The Stanley Cap

I mean sure, I (in a very big "we" sort of way) pulled off a wedding that was on-theme and color-coordinated and pretty festive. But did it come close to achieving the grand vision of my sister-in-law's new husband, whose personal Christmas each year is the day known as The Stanley Cap? I think not.

11 teams of 2 players each, assorted bystanders, and 2 very pregnant fans (including a two-time Stanley Cap champion!) converged in Charlestown, MA for 8.5 hours of play (and lots of lots of beer) on Saturday. The winners who prevailed? None other than the Cap organizer himself and his sister-in-law!

Poor T was so hoping that he'd be the one to get his last name onto the winner's banner, not that pesky middle sister of his. And in case you're wondering, it was recommended that I take part in a few practice games in the off-season before next year.

Friday I'm in Love

I'm a heading into a sports-filled weekend. First, we're flying to Boston tonight to take part in A²'s annual tournament "The Stanley Cap," wherein an intricate bracket system pits teams throwing bottle caps into cups of beer all day long, until a winning team emerges at the end of the night. Kind of a big deal. Sports event number two is the World Cup. Since I happen to be married to someone who's been living and breathing the Cup for weeks now (thank goodness kickoff is finally less than an hour away!), this is also kind of a big deal. Sports event number three is Stephen Strasburg on the mound again for the Nationals, which we'll have to follow from up north, because, in case you hadn't heard, his debut was kind of a big deal.

So in honor of all things sports this weekend, a tribute to soccer madness, plus two other things that, well, just tickled my funny bone this week. Have a fantastic weekend, everyone - may the best teams win!

World Cup!

Going to be exciting. Actually, it's fun for me just to see how excited T gets. But seriously, how can you not get pumped up watching this video?

What the G*D F* is Wrong with You?

I shed tears reading this. Oh, how it pleases me. It is profane and it is absurd and was the best thing that happened to me all day when I found it. Get your basic rules of grammar straight, people!


BP Spills Coffee


Because sometimes, we've just gotta laugh to feel a little better, you know?

Freckled Citizen Radio

While tinkering around on Pandora the other day, I created a fun new feature. Over on the left sidebar, you'll see a box called "Freckled Citizen Radio." What is that, exactly? Why, a link to the Freckled Citizen Listens station on Pandora! My favorite thing about it is that it brings together all the various elements of my personality pretty nicely. Some days when I log on I'm reminded that I'm part alterna-chick. Some days I'm downhome and bluegrassy. Some days I'm soulful. Some days I'm old-school. Some days I'm goth and mopey. If you're tired of your music rotation, give my station a listen, and let me know what you think!

Prague Nightlife: Serpents and Robots

One of the best things about Prague was that we saw it with T's stepbrother, who was making his way to the wedding in Slovenia just as we were, only doing so with a large backpack, an affinity for hostels, and no real plan other than his whims. T and I aren't cool enough to travel like that. At any rate, J lived in Prague for a semester in college and the city still has a hold on his heart. With J as our tour guide, we were able to see a slew of things that many other folks there for only two days might never find. J's biggest influence was a certain beer hall, but that's another post (see how I keep building the beer suspense?) After an afternoon of beers and then more beer over dinner, J took us to two of his favorite spots from his college days.

Bar #1 has a name I no longer remember. I call it the serpent bar. You'll see why. By some strange vacationing whim, we decided to try absinthe at this bar. My reaction after doing so? "There's a first and last time for everything."

When J first told us about Cross Club, our second stop of the night, the best description he could provide was, "It's like partying inside of a robot." I don't know about you, but I don't really have a frame of reference for that analogy. But sure, we're game.

This place is insane. Insanely awesome. These photos are going to seem surreal, but just imagine that most of the parts are moving, and then recalibrate your idea of surreal. (For a video tour of Cross Club, check this out.) The first shot is the entrance, in case newcomers weren't already aware there was something unusual going on inside. (Actually, I take that back - there is no way to stumble upon this place accidentally. It's out there, sitting amidst warehouses and car lots.) When you see the multi-level bar, just imagine trying to get the upstairs area with a ceiling too low to accommodate a standing adult to pass any sort of U.S. government inspection. Or trying to gloss over with Mr. Building Code guy the fact that the chance of customers impaling themselves on the walls or ceilings - you know, after jugs of beer and fiery shots of absinthe - is extremely high. What can I say? We like to live on the edge, robot-style.

Without further adieu, Cross Club.

Wordplay, Art, and Graffiti, Prague-style

I haven't recapped our trip to Europe yet because, well, it's intimidating to figure out how to craft a narrative out of 500+ photos! Even the thought of telling the story chronologically is exhausting to me. Instead, then, I'll offer little stories here and there. Eventually it'll all come out, promise.

Prague was my favorite part of our trip. Just the thought of it makes me want to grab a cold beer and saddle up to a seasoned Czech at a bar. But the beer stories are for later. Today, some of the interesting art and wordplay I saw in Prague, much of it on walls.

If rooms are "free," then how can they cost 45 Euro? Hee hee hee...

Prague is a city of graffiti, nearly all of it really artfully done and maintained as part of the visual landscape. To my fellow urban planning/landscape design nerds out there, this is interesting on its own merits. But I say it here as a way to preface the following photo...

"We met by accident, became friends by choice, and fell in love by fate." Actually, this sounds like a rather conscious decision to pair up romantically to me, but okay... I like the bold proclamation, anyway. ;-)

 Best. English. Menu. EVER. Click for a larger version to appreciate "Temptations For Your Delicate Tongue," "A Hark Back To The Past," and "Something To Go With Beer."

My photo of this sculpture is terrible, but I'd already been waiting for these nice folks ("Kick em out" shirt notwithstanding) to leave for five minutes and I lost patience. At any rate, to explain what you are seeing here, it is TWO MEN PEEING INTO A POND VIA MECHANICAL APPARATI. Even better: If you text a word to a phone number, they will pee the word. Seriously. You can thank David Czerny for this, and see them in action here (along with a great description of the piece and its context from a tour guide).

 Really, nothing nice to say about Mr. Sunshine?

The Astronomical Clock is pretty awesome. We strolled up to it after beers and hit it accidentally right on the hour, no doubt annoying the throngs of people who'd positioned themselves in wait for some time. Prague: city of great fortune! You can see it work here (man I love YouTube for things like this!). Here's a piece of history for you: when the clock was built in 1338, it so pleased the townsmen who commissioned it that they blinded the artist so that he couldn't make one for any other city. Wow. Prague: city of great misfortune!

Here's where graffiti gets really interesting. This is the Lennon Wall, named so because under Communist rule, young Czechs turned this wall into a canvas for their complaints about the government, often using John Lennon lyrics to make their points. The wall was repainted every day, but recovered with graffiti every night. You could spend hours photographing this wall - new elements are still added today. It's fascinating - and gorgeous.

 I'll say it now and forever hold my peace: there's not a single flattering photo of me from this entire trip. Moving on!

These locks contain tributes to love. I had to wonder: is a lock really the best way to express one's devotion to another person? Ball and chain... trapped under lock and key... unable to break free... "Hey baby, I really love you, so here's this lock to represent my feelings." Am I missing something?

At any rate, there are lots of them. Locks of love: yea or nay? Discuss!

Prague: I'm forever locked in by its artistic charm! Or something like that. Seriously, I love this place. Much more to come!

Two weeks, in photos

With my 5-months-preggo sis at the kidney donation fundraiser:

Heather and her cousin Michael announcing the raffle winners at the fundraiser. I'm happy to report that Heather's kidney is doing amazingly well inside Michael - it started working immediately! His creatin levels are nearly at the level of a normal healthy adult and he was released from the hospital in record time. Truly amazing.

My niece Taylor in my mom's garden:

My sis and I (with the lovely companionship of the guys, of course) made cupcakes and icing late into the night for my nephew's first birthday party:

Don't forget the mini-cake for the birthday boy! Lisa decorated with the Meri Meri Animal Parade line - adorable!

The little birthday boy was a tad under the weather, but he still braved the clown, bouncy house, and balloons. Liam with his great-grandpa and his Jambo:

Taylor turns three this weekend! I swear just yesterday she was tiny:

One week later, my parents came to visit me and do some plant doctor work on my patio. This is how you know my mom's been around ... whoa!

Last night we saw The National at DAR Constitution Hall. What a show! T and I fell in love to The National's 'Alligator,' so it'll always hold a special place in our hearts. I'm kinda proud of this photo:

Friday I'm in Love!

Awwww, remember this great series I used to do every single week, featuring my favorite little gems on the web? It's been a while, I know. This first weekend in June finds me alone in our pad (T's been traveling for work for a few days) until my parents drive up* this weekend to help me do some planting and patio maintenance. I see tomatoes in my future, and with any luck, healthy gardenia blossoms! But first, a fun dinner with one of my favorite DC ladies tonight. So in honor of the hot and muggy weekend ahead, I offer three great cool-down finds. Enjoy your weekend and stay cool, folks!

Painted Rock Blouse

I swear I cool off just looking at this blouse. I also love its dress up/dress down potential, maybe paired with some gorgeous stone jewelry my parents picked out for me in Tanzania? Yep, that'll do.

Water Bottle Ice Trays

These suckers are brilliant! I'm having one of those "why didn't I invent these?" feelings about this product. Such a great idea for beating the heat.

Ricotta Honey Ice Cream

My pal Cate has a fantastic post on her blog about making this ice cream post-wedding and pre-NextBigDecision. This stuff sounds perfect for right now, and no ice cream maker is necessary. I'd love to start making refreshing freezer treats, now that I think about it. Any favorites out there to recommend? (While you're visiting Cate, be sure to take some time and ooh and aah at her beautiful wedding in western Virginia.)

ps: I got my act together last night and replenished by fun little Freckled Citizen Wants section last night. (Oh, the things we can do without a cute boy around the house to distract us!) It's been neglected too, mostly because posting photos of million-dollar rowhomes seemed a little excessive. So on a much smaller scale, see the bottom right sidebar or hop right over for some gift ideasfresh retail inspiration!

*My parents are DRIVING UP. And I hopped down last weekend. And T hopped up to New York and Connecticut the other day. I continue to crush hard on my new geographic location.

Gulf oil and seafood and YOU

What do I mean when I talk about eating what I preach? Shrimp is a good example.

More often than not, I walk into a market with a craving for shrimp and turn away disappointed. I'm committed to buying US wild-caught shrimp for a slew of reasons, most importantly because doing so supports an industry and a culture that I care about strongly. Foreign shrimp, much of it farm-raised, has been flooding the US market at an alarming rate for years. Besides simply not tasting as good, spending my dollars on foreign shrimp hurts shrimpers in North Carolina and the Gulf, folks whose livelihood is always dangling by a thread. Spending my dollars on US wild-caught shrimp is just like voting, and I get to do so with every purchase.  

I'm talking about shrimp today because of the oil spill in the Gulf. What's happening is horrendous, and I know many of us feel absolutely trapped by our inability to do a thing to help the situation.

Here, then, is my little PSA for the Gulf and the folks directly affected by the oil spill: GO EAT GULF SEAFOOD. Save for flying down there to get on a cleanup and/or rescue team, it's the best thing you can do today to help out.

Worried about the safety of Gulf seafood? Don't be. There are a slew of agencies and organizations - local, federal, and multi-state groups, overseen by the Food and Drug Administration - diligently testing every bit of water that's supporting seafood based on wind and current shifts and the current path of the oil. This multi-layered protection simply isn't allowing tainted seafood to reach the marketplace, something that consumers aren't as confident about as they should be. Eating Gulf seafood right now is the right thing to do, particularly since we don't know what lies ahead.

Longtime fishing and oyster families in the Gulf - families whose work spans generations, families who've managed to hang on through Katrina and survive despite the flood of international competition in the marketplace - need your help. Eating their seafood for your dinner helps fill their dinner tables, too. That kind of consumer choice is awe-inspiring and humbling all at once.

Fishing is hard work, and making a living from it is a daunting challenge. The parallels to family farming are clear. In both situations, the marketplace and our own choices as consumers have pushed these hardworking folks into ever more desperate circumstances to support their families, to hang on to their land or their boat, and to make it to tomorrow. In that context, here's a song by Drew Landry, singing about the impossible situation of a family fisherman working the oil rigs to pay the bills.

How might things be different if we all made a commitment to support family fisheries and family farmers with our food dollars? What if the playing field was leveled again and family fishing and farm work could support a family the way it used to? What if dangerous and destructive oil work wasn't the best choice to support a family? These are things I spend a lot of time thinking about.

While you're eating your FDA-approved safe Gulf seafood, send out your thoughts/prayers/karma/whatever-you-believe that this thing is over sooner rather than later. It could be a very long summer:

6/4/10 Update: A great piece from the NYT on New Orleans chefs going out into the water to check on the local seafood supply. Eat it while you can, folks... really.

Building codes and breakups

I'll just go ahead and say it and get the embarrassment over with: the separation announcement of Al and Tipper Gore in the same year that Susan Sarandon and Tim Robbins broke up is just too much for this liberal romantic to bear.

Cue my US Weekly-level shame about investing emotion in the pairing of strangers. For good measure, let's go ahead and swoon at this for a second, shall we?

Two weeks ago, stealing a moment during the Mexican state visit

At least we have the White House. Sigh...

As this piece so succinctly summarizes, it was Al and Tipper's image as stalwart partners - white-bread and boring and safe and completely thrilled with one another - that's put me so on edge. That sort of crumbling - a fatal flaw in the architect-scoffed but engineer-proofed structure made to last - makes me feel, well, a little heartbroken. I mean, if even Newt Gingrich is sad about the Gore breakup, you know this is not politics or Hollywood as usual. It's your parents. It's you. It's us.

From Salon: "There is oil gushing into the ocean and people are killing humanitarian aid workers and the earth is still warming. Those things are on a different plane of sad and have already left us all terribly afraid and depressed and angry this early summer. I didn't know I had any room at all to care about the Gores' relationship, but maybe because it's something so much smaller, so much more personal, a headline so much easier to absorb than the other larger tragedies playing out around the globe that this small piece of political gossip turns out to be such an unbelievable freaking bummer."

And so here I sit, unable to watch footage of oil leaking into the Gulf and full of uncoolness by actively mourning a public couple's decision to part ways. I am a useless citizen. I keep thinking of the word "structure," and have equated Al and Tipper as the city hall to Susan and Tim's skyscraper. That unchallenging but safe building was supposed to be there forever, serving its purpose for generations with quiet, reassuring grace. Meanwhile, the skyscraper soared overhead, full of challenge and drama and verve, and as much as you envied it for yourself, you did so with a tiny seed of fear about how long it would be relevant, or would remain standing at all. Skyscrapers are reinvented, but city halls last forever. Longer than we'd like, in most cases.

This morning on NPR, a spokesman from the Council of Contemporary Families offered a new way of thinking about these sorts of separations. Why is a 40-year marriage that produced four kids considered a failure just because it ends? Shouldn't we recalibrate our expectations a tad, given that we are living longer than ever and having what amounts to at least two marriages within the span of what used to be just one? According to the spokeswoman, a quarter of all divorces last year consisted of couples who'd been married two decades or more. There is something to that, to be sure. I know several examples first-hand.

But here's the thing. I want the weekend adventures, the fishing boats through Alaska, and the safaris to Africa that my empty-nester parents are so good about taking whenever they get the chance. I want to stick around long enough to see T embrace his dapper old man self, with big hair and no need to justify wearing a seersucker suit every day. I want side-by-side front porch rocking chairs, making each other giggle the same way we do now, through all the grays and wrinkles and aches and pains. I love the idea of growing old with him.

I like to think that T and I took enough time on the front end to make sure we settled down with the right person so that we won't need extra time on the back end to be apart. But that's just wild speculation, of course. Good couples do separate, and bad couples do stay together, but more than we'd like to admit, things really do fall apart.

I'm lighting some candles over here for the celebrated partnerships whose lights have dimmed, but doing so with purpose. One candle for carrying on the quiet fun of Tipper and Al. One candle for carrying on the electric connection of Susan and Tim. Candles for all the fantastic couples we know, still burning brightly. And another candle just for us: to being us, through thick and thin, and to giving this thing our best shot.