What's Up?

Hey homeys. Or is it homies? Whatever. I'm just over here revelling in my homemade bolognese sauce, which is fully awesome, and not worrying myself about blogging. Other things I am "worrying" about: Thanksgiving dinner.

Today's NYT Dining section threw me for a loop. Now I've gotta cut the whole bird up before I cook it? What do I look like, Sam the butcher bringing Alice the meat? Or else buy a digital thermometer? Where was Bobby Flay with this nonsense back in 2006 when the NYT did their last decent turkey recipe, and I only had to make little foil hats for the turkey's "breasts"?

I'm hosting T-giving this year for my sister and her in-laws, and possibly A Very Special Guest. My sister is extremely pregnant and I am hoping for some madcap shit whereby the brussel sprouts induce labor. Panic and hilarity WILL ensue. Our family actually has a lot of experience with Thanksgiving drama: my stepsister's daughter was born basically in the way that I've just described. And, before I was born, my great grandfather died on Thanksgiving morning and my gram and her mother made dinner regardless for the waiting hordes (6 kids, etc). In case you are wondering where I get my aggressive practicality, legend has it that my grandmother said to her mother, as the funeral director took her father's body out of her house, "what do we do now?" and my great grandmother said, "Well, make dinner. Everyone's got to be hungry."

And speaking of family, my cousin Kate has a new installation in LA that you should check out, if only by visiting this website.

November 3 Blog Post

Woo hoo! I've made it three days in a row!

After you read this (likely to be underwhelming) post, I highly encourage you to read this post by my neighbor. It's really thought-provoking. How do we raise our kids not just with the right values in the moral sense, but in the civic sense? And I don't mean that like, making sure they vote and don't shirk jury duty. But how do we help them understand themselves and one another as citizens? What do we mean when we want them to be proud to be an American? And how do we fit it in with the other minute details we are trying to impart. I spend so much time trying to get my kids to put their napkin on their lap, I can barely imagine the luxury of answering these questions. But they are good ones.

I am particularly keen on parenting today. It's my older son's 7th birthday, and I can hardly believe it. Here he is when he turned 3.

And here is he is with his little brother yesterday:

Really really really hard to believe. How do I (we) turn these little Greasers into grown men? Still beyond my comprehension.

November 2 Blog Post

Again, I can't think of a title, but I have plenty to blog about.

Feeling pretty vindicated on my Nevada senate analysis, even if the House is going Republican.

Terrifying, isn't it? It's worse than just my high school uniform. It's my face transformed into Cathy, wearing my high school uniform. One thing I do like is the verisimilitude of this nasty sweater to my uniform sweater. Although this sweater is threadbare enough to be see-through, I didn't actually wear it in high school. My high school sweater was bulletproof polyester, and was "embroidered" with the school name over one breast. I am wearing men's boxers under the skirt - a trend abhorred by Sister Patricia and a num I can only remember to be named Sister Puella (Latin word for "girl") because that is how she addressed us, "Puella, read the next paragraph A-Loud."

And speaking of nuns, and this is an awkward transition, but since it's also Dia de Los Muertos, I thought I'd share a few pictures of my favorite deceased. The first shows my grandparents at a Halloween party - yes, my Pop is the nun and my Gram is the monsignor - and the second shows my grandmother with her older sister, Rita. Aka Sister Immacula, sans habit. All three of these folks are among the most influential in my life. Viva Marie! Viva John! Viva Rita!

And Again

I was reluctant to tackle the subject of our trip to New Jersey, but then I found this website, for the Westmount Country Club, and I realized it was selfish to keep it all to myself. My grandmother's repast (post-funeral lunch) was held at The Westmount, and she would have been in her glory at this place. And I don't mean because she was some old school guidette. Far from it;my grandmother was amazed at tackiness, and would have been thrilled to spend an afternoon soaking up the Westmount and tossing off one-liners at its expense.

Let me back up a bit. My grandmother died April 6, 2010, after a very long and full life. Now that's she deceased, I know that I'm at liberty to tell her age, but when she was alive, her age was not commonly known or shared.

Here's my grandmother's obituary. There was no doubt that her progeny would travel to NJ for the services. Due to the fact that there are no hotels in Clifton, NJ, my uncle reserved a block of rooms at the Holiday in Totowa, just up Route 46 from the church. As an aside, I need to note that my husband and non-NJ cousin mis-pronounced Totowa in various ways, and I had to fight the feeling that their mispronunciation was intentional. It's Toe-toe-WAH, not tot-uh-wah or tuh-TOE-uh. I decided that I don't answer for NJ anymore, and didn't bother to correct them. Plus, I'm probably wrong anyway. The hotel was attached to a night club that doubled as the breakfast buffet. I didn't have the good fortune to visit Ruby's Lounge, but some phrases my family who did visit used in reference to it were, "milling about", "sexy dancing", "old" and "jarring".

Stepping aside from the hilarity of the Ho Inn and the Westmount, I must say that my Gram's mass was very moving and appropriate. I hadn't felt deeply miserable about her passing because it wasn't unexpected, but the mass felt just right for acknowledging who she was and creating a safe space for feeling that sadness. I was lucky that my mom took me up on my offer to speak a few "Words of Remembrance." I share them below, because I figure, I already shared them in public once, and I've already eulogized an old neighbor on this blog, it's only right to honor my grandmother.

When I first heard that Gram had died, I had a flash of self-pity where I thought, "I didn't get to say good-bye to her." Then I realized I had talked with her just a few days earlier. In fact, most of her children and grandchildren spoke to her in the weeks before she died. I talked to Gram almost every week in the past few years, and I can tell you, she was ready for this. In some ways, she was curious about death, almost impatient. I know that she was ready to pass.

Our familiarity makes it hard to remember anecdotes about my grandmother. But I do remember that in the last year they owned the house in Lavallette, Gram learned that a serious winter storm was headed towards the house, and the house hadn't been closed for the winter. She literally tossed me in the car and drove down there. (I think Jack was there.) She worked quickly to lock windows, turn off the water, whatever needed to be done. I am sure that I was no help at all. Before we left though, we walked down to the beach. It was the only time I remember seeing dolphins at Lavallette. Gram turned to me and said, "We should go swimming!" It was pretty classic. She had a way of making the routine seem spontaneous, and by extension, I felt so *included* in everything she did.

When I was very young, Gram taught me how to answer the phone, make a pot of coffee. She let me watch the Today show with her at the kitchen counter , and she'd send me to buy donuts at Cozy Joe's. I felt so important! So grown-up! It seems silly to remember such little things about a woman who accomplished so much. She graduated from Fordham and got her Master's degree in the 1940s. She had a professional career when Irish Catholic women were not professionals. Then she had a family when most women at that time would be considered an old maid. Gram was one for the history books and yet my whole life, I just took it for granted. Of course she did all that. NO big deal; I'll do that too! Sometimes she used her maiden name, sometimes she used her married name. No big deal; I'll do that too!

In fact, Marie Winberry Costello has many names. To the older grandchildren, she is Gram. To the younger, and to her great grandchildren, she is Memaw.

Regardless of what we called her, she was crazy about all of us. The younger kids were beautiful, hilarious and, wonderful. I never heard her use baby talk until I had kids. Rachael got Gram to shoot a music video a couple of years ago. She thought you were all hilarious. Every time she was with you, she was 70 years younger.

And making Gram laugh was one of her favorite things in the world.. When I got married, I asked her how I could have a long and happy marriage like hers. The first thing she said was, "Keep laughing with one another." She and Pop definitely did that. The other advice she gave me: "Never speak ill of his family, no matter how long you are married." And, "Feel free to go to bed angry - you'll know in the morning what you were really mad about." But keep laughing was the main advice I try to use every day.

I wanted you to know how much she appreciated that you could make her laugh.

What about us older kids? What did we mean to her?

There are enough people she loved in this world that I cannot say that we meant "everything". But the five oldest grandchildren were all the products of divorces by the time we were in our early teams. Each of us struggled in ways and through issues that Gram and her children never envisioned that we would.

And for that, Gram, above all, admired us. She was so proud of us. Every time I talked to her, she bragged to me about my sister, my cousins, my husband, my sister's husband, my cousin's husbands, my cousin's wife. She bragged to me about my own kids. She bragged to me about ME. She didn't understand everything that we did, but she thought we were all just amazing. And she respected us. Not just once were coping adults, but throughout our lives. She trusted us to answer her phone, make the coffee, hear some adult news - because she respected us, and our intelligence.

When I talked to Gram that last time, we didn't have any deep conversation. She had questions about being a criminal defense attorney - she was watching Law and Order - and wanted to know more about a half marathon I had run a few weeks ago. But she also let me know again, in simple ways, that she was really impressed by me, and more important, she was at peace with her own future.

The level of love and respect that I got from Gram, I got to reciprocate almost weekly. While I don't feel like there's anything I didn't say to her, I want to say this to you: If you want to remember my Gram, then take excellence for granted, respect eachother, and above all, keep laughing together. Thank you.

My Family

While I have been a complete slug this month, other members of my family have been doing dazzling and brilliant things. First of all, read my sister's blog post on Haiti. She's so smart.

Meanwhile, my father Joe, who is running against Deb Mell (sister in law of Rod Blagoyevich) for state assembly, grabbed a huge endorsement from the IEA this week. Check out his campaign website here. Please support him as a volunteer or contributor!! The primary is coming up and he can use all your support.

More Family

Once again, my cousins are blasting past me with their bad-ass talent. While Rachael may be only rapping her winter dance invites, my cousin Zoe is tearing it up at the Yerba Buena Arts Center's Left Coast Leaning Festival on Thursday night. (I don't actually know if Zoe "tears it up"; based on what I've seen of her work, I don't think that's totally accurate. If you want to see what I mean, google her on YouTube, or "YouTube her" at zoe | juniper). Meantime, her sister Kate has artwork showing in PARIS! Paris, people, is in FRANCE! I have nothing in France! Nothing!

I need to go quell my inadequacies.

I Am Very Busy Being Unemployed, Thanks

My absence from this page is due not to any actual busy-ness on my part. However, my mom visited last week, and my computer is in the room where she stayed, and the kids are drawn to her like little fireflies at all times, so I couldn't really sit down and think much. It was great to have her, especially to celebrate my 35th birthday, which was largely uneventful. 

I did make the mistake of looking at this book, The Book of Ages, in a bookstore. This book has a list of all the important things that have happened when various famous people were a certain age. By age 35, many famous people had done many important things, and some of them were listed at "35" only because they had died at that age. Merriwether Clark committed suicide at age 35, for example. Van Gogh cut his ear off. These are things for which people are remembered, and so of course I had an existential mini-crisis about how I haven't done anything for which I can be remembered, and don't even seem on track to do, unless one of my kids turns out horribly terribly wrong and I have to sit behind him for a 6-month televised trial. 

Can't dwell on it though.

Other stuff: I have interviewed for one job FIVE times, with 10 different people. Hopefully I will hear about that this week, in which case I will be able to step up my car purchasing. That is to say, if I get the job offer, I will accept it, and then we will need a reliable car for my job-related use, and our family's comfort. Currently, we all wedge ourselves into a two-door 1997 Honda Civic that has no radio and no leg room. Its awful. So what car to get preoccupies me. As I have said before, I want the VW Jetta Sportwagon TDI (it's a clean diesel engine). Mr. Scobie alternately prefers a Prius (for the internal space) or something with 4 Wheel Drive and a third row, because of all of the trips to Tahoe we will no doubt soon be taking with all of our kids' friends piled in the back.  A friend has suggested the Honda Civic GX, which would require installing a Natural Gas pump in our garage. Since I have this kind of time on my hands, I have not only considered it, but I have read up on starting a Natural Gas filling station franchise.  JOB NEEDED.

Because its unlikely I will write another post immediately after this one, I will go on. The other new thing I am into is Kiva, which is an on-line community/non-profit organization that does micro-lending. I had heard about it awhile ago, and then read an endorsement from that incredibly hot African economist who Deborah Solomon interviewed in the NYT Mag yesterday. Wow, is she awesome or what? Probably not even 35.  Anyhoo, so then I went and checked out Kiva, and made one $25 loan. Loans go fast; apparently its competitive to make a loan because so many more people are interested in lending than groups can get loan recipients connected. Anyway it seems cool. Check it out. 

Finally, did anyone else read this "cautionary tale" in the NYT yesterday about how Japanese frugalness during their recession contributed to the economic malaise they suffered in the 1990s and still depresses growth? (or something. I am not totally comfortable with all these terms myself). What struck me was how all the of the things which are "bad habits" of the depression are actually sound environmental measures. Using gray water, driving less, drinking less, eating all the available food rather than throwing it out? Let me just say that is fucked up that those things would be discouraged in order for there to be an economic recovery.  Our reckless and wasteful lifestyle may be an "economic engine" but it surely means that we can only get through another couple of economic cycles before we are at a environmental end-times scenario. It seems like these things should not be irreconcilable. There must be ways to make money from re-couping gray water, for example. 

That's what's going on with me these days? How are you? Oh, and check out my cousin Zoe and the review of her dance company in the Boston Globe.

What's Up With Me

If you wander over to Fungus Everything, you can find out more about how we spent our weekend. This is the best picture I got of my homies. Our camera sucks. Add to that, every time I pull the camera out, my kids bum-rush me to look at the pictures I haven't taken yet. 

So Much to Write About

We went to South Carolina for Thanksgiving, and the environs were not conducive to blogging, i.e. I was too busy/tired/surrounded by people to sit down and compose a thought. I have so much to blog about that I made notes for myself yesterday, and spent much of the early morning hours (2;30-4:00 a.m.) pondering what may be the most boring blog post ever to be composed. It's upcoming. But first, some vacation photos:

The plane ride there.
At the stables.L doing god-knows-what on the back of a horse.

A Few More Thoughts

And I won't embarrass myself by enumerating them and then forgetting what they all were.

Betty White, f-in hilarious:



The Reverse Bradley effect. I think this could happen. My only evidence, aside from what I read in the blog-o-net, is that my mom and stepdad in Virginia support Obama.* They would admit it to pollsters on the phone, but my mom has described certain perceived pressures in her neighborhood which would make her reluctant to boast a yard sign for Obama. And George Packer has an anecdote in an article in The New Yorker about voters in southern Ohio about a young man he meets (who answers the door in his underwear actually) who admits to being an Obama supporter, and says he knows others, but wouldn't admit it. The young man didn't go on record, either. I can understand this. I remember in high school that taking an unpopular position (like writing "No Blood for Oil" on your backpack during Operation Desert Storm) could illicit actual anger and derision from other 18 year olds. If you didn't have gumption/chutzpah/brass balls, it could be intimidating. But as Norman from The Wire says, "The sanctity of the voting booth is the cornerstone of our democracy." I just hope my fellow Americans get over it, and do the right thing.

* This isn't shocking coming from my mother. I just hope she isn't annoyed that I have broadcast her preference on the inter-tubes. Like Norman from The Wire, my mother would never disclose who she actually voted for, usually saying, "I wrote in Angela Davis" when I asked her who she voted for.


Some minor ways I am noticing that the economy is way f***ed up: My husband has begun to worry; there were only 3 tables occupied tonight at our local spaghetti joint (called Bottle Running by my son because the above poster is on the wall there) when usually the place is jammed; the parking lot in our office has more spots available, leading to conjecture that there was a layoff in the company on the floor above us. Also my 401(k) is down probably 10%, and that's great news. Awesome timing on quitting my job, huh? I don't think that's what they mean when they say "timing the market."

Unless something incredibly hilarious happens at the wedding I am attending, don't expect any posts this weekend. I am flying to Detroit very early tomorrow. I have to go to a party directly from the airport, and (I've never done this before) so I have to dress nicely for the flight. Usually I am either in work clothes or looking like a hot mess, so I am unusually anxious about this. I have no idea why dressing nicely for a long distance flight freaks me out. Maybe because it is something I secretly criticize other people for doing. What is her deal? Why is she dressed like that?, I hiss, in my mind. I'm mean like that.

If You Didn't Buy the Bridge to Nowhere. . .

I can't figure out how to link to this so I am just reprinting something my cousin had on his Facebook page. Funny.

SUBJECT: REQUEST FOR URGENT BUSINESS RELATIONSHIP
DEAR AMERICAN:

I NEED TO ASK YOU TO SUPPORT AN URGENT SECRET BUSINESS RELATIONSHIP WITH A TRANSFER OF FUNDS OF GREAT MAGNITUDE.

I AM MINISTRY OF THE TREASURY OF THE REPUBLIC OF AMERICA. MY COUNTRY HAS HAD CRISIS THAT HAS CAUSED THE NEED FOR LARGE TRANSFER OF FUNDS OF 800 BILLION DOLLARS US. IF YOU WOULD ASSIST ME IN THIS TRANSFER, IT WOULD BE MOST PROFITABLE TO YOU.

I AM WORKING WITH MR. PHIL GRAM, LOBBYIST FOR UBS, WHO WILL BE MY REPLACEMENT AS MINISTRY OF THE TREASURY IN JANUARY. AS A SENATOR, YOU MAY KNOW HIM AS THE LEADER OF THE AMERICAN BANKING DEREGULATION MOVEMENT IN THE 1990S. THIS TRANSACTION IS 100% SAFE.

THIS IS A MATTER OF GREAT URGENCY. WE NEED A BLANK CHECK. WE NEED THE FUNDS AS QUICKLY AS POSSIBLE. WE CANNOT DIRECTLY TRANSFER THESE FUNDS IN THE NAMES OF OUR CLOSE FRIENDS BECAUSE WE ARE CONSTANTLY UNDER SURVEILLANCE. MY FAMILY LAWYER ADVISED ME THAT I SHOULD LOOK FOR A RELIABLE AND TRUSTWORTHY PERSON WHO WILL ACT AS A NEXT OF KIN SO THE FUNDS CAN BE TRANSFERRED.

PLEASE REPLY WITH ALL OF YOUR BANK ACCOUNT, IRA AND COLLEGE FUND ACCOUNT NUMBERS AND THOSE OF YOUR CHILDREN AND GRANDCHILDREN TO WALLSTREETBAILOUT@REPUBLIC

OFAMERICATREASURY.USA SO THAT WE MAY TRANSFER YOUR COMMISSION FOR THIS TRANSACTION. AFTER I RECEIVE THAT INFORMATION, I WILL RESPOND WITH DETAILED INFORMATION ABOUT SAFEGUARDS THAT WILL BE USED TO PROTECT THE FUNDS.

YOURS FAITHFULLY,
MINISTER OF TREASURY PAULSON

Typing With All My Fingers

I am now sitting firmly at a computer once again. Having reviewed my previous posts, I fear that you think I was drunk all last week. I say that somewhat wishfully. Although it didn't pass in an alcoholic haze, the week was like time outside of itself. Nothing in my normal life happened, but I had plenty of time to meditate on such timeless topics as death, parenthood, and memory.

One thing my time in Albany reminded me is that an unhappy family is truly ripe for literary exploration. My father's family, at each generation, seems like the most typical tale, and yet their insanity makes them far more interesting (to consider writing about) than my mother's funnier, larger crew. There's my Grandma Egitto, the Immigrant Girl who marries for security and is yet never happy nor secure. There's my grandfather: the Soldier, the Small Business Owner, first generation American. An Everyman, yet no one can describe him at his own funeral. His sons, the Rock 'n' Roller turned Entrepreneur, and the Prodigal Son, whose marriage, children and coming out were never embraced by his parents. And then there's my sister and I. Okay, there's nothing particularly interesting about us. But I would seriously write a novel about the rest of this family if it didn't involve traveling to Albany again to research the area.

The day after I got back, my little(r) guy took a spill and bumped his head. Out of precaution, we went to the doctor, who sent us to the ER. Not sure why a pediatrician can't order a CAT scan without sending us to the ER in an ambulance, but anyway, that is how Q and I spent Friday. So I am woefully behind in every sector of my life. Get back on the horse tomorrow, I figure.

Haven't Got Time for The Pain

Like many Democrats, I have been panicking over the past few days about our election chances, and this panic had an eerie familiarity. I placed it today. It's the pre-2004 Red Sox panic. That's right, Democrats are the new Red Sox. Heading into the 2004 playoffs, the Red Sox hadn't won a World Series in 84 years. They'd come close many times, including 2003. They'd even made it to the World Series in 1986, but were beaten by the Mets. Bucky Frackin' Dent. In the 2004 pennant championship series, the Yankees were up 3 games to 0. No team had ever pulled from that far behind to go on to the World Series, and yet the Red Sox pulled it off, and went on to win the World Series. Their change of luck was confirmed last year when they won the 2007 World Series. Those lovable losers just ain't losers any more.

Democrats are the Red Sox of the 2004 playoffs. We come close to winning, but we never win. Bill Clinton was our 1986 World Series. We made it there and then. . . nothin'. No healthcare reform, the end of welfare. Sure, the economy was good, but there were a lot of complicated reasons for that, and none seems like a victory the Democrats could take credit for. Its like we haven't won a World Series since 1964, and that's a long-ass time ago. But this year, it can still be different. We haven't lost yet, so stop your bitchin', steal second base, and get this series back on track. We are going to win. John McCain Sucks!

And another thing: my grandfather passed away* and my sister and I are traveling to Albany NY this week. This will either put a crimp in my blogging or I will be dispatching regularly from my blackberry about my ventures. We shall see. I just downloaded Spore to my ipod, so the former is more likely. I can already tell that it is extremely addictive, even if the wheel makes it a little hard to play.

* I appreciate your condolences in advance. He was very old (91) and very ill. Both his life and his passing were a blessing to him, I think. Its looking increasingly likely that both Mr. Scob and I will live to be almost 200 years, based on the longetivity and health of our grandparents.

In Other Political News

My cousin Tom Costello won his primary yesterday to become the Democratic Party candidate for Lt. Governor of Vermont. He faces the incumbent Brian Dubie, a Republican, in the November election. Congratulations to Tom and Good Luck in November.

Cousin News

I want you to know that my family members are not just famous for their art and dance, they are also entrepreneurs and politicians.

My cousin Malachy has started a T-shirt company. I will add a link when I can find it again.

My mom's cousin Tom is running for Lieutenant Governor of Vermont.

My Big City Cousins

Cousin Kate, Bubs-spotter, Bubs-almost-hitter*, saw the actor who plays Chris Partlow in Brooklyn today. It just ain't fair.

And the reason Kate's in B'lyn is because Cousin Jed is rockin' the Whitney with his bad self. The New York Times has a video about the Biennial and Jed's piece can be seen in the video. Kate describes his piece as "A white panel sculpture that covers a wall and a large multi-colored block."

A better place to see the artwork is probably at the Whitney itself. But I can't carry you there myself....

*I think she almost hit him with her car in a parking lot at his favorite restaurant in LA or something.

The Things You Can Learn

Now that I have a second child who demands internet searching at the drop of a hat (but who can't say carcaradontaurus or F-4 Phantom yet), I have learned a lot of about "tucks", "buh-doh-dahs", "dump tucks" and "jij-uhs" (that last one is "diggers"). We came across this photo tonight, of a giant dump truck getting a tire change, and it really resonated with me. That dump truck is me.

I also learned about a product called Tractor Jackets. Who knew? It seems unnecessary, and yet, how would I know? It now reminds me of auto parts place near my grandparents, which, during my childhood, advertised "car bras". I was too embarassed to ask what it meant. Would that I had Google back then. Or a Google. Anyway, I was so disappointed when I found out what they were. But I also felt liberated to ask more questions that I didn't know the answer to.

Cracking Myself Up

Enjoy the family Christmas greetings by clicking HERE.

Oh.My.God

Barack Obama is a fan of The Wire. (swoon)

Oh, and my cuz has seen Andre Royo twice recently, just motoring around LA. I am wicked jealous.

Bigs Up to The JC

And by that, I mean Jed Caesar. My cousin-in-law is one of the artists in the Whitney Biennial 2008 (page 4). Boo yah. And Kate has not one but two shows next year, in LA and NYC. Their shows overlap in New York in May. See you there!!