A Journalism School Reunion

I know, I know. There I go again. Leaving you all alone. But I always have somewhat reasonable excuses for disappearing, don't I? This time I was prevented from posting for so long, dear reader, because I was off gallivanting around my old stomping ground, Des Moines, for a long weekend. (And then playing catchup afterward, of course.) Here's a rundown of my latest adventures.

Friday morning. Work in the Lexicon offices. (Yes, that's the custom publishing company I work for, in case you're wondering.)

Friday afternoon. Drake University School of Journalism National Advisory Council meeting. We (a group of young and not-quite-as-young professionals who graduated from the School of Journalism) meet a couple of times a year for updates on what's going on at the school, to provide feedback on curriculum decisions and such, and generally to serve as a sounding board. I'm currently president of the Jr. NAC.

Friday evening. I get to try a new downtown Des Moines restaurant! It's called Sbrocco, and it's a wine bar located right on Court Ave. We drink wine (of course) and dine on tasty fare. Then some of us head out to the first event of the first-ever SJMC reunion: a casual reception at the home of the current director of the journalism school. Then, of course, I meet up with some more friends for a night out in downtown Des Moines. But we have a big day Saturday so we behave ourselves. Really.

Saturday morning. This is really, really exciting. Maybe not for you, but for me. I go to yoga class. I try a new teacher at the new location for Firehouse Yoga, which is the studio I went to all through college. She's great, the space is great, and I am so excited to be back in a yoga class I can hardly contain my glee.

Early Saturday afternoon. I meet up with some friends for lunch at Noodle Zoo. We get to sample wedding cake because one of my friends is getting hitched next summer. It's delicious and I can't stop eating it. Especially the fillings. Raspberry and chocolate ganache? Can you say "heaven"?

Later Saturday afternoon. It's time for some time in Valley Junction, one of my favorite areas of Des Moines. Only rather than wandering aimlessly, we have a mission. We are helping a friend create a necklace at a gem shop there, courtesy of a gift certificate we purchased for her birthday. Sounds like fun, right? Only we hit a few snags along the way. But I'll save that rant for later.

Saturday evening. Time to get ready and head to the big SJMC reunion reception at the Cub Club. (It's at Prinicipal Park, the stadium where the Iowa Cubs play ... I hope it's OK to write "Cubs" on here now. That's still a sensitive subject with Conservative Boy.) Tasty appetizers, wine, and chats with alums and professors. Then, of course, we headed out again, to good ol' El Bait Shop, where they have a gazillion beers to choose from and I of course order a Fat Tire. Always.

I miss Des Moines. It's a terrific place. But man, it's exhausting to go back there. And the drive home on Sunday always stinks. Really stinks.

Understanding Fall Plantings in Chicago

There is something I meant to rant about a few weeks ago after a quick weekend trip to Chicago. And I forgot all about it until today when, while writing all sorts of tips for an eco-friendly 2009 calendar I'm working on, it popped in my head.

Can someone explain to me why city employees (I'm guessing) descend on downtown Chicago in the fall and rip out all of the plantings along Michigan Avenue and the surrounding streets and dump them into giant trucks to be hauled away? They're perfectly good plantings and most still look just fine, thank you. The plantings are replaced with big beautiful mums and other fall flowers, which I have nothing against. But they just tear out thousands of perennials and, I can only assume, throw them away! That is in no way fiscally (yes, I said it) or environmentally responsible.

Dear Chicago, why not plant a beautiful assortment of native perennials that you keep for more than a season? Perhaps you might plant a few annuals here and there to liven things up and add a splash of color, but you could keep the majority of the plantings year-round and still have pretty nice landscaping. Or, if you must tear everything out every season, at least make sure you're doing something reasonable with all that waste. Those plants better be destined for one heck of a compost pile or I am going to be very disappointed in one of my favorite cities.

A Message To Yoplait

Dear Yoplait:

If you are in the market for a new spokesperson (or something like that), I've found the perfect talent for you.



This is Butter. He is a big fan of your yogurt and is the epitomy of strength, health and ... well ... hairiness. Please contact me if you are interested in learning more. All he asks for is some belly rubbing and the chance to lick clean a few containers of yogurt.

Sincerely,
Julie

A Birthday Extravaganza

Tomorrow is my birthday. But it is also one of those days when I have exactly zero free time. So Conservative Boy planned a birthday extravaganza for me this weekend.

He's actually quite good at planning birthday fun.

A couple of years ago, he (along with help from some lovely friends, of course) planned a surprise birthday party for me. And I mean it was a big surprise. I had no clue that anyone was there when walked into my apartment, flipped the lights on, and saw a kitchen full of people shouting happy birthday.

And last year my birthday gift involved a ride through forests bedecked in fall color on the Boone Scenic Railroad, complete with a picnic lunch. See for yourself:



This year's extravaganza began on Friday with lunch at the Blue Dog. Then, that evening, I took my first trip to the town of Clinton for a movie: "Burn After Reading."

Saturday I was allowed Julie Time (aka homework time) all morning and then was informed that we were going on a mystery adventure. Conservative Boy had me thoroughly confused by almost getting on the Interstate to go to Bloomington, then getting on the Interstate to go to Springfield, but then exiting to get on the Interstate to head to Peoria. Our ultimate destination: Mackinaw Valley Winery. (I told you he's good.)



We tasted all sorts of wonderful Illinois-made wines and spent quite a bit of time enjoying near-80-degree weather (with wine, of course) outside on the porch overlooking the vineyard.



They are in the midst of harvesting right now, so many of the rows of vines I traipsed through before we left were still heavy with grapes.



Only in Illinois (well, and maybe Iowa too) do you see vineyards butting up against corn fields.



But the extravaganza wasn't over yet. We attended the first-annual Lobster Boil at the Lincoln Elks. One and a half pounds of fresh lobster plus mussels and oysters? Yum.

And on Sunday, the celebrating continued. First, birthday cake to celebrate C.B.'s cousin Grayson's birthday (and mine too):



And then, shortly thereafter, a birthday BBQ at our house, complete with this delicious grasshopper pie made especially for me by Kid Sister. (Actually, there are two, so if anyone is interested in a piece today or tomorrow, you know where to find me!)



Not a bad birthday extravaganza, eh?

Letting Butter Talk (Part 6)

Hi guys. Have you missed me? Julie has been too busy to let me chat with you lately, but I finally convinced her that I really, really, really needed to say hello. So here I am.



You know, I have been pretty busy lately too if I do say so myself. For one thing, I have decided that the mail man is absolutely, positively, 100 percent a threat to my domain. So at about 8:30 a.m. every morning I wear myself out barking at him and trying to get through the big front window at him. He's lucky there's glass between us because man, I hate it when strangers come up on my front porch.

In addition, I have been very busy destroying this rope toy. Julie took it away from me this weekend, which I'm a little sad about. She said I had to stop playing with it because I destroyed it and it was too slobbery. Too slobbery? Ha. There's no such thing.



Oh well. It was fun while it lasted.



But back to my schedule. It is packed. I mean, I have to take two to three walks every day. And pee on as many things as I possibly can along the way.

I also have to check on Julie throughout the day to make sure she is actually working.

Then when Conservative Boy comes home at night I have to spend at least two hours sitting beside him on the couch in the basement so he can pet me. It's really tough work. But somebody has to do it.

And I have to eat, of course. That is very important because I am a growing boy.

Apparently, I am pretty big. I hear that I weigh about 100 pounds now. When Julie walks me everyone comments on how big I am. I don't really think I'm that big. I mean, I'm just a little puppy. In fact, it puzzles me when people are alarmed at how big I have gotten. What's the big deal?



I'm still small enough to sit on Julie's lap (or, at least I try) when she pets me. So I can't be that big!

Anyway. I have to go now. Conservative Boy is going to wake up in a minute and I have to be ready to follow him around all morning while he prepares for work. It's my job. Like I said, I'm busy.

A Trip to the Pumpkin Patch

In my world, no fall is complete without a trip to the pumpkin patch.



Almost every year I lived in Des Moines, at least a couple of my lovely Drake friends and I would venture to a variety of apple orchards, pumpkin patches, and berry farms in search a fall harvest.

Needless to say, I was little a sad that I couldn't continue the tradition this year. That is, until Conservative Mom and Kid Sister invited me to tag along with them to Gail's Pumpkin Patch on Saturday.

It was the perfect day for pumpkin pickin', and I came home with a veritable harvest of goodies: Mini gourds to display on the kitchen table, three cute little pumpkins for the front step, a bunch of apples from a nearby orchard for making PIE, and some apple cider.

(Conservative Boy is quite sad he missed the outing, of course. OK. Not at all. He's just glad he was around for the apple pie.)

Living with Bears Fans (Part II)

I am writing to inform you that the Bears jerseys are on notice. Conservative Boy was driving back from Des Moines today during the game so neither he nor Butter were wearing their jerseys. And, because the Bears dominated, Conservative Boy believes it is because the jerseys stayed in the closet.

So, at least until the Bears lose, Butter will be able to enjoy his lazy Sundays jersey-free.

Convincing You To Get Rid of that Water Bottle

After I succeeded in convincing Conservative Family that bottled water wasn't a necessary purchase, I rejoiced. And promised them I would not say anything about the hard plastic water bottles they were drinking out of instead. And I did a very good job of biting my tongue.

But now it's been quite a few months and, after reading yet another study about the negative health effects of Bisphenol A (BPA), a chemical found in polycarbonate plastic bottles (like the Nalgene bottles so many people drink out of), the lining of canned foods, baby bottles, and more, I decided it's time to hop back on the soap box for a minute. So forgive, me Conservative Family. Don't run me out of town!

The problem with BPA is that it mimics estrogen, a hormone in the endocrine system that's pretty darn important. And when it leaches from can linings, plastic water bottles, and even dental sealants, it messes with our bodies. (Studies indicate that detectable levels of BPA are found in more than 90 percent of the U.S. population, by the way. Yikes!)

Although other countries have already banned BPA in baby bottles (it's particularly harmful for little ones), the United States hasn't followed suit. In fact, the FDA is only just now debating whether it's dangerous or not, and to this point refuses to say it is--even after a study came out September 17 in the Journal of the American Medical Association that found adults with the highest levels of BPA in their urine were more than twice as likely to report having diabetes or heart disease as those with the lowest levels of BPA. And other studies have linked BPA exposure to the risk of certain types of cancer, fertility problems, and childhood behavioral problems.

I know, I know, you science people are going to argue that these aren't conclusive enough, that they aren't definitive. But here's my argument: If there's a pretty good chance that BPA is harmful to our health, why risk it? If all you have to do is stop using that hard plastic water bottle or stop microwaving plastic storage containers, why not go for it?

The good news, for all you Nalgene water bottle lovers out there (ahem ... Conservative Boy), is that they are phasing out use of BPA in their bottles. So even if you decide to get rid of the bottle you're currently using, you can purchase a new Nalgene that's BPA free. (Or get a Sigg bottle--I love mine!)

Or if you're attached to that polycarbonate bottle and don't want to get rid of it, at least heed these recommendations from the National Toxicology Program: Avoid dishwashing your plastic bottles or filling them with hot liquids because the heat has been shown to increase transfer of BPA to the liquid contained therein. (By the way, the National Toxicology program also recommends avoiding microwaving plastic food containers, reducing your use of canned goods, and ensuring that baby bottles are BPA free.)

Learn more from The Green Guide.

End soap box rant now. And happy BPA-free water drinking!

An Enjoyable (Albeit Dorky) Video

Because I:

1. Am a dork
2. Love Johnny Cash (yes, I do)
3. Am a dork ...

I am sharing with you this video, which is in appreciation of seismologists. I know it sounds ridiculously boring. But it's really quite entertaining (if you're a dork like me).

The Local Pharmacy

A random reason why I love going to the little local pharmacy down the street:

When I pull up into the drive-through with a big dog in the backseat who is panting and drooling in excitement because he absolutely loves car rides, I get my prescription and he gets not one but two—two!—dog treats.

Now that's service any human or dog can appreciate.

Homemade Pasta Sauce

I first made this sauce about a month ago, after Q and MB generously brought us bags of tomatoes from their garden and Conservative Boy and I couldn't eat enough BLTs to keep up. It's incredibly easy to make and exceptionally flavorful. In fact, why the heck would you buy the canned (or jarred) stuff when you could just eat this?



The night before last, I ended up with a decent-size harvest of tomatoes (mostly Romas) from the front yard, so decided I actually had time to make the sauce again. It was even better this time (I think because of the Romas). In fact, now I wish the tomatoes left in the garden would hurry up and turn red so I can make more!

So, here it is, without further ado, from an old Italian cookbook I have:

Fresh-from the garden tomato sauce with garlic and basil

1 large bunch fresh basil
2 pounds fresh, ripe tomatoes
5 garlic cloves, peeled and chopped fine (yep, you want that much)
5 tbsp extra virgin olive oil
Salt
Black pepper (freshly ground)
1 pound pasta (I had it with fettucine the other night—yum)

1. Blanche tomatoes (plunge them in boiling water for a minute or less, plop them in cold water, then skin them and cut them into coarse pieces). Side note: This is a technique that Conservative Boy actually taught me, because blanching tomatoes is a must if I am to learn how to successfully re-create his mother's famous BLTs. Usually, though, I just leave that job to him. But I digress ...

2. Put the tomatoes, garlic, olive oil, salt, and several grindings of pepper into a saucepan and turn on the heat to medium-high. Cook for 20 to 25 minutes or until the oil floats free from the tomato. Taste and correct for salt.

3. Off heat, as soon as sauce is done, mix in the torn-up basil, keeping aside a few pieces to add when tossing the pasta.

4. Serve with fresh parmesan, crusty bread, and a fresh-from-the-garden salad. Delicioso!

The Dream To-Do List

I am a list-making sort of girl. Right now, I have four lists going: one for work (lots of writing on it this week, more editing to come next week), one for teaching (grading papers and planning, as usual), one for grad school (homework, homework, homework!), and one for all those others things I'm supposed to keep up on in life (cleaning, dog walking, grocery shopping, freelancing, working out, staying sane, you know how those lists go).

But I got to thinking in the shower this morning——as I recently was reminded by a friend, it's a great place to do some thinking——about the to-do list I don't have, which I wish I could use in place of all the other to-do lists, at least for a few days. It would go a little something like this (in no particular order):

1. Go to yoga classes (and, since this is my dream list, the terrific yoga classes will be right here in L-Town, rather than all the way in Springfield or Bloomington).

2. Sleep more.

3. Spend more time with Conservative Boy and Butter.

4. Play outside more in this lovely 80-degree weather we're having (including, but not limited to, walks in Kickapoo Creek Park with Butter, bike rides, and time with my plants——they are feeling quite neglected)

5. Read all these magazines——man, there are some good ones in there, including: Utne Reader, Natural Home, Real Simple, National Geographic Traveler, The Green Guide, Ode, Sunset, Yoga Journal, Sustainable Industries, Folio, Pink, Better Homes & Gardens ... I'm sure I'm missing some there, but you get the gist.



6. Watch movies. Random movies. Any movies.

7. Cook yummy food.

8. Do nothing.

Ah, that last one sounds particularly good. Although we all know what the odds of that happening are ...

Being Unorganized, Scatterbrained, and Generally Crazy

"You're closet dirty," Conservative Boy told me the other day, when he got into my car and saw the abundance of snacks littering the front seat (for my drives to and from grad school) and the pile of receipts that have accumulated.

"No, I am not closet dirty," I said (although my closet is a mess too, come to think of it). "I'm just busy."

That really gets him going. He hates it when I say I'm busy. Probably because that's all I say lately.

And it's not just that he hates it when I say I'm busy. It's that he hates it that I'm busy. Because I haven't had time to do much cleaning, or picking up of dirty dishes, or anything of that sort lately. And guess who's picking up the slack? (She laughs evilly at this. He's doing a terrific job, and secretly she hopes he'll keep up with all the chores even when she's not busy. Ha. Yeah right.)

Prior to this semester, our house was pretty much always clean. The bed was made almost every morning before I started work. And I cooked almost every night. Now? NOW. Let's just say: none of the above. And the kitchen table I was so good about clearing off regularly so it wasn't covered in junk? It's now littered with books and notebooks and whatever else I need on hand for homework and class planning and grading. Which, come to think of it, is also the state of the floor of my office.

It's not really as bad as it sounds. It's not like the some of the houses you drive by, where the front yards are filled with junk and overgrown and just about the most terrible sights ever. It's just that I am having to ignore the part of my brain I inherited from My Mom that says: This must be clean! This must be tidy! And so Conservative Boy, who is actually pretty darn tidy himself, even though he prefers when someone else is doing the picking up, is taking over.

That's a beautiful thing to happen when you're busy.

Living with Bears Fans

If you happen to stop by our house on a Sunday afternoon this fall, you will likely find this fellow greeting you at the window:



This is Bears fan number two. Once the game starts, he heads downstairs to assume his spot on the couch next to Bears fan number one.



Conservative Boy, of course, has his Bears jersey on every Sunday. And now Butter must wear his every Sunday too. It is very special. Everyone should be so lucky to live with one Bears fan that yells at the TV and another that barks at it. Really.

And no, I had nothing to do with the purchase of a dog-size, customized Bears jersey. (Which, consequently, is an extra large and won't fit Butter if he packs on anymore pounds.)

Who's ready for some football?

Green Roofs

I'm not really trying a green roof. Pretty sure Conservative Boy would kill me if I started growing plants on the roof. He can't stand the plants in the front yard. But I am intrigued by the notion of green (or living) roofs. I won't bore you with the details here, but they're pretty cool, so if you're interested in learning more be sure to check out what I posted about green roofs over at The Home Know-It-All.

And happy Friday!