My plea to whomever controls the campus budget for next year

I would make a horrible visual artist. I don't find beauty in many random things. As a result, sometimes I confuse exterior art installations for, well, mistakes. Can someone please tell me if these random bricks lying outside of the theatre are someone's college art project?



And furthermore, can someone explain to me why the powers that be at the institute of higher learning where our theatre is housed decided to lay a random amoeba of concrete in the ground surrounded by a moat of decorative stones?



At least they've placed these beautiful/humongous planters outside of the lobby to try to take away from all of the other randomness that is occuring as one approaches the building.



If the college has money to throw around on random patches of "decorative" cement as it appears they do, I would encourage them to throw a little money my way for a brand new freakin' sound system, please and thank you. Just a suggestion.

In other news, I'll be MIA over the Labor Day weekend. Another friend of mine is getting married. Fifth and final of the summer, thank goodness. A wedding recap will undoubtedly be up some time next week because I know you all are quivering in your boots, eagerly anticipating pictures of me and the Maestro cutting up a rug as grandma jumps up and down to hip hop.

Have a happy and healthy Labor Day weekend!

Are you the dream?

"...America has given the Negro people a bad check, a check which has come back marked 'insufficient funds.' But we refuse to believe that the bank of justice is bankrupt. We refuse to believe that there are insufficient funds in the great vaults of opportunity of this nation. So we have come to cash this check — a check that will give us upon demand the riches of freedom and the security of justice."
--Martin Luther King, Jr.

45 years ago today, a really amazing man gave a momentous speech in front of hundreds of thousands of citizens unhappy with the way that things had been done. These people were tired of the hypocrisy that was being espoused by their leaders, their elders, and their neighbors. So they gathered in Washington, D.C. in droves for a completely non-violent demonstration that culminated in a speech that some might say changed the face of our nation.

While I'm sad that he can't be around to see his dreams come to fruition, I'm filled with an immense pride that so many boxes on Dr. King's dream check list can now be checked off.

"I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character." Check!

"One day... little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers." Check!

"I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: 'We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal." Check. Check. And more check.

45 years later, freedom is ringing from the "prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire," the "mighty mountains of New York," the "heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania" and so forth and so on. To be able to live a life that is a testament to a vision that one remarkable man had in a not-so-distant past that my parents can remember continues to blow my mind. That the color of my skin was neither a hindrance nor a burden to me is a blessing. That I can walk down the street hand-in-hand with my super white boyfriend occasionally takes my breath away in the wake of the fact that my mother went to a segregated high school. That I can call my friends of all colors, shapes, sizes, socioeconomic backgrounds, faiths and creeds my sisters and brothers brings me an amazing joy.

But 45 years later, the work still isn't done. I'm fortunate to live in an environment that is accepting of all people. I know that it's not that way everywhere. Not everyone can marry their soulmate free from a world of intolerance and hatred. Not everyone can be friends with whomever they please. 35 years later, we still fight to keep things like Jena from happening. Hatred still oozes from groups like the Westboro Baptist Church into our everyday lives. But just when we take two steps back, we always take at least one step in the right direction.

So I implore you to not let the day go by without at least remembering where we, as a nation, came from and where we, as a nation, still have yet to go. And after you think on that for a little bit, strive to continue being the dream that Dr. King articulated all those years ago.

If you haven't heard/read that famous speech, or it's been awhile since you have, you can read a full transcription here.

Wino Wednesday

Wherein I pretend to know something about wine to justify my affinity for all things alcoholic

A few years ago, I moved to the west side of town which (among other things) is known for having a fairly prolific Jewish community. Then, I started working at a company with a few Orthodox Jews and got introduced to Kosher pizza, donuts, and even Chinese food. My next-door-office-neighbor shares my fondness for alcohol and taught me early on that most liquor is already Kosher. Wine, on the other hand, is not automatically Kosher for whatever reason (don't ask me why, I don't know... and he wouldn't know either because he knows very little about being Jewish).

Since I live in such a Hebrew-heavy neighborhood, my local wine shop actually features a Kosher wine section. Much to my surprise, it wasn't filled with Manischewitz. This shop (one of my favorites) has free wine tastings on Saturdays throughout the year and offered this delicious moscato awhile back. I tried it, loved it, and served it at the most recent work party I hosted at home.

It's a little sweet, but that's how I like my white wines. If you're looking for a yummy dessert wine, definitely try Golan Moscato. In addition to being delicious (and better than cake), you can also tell your guests that it's made in Galilee. I don't know why, but I feel like it makes me sound intelligent when I drop that fact as I'm serving.

How to vacation on the cheap

I'm baaaaaaaaaaaaaaack! Hopefully someone out there missed me. I must say that this past trip, however mundane some people might think it was, left me recharged. I'm not totally ready to go back to the office, but I'm absolutely stoked about starting rehearsals for A Chorus Line tonight.

Here's a brief (hopefully) recap of the trip with some lessons learned in the process.

We left on Tuesday night after work. The Maestro picked me up, we packed my luggage and clubs in his car and went on our merry way. At about 6 pm on a Tuesday evening, the roads weren't too packed. We headed to Bedford, Pennsylvania and had dinner with some friends from college. We hung around and watched the Olympics with them for a bit, got a tour of their new house, and got back on the road. We arrived in Indiana, Pennsylvania (Maestro's mama's hometown) a little after 11 and found our way to his grandparents' house.

Wednesday, we took our time getting up and Maestro's grandma made us breakfast. In passing, he asked her how long she'd been married to his grandfather, jogging her memory to remind her that today was in fact their 59th wedding anniversary. I'm so glad we kids were around to keep them honest. I lounged around a bit and tried to convince the Maestro's grandfather that Barack Obama doesn't have terrorist ties while Maestro took a walk into downtown Indiana. When we finally got on the road, we drove around for a little bit and then found a Par 3 executive golf course right out of town. Thank goodness it was only par 3 golf... because I haven't golfed in quite awhile. My clubs were dusty and my drive was even dustier. We had fun, nonetheless. We went to a huge church pot luck (300 people... seriously the biggest pot luck I've ever seen in my life) at the Maestro's grandparent's parish. In return for telling the priest that it was their 59th anniversary, he put the Maestro on the spot and had him sing "O Danny Boy" for a riveted audience. The Maestro wasn't pleased, but sometimes you suck it up for the people you love, eh? We came back home and played a round or two of cards with the grandparents and tried to get them to not make out.

Ahhh... young love.


Eventually they came up for air so that I could take a picture with them.


On Thursday, we tried to get an early start so that we could head into Pittsburgh. But by tried, I mean failed, and by "we," I mean the Maestro. We finally headed out a little after noon, and changed plans slightly. We headed instead to Grove City College to visit a friend who had just moved back on to campus for the school year. Clearly, he's getting a lot accomplished at school.



He feigned some excuse about being in some orientation leader skit at school. I'm still thinking about showing his mother and staging an intervention.

We hit the outlets outside the city for a few minutes and then headed back to Indiana to grab dinner with the Maestro's pap pap. Grandma, you see, had abandoned him for the day to go the casinos.

By Friday morning, we still liked one another. This in itself was a small victory as I don't think we'd seen each other that many full days in a row in three months. The Maestro's grandma made us a fantastic breakfast and sent us on our way with a gallon bag full of white chocolate-covered trail mix. I think grandmas secretly want everyone but them to be fat. That woman stuffed me to within an inch of my life over two days. At any rate, we left Indiana and headed for Troy. No, not best friend-of-mine Troy, but Troy, Pennsylvania. It's a pretty long trek, but we took a scenic route and made stops along the way. Noteworthy pit stops were in Punxsutawney (home of Punxsutawney Phil and Groundhog Day) and The Grand Canyon of Pennsylvania. It was a nice leisurely trip.





As we got closer and closer to Aunt Jean and Uncle Dwayne's house, I smelled more pig manure, rode on more dirt roads, and saw more waving Confederate flags than I think I've experienced in my lifetime. My phone lost service, and I'll admit I heard banjos in my head coming after me. When we got to our destination, however, it was great. I haven't seen the stars like I've seen up at their house in years, and it was beautiful to be in the middle of nowhere for a little bit. Aunt Jean cooked us a fantastic dinner and we played a board game and watched the Olympics for a little bit.

When we got up on Saturday morning, we had a hearty breakfast and headed over to a cousin's house and met their new puppies. They were adorable and I begged the Maestro to bring one home. He looked at me like I had crazy all over my face. How can you say no to these little guys, though?



We had one of the most scenic drives home on Saturday. We were a little under the gun, but it was completely worth it.




So what did we learn on our trip?

1. Leave as soon as possible. Being musicians, The Maestro and I are both night owls. We don't have a problem being up late... in fact, we're used to it. Leaving after work afforded us the opportunity to wake up at our first destination. It extended our days of true vacation from three to four solely by getting on the road as soon as we possibly could.

2. Stay with friends and family. We killed two birds with one stone by staying with family: we saved TONS of money that would've otherwise gone to hotel and restaurant bills and got to spend time with friends and family we rarely see. It wasn't our plan to mooch off of people. It was our intention to thank our hosts by taking them out to dinner, but all of them had already made plans to prepare home-cooked meals for us.

3. Don't be afraid to veg out. Not every vacation is about cramming as much as humanly possible into each day. The Maestro and I got a fair amount accomplished, but we also made sleep a huge priority (something we don't get a lot of in our day-to-day lives). I was equally as comfortable in National parks and on the golf course as I was sitting on the couch and walking America's Next Top Model reruns. And I went to bed early (for me) every night to ensure at least 8 hours of sleep.

4. Lay some basic plans, but be flexible. Don't be afraid if it doesn't all get done. This time is supposed to be about relaxing and rejuvenating-- not about crossing line items off a list. We didn't get to Pittsburgh, but we also didn't get upset about it. We found other things to keep us occupied and satisfied.

And there it is, kids. For the price of 3 gallons of gas, and a cheap meal or two on the road, we had an amazingly satisfying getaway. It wasn't a Vegas vacation or trip to Cabo like some of the smart people with money non-musicians I went to school with are enjoying now, but it was perfect for us.

iPhone Flick

Boys fooling around in Chapel.

Instead of the usual Wednesday deal

I'm lame and forgot to schedule my Wino Wesnesday post. To tide you
over, I have three funny conversations from our adventures today in
Indiana, PA.

Maestro: [insert smart comment here]
Downbeat: Is that how you speak to the woman you love?
Maestro: No, I'm usually much nicer to her.
****
Old Lady at Church: Are you a musician, too? [to me]
Downbeat: Yup, I'm a singer.
Old Lady: Well I'm sure you're not as good as him [points to Maestro].
****
Downbeat: I think I'm going to become a nun.
Maestro: [removes hand from my knee] Would you mind giving me some
advanced notice before you run off and do that?

iPhone Flick

I'm T, Maestro's S. Neither of us were great at the nine holes we
played today, but I was especially... "special."

Getting Away

I feel like I've spent so much of my waking "spare" time this summer away from Baltimore. I've been to Boston, Connecticut, and Ocean City. I've gotten away for a few days to Southern Maryland and the Eastern Shore. I have yet, however, to go on a proper summer holiday, and it's already halfway through August. I used the majority of my time off from work to go to Italy with the madre, girlfriend Feen, and her mamala in March, and since the entire world is getting married this summer, money isn't exactly spectacular at the moment. Still, I think that holiday replenishes the soul... like a secular sabbath.

So The Maestro and I decided that we would remind ourselves of what one another look like get away for a few days before the new semester starts and he holes up in the world of academia. We leave tonight for a road trip through points north of the Mason-Dixon line. I have a few posts scheduled so that you all don't forget that I exist, but I'll be updating more prevalently on Twitter, so if you're not already, you should consider following me @bmoredownbeats. And I'll undoubtedly re-cap the whole sordid affair when I return to Baltimore. Have a great week!

Never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down...

Have you seen Barack Roll? Because it's kind of amazing. A friend added it to her twitter feed, and I couldn't resist spreading the love even further.

Gosh, he's so darned dreamy!



Source

Thanks to domesticdj for the heads up.

My first (Kabuli) time

Ever since 9/11 and the Department of Homeland Security and "Freedom Isn't Free" bumper stickers, I feel like anyone who says the word "Afghanistan" runs the risk of getting tackled to the ground and carried away with a pillow case over their head by one of Dick Cheney's henchmen. But that's because the country at large has forgotten that the bad guys are the Taliban, not the poor women in Afghanistan walking around in burkas and unable to drive cars without a male relative escorting them.

I'm glad that the social stigma hasn't yet affected Afghan cuisine in Baltimore. A sometimes out-of-town, sometimes Baltimore transplant of a friend was in town this weekend. I left it up to her to pick the restaurant and/or bar where we would meet up to catch up. She suggested The Helmand because she'd wanted to eat there since forever. I've passed it many a time, but have never gone in. I can't understand why I've never partaken... apparently the owners also claim Tapas Teatro to their list of Baltimore-based restaurants, and it's one of my favorites and most frequently visited.

I love food, but I can't say that I'm the most adventurous wannabe foodie. I'm more a creature of habit, so I didn't know what to expect. M and I got there right at 5 when the restaurant opened. We were seated and waited awhile for The Maestro to finish being important and come to join us. While we waited, we nursed two (very affordably priced $6) glasses of malbec. When The Maestro finally caught up with us, we ordered. M got the vegetarian special, The Maestro two very exotic appetizers in lieu of an entree, and I chose kabuli (a traditional Afghan dish consisting of roasted lamb, raisins, glazed carrots and pallow-- a traditional Afghan long-grain rice).

We barely had time to chat. I blinked my eyes and all of our food was sitting in front of us. Seriously... it maybe took them two minutes to prepare and serve our food. And the place was absolutely packed. I have no clue how they managed it. Everything we had was delicious. Mine was so good, I'm thinking about actually cooking and learning how to prepare the dish. M's veggie special was humongous. The Maestro had to help her finish it. But not like Outback-Steakhouse-huge-portions. More like Thanksgiving-dinner-at-Memaw's-house-huge-portions. Her plate was just packed with a bunch of interesting-looking, tasty options.

When it was time to settle up, the damage for three (super quality) meals and three glasses of wine was only $58. Any restaurant that keeps company with other establishments that consider themselves gourmet while I consider them overpriced and still manages to stay affordable AND delicious is an A+ in my book. The Helmand fits that bill. Whether you live in/near Baltimore or think you might visit one day, keep The Helmand high up on your list of places to visit.

After we were finished with dinner, it was such a beautiful night that we went two doors down to Donna's and bought coffees to enjoy outside in Mt. Vernon Square. You know Baltimore might quite possibly be the smallest town in a "big" city ever when all three of us ran into people we knew just by sitting there and sipping.

And now that I've Googled "Afghanistan," "burka," and "Saddam Hussein" to check my spelling, I'm probably on some Federal watchdog list.

Weekends away

Last weekend, O invited me and Troy to join her and her family on a day trip to St. Michael's. I had never been, despite the fact that the Maestro and I have the following conversation EVERY. SINGLE. TIME. we're driving to or from the beach as if the the response is going to change:

Maestro: Have you ever been to St. Michael's?
Me: Nope.
Maestro: It's really cute. You have to go some time. You're sure you've never EVER been to St. Michael's?
Me: Positive.
Maestro: What kind of Marylander are you? Sheesh.

I decided to kill my feelings of inadequacy by taking O up on her offer and joining them on their trip. Thankfully, we decided to go the day before this catastrophe happened. We still sat in horrendous bridge traffic without the added mess of an eighteen-wheeler plunging off the side of a bridge.

When we got to St. Michael's, we immediately were thirsty. We grabbed some cocktails and seafood appetizers at an open air bar overlooking the water. Here was our lovely view:



After we had replenished our tanks, we took advantage of the lovely day and walked around. St. Michael's is a historic waterfront town on the eastern shore with tons of character. I won't even hold the fact that Dick Cheney owns property on it against the town.

Here's a pictorial account of our few hours in St. Michael's:












When it started to get dark, we piled back in the truck and headed up the road to Easton (still on the eastern shore, but closer to the Bay Bridge) for dinner. We dined at the Washington Street Pub, which has great burgers, and a very hoppy beer on tap called "The Arrogant Bastard." I would say that St. Michael's is a great place to take a day trip on a nice, temperate summer Saturday, but leave earlier than we did to avoid sitting in line with the rest of the world trying to get to Ocean City via the Chesapeake Bay bridge.

"But uh-oh those summer nights..."

The Maestro got home from his final summer tour on Thursday night. Summers are typically trying because he travels a lot for work and I'm generally knee-deep in production of a show or three, and so communication between the two of us often falls by the wayside. When he gets back from his final tour of the summer, though, we try to find fun and new things to do to celebrate being in one another's presence again.

On Thursday night, I told the Maestro that I felt as though I'd wasted the entire summer because I hadn't done anything authentically Baltimore-in-the-summertime all season. The city has a plethora of really great summer activities-- festivals such as ArtScape and HonFest, neighborhood cultural fairs (Greek Festival is my absolute favorite), and the like. Imagine my delight when he suggested that we go see an outdoor movie last night.

Little Italy has a famous tradition of screening free movies on the side of a building on Friday evenings in the summer. Last night, they screened The Blues Brothers. How I got through 24 years of life without watching The Blues Brothers or seeing an outdoor movie in Little Italy, I will never know, but I'm glad that I have recently reconciled both of those wrongs. I think it goes without saying that the film is both a cult classic and leftover acid trip, but we had fun nonetheless. I think the Maestro and I may have been the only two people in the audience of hundreds who had never partaken in the movie. There was a little hiccup in the video stream around the time when Dan Aykroyd's character tries to pick up the hot blonde in the convertible at the gas station... I'm not quite sure what happened around there, but I got the general jist of the movie.

And everyone cheered after this special little number:



The Maestro picked up some great snacks at Eddie's for us to munch on al fresco and we grabbed gelato and espresso from Vaccaro's for dessert immediately after the movie. They show movies every summer through the end of August, so check it out if you're looking for something super cheap (the screening is free... space is available on a first come, first served basis) to do in the next couple of weekends. They're showing Cindarella Man next week and Cinema Paradiso the week after next.

If you're going to go, here are a few hints that the Maestro and I learned for next time:

1. Go early! In prime Downbeat/Maestro style, we got there right in the nick of time. We would've seen the beginning of the movie had there been any open parking. As this is a great Baltimore tradition with a huge following, there wasn't readily available street parking, and all pay parking was a flat rate of $15. Since we're cheap economical, we rode around for an extra 15 minutes waiting for the heavens to open up and grant us a parking space. If you don't want to pay out the nose for parking and want to see the entire flick, make sure you add an extra 30 to 45 minutes as parking in Little Italy on a Friday night is a pain any time of year.

2. Take lawn chairs Want to know when the Maestro and I realized that neither of us own lawn chairs? As we were getting out of his car and walking towards the parking lot where the movie was being screened. Thankfully, he unintentionally had a blanket in his car, so we had something that wasn't direct asphalt to sit on, but we were struggling to stay comfortable the entire time. There was a lot of shifting and maneuvering on both of our parts to make sure that legs didn't have to be amputated for lack of circulation by the end of the evening.

3. Clear out ASAP If you're going to hit a bar of Vaccaro's after the film is over, don't wait for the credits to finish. All 500 million people who are there without children are going to want to get their drink/ice cream/coffee on when the movie's finished, and if you get there before the credits stop rolling like we do, you'll avoid a heinous line.

4. Don't sit near the bathrooms/trash cans/a large group of people We sat next to the port-a-pots because we got there late. We heard doors slamming through the entire movie and got to fight to see with the people standing in line waiting for the can. I saw people in similar situations as ours who sat near the only trash receptacle or who were flanking teenagers who came in large groups. That pretty much goes along with getting there early to stake out your spot.

5. Don't bring more than you need Neither the Maestro nor myself are particularly green. I know, I should get better. At any rate, when you're going to one of these things, it almost pays not to. He got our snacks in those disposable plastic containers so that we could throw them away immediately afterwards. Even the stuff that we weren't finished with wound up getting tossed in the end so that the rest of our night downtown could happen unencumbered by unnecessary clutter.

All in all, we had a great time. I'd recommend it to anyone looking for something to do in Baltimore... or even if you're not in Baltimore, free outdoor screenings are definitely a fantastic date night anywhere. Find an open air screening in your city and enjoy the rest of the summer.

iPhone Flick

My newly decorated bathroom. The home improvements are coming along
swimmingly.

Wino Wednesdays

Wherein I pretend to know something about wine to justify my affinity for all things alcoholic

I'm taking my first foray away from wine with this third installment of Wino Wednesday. I'm kind of better at beer anyway. Speaking of beer, I must thank everyone for their input on prospective names for my custom brew! I made a decision, and I did indeed use one of your suggestions. Everyone will find out what it was when I get the beer.

I had a few really bad beers early on in college. Then I was blessed with a few super-knowledgeable friends who specialize in beer snobbery. They introduced me to craft beers. My life hasn't been the same since I started imbibing good beer. It can be local, domestic, or international... if it's crafted well, I'm all about it.

I first tried Young's Double Chocolate Stout at Slainte (my Wednesday night ritual) a few years ago. Some people don't like Guinness, but I think that stouts are the riches of heaven in a glass. Young's Double Chocolate Stout is all the better because a couple of gallons of chocolate are pumped into it. A friend of mine who brews his on beer told me that the "Double" meens that chocolate is added to the beer in two separate processes. All I know is that it means that the beer is double the delicious!

Since it's from an English brew house, I thought that would mean that it would be harder to find. They carrier it in Slainte Irish Pub and Kooper's Tavern in Baltimore, and they serve 12 ounce cans of the stuff in plenty of liquor stores in the area. Keep a look out and enjoy a frosty, chocolatey treat.

Ahhhh youth....

Troy and I went to opening night of this musical called bare. Before I go any further, I want to make clear that should anyone from the Baltimore theatre community actually stumble upon this, the following words are in no way a critique of the actual production of bare in Baltimore. The following is more my commentary on adolescent life as a result of going to see bare this past Friday.

I remember seeing advertisements for this show in a Playbill years ago when I was in NYC on vacation with my mother. It looked interesting, but managed to open and close in New York before I had sufficient time to become intrigued. Then last summer, my friend Jennie (the same one with the great taste in wine) was playing something from it in the car. Again, it sounded vaguely interesting, but not enough to compel me to find out more. Then some sufficient hype was raised this summer in Baltimore when casting began for this project. Many of my friends and other artists with whom I've worked in the past had been cast, so I went to see it. In case you're not familiar, it's a show about these two boys at a Catholic boarding school who are best friends and lovers. The show follows their closeted relationship in the homophobic microcosm that is Catholic boarding school through their senior year.

What I took away from the show was most simply that teenagers are quite possibly the most annoying people on the face of this planet. Don't get me wrong. I know some very cool teenagers. But the fact that they manage to be remotely cool now is just a testament to the fact that they're going to be beyond incredible human beings when they mature into adulthood. To make a broad and sweeping generalization, however, teenagers are melodramatic, manic, self-involved creatures. They think that the world begins and ends by whatever situation they manage to find themselves in at the moment. And many of these situations, however avoidable should they have chosen to use just a hint of judgement, are nowhere close to the be-all end-all of scenarios that will play out in their lives (for the most part, at least).

Watching this show forced me to remember my own experiences in high school. I remember people dropping catch phrases such as, "These are going to be the best times of our lives!" And even then, I vaguely remember rolling my eyes in adolescent cynicism and thinking that there was no way that my life was going to go completely downhill after high school. What I've learned in the past six years since, however, is that every stage of your life is supposed to be the best time of your life. Your twenties are the best time of your life until you reach your thirties. Your thirties are the best time of your life until your forties, and so on and so forth.

And I'm just thankful that I made it through my teenage years. I don't think that they were nearly as tumultuous as for these poor little boys in bare, but they certainly weren't easy. I'm even more thankful that I'm now surrounded by people who love me and are loveable in return, and that I've learned (for the most part) to stop whining and stand up for myself.

PHEW!

Rant completed.

It's Beer Time!

I'm really not an alcoholic, I promise.

I went to a swanky black tie a few months back as the Maestro's arm candy. It was a benefit for the organization for which he works and they had a live auction as part of the fundraising festivities. Since I didn't pay for my ticket, I figured I should contribute in some way, so I got into a bidding war at the live auction over two cases of custom made craft beer... any type of your choosing.

And I won!

Well, sorta. The other guy and I kept bidding each other up, so the sponsor of this auction item agreed to make each of us two cases of beer of our choosing. It was a win-win situation. The non-profit organization got twice as much money out of the auction item, and my fellow bid warrior and I both got beer.

I asked the beer-maker to craft me a raspberry stout. I've only had anything like it once, and it was at Dog Pub (formerly Thirsty Dog). They brew all of their own beers and have a couple of black-and-tan-like concoctions with their flavored beer. I had a black and tan made with their house stout and raspberry-flavored beer. I thought it was delightful. The Maestro thought it was gross. But I paid my hard-earned money to the people who sign his checks for two cases of beer of my choosing, so I told Mr. Beer Man that I want a raspberry stout, and in a few weeks, two cases of said raspberry stout will be all mine.

There's a bit of a problem, though. He wants me to name it and give him a picture for the labels, and I'm stuck. Can anyone think of a fantastic name for a Baltimore-brewed raspberry stout? If you come up with something witty... or cute... or better than I would eventually come up with myself, I'll be forever indebted to you. That, and I'll give you full credit for it. I'm thinking (hoping, praying) that once I have a name, the perfect image will come to mind.

I don't have long before I have to get back to him, so dust off the ol' thinking caps and get to naming!

Wino Wednesday

Wherein I pretend to know something about wine to justify my affinity for all things alcoholic

My friend Jennie came over last week so that we could run through some of the songs in her book before she starts auditioning again. She came bearing the best gifts you can possibly bear if you want me to listen to you sing: wine and carrot cake cupcakes.

Apparently, she read my inaugural Wino Wednesday post after she bought this wine and came with apologies because it was a bottle of Circles Edge 2005 Cabernet Sauvignon. My response to her was, "Pish posh! Wine is wine. The sooner you sing, the sooner we drink!" She sang, we drank, I was thoroughly impressed. Jennie just recently started working at a wine-centric restaurant in Columbia (our childhood stomping ground), and so she got this wine highly recommended and at a highly discounted price.

My first reaction was that it was delicious. Very light (almost summery for a red wine), and a perfect pairing with the carrot cake cupcakes. The glass would've also been perfect paired with fresh mozzarella and vine-ripened tomatoes. The glass also would've been perfect paired with oxygen and the sound of my own voice. It didn't have too bold a flavor, and didn't give me one iota of cotton-mouth-ness after a glass.

Jennie and I started a little late, so we didn't finish the bottle of Cabernet. I didn't want it to go to waste, don't believe in drinking alone unless it's in my bathtub, and knew I wouldn't finish it since I was going out of town, so I brought the rest of the bottle to theatre with me on Saturday (my last night for this run). After O gave her curtain speech and the show was underway (I didn't conduct this show... long story, you might read why in a future post, but you probably won't), I topped off two plastic wine cups that I'd snagged from concessions and we toasted to the end of this show.

Her first reaction was, "Mmmmmm... [lip smack] SMOOOOOOOOOOOOTH!"

My sentiments exactly.

And would you like to know the absolute coolest thing about Circles Edge wines right now? They're on some crazy online sale. Sadly for me, they don't ship to Maryland, Delaware, or Pennsylvania. But if you live in Virginia or other places close by that aren't Baltimore or DC, get any of the Circles Edge 2005 vintage series (Cabernet Sauvignon, Merlot, or Chardonnay) for $2.50. Yeah, no... I didn't misplace the decimal. That's two dollars and fifty cents. Head on over to the Circles Edge online store and share in my bliss.

Goin' down-ee ocean to see 'em get hitched, hon!

I had another crazy weekend. Surprise surprise. Is anyone surprised at this point? I won't bore you with the dirty details, and I'll cut (for the most part) straight to the fun stuff.

Saturday night after my show, I drove from Baltimore to Ocean City, Maryland (about a 2.5 hour drive without stopping for you non-Baltimoreans) to prepare for the Maestro's brother's wedding. His aunt and uncle rented a beautiful house in Ocean Pines, a suburb of Ocean City that has waterfront property that backs up to the Assawoman Bay (how's that for a body of water?). I got in around 1:30 am, and the Maestro told me that we had a beautiful view of the water, but it was pitch black and I had just about enough energy at that point to brush my teeth and pass out.

When I woke up the next morning, this is what I saw:



Seriously... right off from the back porch. It was about 80 degrees around noon, so I just sat outside in the shade watching the boats go by and pretending to read until I had to get ready for the wedding.

When it came time for the ceremony, I headed over to Ocean City, which is about a 10 minute drive from Ocean Pines. The community of Ocean Pines has a lovely beach club that overlooks the ocean. This is where the couple decided to exchange their vows.

Anyone who knows me knows that I detest the heat, despise sand, and pretty much don't care for Ocean City as it's usually crowded and overrun with a colorful (to say the very least) crowd. While I was looking forward to these nuptials, I was a little skeptical of the whole beach wedding thing as I'd never been to one. While they got married right in the elbow of a dune, the guests got to sit on a boardwalk just above them, so I didn't have to get my tootsies in the sand. It was about 75 degrees and breezy, so I wasn't hot. And the location of the dunes in between 49th and 50th streets was a little off the beaten path, so it was pretty secluded, too. So basically, this wedding foiled all of my complaints about the beach.

The ceremony was meaningful and very personalized to the couple. Instead of a unity candle, they had a sand ceremony (apparently the "in" thing at wedding ceremonies these days) . Mothers of the bride and groom brought colorful vials of sand with them as they were escorted in. When the time came at the ceremony, the bride and groom simultaneously poured their vials of sand into one bottle to signify them coming together as one.



The party afterwards was on the outside deck attached to the beach club. It was small, intimate, casual, and tons of fun. The highlight was the Maestro's grandmother jumping up and down to Kriss Kross' "Jump."



Here are a few more pictures of a "wondah-ful" evening on the water:










Remember these kids from the July 4th wedding? Newlyweds, I've noticed, have a particular glow about them.


The Maestro and I thoroughly enjoyed ourselves

My dear mother and her pronunciation problem

I have this mortal flaw where I correct people in all situations if I know they're wrong or inaccurate. They could be my peers, my elders, my boss, or a stranger on the street. It doesn't matter who it is, but if you misquote the starting and ending dates of the Civil War or identify the wrong actor in a movie, I'll just sidle up to you and throw in, "No, actually that was Julia Roberts in 'Pretty Woman.' I hate it, and wish I knew how to stop, because I feel like it makes my come off as a know-it-all. Really, I have never claimed to know it all. I simply have an inordinate amount of useless knowledge. It makes me great at trivia, slightly socially inept.

Now that you have that bit of useless knowledge that you never needed to know about me, I'm going to throw something else at you: As a singer, I had to learn phonetics in college to be able to sing songs and arias in foreign languages for which I was not fluent. I had to learn to sing in Italian, French, German, Spanish, Latin, Russian, Czech and all the while try to sound like a native speaker in all of those languages. As a result, I know how to say a lot of words in other languages even when I don't know what they mean.

My longest standing correction feud stands between my mother and I. She has been mispronouncing words since the beginning of time. And so should she. She's not in a field where people look at you like you have three heads if you put the wrong emphasis on the wrong syllable or screw up a vowel sound for a foreign word like I am. Still, she mispronounces words and names all the time, and I correct her... and then slap myself for correcting my mother once we're off the phone. But her brain doesn't operate in phonetics and my brain doesn't operate in decorating, so I guess we're even.

So at any rate, she called me on Saturday morning while I was in the office tying up some loose ends before heading down to the beach for summer oh-eight wedding number four. She was so excited because she had just made a new (to her) discovery at Whole Foods. Here's how that conversation went.

Mother: Sweetie! Have you ever heard of sha-moo-shoo? I just bought some at Whole Foods and it's the most amazing stuff that I've ever tasted!
Me: No... what is it?
Mother: It's like tuna... but it's raw. Well, it's not like tuna. It is tuna, but it's just not cooked.
Me: [thinking to myself] Shamooshoo. Shamooshoo. What on Earth could she be talking about? Raw tuna is tartare. How have I never heard of... OH. Poor thing. [out loud] Mother. You mean sashimi.
Mother: How do you say that? Shashoomoo?
Me: Sashimi. It's like sushi.
Mother: Shashimu.
Me: Sa-shi-mi.
Mother: Sha-shi-mi.
Me: [sigh] Close enough. I'm glad you like it.

God bless her. LOVE her. Long story short, my mother has discovered raw tuna and likes it.

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Saint Augustine must have on heck of a headache.

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My niece (adoptive as the case may be) playing in my shoes. And while
she was doing high kicks, she would tell me: "You're a mess!" I'm a
mess, MEN? I think not.