vendredi, juin 25, 2010

i don't: the case against marriage

Having been down the aisle once (and divorced a few years later), I don't feel the emotional need to go there again. To be sure, my relationship with Leo is completely different than my relationship with my ex-husband. Part of it is because I am different, and part of it is because ours is an infinitely more compatible and egalitarian partnership than any other I've experienced.

The financial element also screams for us to remain unmarried. Until I know the outcome of my short sale (and have a few years to put it behind me), it is much better to not share a credit score or to have our finances legally enmeshed.

I'm not completely ruling marriage out (someday). But I don't see us getting married any time soon. And that's not about fear of commitment. (Deliberately planning our pregnancies and raising a child together are not for the commitment-phobic.) Anyhow, this article neatly summarizes many of the reasons why we've chosen not to marry at this point.
'I Don't': The case against marriage.
by Jessica Bennett and Jesse Ellison
June 11, 2010

Every year around this time, the envelopes begin to arrive. Embossed curlicues on thick-stock, cream-colored paper ask for “the pleasure of our company” at “the union of,” “the celebration of,” or “the wedding of.” With every spring, our sighs get a little deeper as we anticipate another summer of rote ceremony, cocktail hour, and, finally, awkward dancing. Sure, some weddings are fun, but too often they’re a formulaic, overpriced, fraught rite of passage, marking entry into an institution that sociologists describe as “broken.”

Once upon a time, marriage made sense. It was how women ensured their financial security, got the fathers of their children to stick around, and gained access to a host of legal rights. But 40 years after the feminist movement established our rights in the workplace, a generation after the divorce rate peaked, and a decade after Sex and the City made singledom chic, marriage is—from a legal and practical standpoint, anyway—no longer necessary. The two of us are educated, young, urban professionals, committed to our careers, friendships, and, yes, our relationships. But we know that legally tying down those unions won’t make or break them. Women now constitute a majority of the workforce; we’re more educated, less religious, and living longer, with vacuum cleaners and washing machines to make domestic life easier. We’re also the breadwinners (or co-breadwinners) in two thirds of American families. In 2010, we know most spousal rights can be easily established outside of the law, and that Americans are cohabiting, happily, in record numbers. We have our own health care and 401(k)s and no longer need a marriage license to visit our partners in the hospital. For many of us, marriage doesn’t even mean a tax break.

The numbers are familiar but staggering: Americans have the highest divorce rate in the Western world; as many as 60 percent of men and half of women will have sex with somebody other than their spouse during their marriage. Maybe it’s a testament to American crass consumerism, but despite those odds, we still manage to idealize the ceremony itself, to the tune of $72 billion a year. Weddings are the subject of at least a dozen reality shows; a Google search for “bridezilla” turns up half a million hits; and there are four different bridal Barbies. Fifty years ago we had Grace Kelly, resplendent and demure in her high-necked lace gown. Today it’s Britney Spears in a custom-embroidered Juicy Couture tracksuit (and separated within a year, to nobody’s surprise). So when conservatives argue that same-sex couples are going to “destroy” the “sanctity” of marriage, we wonder, wait, didn’t we already do that? “Social science tells us fundamentally that this system is not working,” says Curtis Bergstrand, a sociologist at Bellarmine University in Louisville, Ky., who has written on marriage. Having donned our share of bridesmaid’s dresses, and toasted dozens of nuptials, we’ll take reason over romance. Happily ever after doesn’t have to include “I do.”

Before we get into specifics, a caveat: check with us again in five years. We’re in our late 20s and early 30s, right around the time when biological clocks start ticking and whispers of “Why don’t you just settle down?” get louder. (We’re looking at you, Lori Gottlieb.) So just as NEWSWEEK will never live down its (false) prediction that 40-year-old single women were more likely to be “killed by a terrorist” than to marry, we permit you, friends and readers, to mock us at our own weddings (should they happen). Current data may not yet identify our feelings as a so-called trend, but they certainly show we’re on to something: the percentage of married Americans has dropped each decade since the 1950s, and the number of unmarried-but-cohabiting partners has risen 1,000 percent over the last 40 years. At 28 for men and 26 for women, the median age at which Americans are marrying is at its highest point ever—and even higher among our cohort of urban and educated. Turns out that waiting is a good idea: for every year we put off marriage, our chances of divorce go down.

Which brings us to this question: if you’re going to wait, why do it at all? Like a fifth of young Americans, we identify as secular. We know that having children out of wedlock lost its stigma a long time ago: in 2008, 41 percent of births were to unmarried mothers, more than ever before, according to a Pew study. (Older, educated mothers make up the fastest-growing percentage of those births.) And the idea that we’d “save ourselves” for marriage? Please. As one 28-year-old man told the author of a new book on marriage: “If I had to be married to have sex, I would probably be married, as would every guy I know.” Even the legal argument for tying the knot is easily debunked. Thanks largely to the efforts of same-sex-marriage advocates, heterosexual couples have more unmarried rights to partnership now than ever. And for the rights we don’t have—well, “if you have enough money,” says Jennifer Pizer, a senior attorney at the Lambda Legal Defense and Education Fund, “you can pay lawyers to litigate just about anything.” To put the icing on the cake, it often pays to stay single: federal law favors unmarried taxpayers in almost every case—only those whose incomes are wildly unequal get a real tax break—and under President Obama’s new health plan, low-earning single people get better subsidies to buy insurance. As Diana Furchtgott-Roth, writing for the Hudson Institute, put it, “Goodbye, marriage.” As of 2013, “unwed Americans may find it even more advantageous—financially, anyway—to stay single.”

To tell you what you already know, the American family is in the throes of change. Gone are the days of the nuclear nest; in its wake is a motley mix of single parents, same-sex couples, and, yes, unmarried monogamists. Anthropologist Helen Fisher, who studies the nature of love, might say that’s a symptom of our biology: she believes humans aren’t meant to be together forever, but in short-term, monogamous relationships of three or four years. For us, it’s not that we reject monogamy altogether—indeed, one of us is going on six years with a partner—but that the idea of marriage has become so tainted, and simultaneously so idealized, that we’re hesitant to engage in it. Boomers may have been the first children of divorce, but ours is a generation for whom multiple households were the norm. We grew up shepherded between bedrooms, minivans, and dinner tables, with stepparents, half-siblings, and highly complicated holiday schedules. You can imagine, then—amid incessant high-profile adultery scandals—that we’d be somewhat cynical about the institution. (Till death do us part, really?) “The question,” says Andrew Cherlin, the author of The Marriage-Go-Round, “is not why fewer people are getting married, but why are so many still getting married?”

The feminist argument against marriage has long been that it forces women to conform—as Gloria Steinem once put it, marriage is an arrangement “for one and a half people.” No woman we know would date a man who’d force her into the kitchen—and even Steinem eventually got hitched—but we’d be fools to think we’ve completely shed the roles associated with “husband” and “wife.” Men’s contributions to housework and child rearing may have doubled since the 1960s, yet even among dual-earning couples, women still do about two thirds of the housework. (One study even claims that the simple act of getting married creates seven hours more housework for women each week.) In the workplace, meanwhile, women who use their partner’s name are regarded as less intelligent, less competent, less ambitious, and thus less likely to be hired. We may date the most modern men in the world, but we’ve heard enough complaints to worry: if we tie the knot, does life suddenly become a maze of TV dinners, shoes up on the coffee table, and dirty dishes? “The bottom line is that men, not women, are much happier when they’re married,” says Philip Cohen, a sociologist at the University of North Carolina who studies marriage and family.

Since the early 1900s, the driving force behind marriage, along with procreation, was that women couldn’t land well-paying jobs: we relied on our husbands to survive. As recently as 1967, two thirds of female college students (versus 5 percent of men) said they would marry somebody they didn’t love if he met their other criteria—primarily, the ability to support them financially. But today, we no longer need to “marry up”: women are more educated (we make up nearly 60 percent of college graduates) and better compensated (urban women in their 20s actually outearn their male peers). We are also the so-called entitled generation, brought up with lofty expectations of an egalitarian adulthood; told by helicopter parents and the media, from the moment we exited the womb, that we could be “whatever we wanted”—with infinite opportunities to accomplish those dreams. So you can imagine how, 25 years down the line, committing to another person—for life—would be nerve-racking. (How do you know you’ve found “the one” if you haven’t vetted all the options?) “We’ve entered the age of last-minute tickets to Moscow, test-tube children, cross-continental cubicles and encouraged paternity leaves,” write the authors of The Choice Effect, about love in an age of too many options. The result, they say, is “a generation that loves choice and hates choosing.”

Which means that when we do tie the knot, we do it for love. Young people today don’t want their parents’ marriage, says Tara Parker-Pope, the author of For Better—they want all-encompassing, head-over-heels fulfillment: a best friend, a business partner, somebody to share sex, love, and chores. In other words, a “soulmate”—which is what 94 percent of singles in their 20s describe what they look for in a partner. Yet the idea of a “soulmate” is still a pretty new concept in our romantic history—and one that’s hard to maintain. Measurements of brain activity have shown that 20 years into marriage, 90 percent of couples have lost the passion they originally felt. And while couples who marry for love are less “in love” with each passing year, one study found that those in arranged marriages grow steadily more in love as the years progress—because their expectations, say researchers, are a whole lot lower.

So while little girls may still dream of Prince Charming, they’ll be more likely to keep him if they don’t expect too much. Research shows that the more education and financial independence a woman has—in other words, the more success she has outside the home—the more likely she is to stay married. (In states where fewer wives have paid jobs, for example, divorce rates tend to be higher.) But when these egalitarian, independent couples decide not to marry at all, they lose none of that stability. Just take a look at couples in Europe: they’re happier, less religious, and more likely to believe that marriage is an outdated institution, and their divorce rate is a fraction of our own. Not being married may make it slightly easier to walk away—at least legally—but if you’ve gone to the lengths to establish a life together, is it really all that different? Studies show that never-married couples with the intention of forever are just as likely to stay together as married ones. And for all the talk of marriage being good for families, a study of the Scandinavian countries—where a majority of children are born out of wedlock—found that kids actually spend more time with their parents than American children do. Work and living habits surely factor into that reality, but the point is this: what’s good for children is stability. The decline of marriage “doesn’t have to spell catastrophe,” says Stephanie Coontz, the author of Marriage, a History. “We can make marriages better and make nonmarriages work as well.”

It may counter what we grew up thinking, but maybe that’s not such a bad thing. With our life expectancy in the high 70s, the idea that we’re meant to be together forever is less realistic. As Hannah Seligson, the author of A Little Bit Married, puts it, there’s a "new weight to the words ‘I do.’ " Healthy partnerships are possible, for sure—but the permanence of marriage seems naive, almost arrogant. "Committing to one person forever is a long time," says Helen Fisher. “I wonder how many people really think about that.” If you’re anything like us, you’ll have plenty of time to do just that—while you’re sitting in the pews, at other people’s weddings.

Jessica Bennett and Jesse Ellison blog frequently on women's issues at The Equality Myth. You can find Bennett on the Web or on Twitter; Ellison can be reached via her Tumblr.

dimanche, juin 20, 2010

i came to sell you this chick magnet of a couch

Today, Leo and I decided to tackle a biggie on the "to-do-before-the-baby-arrives" list: finding a bigger couch for our new house. Naturally, we checked out Craigslist, Yelp, and a few other online resources to adjust our price expectations, see what was out there, and come to a decision.

Although we didn't purchase this gentleman's "seven foot black leather scream of manliness," we did find just what we wanted. The nice part is that we bought it two blocks away, at a mom and pop mattress/ furniture store where I bought a bed frame 10+ yeas ago. Having said that, I still want to share what has to be one of the funniest ads for used furniture I've ever encountered. Enjoy.
I came to sell you this chick magnet of a couch. - $150 (Mira Mesa 92126)
Date: 2010-06-20, 1:34PM PDT
Reply to: sale-nugvs-1801870182@craigslist.org [Errors when replying to ads?]

This thing is a seven foot black leather scream of manliness. That's right bitches.

The only way it could be any more freakin' hardcore is if it had Harley Davidson incised in the leather.
A rare black narwhal gave it's life to provide the perfect baby soft buttery leather it wraps you in.

This big bastard shakes off beer spills and ugly chicks like the smartest horse any cowboy ever rode.
And after a long night of doing blow off the butts of the hookers lounging across its arms, it's a comfy dream to pass out on.
Sleep in it's leathery goodness, and you will wake up with a game controller in one hand, and a bacon sandwich in the other.

Perfect for guests. Just pull out the bed for them, and they will never want to sleep on it again. If Torquemada designed a bed this would be it.
It's like you ripped its skeleton out, then tried to organize the bones into something comfortable to sleep on. Maybe with six inches of air mattress.
So if you actually want your guest to stay another night, leave this thing folded up into it's optimum comfy configuration.

Don't even think about getting this couch if you're married. Your wife will take one look at it and know it's hottie attraction powers instantly.
And it will end up sitting in the garage, hidden from her insane jealousy until you move, and she insists you sell it.

Really. I know. Wayne -

Black. Leather. Sleeper. Sofa. Couch. Conversion.
You came here because you were looking for one or more of the above words.

* Location: Mira Mesa 92126
* it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

image 1801870182-0 image 1801870182-1

PostingID: 1801870182

dimanche, juin 06, 2010

bison and red wine shepherd's pie

We've made this a few times and love the way the smoky bacon, cheesy potatoes, hearty bison, and tasty vegetables come together. Since we're prepping for the birth of our little boy, we opted to make this as one of the items to put in our deep freezer this weekend. It will keep well and is sure to satisfy when autumn hits and neither of us has the time or energy to cook.

Ingredients

Filling:
1/3 cup all purpose flour
1 tablespoon Hungarian sweet paprika
1 1/2 teaspoons coarse kosher salt
1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
1 1/2 lbs pounds ground bison
1/3 lb rindless slab bacon, cut crosswise into 1/2-inch-thick slices
2 tablespoons (or more) olive oil (we omit this and just cook the bison in the bacon grease)
1 cup chopped onion
1/2 cup peeled chopped carrot
1/2 cup chopped celery
1/2 cup peas
1/2 cup corn
3 garlic cloves, chopped
2 cups dry red wine (such as Syrah)
1 cup low-salt chicken broth
1 cup canned crushed tomatoes
2 bay leaves
1 teaspoon chopped fresh thyme
1 teaspoon chopped fresh sage

Mashed-potato crust:
5 lbs russet potatoes, peeled, quartered
3/4 cup whole milk
1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter
1 teaspoon coarse kosher salt
1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
1 large egg, beaten to blend

Garnish:
1 large egg
1 tablespoon water
1 cup finely grated Parmesan cheese (we've also used sharp cheddar and English cheddar with caramelized onions)


Preparation
For filling:
Whisk first 4 ingredients in large bowl. Add bison; toss. Heat large pot over medium heat. Add bacon; cook until crisp. Transfer to paper towels. Add 2 tablespoons oil to (or simply use bacon drippings already in) pot; increase heat to medium-high. Working in batches, cook bison until browned. Return to same bowl. Add chopped onion, carrot, celery, and garlic to pot; cover and cook until vegetables soften, stirring occasionally, about 5 minutes. Add wine; bring to boil, scraping up any browned bits. Add broth, tomatoes, bay leaves, thyme, sage, reserved bacon, and bison. Reduce heat to low. Cover; simmer until bison is tender, stirring occasionally, about 15 minutes. Add peas and corn, remove from heat. Season with salt and pepper, if needed.

For mashed-potato crust:
Cook potatoes in large pot of boiling lightly salted water until tender, 18 to 20 minutes. Drain. Return potatoes to pot; add milk and butter, 1 teaspoon coarse salt, and 1/2 teaspoon pepper and mash until smooth and slightly cooled, about 2 minutes. Whisk in egg.

Preheat oven to 400°F. Spoon bison filling into two 3-quart (13x9x2-inch) baking dishes. Spoon mashed potatoes over; smooth top to cover completely.

For garnish:
Beat egg and 1 tablespoon water to blend. Brush over potatoes, then sprinkle cheese all over.

Bake pie until top is browned and filling is heated through, 30 to 40 minutes (50 to 60 minutes if chilled). Let rest 10 minutes.

DO AHEAD: Can be made 1 day ahead. Cover and chill. Alternatively, make the filling ahead of time and freeze it. Then make the potatoes the day of, assemble, and bake.

Adapted from Bison and Red Wine Shepherd's Pie by Bruce Aidells, Bon Appétit February 2010

mardi, avril 13, 2010

quotable

"God defend me from that Welsh fairy, lest he transforms me to a piece of cheese." - William Shakespeare

mardi, avril 06, 2010

like, awesome

Speak with Conviction, by Taylor Mali

Via Aaryn Belfer

an open letter to conservatives

Ouch.
An open letter to conservatives
March 22, 2010, 3:16PM

Dear Conservative Americans,

The years have not been kind to you. I grew up in a profoundly Republican home, so I can remember when you wore a very different face than the one we see now. You've lost me and you've lost most of America. Because I believe having responsible choices is important to democracy, I'd like to give you some advice and an invitation.

First, the invitation: Come back to us.

Now the advice. You're going to have to come up with a platform that isn't built on a foundation of cowardice: fear of people with colors, religions, cultures and sex lives that differ from your own; fear of reform in banking, health care, energy; fantasy fears of America being transformed into an Islamic nation, into social/commun/fasc-ism, into a disarmed populace put in internment camps; and more. But you have work to do even before you take on that task.

Your party -- the GOP -- and the conservative end of the American political spectrum have become irresponsible and irrational. Worse, it's tolerating, promoting and celebrating prejudice and hatred. Let me provide some examples -- by no means an exhaustive list -- of where the Right as gotten itself stuck in a swamp of hypocrisy, hyperbole, historical inaccuracy and hatred.

If you're going to regain your stature as a party of rational, responsible people, you'll have to start by draining this swamp:

Hypocrisy

You can't flip out -- and threaten impeachment - when Dems use a parliamentary procedure (deem and pass) that you used repeatedly (more than 35 times in just one session and more than 100 times in all!), that's centuries old and which the courts have supported. Especially when your leaders admit it all.

You can't vote and scream against the stimulus package and then take credit for the good it's done in your own district (happily handing out enormous checks representing money that you voted against, is especially ugly) -- 114 of you (at last count) did just that -- and it's even worse when you secretly beg for more.

You can't fight against your own ideas just because the Dem president endorses your proposal.

You can't call for a pay-as-you-go policy, and then vote against your own ideas.

Are they "unlawful enemy combatants" or are they "prisoners of war" at Gitmo? You can't have it both ways.

You can't carry on about the evils of government spending when your family has accepted more than a quarter-million dollars in government handouts.

You can't refuse to go to a scheduled meeting, to which you were invited, and then blame the Dems because they didn't meet with you.

You can't rail against using teleprompters while using teleprompters. Repeatedly.

You can't rail against the bank bailouts when you supported them as they were happening.

You can't be for immigration reform, then against it .

You can't enjoy socialized medicine while condemning it.

You can't flip out when the black president puts his feet on the presidential desk when you were silent about white presidents doing the same. Bush. Ford.

You can't complain that the president hasn't closed Gitmo yet when you've campaigned to keep Gitmo open.

You can't flip out when the black president bows to foreign dignitaries, as appropriate for their culture, when you were silent when the white presidents did the same. Bush. Nixon. Ike. You didn't even make a peep when Bush held hands and kissed leaders of countries that are not on "kissing terms" with the US.

You can't complain that the undies bomber was read his Miranda rights under Obama when the shoe bomber was read his Miranda rights under Bush and you remained silent. (And, no, Newt -- the shoe bomber was not a US citizen either, so there is no difference.)

You can't attack the Dem president for not personally* publicly condemning a terrorist event for 72 hours when you said nothing about the Rep president waiting 6 days in an eerily similar incident (and, even then, he didn't issue any condemnation). *Obama administration did the day of the event.

You can't throw a hissy fit, sound alarms and cry that Obama freed Gitmo prisoners who later helped plan the Christmas Day undie bombing, when -- in fact -- only one former Gitmo detainee, released by Dick Cheney and George W. Bush, helped to plan the failed attack.

You can't condemn blaming the Republican president for an attempted terror attack on his watch, then blame the Dem president for an attempted terror attack on his.

You can't mount a boycott against singers who say they're ashamed of the president for starting a war, but remain silent when another singer says he's ashamed of the president and falsely calls him a Maoist who makes him want to throw up and says he ought to be in jail.

You can't cry that the health care bill is too long, then cry that it's too short.

You can't support the individual mandate for health insurance, then call it unconstitutional when Dems propose it and campaign against your own ideas.

You can't demand television coverage, then whine about it when you get it. Repeatedly.

You can't praise criminal trials in US courts for terror suspects under a Rep president, then call it "treasonous" under a Dem president.

You can't propose ideas to create jobs, and then work against them when the Dems put your ideas in a bill.

You can't be both pro-choice and anti-choice.

You can't damn someone for failing to pay $900 in taxes when you've paid nearly $20,000 in IRS fines.

You can't condemn criticizing the president when US troops are in harms way, then attack the president when US troops are in harms way , the only difference being the president's party affiliation (and, by the way, armed conflict does NOT remove our right and our duty as Americans to speak up).

You can't be both for cap-and-trade policy and against it.

You can't vote to block debate on a bill, then bemoan the lack of 'open debate'.

If you push anti-gay legislation and make anti-gay speeches, you should probably take a pass on having gay sex, regardless of whether it's 2004 or 2010. This is true, too, if you're taking GOP money and giving anti-gay rants on CNN. Taking right-wing money and GOP favors to write anti-gay stories for news sites while working as a gay prostitute, doubles down on both the hypocrisy and the prostitution. This is especially true if you claim your anti-gay stand is God's stand, too.

When you chair the House Caucus on Missing and Exploited Children, you can't send sexy emails to 16-year-old boys (illegal anyway, but you made it hypocritical as well).

You can't criticize Dems for not doing something you didn't do while you held power over the past 16 years, especially when the Dems have done more in one year than you did in 16.

You can't decry "name calling" when you've been the most consistent and outrageous at it. And the most vile.

You can't spend more than 40 years hating, cutting and trying to kill Medicare, and then pretend to be the defenders of Medicare

You can't praise the Congressional Budget Office when it's analysis produces numbers that fit your political agenda, then claim it's unreliable when it comes up with numbers that don't.

You can't vote for X under a Republican president, then vote against X under a Democratic president. Either you support X or you don't. And it makes it worse when you change your position merely for the sake obstructionism.

You can't call a reconciliation out of bounds when you used it repeatedly.

You can't spend taxpayer money on ads against spending taxpayer money.

You can't condemn individual health insurance mandates in a Dem bill, when the mandates were your idea.

You can't demand everyone listen to the generals when they say what fits your agenda, and then ignore them when they don't.

You can't whine that it's unfair when people accuse you of exploiting racism for political gain, when your party's former leader admits you've been doing it for decades.

You can't portray yourself as fighting terrorists when you openly and passionately support terrorists.

You can't complain about a lack of bipartisanship when you've routinely obstructed for the sake of political gain -- threatening to filibuster at least 100 pieces of legislation in one session, far more than any other since the procedural tactic was invented -- and admitted it. Some admissions are unintentional, others are made proudly. This is especially true when the bill is the result of decades of compromise between the two parties and is filled with your own ideas.

You can't question the loyalty of Department of Justice lawyers when you didn't object when your own Republican president appointed them.

You can't preach and try to legislate "Family Values" when you: take nude hot tub dips with teenagers (and pay them hush money); cheat on your wife with a secret lover and lie about it to the world; cheat with a staffer's wife (and pay them off with a new job); pay hookers for sex while wearing a diaper and cheating on your wife; or just enjoying an old fashioned non-kinky cheating on your wife; try to have gay sex in a public toilet; authorize the rape of children in Iraqi prisons to coerce their parents into providing information; seek, look at or have sex with children; replace a guy who cheats on his wife with a guy who cheats on his pregnant wife with his wife's mother;

Hyperbole

You really need to disassociate with those among you who:

History

If you're going to use words like socialism, communism and fascism, you must have at least a basic understanding of what those words mean (hint: they're NOT synonymous!)

You can't cut a leading Founding Father out the history books because you've decided you don't like his ideas.

You cant repeatedly assert that the president refuses to say the word "terrorism" or say we're at war with terror when we have an awful lot of videotape showing him repeatedly assailing terrorism and using those exact words.

If you're going to invoke the names of historical figures, it does not serve you well to whitewash them. Especially this one.

You can't just pretend historical events didn't happen in an effort to make a political opponent look dishonest or to make your side look better. Especially these events. (And, no, repeating it doesn't make it better.)

You can't say things that are simply and demonstrably false: health care reform will not push people out of their private insurance and into a government-run program ; health care reform (which contains a good many of your ideas and very few from the Left) is a long way from "socialist utopia"; health care reform is not "reparations"; nor does health care reform create "death panels".

Hatred

You have to condemn those among you who:

Oh, and I'm not alone: One of your most respected and decorated leaders agrees with me.

So, dear conservatives, get to work. Drain the swamp of the conspiracy nuts, the bald-faced liars undeterred by demonstrable facts, the overt hypocrisy and the hatred. Then offer us a calm, responsible, grownup agenda based on your values and your vision for America. We may or may not agree with your values and vision, but we'll certainly welcome you back to the American mainstream with open arms. We need you.

(Anticipating your initial response: No there is nothing that even comes close to this level of wingnuttery on the American Left.)

Written by Russell King

Update: removed the mouth kissing reference and tried to clean up spelling

Another update: It seems we've talked about this so much that we've clogged up the "Intertubes." I've created an open thread where the discussion can continue as you see fit.

lundi, avril 05, 2010

english hothouse cucumbers and descending testicles

Like many pregnant women, I subscribe to several websites that provide weekly/ daily emails about fetal development. Today's "Your pregnancy: 26 weeks" from babycenter.com gave me the giggles.

Read the last two sentences, where the writer cleverly mentions the fact that my unborn son's testicles are now descending and that he is the length of an English hothouse cucumber (14 inches from head to toe).

How your baby's growing:

The network of nerves in your baby's ears is better developed and more sensitive than before. He may now be able to hear both your voice and your partner's as you chat with each other. He's inhaling and exhaling small amounts of amniotic fluid, which is essential for the development of his lungs. These so-called breathing movements are also good practice for when he's born and takes that first gulp of air. And he's continuing to put on baby fat. He now weighs about a pound and two-thirds and measures 14 inches (an English hothouse cucumber) from head to heel. If you're having a boy, his testicles are beginning to descend into his scrotum — a trip that will take about two to three days.

See what your baby looks like this week.

dimanche, avril 04, 2010

cardamom and orange blossom water rice pudding

This variation on the traditional Persian version (which uses rose water) pairs the delicate flavor of orange blossoms with the seductive flavor of green cardamom.

Orange blossom water is available at Middle Eastern food markets.

Ingredients:
1 cup rice (we used sticky rice)
4 cups milk
2 cups water
2/3 cup sugar
3 TBSP orange blossom water
2 green cardamom pods, seeds only - ground

Preparation:
  1. Bring rice, milk, and water to a boil in a large heavy saucepan, then reduce heat.
  2. Simmer for two hours, stirring occasionally to prevent sticking. Most of the liquid will be absorbed, but the texture should be slightly soupy.
  3. Stir in the sugar, the orange blossom water, and cardamom.
  4. Cook, stirring, for another five minutes. Transfer to a serving dish and let cool to room temperature.
Adapted from Under the High Chair: Cardamom and Rose Water Rice Pudding

aren't dogs supposed to warn you about earthquakes?

Ruby just stared at me from the couch as I grabbed my wallet, cell phone, the hard drives, and her leash after the violent shaking had been going on long enough that I thought we should get outside.

She was completely nonplussed during the 7.2 Baja quake -- and the multiple subsequent 3.9-5.1 aftershocks (centered within 60 miles of us) we've had in the past hour.

wouldn't it be nice, angeleyes?

For the past few weeks, I've been experimenting with the baby's response to music. I strap on my iPod and some portable speakers, hit shuffle, and wait for kicks and movement. My iPod's got all sorts of genres, and music in about 8 languages on it. The only trend I've picked out (so far) is that he responds to female voices/ voices in higher registers and pop songs.

This is particularly interesting, because he also gets quite active when he hears Leo's deep voice at bedtime. Although he hears the voice and kicks more, he invariably gets super-still the second Leo puts his hand on my belly ... another data point that makes me think he's got his father's contrarian temperament.

Anyhow, here are this week's winners on the music/ activity front:

The Beach Boys, "Wouldn't It Be Nice?"


ABBA, "Angeleyes"

kumquat oat muffins

These aren't super-sweet, but they are a nice wholegrain oat breakfast muffin. If you like them sweeter, add 1/4 cup extra brown sugar.

Yield: 12 muffins

Ingredients:
1 cup kumquat preserves (or 1 cup kumquats, halved & deseeded, then pulsed in food processor with 1/2 cup sugar)
1/2 cup sugar
1/4 cup brown sugar
2 TBSP canola oil
2 eggs
1/2 cup milk
1 TBSP vanilla
1 cup flour
1/2 cup whole wheat pastry flour
1 cup instant rolled oats
1 TBSP baking powder
Pinch of salt
1 TBSP cinnamon

Preparation:
  1. Preheat oven to 400F.
  2. Mix dry ingredients.
  3. Mix wet ingredients.
  4. Add dry ingredients to the wet ingredients and fold until just moistened.
  5. Pour into greased muffin molds
  6. Bake at 400F 10-15 minutes, or until toothpick comes out clean.
Adapted from Wholegrain Kumquat Muffins.

samedi, avril 03, 2010

pork saltimbocca with polenta

What goes better with pork than pork? We made this tonight, substituting gruyere for the original recipe's fontina. It was awesome.

Yield: 6 servings (serving size: 1 stuffed chop, about 4 teaspoons sauce, and 1/2 cup polenta)

Pork:
6 (4-ounce) boneless center-cut loin pork chops, trimmed
6 very thin slices prosciutto (about 2 ounces)
6 large fresh sage leaves
1/3 cup (about 1 1/2 ounces) shredded gruyere cheese
1/4 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
1/8 teaspoon salt
2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
1 tablespoon olive oil
1/2 cup dry white wine
1 cup fat-free, less-sodium chicken broth
1 tablespoon thinly sliced fresh sage

Polenta:
2 cups 2% reduced-fat milk
1 (14-ounce) can fat-free, less-sodium chicken broth
1 cup instant polenta
1/2 teaspoon salt
  1. Butterfly the pork chops or pound them to 1/4-inch thickness using a meat mallet.
  2. Arrange 1 prosciutto slice inside each chop; top with 1 sage leaf and about 1 tablespoon cheese. Fold chops in half to sandwich filling, and secure with wooden picks.
  3. Sprinkle both sides of chops with pepper and 1/8 teaspoon salt. Place flour in a shallow dish; dredge stuffed chops in flour.
  4. Heat oil in a large nonstick skillet over medium-high heat. Add chops; cook 3-5 minutes on each side or until done. Remove from pan; cover and keep warm.
  5. Add wine to pan, scraping pan to loosen browned bits; cook until reduced to 1/4 cup (about 2 minutes). Add 1 cup broth; bring to a boil. Cook until reduced to 1/2 cup (about 5 minutes). Stir in 1 tablespoon sage. Reduce heat to medium.
  6. Return chops to pan; cook 2 minutes or until thoroughly heated, turning once.
  7. Prepare polenta: bring milk and 1 can broth to a boil. Gradually stir in polenta and 1/2 teaspoon salt. Cover, reduce heat to medium-low, and cook 2 minutes.
  8. Serve polenta immediately with chops and sauce.
CALORIES 404 (30% from fat); FAT 13.3g (sat 5.3g,mono 6g,poly 1g); IRON 1.6mg; CHOLESTEROL 85mg; CALCIUM 172mg; CARBOHYDRATE 30.8g; SODIUM 733mg; PROTEIN 34.9g; FIBER 2.8g

Adapted from Pork Saltimbocca with Polenta, Cooking Light, NOVEMBER 2003

lundi, mars 29, 2010

work for a plonker crossed with a dipstick?

A little while back, I wrote a thank-you note to two former bosses. You see, I had what I fear are the best bosses of my life early in my career, when I was too green to know how lucky I was to have them as my managers. I thanked them for mentoring me, giving me autonomy with accountability, being flexible when needed, and treating me with genuine respect as a colleague.

I'd like to think that I'll find that again, but will admit to feeling a bit jaded as I watch my friends and colleagues endure odd situations with management that isn't really the kind of leadership to which I aspire. Over the years, I've learned to let it roll off my back and to focus on what's more important. I've also realized that I will probably be happiest (and do my best work) if I have the chutzpah to choose to work as a consultant or finally write that children's book I've been thinking about for the past few years.

For now, I'm staying put at my company, grateful for a paycheck in this economy and even more grateful for the other kindred spirits who brighten what could be just another soul-sucking corporate existence. Meanwhile, I'm doing good work, reminding my friends to focus on the fact that there has to be a light at the end of the tunnel, and counting my lucky stars that I don't work for the asstard described in the essay below.
Cubicle Wars: My Worst Boss (By Urban Cowgirl)
Monday, March 29, 2010
7:52PM

My job's sole redeeming feature is its salary. It's enough to live on, and I am grateful that in the Current Economic Climatetm I have a reason to commute two hours and hate the intervening eight hours with internal white-hot fury. The story of how I ended up here is lengthy and boring but suffice to say I had my dream job, that taxed the very limits of my intellect, and I gave it up to return to the UK because my mother was ill and I needed to be close.

I've been reaching for the gin bottle positivity-ing myself out of bed every morning, and last week I figured out that Anti-Bed leverage was enhanced by recalling that at least the people I work with are nice. Some of them are incompetent, but that's Dilbert's Third Law of Management. Nobody is actively nasty or intentionally destructive. No matter how much I hate my current job, it's not as bad as when I worked for My Worst Boss.

When I was a very young onion, I worked five years for a manager whose behaviour was so far over the line he couldn't have seen the line through the Hubble Telescope I imagined myself ramming up his backside.

When I'd been there a few months, on returning to my desk after lunch I found a copy of The Sun open at page 3 (the page The Sun dedicates to photos of topless women). Hilariously, that day's woman shared my first name. I threw the newspaper away and didn't report the sexual harassment, reasoning that my unimpressed glare had been sufficient to beat down any notions of future gender-abuse-related 'amusement'. I was right. But years later I wish I'd had the guts to march to the Director and threaten to take the organisation to court.

My Worst Boss had a drinking problem with a side of aggression. He would roll into the office at 10.30am with cadaver skin, groan at his desk until just after midday, and then proceed directly to a local drinking establishment. If I needed anything, that was my window, because after one of his special two or three hour lunchtime inhibition-busting sessions there was no point trying to interact. I attempted, once, to rescue reason from the jaws of Guinness at 3.30pm. I described a problem, and he suggested a solution so ridiculous that I queried his sanity. "Are you sure?" I said, "That might lead to the Earth being blown up and all its inhabitants dying a painful death." He told me that it would be 'fine'. It went pear-shaped the following week, whereupon I ended up back at his desk to be roared at. "Why did you do THAT?!"

Because you told me to.

"I never would have told you to do something so idiotic!"

I could only inwardly lament that during the conversation where he instructed me, only one of us was sober.

After lunches he would often come back bearing gifts of coffee and cake, because he knew he was doing wrong and he needed to feel better about leaving his staff to pick up the pieces of his shattered professionalism. When the telephone rang after lunch he would lean back and project his voice to the open plan office. Pity the poor fool on the line: they would be there hours later, listening to such effective relationship-management strategies as "Yes! It is under the enormous pile of incredibly URGENT million other things I have to do! WOULD YOU LIKE TO COME OVER AND LOOK AT MY DESK?". My colleagues and I would pretend we were deaf. I would get emails from people who had been trying to reach him for months, pleading with me to somehow have him respond to them.

Business was often transacted after work in the pub: if you didn't go, you would simply not find out things that were vital to the job. On one memorable occasion My Worst Boss had four too many drinks and got seriously bent out of shape because I'd arranged an external meeting with a client fully two weeks hence without yet mentioning it to him. It was in my calendar, which he could look at any time he could see straight, and he had previously told me to do whatever I felt was best. So I did, and now I was the recipient of a drunken rage in front of multiple colleagues. A senior colleague leapt to my defence, and I was so worried My Worst Boss would start throwing punches that I went home in tears.

The next day I explained to My Worst Boss's Boss that I didn't find it acceptable to be torn a new one in front of colleagues during a 'social' engagement outside the office. I didn't find it acceptable that My Worst Boss would tell me one thing one minute, deny it the next, and I could never be sure which way was up. I felt humiliated, hurt, and confused. I used the words drinking problem. I was told to go and see Human Resources Remains. Human Remains notified me that the only course of action was the dreaded formal complaint. I suggested that perhaps help (and a soft-skills course) for him could be productive as a first step. Could they instruct My Worst Boss's Boss to have a word with My Worst Boss? Why should this fall on my small, inexperienced shoulders? They might as well have washed their hands in front of me.

I returned to My Worst Boss's Boss, who gave me a book entitled 'How To Deal With Difficult People'. On my way home I realised that I was being asked to change my behaviour to accommodate someone who was an asshole and an alcoholic (probably the former because of the latter). This seemed neither sound logic for a long-term solution, nor fair. And the authors of the book had clearly never had to deal with My Worst Boss.

In ten years of working, for four months I was managed by someone whose integrity, intelligence, and professionalism I utterly respected. She made me want to leap out of bed every morning and hurtle to work. They are out there: but a rare breed.

Colonists, do you work for a plonker crossed with a dipstick? Please, share your tales from the trenches. Who was Your Worst Boss?

Urban Cowgirl is a Colony team member. You can read more about her here.

three more yanks before putting an end to this

How I love the Onion ... Dog To Allow Child 3 More Yanks On Tail Before Putting An End To This

dimanche, mars 28, 2010

smoky shrimp and cheesy grits

This is the closest we've ever been to channeling Paula Deen.

I say that because Leo tried to add butter to the grits, until I pointed out that shrimp + bacon + cheese = a cholesterol trifecta. We did serve it with a beautiful organic garden salad.

Total time:
20 minutes
Serves: 4

Ingredients
1 cup instant grits
1/2 cup sharp cheddar cheese, shredded
4 slices bacon
1 lb raw shrimp, peeled and deveined
2 plum tomatoes, chopped (or 3/4 cup diced canned organic tomatoes)
2 scallions, thinly sliced
1/2 tsp kosher salt
Smoky Chipotle Tabasco sauce, to taste

Directions
  1. In a skillet, brown 4 slices bacon over medium-high heat. Remove from pan, place on paper towels and cool. Crumble.
  2. Prepare grits. Add salt and cheese. Stir until well combined.
  3. Add shrimp and tomatoes to the bacon fat already in the skillet; cook until the shrimp are opaque, 3 to 5 minutes. Stir in scallions and bacon.
  4. Serve over the grits.
  5. Add Tabasco sauce to taste.
Adapted from Smoky Shrimp and Grits by Kate Merker and Sara Quessenberry, Real Simple, April 2010

mercredi, mars 24, 2010

pickles and ice cream

Leo and I will become parents in July. I think it's fitting that a Francophile like me would have a baby due on Bastille Day (14 July). Whether he makes his debut on le quatorze or not, I'm very excited to meet our little boy.

lundi, mars 22, 2010

modern love: my first lesson in motherhood

Life often hands us more than we think that we can handle. And somehow, we find we're more resilient and more capable than we thought.
My First Lesson in Motherhood
By ELIZABETH FITZSIMONS
Published: May 13, 2007

I SAW the scar the first time I changed Natalie’s diaper, just an hour after the orphanage director handed her to me in a hotel banquet room in Nanchang, a provincial capital in southeastern China.

Despite the high heat and humidity, her caretakers had dressed her in two layers, and when I peeled back her sweaty clothes I found the worst diaper rash I’d ever seen, and a two-inch scar at the base of her spine cutting through the red bumps and peeling skin.

The next day, when the Chinese government would complete the adoption, also was Natalie’s first birthday. We had a party for her that night, attended by families we’d met and representatives of the adoption agency, and Natalie licked cake frosting from my finger. But we worried about a rattle in her chest, and there was the scar, so afterward my husband, Matt, asked our adoption agency to send the doctor.

We had other concerns, too. Natalie was thin and pale and couldn’t sit up or hold a bottle. She had only two teeth, barely any hair and wouldn’t smile. But I had anticipated such things. My sister and two brothers were adopted from Nicaragua, the boys as infants, and when they came home they were smelly, scabies-covered diarrhea machines who could barely hold their heads up. Yet those problems soon disappeared.

I believed Natalie would be fine, too. There was clearly a light on behind those big dark eyes. She rested her head against my chest in the baby carrier and would stare up at my face, her lips parting as she leaned back, as if she knew she was now safe.

She would be our first child. We had set our hearts on adopting a baby girl from China years before, when I was reporting a newspaper story about a local mayor’s return home with her new Chinese daughter. Adopting would come later, we thought. After I became pregnant.

But I didn’t become pregnant. And after two years of trying, I was tired of feeling hopeless, of trudging down this path not knowing how it would end. I did know, however, how adopting would end: with a baby.

So we’d go to China first and then try to have a biological child. We embarked on a process, lasting months, of preparing our application and opening our life to scrutiny until one day we had a picture of our daughter on our refrigerator. Fourteen months after deciding to adopt, we were in China.

And now we were in a hotel room with a Chinese doctor, an older man who spoke broken English. After listening to Natalie’s chest, he said she had bronchitis. Then he turned her over and looked at her scar.

Frowning, he asked for a cotton swab and soap. He coated an end in soap and probed her sphincter, which he then said was “loose.” He suspected she’d had a tumor removed and wondered aloud if she had spina bifida before finally saying that she would need to be seen at the hospital.

TWO taxis took us all there, and as we waited to hear news, I tried to think positive thoughts: of the room we had painted for Natalie in light yellow and the crib with Winnie the Pooh sheets. But my mind shifted when I saw one of the women from the agency in a heated exchange in Chinese with the doctors, then with someone on her cellphone. We pleaded with her for information.

“It’s not good,” she said.

A CT scan confirmed that there had been a tumor that someone, somewhere, had removed. It had been a sloppy job; nerves were damaged, and as Natalie grew her condition would worsen, eventually leaving her paralyzed from the waist down. Control over her bladder and bowels would go, too; this had already begun, as indicated by her loose sphincter. Yes, she had a form of spina bifida, as well as a cyst on her spine.

I looked at my husband in shock, waiting for him to tell me that I had misunderstood everything. But he only shook his head.

I held on to him and cried into his chest, angry that creating a family seemed so impossible for us, and that life had already been so difficult for Natalie.

Back at the hotel, we hounded the women from the agency: Why wasn’t this in her medical report? How could a scar that size not be noticed? It was two inches long, for God’s sake.

They shook their heads. Shrugged. Apologized.

And then they offered a way to make it better.

“In cases like these, we can make a rematch with another baby,” the one in charge said. The rest of the process would be expedited, and we would go home on schedule. We would simply leave with a different girl.

Months before, we had been presented with forms asking which disabilities would be acceptable in a prospective adoptee — what, in other words, did we think we could handle: H.I.V., hepatitis, blindness? We checked off a few mild problems that we knew could be swiftly corrected with proper medical care. As Matt had written on our application: “This will be our first child, and we feel we would need more experience to handle anything more serious.”

Now we faced surgeries, wheelchairs, colostomy bags. I envisioned our home in San Diego with ramps leading to the doors. I saw our lives as being utterly devoted to her care. How would we ever manage?

Yet how could we leave her? Had I given birth to a child with these conditions, I wouldn’t have left her in the hospital. Though a friend would later say, “Well, that’s different,” it wasn’t to me.

I pictured myself boarding the plane with some faceless replacement child and then explaining to friends and family that she wasn’t Natalie, that we had left Natalie in China because she was too damaged, that the deal had been a healthy baby and she wasn’t.

How would I face myself? How would I ever forget? I would always wonder what happened to Natalie.

I knew this was my test, my life’s worth distilled into a moment. I was shaking my head “No” before they finished explaining. We didn’t want another baby, I told them. We wanted our baby, the one sleeping right over there. “She’s our daughter,” I said. “We love her.”

Matt, who had been sitting on the bed, lifted his glasses, and, wiping the tears from his eyes, nodded in agreement.

Yet we had a long, fraught night ahead, wondering how we would possibly cope. I called my mother in tears and told her the news.

There was a long pause. “Oh, honey.”

I sobbed.

She waited until I’d caught my breath. “It would be O.K. if you came home without her.”

“Why are you saying that?”

“I just wanted to absolve you. What do you want to do?”

“I want to take my baby and get out of here,” I said.

“Good,” my mother said. “Then that’s what you should do.”

In the morning, bleary-eyed and aching, we decided we would be happy with our decision. And we did feel happy. We told ourselves that excellent medical care might mitigate some of her worst afflictions. It was the best we could hope for.

But within two days of returning to San Diego — before we had even been able to take her to the pediatrician — things took yet another alarming turn.

While eating dinner in her highchair, Natalie had a seizure — her head fell forward then snapped back, her eyes rolled and her legs and arms shot out ramrod straight. I pulled her from the highchair, handed her to Matt and called 911.

When the paramedics arrived, Natalie was alert and stable, but then she suffered a second seizure in the emergency room. We told the doctors what we had learned in China, and they ordered a CT scan of her brain.

Hours later, one of the emergency room doctors pulled up a chair and said gravely, “You must know something is wrong with her brain, right?”

We stared at her. Something was wrong with her brain, too, in addition to everything else?

“Well,” she told us, “Natalie’s brain is atrophic.”

I fished into my purse for a pen as she compared Natalie’s condition to Down syndrome, saying that a loving home can make all the difference. It was clear, she added, that we had that kind of home.

She left us, and I cradled Natalie, who was knocked out from seizure medicine. Her mouth was open, and I leaned down, breathing in her sweet breath that smelled like soy formula.

Would we ever be able to speak to each other? Would she tell me her secrets? Laugh with me?

Whatever the case, I would love her and she would know it. And that would have to be enough. I thanked God we hadn’t left her.

She was admitted to the hospital, where we spent a fitful night at her bedside. In the morning, the chief of neurosurgery came in. When we asked him for news, he said, “It’s easier if I show you.”

In the radiology department screening room, pointing at the CT scan, he told us the emergency room doctor had erred; Natalie’s brain wasn’t atrophic. She was weak and had fallen behind developmentally, but she had hand-eye coordination and had watched him intently as he examined her. He’d need an M.R.I. for a better diagnosis. We asked him to take images of Natalie’s spine, too.

He returned with more remarkable news. The M.R.I. ruled out the brain syndromes he was worried about. And nothing was wrong with Natalie’s spine. She did not have spina bifida. She would not become paralyzed. He couldn’t believe anyone could make such a diagnosis from the poor quality of the Chinese CT film. He conceded there probably had been a tumor, and that would need to be monitored, but she might be fine. The next year would tell.

There would be other scares, more seizures and much physical therapy to teach her to sit, crawl and walk. She took her first steps one day on the beach at 21 months, her belly full of fish tacos.

NOW she is nearly 3, with thick brown hair, gleaming teeth and twinkling eyes. She takes swimming lessons, goes to day care and insists on wearing flowered sandals to dance. I say to her, “Ohhhh, Natalie,” and she answers, “Ohhhh, Mama.” And I blink back happy tears.

Sometimes when I’m rocking her to sleep, I lean down and breathe in her breath, which now smells of bubble-gum toothpaste and the dinner I cooked for her while she sat in her highchair singing to the dog. And I am amazed that this little girl is mine.

It’s tempting to think that our decision was validated by the fact that everything turned out O.K. But for me that’s not the point. Our decision was right because she was our daughter and we loved her. We would not have chosen the burdens we anticipated, and in fact we declared upfront our inability to handle such burdens. But we are stronger than we thought.

Elizabeth Fitzsimons, who lives in San Diego, is a reporter for The San Diego Union-Tribune.

mercredi, mars 17, 2010

quotable

There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle. - Albert Einstein

tips for photographing toddlers and children

For friends who want to take better pictures of their kids ...
Tips for Photographing Toddlers & Children: Amy PostleGet down to your child's level
  1. Be a silent observer: Rather than instructing, positioning, and asking your child to smile - take a step back and enjoy the subtleties of your children. You will see, appreciate and capture the natural moments in your child’s life, rather than taking another staged “say cheese” picture.
  2. Activities are important: Keep your child occupied and happy by giving them an activity or toy that they love. If your children are happy and active, great photos are sure to follow.
  3. Get down to your child's level: Sit on the ground, or lay down if you need to. Physically moving to their level will give you a new and unique perspective. Move around and experiment with cropping. Make sure to come in close and observe the little things in those moments too- their hands, feet, smile, etc. Play around with the perspective and you'll find some amazing moments to capture that you would have otherwise missed standing up!
  4. Be aware of the light source: When outside, avoid direct sunlight, which causes harsh shadows and squinty eyes (cloudy days are great). On a sunny day, find a shaded spot and turn off your flash (even snapshot cameras have this option). You'll get a much more realistic, beautiful and naturally lit image. When indoor, try and position your children near a window- window light provides beautiful natural light and helps you avoid the harsh light from a flash. (Avoiding flash photography also helps with tip #1- flashes tend to startle children, especially younger ones.)
  5. Pay attention to the background: Try and avoid shooting towards backgrounds that are busy and distracting (poles in the background can often give the "skewered effect!") If the background is busy however, you can solve this simply by moving your own body and camera position even slightly- change the angle and you will change the photograph.
  6. Ask them to do simple tasks: For example, ask your child to look out the window- you’ll have beautiful window light on their face, while capturing their sense of curiosity at the world.
  7. Be a part of the moment: Have one parent (or friend) photograph while the other parent participates. Embrace the opportunity to interact with your child and be photographed with them. Do what they want to do, be a part of their world and enjoy it! A client told me once that the greatest gift was looking back at photographs of her playing with her children and being able to see the true joy she felt as a mother all over again.
  8. Shoot in Black & White: Black and white strips away the “noise” of every day life and really brings focus to the child and the moment. It is classic, timeless, and always beautiful. Plus, if you are photographing your child indoors, it will help you avoid the normal color shifts that occur on film when shot without a flash under standard household bulbs.
  9. Let them be themselves: Allow them to pick their own clothes for the photos. Even if it’s silly or sassy- capture that! Great photographs come from capturing the real moments that children experience not from the perfect smile, or a constructed moment. Ask them what ideas they have for photographs and indulge them. I bet they will surprise you.
  10. Making faces is fun: One of my favorite things to ask children to do is make faces- every face they can think of from silly, to serious, mad, sad, and anything else they can come up with. It’s a good way to warm them up for picture taking while making them realize that taking photos can be fun! Chances are they will start laughing half way through and be a ham for the camera afterwards.
  11. Make a contact sheet: Have a contact sheet made instead of prints. Contact (or proof) sheets show the story of the day- they are a fantastic way to see the personality of the shoot and your child, without having to choose one shot. Frame it as a single picture and it will be like having a mini movie on your wall.
  12. Think like a professional: Think about the big picture- what’s in the background? What’s in the foreground? If you move slightly to one side or the other will the shot improve? How is the lighting? Would this be better as a horizontal or vertical image? Would B&W or color be more effective? What do I hope to achieve? Think like a professional and over time your photographs will improve. Have fun, be adventurous and trust your instincts!
Learn more about Amy:
Podcast - Amy Postle pushes the boundaries of her art by evoking passion, beauty and emotion with color and black and white films.
Visit Amy's website: http://www.amypostle.com

mardi, mars 09, 2010

quotable

"They deem me mad because I will not sell my days for gold; and I deem them mad because they think my days have a price." -Kahlil Gibran, (1883-1931) Lebanese American artist, poet, and writer. Gibran is considered to be the third most widely read poet, behind Shakespeare and Lao-Tzu, in history.

samedi, février 27, 2010

organic veggie quiche

A few weeks ago, I made this for a baby shower at work. Several folks asked for the recipe, so here goes.

You can make quiche with a variety of strongly flavored cheeses, including: sharp cheddar, gruyere, goat cheese, and French feta (the higher butterfat/ lower salt content makes French a better feta than Greek, Bulgarian, etc. for melting purposes; if using feta, reduce salt slightly). Traditional quiche recipes call for heavy cream, half-and-half, or light cream; I use 1% milk to reduce calories and cholesterol. Variations on this include spinach and onion quiche, broccoli and red onion quiche, chopped celery and leek quiche, etc. To save time, you can use leftover vegetables that have been sauteed in olive oil or butter. Just be sure to add some onion, garlic, or leeks for flavor.

Prep / cooking time: 20/40 minutes
Yield: Two 9-inch quiches, about 16 servings

Ingredients
1 1/2 lbs organic Swiss chard
1/2 lb beet greens (These lend a mild sweetness and a fun pink color to the mix. They may stain your cutting board.)
1 1/2 TBSP garlic, finely chopped OR 3/4 cup chopped onion
1 TBSP butter or olive oil (I prefer the butter for a richer-tasting quiche)
2 piecrusts (I use Trader Joe's piecrusts because they don't have the heavy taste of lard in them)
1 1/2 cups sharp cheddar, shredded
8 eggs
1 1/2 cups milk
2 tsp salt, divided
1/2 tsp freshly ground black pepper, divided
1/8 tsp ground nutmeg

Preparation
  1. Preheat the oven to 400F.
  2. Remove leafy green portion of chard and beet greens and chop roughly. Set aside. Chop stems into 1/2 to 3/4-inch pieces and keep separate from leaves.
  3. In a large skillet over medium-high heat, melt butter. Saute onion and chard/ beet green stems until just translucent (about 3 minutes). Note: if using garlic instead of onion, omit onion in this step.
  4. Add leafy greens and saute for another minute, then cover pan and let greens wilt for about 3 minutes, stirring occasionally. If using garlic, add garlic, stir into greens and saute with the lid off for another 2 minutes.
  5. Add 1 tsp of salt and 1/4 tsp pepper and stir until seasoned. If very wet, move greens to the side of pan, tilt slightly, and press on the greens to remove excess juice, then spoon the greens out of the pan, leaving the excess juice behind.
  6. Beat eggs, 1 tsp salt, 1/4 tsp pepper, and nutmeg together until the eggs are well combined. Add milk and beat again until mixture is uniform in color and consistency.
  7. Using a food processor on pulse setting, pulse the veggies until they are finely cut up (almost to the puree stage). Stir vegetables into egg mixture.
  8. Place piecrusts in pie pans. Sprinkle 3/4 cup of cheese over mixture in each pan.
  9. Pour egg mixture over filling. It should just cover the cheese, but a few bits may still be visible about the egg mixture.
  10. Cook in 400F oven for 35 minutes or until filling is browned and set. When you take the quiche out of the oven, the filling will likely be puffed up, because you've essentially made a souffle with the eggs and milk. As it cools, the eggs will settle and become more dense. Let cool, and then enjoy. Refrigerate leftovers.