A few of my Venetian friends. They look a little stiff, but they're great once you get to know them.
Monday, June 22, 2009
Sunday, June 21, 2009
FAQs about Venice
FAQs about my trip to Venice.Q. Did you row an outrigger canoe in the Adriatic with a bunch of Italian jocks after a two-hour lunch of prosecco and fried fish?
A. Yes.
Q. Did you and H. hold hands like school girls everywhere you went?
A. Yes, when we weren't hanging on each other like teenagers.
Q. Did you visit the world's oldest Jewish ghetto and did H. try to seduce an orthodox Yeshiva student while there?
A. Yes.
Q. Was she successful?
A. No, but we did eat an incredible kosher meal.
Q. Did you ride a bike down the length of the Lido after a two hour lunch of prosecco and fried fish?
A. Yes, but it was pasta with crab.
Q. Did you miss your kids?
A. Yes.
Q. Did you miss them so much it ruined your trip?
A. Not even close.
Q. How was that free apartment you had?
A. Perfect. Not fancy but in a perfect location near Santo Stefano and San Samuele with a view of the rooftops.
Q. Who's the dude?
A. His name is Fulvio. I have no idea why he liked us so much, but he did. We liked him too. He plays the trumpet and owns the newspaper stand that his grandfather owned. He showed us all sorts of locals-only things about Venice, like how it's impossible to scoot around the fourth column of St. Mark's without falling. We tried it. It is impossible.
Q. Didn't your eyes start to hurt from all the beauty?
A. As a matter of fact, they did. But it was nothing a glass of prosecco and a fried sardine couldn't cure.
Q. What did you buy?
A. Not that much, actually. A cute tote bag (see above) from a textile designer we met, some antique glass samples from Murano at a flea market we went to, some soccer sweatshirts for my kids, some Band-Aids for my foot after I sliced it open on those barnacles.
Q. Did you and H. get along?
A. It was like having a sexless affair. We more than got along, we were in love. Venice will do that to a person.
Q. It sounds like you ate a lot of fried fish. Did you get fat?
A. Um, what do you think? But I started kinda fat too.
Q. Did you fantasize about moving your whole family to Venice?
A. Yes, constantly.
Q. But how would you make a living?
A. I'm thinking if we go soon, while the kids are still cute, they would make great street urchins.
More questions about Venice, the most beautiful city on Earth? Ask away. I could go on all day.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Venice Vacation
I'll be next door to this place (It's a palace, which is, you know, how I roll):
Have a great week and I'll catch you again on the 20th with tales to tell. In the meantime, you'll probably want to check out these folks. They'll make sure you're entertained in my absence.
Arrivederci!
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Potty Mouth
My kids are deep into the potty talk stage and although I've been assured that this is a completely normal part of being three, I grow weary. There is entirely too much poop in my life without having to listen to Maggie sing "My bottom came to school today, school today, school today. My vagina came to school today. Early in the morning," during bath time (complete with visual aids, thank you very much).
Between the dog, four chickens, and two mostly-potty-trained pre-schoolers it can sometimes feel as if I am always either wiping a butt or picking up a steaming pile of excrement. I suppose this is the life I signed on for, and seeing as I am fortunate enough to have indoor plumbing, a hefty supply of wipes, and a mop, I shouldn't complain. But, please, allow me to recount my day.
It started at five when Maggie woke up cocooned in a mass of urine-soaked blankets. Once that was cleaned up and she was once again ensconced in her requisite pink (we said we wouldn't, but we do), we stumbled downstairs for our Cheerios only to be greeted by our dog's diarrhea splattered across the living room floor like some Jackson Pollack masterpiece. Okaaay, we said, taking a deep breath, we've been through this before. The Mister changed into his Haz. Mat. suit (cut off sweatpants and an old stained t-shirt) and took the rug outside for a little pressure hosing.
I went to work.
Fast forward ten hours.
I arrive home with the kids (the Mister is swimming in the Bay) and upon opening the front door, am confronted with a physics problem I assure you I am incapable of figuring out. It goes like this: how can all that shit possibly have been inside that medium-sized dog?
So now we have no rug and no rug pad.
But our floors are VERY clean at the moment and I leave for Venice in 36 hours, so again, I can't complain.
Oh, and in case you are wondering, the next line is, "My penis came to school today, school today, school today." Everybody sing!
I'm an expert, but if you need help identifying who made these turds, go here.
Saturday, June 6, 2009
The cost of backyard chickens
And just how much has this whole thing cost us so far? A breakdown:
Chicks ($4.50 each), feed, lamp, cage, the whole starter shebang: $101
Salvaged wood and window for coop: $40
Straw, more feed, chicken feeder and water dispenser: $90
Plastic roofing material, chicken wire, and hardware cloth: $102
TOTAL: $ 333
We pay almost $4 per dozen for organic eggs. If my math is correct, we will break even on our 999th egg. Who feels like a sucker? Not me. I'm still glad we did it.
Friday, June 5, 2009
Thing I learned in Santa Barbara
I had to fly down to Santa Barbara and back again today for work. I was checking out the amazing Dr. Seuss-meets-Gaudi work of architect Jeff Shelton for an upcoming story. If you don’t believe good design makes people happy, you should spend a day interviewing the residents of the Cota Street Studios. It’s like they’re all on ecstasy. Flowers and rainbows shoot from their eyes.
10 things Santa Barbara taught me:
Never trust the car rental girl to tell you where to eat, even if she is the manager.
If you are gadgetly-challenged to begin with, don’t fork over the extra $11 for the GPS.
Don’t eat at places where every single employee has white-man dreadlocks.
Ortega Street smells really strongly of pee.
Pretty people live in pretty towns.
If you happen to arrive on high school graduation day, you will find the streets of Santa Barbara clogged with teenagers dressed inappropriately.
In a pinch, the egg salad sandwich at Starbucks is pretty good (and definitely better than teriyaki chicken made by people with white-man dreadlocks).
Jacaranda trees bloom like purple pom-poms of joy in June.
You will feel uncharacteristically compelled by a self-proclaimed clairvoyant's declaration that you should move to Fairfax, CA.
Even after being burned in wildfires, the Santa Ynez mountains glow like gold at sunset.
A Thing I like
Four words: Self. Serve. Frozen. Yogurt. This, my friends, is my idea of a good time. I had Dutch chocolate and toasted coconut with mochi and chocolate syrup. And I’m a better person for it. Thank you, Yogurtland.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
All 86,400 seconds in the day
I realized yesterday morning, as I was microwaving my oatmeal, that every second of my day is accounted for. Ninety seconds before the oatmeal dings? Time enough to wipe down lunch boxes, pack two yogurts, and put carrot sticks in plastic baggie. Need to pee? What a good opportunity to carry this basket of laundry back up the stairs. Kids eating grapes? Check email.
I miss the days when staring off into space was a perfectly good way to spend and extra 30 seconds. And, honestly, we Schoechs are built for it. As my brother has said, "Never interrupt a Schoech in the middle of a good stare."
A thing I like
Elizabeth with Ruby. Photo by E. Spencer Toy
The way our Sunset researcher Elizabeth Jardina smacks down Slate's Jack Shafer bogus article on the fake chicken trend. All I can say is, "You're in over your head, Jack. Elizabeth knows chickens and she knows her shit."
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