish my goals.

So yes, I am interested in many things. Dilettante? No. Focused? Yes, for periods of time. Game show host? I can only hope. Thanks for helping me in one of my pursuits.

Anyway, happy holidays, and I look forward to seeing you in Washington, D.C.

Sincerely,
Beth, Aspirational Polymath

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Dear Readers,

On this day of thanksgiving, I want to share with you the (admittedly random) things for which I am thankful, beyond the usual gratefulness for family, friends and health. I am thankful for (in no particular order):

  1. A husband who isn’t a lazy, fat slob (even if he has gone too far the other way and joined the Crossfit Cult)
  2. Artistic children
  3. The Avengers (specifically Thor and Iron Man)
  4. The ability to visit friends in far-flung places such as Abu Dhabi
  5. A job that I love
  6. Funny and talented colleagues
  7. The words “qi,” “za” and “jo” that are so handy in Words With Friends
  8. Apple (in our house: iPhone 5, iPhone 4S, MacBook Air, two iPads, two MacBook Pros and stock in Apple for obvious reasons)
  9. Bacon
  10. Stan Lee
  11. Adobo seasoning
  12. Full-coverage underwear
  13. Crocs (I know they are butt-ugly, but they are so useful)
  14. This
  15. Honey Boo Boo
  16. Puréed pumpkin in the freezer awaiting pie-making at Christmas
  17. Stephen King and his gloriously messed-up imagination
  18. Parker’s growlers
  19. Facebook and Twitter
  20. The word “moist” (A polarizing word, “moist,” but perfectly descriptive)

Here is what I could do without:

  1. The word “penetration” used in sports
  2. Any recent Patricia Cornwell books
  3. Poetry (Sorry.)
  4. Thongs
  5. Green peppers
  6. Mosquitoes, flies, sand gnats, telemarketers, talk show hosts and other pesky creatures
  7. The 24-hour news cycle that causes the focus to be on the salacious rather than the serious
  8. Men who don’t trim their ear and nose hair
  9. Pinterest, Instagram and Tumblr
  10. Any of the “real housewives”
  11. Burlap
  12. Strip malls
  13. Steven Seagal
  14. Fad diets such as Paleo, Zone, Atkins, etc. (just eat more fruits and vegetables, fewer sugary things, and exercise more, people!)
  15. Boys’ pants with unreinforced knees
  16. Knickknacks
  17. Chicago Manual of Style
  18. Anthony Bourdain
  19. Golf
  20. “Talking points” instead of just talking

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!
Beth

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Dear Saddle Bags:

Thank you for opening in Savannah in May. You’ve filled the country dance hall/saloon void that formed when Stetson’s on Mall Boulevard closed. (Stetson’s is now Star Castle Family Entertainment Center. Not a suitable replacement, in my opinion.)

You are now the go-to place when Eddie and I need a night out. (Don’t judge. We don’t get out much. You’ll see why we like it here.)

Where else can the young, middle-aged and old mingle so happily together — watching the band, dancing, riding a bull? You are a place where young men help older, drunk women heave themselves onto the bull’s back.

You are a place where men proudly carry purses.

You are a place where men in cowboy hats wear Mardi Gras beads in July.

You are a place where other men in hats line dance alongside their accountants while two drunk girls dance with each other.

You are a place where men are fond of dirty dancing — with each other.

In short, you are everything a people-watcher could want. Thank you for bringing so much joy into my life.

See you in a couple of weeks!
Beth

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Dear Apothic Red,

Thank you so much for saving my sanity this quarter. Without you, I might be balled up and slobbering on the floor of my office. Well, more than usual.

I remember when we first met, just a few short weeks ago. I was looking for Cupcake Red Velvet when the Publix wine dude suggested I try you instead. I like to keep my options open, so I took both of you home with me. (You and Cupcake, that is, not you and the wine dude.)

That afternoon, I needed to be outside in the back yard with the children, so I had to take you to go. My first sip was an injustice to your carefully crafted zest. Yet even swigged from the contours of my blue Solo cup, you tasted divine. I reveled in the dance of a thousand flavors as I listened to the gentle sounds of playtime:

Mama! He threw a stick at me!
Well, he did it first!
I did not!
He did too!
Did not!
(etc.)

Thanks to you, Apothic Red, I was able to tune out this chatter and focus on something more important: the latest issue of Entertainment Weekly.

Thanks to you, I could later deaden the pain of having to give a great student a B in a class where he/she would have earned an A had he/she just followed the assignment directions.

Thanks to you, I managed to silence the screaming, stressed-out voices in my head who were trying to prevent me from ticking off the 4,322 items on my to-do list.

You (and your subsequent copies) have brought me much joy and peace over the past month. I can’t thank you enough.

Hope to see you soon!

Your friend,
Beth

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Dear Camera Crews Covering the Redneck Games:

Thank you for taking such an interest in the annual Redneck Games in Dublin, Ga. You represented a variety of media, including local (Macon’s WMAZ) and international (the UK’s Daily Mail).

Unfortunately for you, the organizers moved the event from the usual second weekend of July to Memorial Day Weekend. Whereas there are usually hundreds of people sweating in the Georgia heat, this time there were only a hundred. Maybe. Including the vendors and organizers.

It must have been tough for you to do your job, considering the ratio of attendees to you was about 3 to 1. You shot everything that moved and wore a Dixie flag.

If you were seeking authenticity, though, I have news for you: Most of the people who captured your lens were redneck posers.

For example, real rednecks wouldn’t wear an American flag like a cape.

Real rednecks don’t wear fake rat tails.

Real rednecks don’t have fake mullets.

Real rednecks don’t wear duct-tape bras (especially with carefully sliced cut-offs).  (She was wearing Birkenstocks, by the way.)

Real rednecks don’t wear Confederate Flag dresses. (My friend Ida looks cute, though.)

Real rednecks don’t wear boxers and jacked-up Nike socks.

Real rednecks don’t jump in the mud pit just to be on camera.

There were very few real rednecks at the redneck games. What you saw was, essentially, a Potemkin village.

If you knew Southern culture, you’d be able to spot the real deal.

For example, real rednecks drink their Bud while hanging out in a half-shirt by the trash.

Real rednecks know how to set up camp.

And rednecks-in-training enjoy their first time bobbin’ for pigs’ feet.

I hope that this field guide will help you spot the knockoffs next time.

Sweating with Southern pride,
Beth

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The MPAA finally caved to pressure regarding the film “Bully,” and lowered the rating to PG-13 from R. That makes it easier for target audiences to see it.

Good.

I don’t really understand why bad language and nudity is not OK, but people getting peppered with gunfire is just fine. (I should ask my mother-in-law. She once fled the room when a Victoria’s Secret commercial came on and told my brother-in-law we were watching porn. This is the same woman who sat through all of the über-violent “Battle Royale.”)

Bullying mystifies me. We’re all freaky in our own way. We should embrace that, right?

“Be yourself.” I guess it’s a trite phrase that is easier said than done. The older I get, the easier it is. I am who I am, for better or worse.

I have no shame. For example, I freely admit to:

  • Loving Toby Keith’s “Red Solo Cup” and Luke Bryan’s “Country Girl (Shake It For Me).”
  • And loving Hanson’s “MMMbop” and Britney Spears’ “Toxic.”
  • And also loving the Ramones’ “Blitzkrieg Bop” and Hüsker Dü’s “In a Free Land.”
  • While in high school, sneaking out of the house to see the Butthole Surfers at the Metroplex in Atlanta. (Apologies to my dad who reads my blog and may not know this.) They almost burned down the stage = best night ever.
  • Ogling men. (Look, before you say, “Poor Eddie,” let me assure you he knows, rolls his eyes, and let’s me carry on. We’re married, not dead.)
  • Being willing to break my marriage vows for Johnny Depp. (Eddie knows this too.)
  • Being as fascinated by Christina Aguilera’s rack as Eddie is.
  • Wanting a monster truck. (I used to drive a red pickup. I miss it.)
  • Preferring raunchy comedies and D-grade horror movies over any of the crap I’m supposed to like. (“English Patient” and “Lord of the Rings,” I’m talking about you.)
  • Sometimes telling my kids they are driving me batshit crazy.
  • Having tickets to see Adam Ant in concert Sept. 29.
  • Nursing an addiction to “Words With Friends” and “Draw Something.”
  • Liking beer and wine more than fancy mixed drinks.
  • Being a little bit of a hillbilly.
  • Adoring the F word and its big sister, M— F—.
  • Wanting to put bacon in everything.
  • Thinking some plastic surgery might be a good thing. (A little Botox here and there …)
  • Wanting desperately to go noodling.

Express yourself. Let your freak flag fly. I won’t judge. Instead, I’ll think you are awesome.

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Camping seems like a great idea until you find yourself coated in mosquito bites, sleeping on a rapidly deflating air mattress, and lathering your children in calamine lotion because of a mysterious rash.

Why do people in first-world countries see the need to schlep their belongings out to the woods to sleep on the ground? Isn’t one of the benefits of being citizens of a developed nation the fact that we have beds, shelter, etc.?

I didn’t think about any of this as I happily agreed to go camping with two other families at Edisto Island State Park this weekend. Roaring fire? S’mores? Getting back to nature? Sign me up.

But these should have been my first and second clues that this was a bad idea:

Uh oh.

The creatures were out in full force. Worms were rappelling out of the trees like Tom Cruise in “Mission Impossible.”

This worm took up residence in my hair.

And that suited Dominic and Gideon just fine.

Dominic shows off his worm habitat.

To be fair, the campsite was equipped with water and electricity, so it is not like we were truly roughing it.

Camp, sweet camp

But as soon as we put up the tent, it rained. And rained. And rained. We stayed inside and watched superhero cartoons.

The rain finally moved on, leaving everything dirty and muddy. Nate’s shoes were destroyed, so he borrowed Charlotte’s as he went to get a drink (and grab Charlotte’s purse).

Nate brings sexy back.

Despite the monsoon, we did have the requisite cookout, fire and s’mores.

And Nate’s sexy look worked on someone: a friendly Southern toad.

The next day we hit the beach.

This is one way to keep him still.

Gideon can't stand to be left out.

Dominic finds some kind of crab.

New media and old media happily coexist on the beach.

Good company, lots of laughs, and some relaxation almost made up for the critters, dirt and back pain.

However, as Eddie groused the whole time he was loading and unloading the car, I’m going to guess that is the last time he strays from the comfort of his own habitat.

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It’s good to have friends you’ve known for decades. You can be your unvarnished self and they still like you. My unvarnished self spent the weekend in New Orleans with my friend Julia, whom I’ve known since eighth grade. She was there for a conference* so I used frequent flier miles to join her. My cost for transportation and hotel: $10.

Savannah has been called a small New Orleans. It’s more like this: Savannah is the girl with “a reputation” who still dresses up every day and goes to church on Sundays. New Orleans is her trashy older sister who whores herself out to buy heroin.

To report everything that we did and saw will take more than one post (and I’m not sure I want to incriminate myself or Julia). I’ll just share with you some visual highlights.

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* This is what happens when people get older and have jobs and mortgages. When they are desperate to get out of town, they join up with friends who are going to conferences for work (read: free hotel room).

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Lured by the media’s suggestion that the Savannah St. Patrick’s day crowd could be the largest ever, I left my family and the quiet comfort of our home and headed downtown.

Why?

Because if there’s going to be insanity on display, then I want to see it.

The first time I witnessed the St. Pat’s festivities in Savannah, I was a sophomore in college. The fraternity for which I was a little sister was part of the parade. I spent my time in a fetal position in the back seat of the “float” (which was a van with signs on it). Green beer was not what took me down; it was a tainted hamburger.

Anyway, I arrived downtown just as the parade finished. My mistake. The cops directing traffic were already irritated, and the day was young. I found a parking place without too much trouble (what a shock!), met up with Royce (a frequent partner in crime), and headed to River Street.

As we walked down the Factors Walk steps, Royce said, “Here we go into the belly of the beast.” Then the drunk guy behind us repeated it, adding “That’s about right.”

So, without further ado, here is what you missed if you didn’t heed the beast’s call to “GET IT MAH BELLY!

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So … it is now Jan. 19, well past the time when many people abandon their new year’s resolutions. It seemed like a good time to check in with mine.

  • try noodling. I still haven’t found a guide.
  • wear skirts more often.So far, I’m sporting a skirt once a week. That’s a huge increase from about twice in all of last year.
  • go to Lacoste again (or, at the very least, drink more French wine). Check “yes” on the second part.
  • speak more Spanish at home and keep practicing French. Not so much, unless cursing counts.
  • acquire more chickens. I’ll start looking for chicks in March.
  • clean out my pantry. I got rid of a couple of items. OK, so they were expired. It’s a start.
  • stop letting my son’s superhero noises bother me. That’s an uphill battle, but I’m working on it.
  • see Adam Ant in concert.I bought tickets for the Feb. 11 show. Then he had to push the tour back six months. (He’s not in rehab again.) (OK, that’s what his people say.)
  • see Van Halen reunited with David Lee Roth in concert. They will be in the Southeast in April.
  • visit the Brannens in Abu Dhabi. Hmmm … March or June.
  • go camping at least once. Too cold right now.
  • see my friend Tina’s new place and finally talk her into visiting us. Hasn’t happened.
  • stop pretending I like to listen to NPR in my car. I outed myself during a class yesterday. Liberation!
  • audition for a play or musical. I hear there are auditions for “Rent” in March.
  • actually go out for drinks/dinner with my friends Matt, Pam, Kathy, Lee, etc., instead of just talking about it. Hasn’t happened yet.
  • either part ways with my padding or to stop talking about it. I’ve been to the gym twice a week since Jan. 1 AND I made money because of it, thanks to GymPact.
  • make homemade pasta more often. I made shrimp and mushroom ravioli last week.
  • take a cooking class to improve my knife skills. Signed up for a class next month.
  • go to more of the interesting festivals I like so much (such as the Redneck Games). The Redneck Expo and Golf Cart Rally will be held April 6-7 in Bainbridge. That sounds like a winner!
  • write more, read more, talk less. I’ve written columns for the local paper, so that’s good. (What’s bad: I let more than two weeks pass between posts on this blog.) I’ve mostly caught up on my magazine reading. And I caught myself being quiet and not chiming into a conversation the other day. Progress!

So there you have it. I’ve also added one more: Learn to do the Running Man and Moonwalk.

How are you doing with yours?

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