The Music Of The Night

Tonight we're going to see The Phantom of the Opera - The Las Vegas Spectacular. Ed just bought us seats in the prized golden circle. He got a smokin' deal using his American Express points. This will be the view from our seats:

The show is at The Venetian, a beautiful Italian themed luxury hotel and casino, complete with canals and gondola rides! The interesting thing (to me), is that this hotel was built on the very same spot where the Sands originally stood. The Sands was one of the first hotels in Las Vegas we visited when, at fifteen years old, my step-father Frank took our family here for the first time. He'd been going to Vegas for years, on "Junkets".

We were actually staying at the Dunes, but Frank had a friend who was the manager of the showroom at the Sands and we got to go see a show as his guests; I think it was Robert Goulet and Leslie Uggams. It was pretty fantastic. We also saw the comedian Gallagher on that trip and Frank's friend seated us in an area that we thought wasn't that great considering he said we were his "special guests". We had a good view, but it wasn't right up front where we really wanted to sit. We later found out why he didn't seat us up front in the "good seats" - one of Gallagher's skits was his presentation of the Sledge-O-Matic and Frank's friend did us a HUGE favor by seating us just outside the flying food area.

But tonight, we will pass on the flying food and settle in for a Vegas "Spectacular". According to Vegas.com, "the Venetion Resort spent $40 million to design a custom-built theater for this show, which closely resembles the Opera Garnier in Paris. There are plush red seats and curtains, gold statues and carvings, a hand-painted ceiling topped with an 80-foot-wide done and opera boxes lining the sides. The opera boxes are inhabited by seventy colorful mannequins, which were custom built in Belgium. No two are alike and each one is completely outfitted in an authentic period costume.

The centerpiece of the theater (and major plot point of the show) is the chandelier, which weighs 2,100 pounds and cost $4.5 milliont to create. The shimmering chandelier is comprised of 29,444 individual crystals that were hand strung.

In this version of "Phantom," the chandelier hangs in four pieces, which assemble in dramatic fashion during the beginning of the show. The spokes of the ceiling's dome support 32 cables that guide the chandelier into place and it takes 40 individual computers, complete with navigational software, to run the chandelier. During the show's climactic scene, the chandelier falls 45 feet in three seconds and stops only 10 feet above those seated beneath it - an effect that always causes a stir in the audience."

Now if that doesn't sound like an amazing way to spend an evening, I don't know what is! I'm super excited and looking forward to our "dinner and a show" date night. I even have a semi-dressy outfit in the truck for Ed and I so we don't look like two schleps, we'll actually blend right in.

Well, I've gotta run - time to get ready for The Music of the Night.




~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
1 YEAR AGO: There’s No Better Place On Earth
2 YEARS AGO: Getting Tanked In Al-Nahar
3 YEARS AGO: Bracing For A World Of Mouse Ears
4 YEARS AGO: At Least He’s Up Front About It
5 YEARS AGO: Aten HUT!!
6 YEARS AGO: Be The Player

A Franchophile's Paradise

The Chanel store might throw you for a loop, but once you see the fake Eiffel Tower in the middle of the Las Vegas desert, I'm pretty sure you'll catch on pretty quick that you're not in Paris.

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1 YEAR AGO: 10 Things I Learned On My Vacation In Italy
2 YEARS AGO: A Beautiful Deep Fried Pocket Of Cornmeal Dough. Or, My Mom.
3 YEARS AGO: A Foxy Furry Little Friend
4 YEARS AGO: The One That Got Away
5 YEARS AGO: Don’t We All?
6 YEARS AGO: Miss Singular

Where There Is Smoke, There Is Not Always Fire

After delivering at Nellis Air Force Base just outside of Las Vegas this morning, we ran around town doing errands. We had to go to the bank, hit the post office, get the truck washed, have breakfast. Once all of that was done, we spent the rest of the morning looking for loads. The pickings are slim here, so we weren't feeling too confident that we'd get out of here today. We might even be stuck here for the weekend. Not my favorite place to be, but I suppose it could be worse; we could be in Alabama.

After we got the truck washed, we stopped at a nearby truckstop to air up the tires and Ed asked about truck parking at hotels near the strip. Turns out, there are three that offer truck parking closer to the strip than the casino we normally park at. We headed over and found plenty of room to park. We sat in the truck for a while, watching TV and taking care of some paperwork before deciding to go have dinner.

Since we couldn't decide what type of food we wanted, we did one of the buffets. This is rare for us since we usually hit a different restaurant when we're in town, never doing the buffets. I can't stand all the people, the shoving, the lines, the kids. It was okay, not a place I'd ever go back to, but I was hungry and it had a good selection as you'd imagine.

After dinner, we hit the casino. As much as I like the people watching and getting lucky every once in a while, my experience is always ruined by the cigarette smoke. I can't stand the smell of smoke. It's so unpleasant that it eventually upsets my entire evening. I just got out of the shower and I still smell a faint scent of it on me, or somewhere around me, I can't really tell where it's coming from. I wrapped all my clothes and Ed's clothes in a plastic bags, three layers of plastic, in an effort to contain the smell.

The smoke in the casinos is disgustingly vile. It makes the visit so unpleasant, that I always have to leave early. I wish they had completely non-smoking casinos. Some offer non-smoking rooms, but they're off the main casino and hello people, smoke travels through AIR.

I honestly don't know why people smoke. First, unless you're brain dead (which you may be if you're smoking), you have got to be aware of the health risks. Not that I care so much about that, because I'm no twig and there's plenty of evidence that being overweight isn't good for one's health, but how disgusting is it to SUCK smoke into your mouth? I mean, it's SMOKE. And you're intentionally breathing it. I'm pretty sure if something were on fire, you'd cover your face and run away from it, right? So why do you pay exhorbitant prices to suck it?

Secondly, are you aware that you smell disgusting? Your hair smells, your clothes smell, your teeth are gross, your skin is sallow. Why would you want to reek of smoke everywhere you go? It's physically repulsive. If you're a woman, the disgusting factor multiplies.

Smoking irritates me no matter where it's taking place. Even outside. Especially if you're the kind of person who goes on your work break and stands RIGHT OUTSIDE OF THE DOOR that people are entering/exiting from. Go around the corner. Behind a tree. By the dumpster. Not where other people have to be subject to your second-hand, cancer causing smoke. I don't care if you're addicted; get a patch or something. Maybe it'd be better to put the patch over your mouth instead of on your arm, to keep the cigarettes out.

My grandparents smoked, which oddly is one of the smells that reminds me of them. But those are childhood memories that I have no control over. They're just there. I don't like the smell of smoke, but the smell from certain brands remind me of my grandmother and I like that memory. My parents smoked when I was younger too, but I don't remember much about it because they quit when we were pretty young. And what did they know back then? But parents who smoke now, in the presence of their kids, especially in a car with the windows up, when they know the damage that smoke does to the little pink lungs of children...those people should be strung up by their pinky toes.

And just because I have a fleeting memory of my grandparents when assaulted by the odor of cigarette smoke doesn't mean I want to stand next to you, walk behind you if you have a cigarette dangling from your fingers and your smoke is going right up my nose, be in a car with you, or hang out in a smoky club with you.

Thankfully, I'm only in casino environments a few times a year, because the only thing worse than smoke in Las Vegas casinos, is seeing Las Vegas itself by the light of day.

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1 YEAR AGO: Ella Ella Eh Eh Eh
2 YEARS AGO: What’s All The Glee About?
3 YEARS AGO: Connecting Over The Mystic River
4 YEARS AGO: Randomly Weird
5 YEARS AGO: Eddie Acts Like A Five Year Old Friday
6 YEARS AGO: From Earth To Heaven

From The Island To The Desert

While we were waiting to back into the dock, we got a little snowed on. Ed backed in and started to prepare the trailer for loading...

Here he is, hard at work, diligently sweeping the snow off the trailer. Row by row, he swept. Like a chimney sweep. Except he was a snow sweep. Wet snow, falling off the side of the trailer in perfect little clumps. I'm going to have to get him to try this sweeping technique in the truck sometime. When he was done sweeping and prepping, he began the loading process. Racks that were going to a new BJ's Warehouse store in Virginia. Here he is, thirteen feet off the ground, climbing around on slippery steel like. Sometimes I get nervous, but he's been doing this for so long and is so careful, that I really don't have anything to worry about. But seriously, if he falls and gets hurt, who's going to back into docks??

The trip went off without a hitch and we got unloaded super-quick before turning right around and heading to Long Island to pick up a load going out to Las Vegas. Everything that day was timed down to the minute. Traffic on the bridge would have doomed us. I was not sure we were going to make it, but Ed was cheerleading the whole way and we totally made it! Right under the wire!

Cross-country cruisin' time!

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1 YEAR AGO: The Town I Was Dying To See
2 YEARS AGO: Gleaming Curve
3 YEARS AGO: Color Me Casual
4 YEARS AGO: Eddie Goes Running Friday
5 YEARS AGO: Forever Yours
6 YEARS AGO: Home Away From Home

Men At Work

Yesterday I used this photo on my tribute post to my step-father; he's the one in the middle. When my mother read the post and saw the picture, she said "Look at him in those light colored shoes and black pants. What was he thinking?"

"Well, that was the style. Look at how they're all dressed." I said.

"They look so gay." she said. "I wonder if they were down-under men?"

"You mean you wonder if they were on the down-low, or if they were from Australia?"

"What??" she said confused, in her uh-oh-I-must-have-said-the-wrong-thing-when-I-actually-meant-something-else voice.

"Mom. I'm pretty sure they were not on the down-low. First, they're not black. Second, everyone dressed like that back then."

Leave it to my mother to question the unmistakable virility of the man she'd spent the last thirty-one years with. I blame Law & Order.

Before that, she never even knew Australia existed.

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1 YEAR AGO: Everyone Is NOT A Winner
2 YEARS AGO: Text Me
3 YEARS AGO: Going The Way Of Astatine*
4 YEARS AGO: Picture Perfect Pilot
5 YEARS AGO: Not Falling For Winter Yet
6 YEARS AGO: I Miss You Already

The Final Curtain

I've written several times in the past about Frank, my step-father for more than 31 years. Since I just became a teenager when I met him, he didn’t have a lot to do with my formative years, but he still made an impact on me.Having been single for more than ten years when he met my mother, his house was the epitome of a bachelor pad when we first moved in; scattered about were playing cards and poker chips, Playboy magazines in the attic (dating back to the early sixties), a cozy wood stove (de rigueur in the Catskill Mountains) and a VCR player (we had never seen one before!). This was just the beginning of the cool things Frank would introduce me to.

He owned a restaurant, a popular one, famous even. Once called the steak house to the stars. It’s the place I got my first job, or series of jobs I should say. I started out as the water girl, serving water to customers as they settled in to read the menu. Then I became the dessert girl, making desserts for those same people. That job was a lot harder than you’d think it would be; it’s uncanny how a dining room full of people suddenly all have dessert at the same time. I worked like a madwoman in that position.

From there, I graduated to bussing tables. It was a hard job, but I was good at it. I could fill an oval tray so strategically with glasses, plates and silverware from a party of eight, and lift it into the air with one swift move. I was a workhorse. I had so much strength, that I often carried the heaviest trays out of the kitchen when food needed to be served, and picked up the trays going back to the kitchen after they were full. I never leaned a tray on my shoulder, and I could weave through the tables like a gazelle. It was a skill I was extremely proud of.Then I wanted to work in the kitchen, something my mother wasn’t too keen on because there were guys in there (duh!). And those guys used what could be called “kitchen language”, which apparently wasn’t suitable for a teenage girl to hear. But, since I grew up with a mother who used “kitchen language”, it wouldn’t be anything I hadn’t heard before and I certainly didn’t see myself repeating it. I hadn’t up to then, so why would I start?

So that summer, I started working in the kitchen. I didn’t do any of the actual cooking, but I did help with prep; peeling potatoes by the bagful (50 pound bags!), peeling hundreds of pounds of onions causing me to smell like them for days, deveining shrimp, unwrapping sticks of butter and cutting them into perfectly even pats to arrange in small monkey dishes. I also washed dishes. Yes, I was a dishwasher! After filling those positions, I became a waitress. And I was good. People loved me and I made great money. Oh, those were the days. There were other things I considered fun in the restaurant that were mundane tasks to others. One of those things was grocery shopping. On weekend nights, which happened to be when the bulk of the dinners had been served, as things were winding down for the night, Frank would always have someone accompany him to the grocery store. Not too many people liked to do this, but I always rallied for it to be me. I always thought I got lucky when I was picked to go; it took me a while to realize it was because no one else wanted to. I didn't care, I loved it.

So around ten-thirty, we'd make our way up to Shop-Rite. We’d walk around with two carts, filling them to the brim. When we got to the check-out and unloaded 15 gallons of milk, 30 half-gallons of ice cream, 40 pounds of butter, 37 bottles of A-1 sauce, dozens of rolls of paper towels and more, the girl would always ask if we were having a party. I’d giggle and flippantly say “I wish”, acting like this was a regular shop for us.

Frank is the person who taught me how to shop; how to save money, how to decipher which was the better bargain (twenty years before they started putting the “per unit” price tags on the shelves), and how the store brand ice cream tasted better than name brand (people would NEVER believe us when we told them it was Shop-Rite chocolate ice cream).

He also taught me how to water-ski, took me to my first Broadway play, took me on my first airplane trip, let me drive for the first time (before I got my license), was the first person I drove cross-country with, gave my friends summer jobs at his restaurant, helped me buy my first car, listened to and implemented my ideas for restaurant operations, and always, always, introduced me as his daughter.Today would have been his 90th birthday. I say “would have” because last month he died. And I’m sad. I was with him every day for the last three weeks of his life, and he died at home. Actually, it was Ed who found him. Just an hour after my mother gave him his medicine, Ed went in to check on him and he wasn’t breathing. We knew it was coming, as we watched him decline, but there was still that moment where you think you didn’t get to say your last “last” goodbye.

The thing that comforts me the most is that he knew how much I loved him. And I know how much he loved me. He may have been a curmudgeon at times, and I didn’t always like when he had to act the parent, but we had a connection. After my father died and Frank read the obituary I wrote for him, he asked me to write his. I did, and he read it during the time I was home with him. He loved it and gave it his stamp of approval. This is it:


Frank A. Porpora, Catskill Mountain Restaurateur
and World War II Soldier, Dies at age 89
Tucson, AZ


Frank A. Porpora, a native New Yorker and 30-year

Frank pictured with Ingrid Bergman, when his

platoon was assigned to her escort detail

during a WWII visit.

resident of Arizona, died on Wednesday, October 26, 2011, at his home in Tucson. He was 89 years old. Born in the Bronx, NY on November 14, 1921, to Antonio Porpora and Rosaria Catacchio Porpora, immigrants from Agerola and Barletta, Italy, he was the oldest of their five sons. Frank’s early life was seasoned by World War II, but his defining principle – loyalty and generosity to family, friends and country – took him around the world; he was even photographed with Ingrid Bergman in Germany when his troop was assigned to escort her during a wartime visit. After the war, he returned to the beauty of the Catskill Mountains where his true legacy began.

Frank was best known for his position at the helm of the iconic Dodge Inn Steak House in Rock Hill, NY. The restaurant, originally a boarding house, had been in the family since the early 1920’s. Originally run by his Uncle Charlie, the Dodge Inn was eventually handed over to Frank when he returned from serving his country in World War II. The Dodge Inn became a favorite dining spot not only for locals, but for celebrities who entertained in the Catskills; among them were Milton Berle, Don Rickles, Red Buttons, Lee J. Cobb, Frankie Lane, Pat Cooper, Sid Caesar, Alan King, Perry Como, Steve Lawrence and Eydie Gorme, boxers Rocky Marciano, Rocky Graziano and Michael Spinks, Tony Bennett, Buddy Hacket and singer Billy Eckstein.

“Big Frank” as he was known in the restaurant, wasn’t just a war veteran and successful business owner, he was also a father, a loyal friend and a much loved family member. He was a man of unbendable perseverance, he was reliable, had a deep-rooted belief in old world values, and could be trusted to hold a secret for life. He provided many people with their first jobs, and created a family atmosphere among the employees of the Dodge Inn. He was revered and feared, often simultaneously. He had a tough exterior but to those who really knew him, he also had a marshmallow heart.

He was trustworthy, hardworking, passionate about his business, and generous; he often gave silently, never looking for recognition for his actions. He was not only generous in deed, he was also generous with his time, teaching friends and family members how to snow ski at local resorts and how to waterski on Masten Lake, where he owned beachfront property which housed an old-fashioned “casino”. He even took all the kids in the family to one of the biggest waterparks in the tri-state area, joining them on the log flumes and rope swings. He was fearless.

Frank was certainly one of a kind and will be missed by many. He will be remembered for his larger than life presence, his colorful language, his creating a landmark restaurant in an area that dominated a bygone era, his love of Frank Sinatra, his helping others by dispensing with his money, time and always, always large amounts of food, his tireless work to provide for his families, his stubbornness, and his oft hidden gentle spirit.

And now, the end is near, and so I face the final curtain.
My friend, I'll say it clear, I'll state my case, of which I'm certain.
I've lived a life that's full. I've traveled each and every highway.
And more, much more than this,
I did in my way.
~ Frank Sinatra, My Way

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1 YEAR AGO: Happy Birthday From Agerola!
2 YEARS AGO: You Gotta Be A Good Fighter To Make It 88 Rounds
3 YEARS AGO: Eddie Working In Paradise Friday
4 YEARS AGO: 86 Going On 8
5 YEARS AGO: A Fine Cargo Of Experiences And Memories
6 YEARS AGO: 84

Personally Yours. But Not Mine.

Before it was possible to log onto the internet and order anything you wanted, with any name you could think of, people with unusual names were just shit out of luck.

Like me.

I remember, as a kid, walking into a store and seeing a display rack of oh, anything, and knowing, without even checking, that my name would not be among the ones displayed.

Whether it was a necklace, a zipper pull, a keychain, a coat rack for my bedroom, a baseball cap, a box to present the tooth fairy your tooth, or something as generic as a coffee mug. It wouldn't be there.

If you were a Jennifer or a Lisa or a Michelle, no problem. Those were generic, common names. Mark, Jason or Michael (like my brother)? No problem, you could buy anything you want. But not me. I used to look for my name among the Sheilas and Sues and Sarahs. Pushed aside the Sandys and Stephanies and Stacys to see if maybe, just maybe, someone had finally made something with my name on it.

I never found anything.

When I was sixteen, I went to my uncle's jewelry store and custom ordered a nameplate necklace, fifteen years before Carrie Bradshaw made them popular on Sex and the City. It was beautiful - diamond-cut in real gold, attached to a gorgeous rope chain with a seed pearl on each end of the name. I still have it. And it's still the only thing I own with my name on it.

I've actually grown to like the fact that I can't find my name anywhere. I've always loved my name. Always loved that it was unique and always loved that I almost never ran into anyone with the same one. In school, there was one girl I knew with the same name but she spelled it entirely different, and only until Selena the Mexican singer became popular, did I hear my name said with any regularity in places other than by people who knew me.

It's still an unusual name and to this day, doesn't matter where I go, doesn't matter how cool the item is, doesn't matter how off beat or high falutin' the store is, they won't have anything displaying my name. And that's okay. Oh sure, I can go to Things Remembered in the mall and have them engrave my name onto a cheesy Christmas ornament. And I'd have to spell it five times and likely, write it down. And even after doing so, there's still a chance it'll come out wrong.

But today, if I really want a coffee cup with my name on it, instead of just an "S", I know where to go.

And I know how to spell it - it starts with www.


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1 YEAR AGO: Sheltered Madonna And Child
2 YEARS AGO: Breaking A Leg Doesn’t Always Mean Good Luck
3 YEARS AGO: Showing Its True Colors, Even On The Cloudiest Day
4 YEARS AGO: Priorities
5 YEARS AGO: It’s All In The Cards
6 YEARS AGO: A Blond Moment

Life Is For Living

I just took the New York Times Personality Test. And boy, are they smart over there! The result? They said I'm a LIFE LOVER.

This is the description I got after I finished my test:

You are a bit of a dreamer and you are drawn to anything with a sense of mystique. Despite being a bit of a homebody, you love letting your mind wander off to far flung lands where anything can happen. You are an emotional spirit and you make really strong connections. Good friends and lots of laughs are the recipe for really happy days. And nights!

You’re creative and imaginative and like to be inspired. Home is where your heart is and you love nothing more than putting personal touches to your space. You’re laid-back and relaxed with a very healthy attitude to life. Naturally down-to-earth, you don’t believe in sweating the small stuff. Life’s for living, with minimum stress and maximum enjoyment and so fun with family and friends is top of the list as far as you’re concerned. Food is a definite passion too and you’re always up for tantalizing your taste buds. You’re a bit of a dreamer at heart. But there’s nothing wrong with that. Set your sights high and you’ll create the life you deserve.

Wow. That is SO me!

Want some random newspaper quiz to tell you who you are?

Take the test


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1 YEAR AGO: These Sure Would Look Snazzy On The Feet Of A Trucker
2 YEARS AGO: There’s No Whey In The Way Of This Delicious Treat
3 YEARS AGO: O Canada!
4 YEARS AGO: Ladies Night (And Day) Out
5 YEARS AGO: The Queen Is Bleak
6 YEARS AGO: Literacy In The South

It's Not Just Time On A Digital Clock Display Anymore

I posted this comic six years ago, but it really fits for today. On 11/11/11 it's going to be 11:11:11.

Something should happen at that moment, don't you think?


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1 YEAR AGO: Roman Glow
2 YEARS AGO: Let There Be A Lesson In The Words Of Mark Twain, Who Seems To Have a Handle On Who Is The Real Patriot
3 YEARS AGO: Sometimes The Nights Just Fly By
4 YEARS AGO: Who Thought Putting These Two Words Together Was A Good Idea?
5 YEARS AGO: We Would All Go Down Together
6 YEARS AGO: Missing Me?

When The Stars Make You Drool Just Like Pasta Fazool, That's Amore!

Last night Ed made dinner. He used a recipe for a dish my Nanny (grandmother, not glorified babysitter) made from my childhood, and one that was passed on to every woman in my family; all my aunts make this dish, almost exactly the same way.

We call it Pasta Fazool. Most Italian-Americans, especially from the east coast, will know exactly what this is. "Fagioli" means "beans" in Italian and although a lot of people know the dish by its official Italian name, Pasta e Fagioli or Pasta Fagioli, you won't have trouble finding too many people who say no to a dish of "Pasta Fazool". Sometimes you'll see Pasta Fagioli on a menu prepared more like a soup, but I like making it a little thicker and not as soupy.
The dish is made with five ingredients. You can't get easier than that. Here's what I used (notice my San Marzano tomatoes from Wegmans - my favorite grocery store, found primarily in the Northeast). You begin by coating the bottom of the pan with olive oil and tossing in your diced onion. I like using a red onion, I think it has a nice sweet flavor. Sauté them until they're nice and translucent, even getting a few of them brown. The more they cook, the sweeter they become.

Once they're nice and cooked, dump in your can of tomatoes. I pour the juice from the tomatoes in first and then use my hands to crush up the whole tomatoes into small pieces. I usually make this with a can of tomato paste (and three cans of water) like my Nanny did, but I didn't have paste, so I used the whole tomatoes. I keep saying "I", but Ed was actually the one doing all the work - I just instructed. Here, you'll see the sauce all mixed together, before the beans were poured in.

Let the sauce cook while you're boiling the pasta water. Once the water is done, dump your pasta in the water pot and then dump the can of kidney beans into your sauce. I like to use the juice in the can too, because it has starch and makes the sauce a little thicker. By the time the pasta is done cooking - about twelve minutes - your sauce will be ready.

Ed wanted a little spice, so he sprinkled a pinch of red pepper flakes into the sauce. I have to say, it was pretty damn good. He also made garlic bread - something I never had growing up, but which he always has to have with meals like this. It was a great addition to the meal.

Spoon your beautiful concoction into a dish and sprinkle with grated cheese - my favorite is Locatelli Pecorino-Romano. Look how beautiful this is. Enjoy!!Click HERE to get the recipe to print out.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
1 YEAR AGO: Amphitheatrum Flavium
2 YEARS AGO: I Think His Father And My Mother May Be Related
3 YEARS AGO: Crossing The North Atlantic
4 YEARS AGO: Sharing In The Deliciousness Of Women
5 YEARS AGO: Dining In Lancaster County
6 YEARS AGO: My Sweet Spot

Squirreled Away In Olean

Today we're in Olean, New York, just about forty miles north of where we delivered our load in Coudersport, Pennsylvania; we headed this way because it was the town closest to an interstate. We're still looking for a load out of here, but so far the places they're going and the money they're paying hasn't thrilled us.

What has thrilled us, are the painted squirrels of Olean!You can click on the image to enlarge it, but when you do, you might want to open it in another window because these here sqwhirls (as Ed calls them) have names! In the top row, from left to rigth we have Ronald McSquirrel, Starry Night Squirrel, Hey Mom, Guess What..., Life's Images and Lady Justice. The bottom row is lead by Olean Patriot (he has an American flag tail!), then Squirrel World, Country Folk Squirrel, Nutty O' St. Nick and Pop Arthur.

There was the Cow Parade in Chicago, Guitar Mania in Cleveland, and now Squirrels in Olean! The town is quite cute, with several parks and a busy main street. Just a few miles over, in the town of Allegany, is St. Bonaventure University, which is well known in the Western Region of New York.

According to Wikipedia, among the other things Olean has been known for (timber, oil and being a major railroad hub, St. Bonaventure University), Olean also garnered notoriety as "a major stop on bootlegging routes during Prohibition in 1920s. Local police turned a blind eye to organized crime activity. Olean was nicknamed "Little Chicago" in the press, due to its connection with mobsters and bootleggers, and Al Capone was a frequent visitor." Really? Interesting.

If you ever swing through Olean and want to check out the Squirrels, click here to find out where in town they're located.


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1 YEAR AGO: Home Sweet Home
2 YEARS AGO: You Build It, We’ll Haul It
3 YEARS AGO: The Canadian MJ II
4 YEARS AGO: Eddie In The Half Moon Hall Friday
5 YEARS AGO: The Italian Death March
6 YEARS AGO: How You Doin’?

I Have A Crush On A Boy-d

Last year, I became friends on Facebook with a guy named Boyd who found me through my blog. Not only did he read my posts, he actually invited Ed and I to have dinner with him anytime we were in the neighborhood. His treat!

Unfortunately, he lived in an area of upstate New York that we didn't get to very often, which is probably best since if I did step foot in his home, I probably wouldn't have ever left. He's THAT amazing. He and his partner have now moved down South, and I've seen pictures of the house. It's gorgeous, and from the amount of windows, it clearly has a guest room. I'm hoping he also has truck parking, because that would totally rock.

The thing that makes me want him as my BFF are his Facebook status updates (well, since that's all we really have, considering we're just "internet friends"). They're always fantastic. Funny. Clever. And they make me wish I wrote them myself. He makes me laught out loud several times a week. And I just spent a ridiculous amount of time culling his Facebook page for some of his latest updates to share with you.

Read on...


“If I had to guess where everything went wrong, I’d have to say it was the day I learned “elemenopee” wasn’t just one awesome letter.”

“You say never judge someone until you’ve walked a mile in their shoes. But sorry, I can’t walk a mile in your shoes. Because you wear Crocs. And I won’t be caught dead in Crocs. It’s actually the reason I judge you.”

“This Planking epidemic is getting out of hand. The old lady next door has been laying outside for 3 days now.”

“I had a falling out with a co-worker, but we’re cool now. He’s even teaching me Spanish. Now I can order steak when I go out to lunch. Soy un idiota que tiene sexo con las vacas! Thanks Javier!!”

“If I were a cab driver, I’d whisper “I could have kept you…” to passengers before they got out.”

“When I see a parked car with one of those stick figure family things, I always add a sticker of myself to it and then just wait in their car.”

“Your manners slowly disappear the more you have to repeat something. “Can you pass the salt? The salt, can you pass it? No. The SALT. GIVE ME THE SALT!!!”

“There would be a lot less litter in the world if we just sharpened the walking sticks for the blind.”

“We should be able to text 911, you know, just in case you’re hiding from a serial killer and can’t talk.”

“When I watch “Footloose” all I can think is, they allow dancing one town over. Just go there.”

“Bring Your Child To Work Day must be awkward for prostitutes.”

“My box of animal crackers says “may contain nuts”. So I’m inspecting each animal before I eat it. Just in case.”

“I read a caption in the paper this morning. It said: “In the time it takes you to finish reading this sentence, twenty people will have died of hunger.” How the hell do they know how fast I read? I had to read it again. I probably killed forty people.”

“So, the woman who injected her 8 year-old daughter with Botox for beauty pageants has lost custody. Sources close to the little girl say she wasn’t surprised by the news. Or maybe she was. It’s hard to tell.”

And my very favorite…

McDonald’s Minion: “Thank you for choosing McDonald’s, go ahead when you’re ready.”
Boyd: “May I have a half a dozen chicken McNuggets with sweet and sour sauce, please?”
McDonald’s Minion: “I’m sorry, we only serve six, ten, or twenty pieces.”
Boyd: “So you can’t serve me half a dozen chicken nuggets…?”
McDonald’s Minion: “No, sir. We only serve six, ten, or twenty pieces.”
Boyd: “Interesting…”


~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
1 YEAR AGO: Accentuate The Positive
2 YEARS AGO: How The Train Derails
3 YEARS AGO: Good Thing He Didn’t PAINT This On His Truck
4 YEARS AGO: Red Snap
5 YEARS AGO: Convexly Jackson
6 YEARS AGO: Marriage Criterion

Also Untouchable Because He's Covered In Black Gold

After delivering our load in Coudersport, Pennsylvania (we called it "cooters-port" but think it's really pronounced "cutters-port" - still not clear on that), Ed decided he would change both the generator oil and the oil in the truck. Now that we have a creeper and an oil receptacle to hold the old oil, it's a job that takes less than an hour to do and it saves us over five thousand dollars a year.

Coudersport is located in the Allegheny Plateau of the Appalachian Mountains. The entire drive, once we left Interstate 80, was on backroads. I was in heaven, because as I mentioned yesterday, I love getting off the highway.

Two interesting facts about Coudersport that I found on Wikipedia:

1. Coudersport is home to a Scottish Rite Consistory. With over 5,000 members, Coudersport's Consistory is the largest consistory in the Scottish Rite by per capita membership.

2. Coudersport was the home of "Untouchable" Eliot Ness at the time of his death.

It was also the temporary home of oil covered Ed:



~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
1 YEAR AGO: The Ride (And Thrill) Of A Lifetime
2 YEARS AGO: Shot From A Safe Distance
3 YEARS AGO: Eddie And The Moose Friday
4 YEARS AGO: How Many Times Do You Have To Burn Your Hand Before You Stop Touching The Hot Stove?
5 YEARS AGO: Just When You Thought There Wasn’t Another Ounce Of Fun To Be Had Of Another Drop Of Information To Be Remembered, It Doubles And Triples
6 YEARS AGO: This Is What Fall Looks Like

Diner In The Mountains

After spending the weekend with my friends and my cousin, we headed out to deliver our load, and on the way went through Wellsboro, a cute little town located in the beautiful mountains of Pennsylvania.

This is what Wikipedia has to say about Wellsboro: "Early in the twentieth century, Wellsboro was the shipping point and trade center for a large area. It had fruit evaporators, flour and woolen mills, a milk-condensing plant, marble works, saw mills, foundry and machine shops, and manufactories of cut glass, chemicals, rugs, bolts, cigars, carriages, and furniture. In 1900, 2,945 people lived here, in 1910, 3,183 lived here. The population was 3,328 at the 2000 census. It is the county seat of Tioga County, and also home to the Grand Canyon of Pennsylvania."

I love when we get loads that take us off the interstates and onto the secondary roads, through small towns, especially in the mountain areas of the Northeast. Beautiful!

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
1 YEAR AGO: Limone Costa d’Amalfi
2 YEARS AGO: To Tattoo Or Not To Tattoo
3 YEARS AGO: Sparkle And Glow
4 YEARS AGO: I See Sea Scallops
5 YEARS AGO: My New Favorite Song
6 YEARS AGO: Lazy Sunday

What Would You Think If You Saw A Grown Woman Climbing Out Of A Big Rig Wearing Pajamas?

I love Fall and Winter, but I hate Fall and Winter clothing. I hate Spring and Summer, but I love Spring and Summer clothing.

Dilemma.

Cool weather clothing I'm not really in love with: Jeans, sweaters, coats. Boots, clunky shoes, sneakers and oh, did I mention boots? Gloves, hats, scarves. Hate, hate, hate. I love the way they look, I like the idea of all the layering, and I like when I see it on other people. But I have this inborn hatred of heat, sweating and feeling like I can't move because I have too many clothes on, that I can't wear any of it.

Hot weather clothing...now that's for me. Capris, t-shirts, skirts. Flip-flops, flip-flops, and flip-flops. Tanks, lightweight breezy fabrics, feeling free. If I could wear flip-flops and any combination of clothing when it's sixty degrees out I'd be very happy, but I also know how ridiculous I would look when other people are wearing puffy down coats. WTF??

It's maddening for me to get dressed. Today was a gorgeous, sunny day in New Jersey. Looking out of my kitchen window, I see orange leaves on the trees and people walking around in various states of dress; mostly jeans, but some in flannel shirts, some in sweatshirts, some in coats. I don't know why I do this because the way other people dress never have any bearing on how I dress, but I thought I'd be able to tell if it was sunny-warm or sunny-cool. Turns out, I just have to open the door and feel the air. It was sunny-cool.

OK, so that means I can wear some version of Fall-ish clothing, right? Jeans, a sweatshirt, long sleeves. But here's the thing...I can't. Because I know I'll go somewhere that'll be hot and I'll have to leave. Ed and I went out to dinner one night and the place was so ungodly hot that I couldn't even wait for our drink order to arrive at the table. We just got up and left.

And today, we went to the mall. Malls are always like saunas for me. Throngs of people, skylights letting in all that sun, stores that put the heat on at the appearance of the first chilly day. An hour in a hot mall makes me crazy; probably saves me tons of money, but makes me crazy nonetheless.

I've been like this my entire life. When I was little, I'd hate wearing a hat and scarf, layers, feetsie pajamas. I've written about the pajamas before, and how my mother would cut the feet off because they were too hot and confining.

I'd love to be able to wear footless pajamas everywhere. With flip-flops. I can buy them in lightweight and heavyweight fabrics, matching the color to the season and be super-comfortable because they're roomy with elastic waistbands.

Heeeyy, that might just work.


~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
1 YEAR AGO: The Machines Might Be Old But The Smokers Start Young
2 YEARS AGO: Don’t Take It For Granite
3 YEARS AGO: Yes We Did!!
4 YEARS AGO: Green Acres Is The Place To Be, Solar Living Is The Life For Me
5 YEARS AGO: Hail To Our Beautiful Maine Coon Mascot
6 YEARS AGO: Weekend In Nature

From Pot Roast At The Buckhorn To Gambling With An Inky Malbec

Last night we dined at the T/A and had unsweetened iced tea with our meal. Tonight we dined with friends and enjoyed a glass of The Gambler, an Argentinian wine made with the delicious Malbec grape.

OK, so I didn't have my own glass - I'm not a wine drinker - but I did have several sips out of Ed's glass. It was just soooo tasty. I didn't get the olive or the leather, but I did detect a little strawberry in its finish.

Getting together with our friends Marlaina and Greg is always a great time. They are two of the most interesting, intelligent people we know. The conversation typically consists of all things trucking, the latest audiobooks we've listened to, what's happening on the political front, who read what in the New York Times, and where the next travel destination will be. They're considering North Korea in 2012 and we're considering being their travel partners. No snorkeling happening there, that's for sure.

It's never necessary to tell them where we are since they track us on Google Latitude, but since we keep in touch via email, they knew we'd be delivering our load close to the very area they were getting some work done on their truck. They had a rental car, so making dinner plans was only one Urban Spoon shake away.

We parked at one of our typical hideouts and they came to meet us. We spent quite some time hanging out in the truck talking before we even thought about dinner. Greg and Ed talked computers, Vespas and custom platform trailers. Marlaina and I talked investing, nailcolor, and family matters. She's a genius with the dollar and I'm seriously considering hiring her as my personal financial consultant. I am going to be set by the time I'm ready to retire!

When the growling stomachs could no longer be contained, we all piled into the state-of-the-art minivan they rented; it had side doors that closed automatically with a gentle whoosh, vanity lighting on the headliner (a nice soft green glow), extremely comfortable second row seating and the best of all, a video backup camera that displayed what was going on behind us, on an 8" video screen on the dash. Über-cool! (That's for you, Greg.)

The ride to the restaurant though, wasn't as cool. Greg plugged the adress into the GPS, but since we were in New Jersey, the left hand exit took him by surprise, he missed it, and we wound up several miles out of route. Using one of the freaky New Jersey u-turn jug-handles, we finally got turned around in the right direction, but by that time we had already been in the car for thirty minutes, trying to get to a place that was four miles away.

Greg was behind the wheel, Marlaina was helping him read the GPS, I had my iPhone Maps program open and Ed was just shaking his head. We all had to laugh at the fact that there were four truck drivers in a car who couldn't find a restaurant less than five miles from where we started. Funny thing - although as teams we drive trucks over 300 days of the year covering more than 150,000 miles each - we don't really love being behind the wheel of what we now call "four-wheelers". It feels weird, it's a little unsettling and you realize, as Marlaina pointed out, when you're in a truck, you can drive fifty-five miles an hour and no one bothers you, they just zip around you, annoyed that you're keeping them from getting to the mall to buy the latest Justin Beiber CD. In a car, you feel a little more vulnerable to the idiots unsuccessfully trying to contain their road rage.

Dinner was wonderful, as anticipated. Our conversation is generally pretty lively, but when Marlaina talks, she injects a high level of passion, displayed in her hands, facial expressions and tone of voice. I always feel like I'm on the edge of my seat waiting to hear what she's going to say next. She's spent a lot of time doing jobs in creative fields, one of them being a journalist. I believe it's part her personality and part her training that fuels her knack for digging out information by asking the most perfect questions. She's also great at helping see the same-old-same-old in a fresh new light; always providing the angle I never thought of.

We joked on the way home that when people now call us for loads, we're no longer going to say we're a team (Ed and I); we're going to pimp ourselves out as a QUAD - Me, Ed, Marlaina and Greg. Although, I'm not sure that's such a great idea.

Even though we'd be doubling our work force, it's highly unlikely we'd get anything done.


~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
1 YEAR AGO: Nestled In The Fertile Plain
2 YEARS AGO: I Think I’m Kinda Lichen This Moss
3 YEARS AGO: Holding My Breath
4 YEARS AGO: Ahhhh….Ahhhhh…..Aw Shit!
5 YEARS AGO: Contemplating Flight
6 YEARS AGO: Eddie Blurred By NyQuil Friday

Dining At The Buckhorn

Well, we're back on the road again after being home for a little over three weeks. I know I say this all the time, but I love being back on the road. When I get behind the wheel, I always feel like it's my first time driving a truck. It takes me a while to get into the swing of things and I'm always tired for the first few days; the truck has a nasty habit of lulling me to sleep at the most inconvenient times; like two hours after I got up!

We took our first load from Tucson to Chicago and then from Chicago to New Jersey. I'm happy to report there were still some fall colors showing and the temperature is right where I like it, at sixty or below.

Tonight, since I hadn't taken food out to make dinner, Ed decided we'd just hit the Buckhorn Restaurant (see photo) in the T/A. I was happy with that and ordered one of my favorites, an open-faced pot roast sandwich. Funny that a truckstop makes good pot roast, but they do, and although it's a little saltier then I would like, it's still pretty freakin' delicious. After dinner, we headed back to the truck for dessert and Grey's Anatomy. A perfect night on the road for me.
Tomorrow we'll deliver our load in the morning and then meet up with our friends who happen to be in the area for the weekend. We saw a few remnants of the snow that hit the east coast last week, but if you didn't see the news about it, you'd have no idea, although I'm sure the people without power would disagree - they're still feeling the effects of the storm. But, it is sunny and beautiful, and feels just like Fall should.

Tomorrow, jeans and my brand new sweatshirt. Zippered of course, because I still have to layer in this weather; I never know when I'll hit an indoor blast of heat, so I have to be prepared.

See you on the road!

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
1 YEAR AGO: Ancient Details
2 YEARS AGO: Framed By Fake Fall
3 YEARS AGO: Let’s Hope This Five Year Old Is As Accurate With His Predictions As He Is With His Aim For The Toilet
4 YEARS AGO: Belated Greetings From The Great Pumpkin Pile
5 YEARS AGO: Working Man
6 YEARS AGO: Black And White

Ed Weighs In

For a long time now, I've been asking Ed to do a guest post for me. I post something every day and sometimes, it's just hard to come up something to say. Shocker, I know. I told him that I'd love if he would fill in once in a while to give me a little break.

I don't know how often this will happen, but a recent phone call led him to write the following post. I guess this means I'll be creating a new category...I'll keep it simple and just call it "Ed's View".

So, heeeeeerrrreeeeee's Ed!


I don’t talk about politics, religion, or your Momma. It seems in the coming election year that many of the agents I talk to want to drag me into a political discussion about their views. I have been dismissing them and saying that I have to get off the phone, but lately I've been considering flat-out hanging up on them at the very mention of the economy or their favorite President. I don’t care. I haul freight and I am a former US Marine. I don’t give a crap about your political views or what you think of the politicians. As far as I am concerned, Sting said it best, “They all seem like game show hosts to me”.

For the sake of this post, I won't be talking about religion or your momma, but I will tell you what I'd like to see in the coming years from the United States of America, and I suppose those thoughts can be considered political. Here we go...

1. No more political contributions of any kind from anyone; none from any businesses, people or organizations. Let the politicians duke it out on the internet and keep all ads off of TV, radio, and print. If a politician is caught receiving any contributions from anyone, they will be automatically disqualified from the election. After elected, they can never accept any form of compensation from anyone except the allowance that the President gets after leaving office.

2. No more lobbyists. Period. If any politician is remotely affiliated with anyone who is accepting money from any person, company or organization, they are thrown out of office and the laws they helped craft are erased. The person who takes their place will craft new legislation without the bias of monetary influence.

3. If you are a biased “news” network, one who has been found guilty of telling only one side of the story, then while your show is on the air, you must have a mandatory crawl on the bottom of the screen stating: “The opinions expressed on this network have been found to be biased and the information provided could be incomplete or incorrect. All information displayed by this network should be subject to further validation and scrutiny and are only the views of the owner of this organization.” The same type of disclosure should be applied to all radio and print media.

4. Public education reform. This is beyond me, but it needs to happen.

5. Tariffs. NOW!!!! Bring back the jobs, stop the outsourcing, and if stop catering to off shore companies who do business here, live here, and work here, but don’t pay taxes here like the rest of us.

6. The people of the United States are responsible for the United States. NOT the President. He or she is just a figurehead and can only do or get away with what the people allow them to. I know in the coming year, everyone is going to be talking about politics; unfortunately, most of the crap I hear is straight from the mouths of the lackluster major media outlets, and not from the actual research that people should be doing on their own. They regurgitate the talking points they hear on television and don’t think for themselves. I do, and will continue, to turn a deaf ear to it.

If you’re an agent calling me for a load, then do that. I’m not here to make conversation with you. Load my trailer, pay me, and mind your own business. I appreciate working with you, and I will continue to haul your loads and take your money, but bringing politics into the mix is unprofessional, disrespectful, and in general, shows you don’t have a grasp of what appropriate conversation is.

I will listen to your opinion and be respectful to you, but I am watching the clock and waiting for the first opportunity to get off the phone. I don’t care who you are voting for, just like you probably don’t care about what has happened in my life, to lead me to believe what I believe and to support who I support.

Lastly...

VOTE, VOTE, VOTE, VOTE, VOTE, VOTE, VOTE, VOTE, VOTE, VOTE, VOTE, VOTE, VOTE, VOTE, VOTE!!


~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
1 YEAR AGO: You’ve Got Mail!
2 YEARS AGO: Bigger Than Leif
3 YEARS AGO: Newfies, Here We Come!
4 YEARS AGO: Big Teeth And Dancing Just Don’t Mix
5 YEARS AGO: Sittin’ On The Dock Of The Bay
6 YEARS AGO: Nuts

There Can Only Be One

Wow. The beginning of a new month. I always start stuff on the first; diets, projects, lists. I plan on doing so much during the month but in the back of my mind, I know there will be another "first" in thirty or so days.

Since this is the first of the month, I've decided to do another "one word" meme. I've done this before, but the answers are always different, so in honor of November ONE, here we go:

1. Where is your cell phone? Charging

2. Your significant other? Gaming

3. Your hair? Uncooperative

4. Your mother? Sleeping

5. Your father? Remembered

6. Your favorite thing? iPhone

7. Your dream last night? Exciting

8. Your favorite drink? Latte

9. Your dream/goal? Writer

10. The room you're in? Kitchen

11. Your fear? Poverty

12. Where do you want to be in 6 years? Retired

13. Where were you last night? Chicago

14. What you're not? Meek

15. Muffins? Blueberry

16. One of your wish list items? iPad

17. Where you grew up? Country

18. The last thing you did? Dishes

19. What are you wearing? Jammies

20. Your favorite TV show? Glee

21. Your pet? None

23. Your life? Adventurous

24. Your mood? Relaxed

25. Missing someone? Always

26. Your car/truck? Huge

27. Something you're not wearing? Bra

28. Favorite Store? Sephora

29. Your summer? Hot

30. Your favorite color? Black

31. When is the last time you laughed? Morning

32. Last time you cried? Days

33. The last thing you ate? Bagel

34. Your favorite book? Audio

35. Your friends? Everywhere

36. What are you thinking about right now? Tomorrow

37. Your car? Rented

38. What are you doing at the moment? Watching

39. What is on your TV? Monk

40. School? Over


~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
1 YEAR AGO: The Doors. Italian Style.
2 YEARS AGO: Please Leaf My Pinecone Alone
3 YEARS AGO: A Call To Arms
4 YEARS AGO: Where Defacing Rocks Are A Work Of Art
5 YEARS AGO: One Idiot At A Time
6 YEARS AGO: Find Your Spot