Mmmm... cake!

I love cake.

Wait, let me repeat that. I love love love love love cake. If allowed, I would gladly subsist on cake and nothing else. But Rich, with his silly theory on balanced diets, has overruled me on that.

But, for our anniversary this year, I got in a little cake love. I signed us up for a cake decorating class.

Let me tell you -- the folks on Ace of Cakes make this cake decorating thing look way too easy. I mean I knew it would be a challenge, considering I have no creativity, skill, or coordination, but I didn't think I'd fret over it as much as I did.

For the last class, we were told to bake our own cake, ice it, and bring it so we could decorate our masterpiece.

So on Sunday Rich and I baked our cake and started the icing process. This did not go well. I'm not sure if the cake was just too moist or if we just didn't give it enough time to cool, but when we starting icing it, chunks starting falling off. I had a cake avalanche on my hands.

I became quite distraught and was ready to trash the whole thing but I just don't have it in me to throw away a cake. Rich suggested that we stick the cake in the fridge and give it a try the next day with a new batch of thinner icing.

The idea worked and I caulks the cake with the new icing, filling in the cracks. By the time I was done, you could hardly tell how bad it looked the day before. Yes, the cake and all its spackle now weighed about 10 lbs., but it looked good.

Our last class happened to be on the eve of my parents' 36th anniversary so we decided to make the cake for them as a gift. I toyed with a few different sayings such "Celebrating 12 years of happiness" or "36 years of wedded adequecy." But, due to my lack of skill in writing on cakes, we opted for a shorter and simpler design.

I have to say that I'm pretty proud of how it turned out. How it tastes, however, is an entirely different issues. I may love cake, but I'm not fighting to try this one.

So, um, enjoy it Mom & Dad. Hope you've stocked up on toilet paper.

Disney on speed

My dad always said the only way I'd ever make it to Disney World was through the Make-A-Wish Foundation. I guess it was my own fault for not getting cancer 15 years earlier.

But last week I finally managed to make it to Disney, courtesy of a free trip I won. Sure it was just two nights and we had to stay at a child-focused hotel, but it was worth it.

We got into Orlando a little before noon on Sunday, checked in at the hotel, and headed straight for Epcot. For a place whose acronym stands for Experimental Prototype Community of Tomorrow, I really would have expected better bathroom technology. Seriously, could they not have anticipated that the future would require more than two stalls in a ladies room?

And aside from that, I really would have hoped that the future could have worked out an automatic toilet that flushed upon completion rather than when I entered the stall.

But enough about toilets. I have so much more to criticize.

We hit all the major high points of Epcot, including the GM Test Track and the space ride inside the big silver golf ball looking thing at the front of the park. We made our way through the various countries and finished out the day by watching the fireworks display over the water.

The next day we went to the Magic Kingdom which was, thankfully, far less crowded. We made a beeline for Space Mountain as soon as they opened the gates and followed it up with It's a Small World and The Hall of Presidents.

Never having been to a Disney park before, I was a little surprised that the rides were hardly rides at all and certainly not scary. In fact, it was pretty much like going on the same ride over and over again. They herd you into a slow-moving vehicle that takes you through an indoor animatronic journey. Sometimes they change it up and you get into a fake boat instead of a fake car.

It's probably fair to say that the extent of my Disney knowledge comes from the Simpsons episode where they go to Krustyland. And that brings us to the final (and best) day of the trip when we hit Universal Studios for its new Simpsons ride.

In life, if you're lucky, you experience a few moments where it feels like things were created just for you. This is what the Simpsons ride was for me. Even waiting in line was fun as we enjoyed all the subtleties created for the ride.

After two go-rounds on the Simpsons ride, we did Disaster and Twister and the Mummy rollercoaster. By the time we went on a few more rides it was time to head back to the hotel to catch our shuttle back to the airport.

Now a note about our hotel. As I said before, we won the trip and therefore did not get a choice in where we stayed. The Nickelodeon Family Suites would have been the last place I would have stayed if I had a choice, but I really don't have any complaints. I would highly recommend it for anyone traveling with children.

Overall, I think I dealt pretty well with being out of my element, i.e. around kids. Rich reminded me that this wasn't Vegas -- we were traveling in their world.

Our time at the hotel was greatly improved once we located the bar. For the record, it takes three drinks for me to forget that I'm surrounded by screaming children.

I overheard one conversation while waiting in line for a ride and I think it was more telling than anything I could say. A little girl asked her father why her little brother was crying. The father pauses, and then say "Because it must be his turn to cry."

I honestly don't understand how parents can manage to do Disney or any other kind of vacation with kids. Traveling without kids is difficult enough. Add to that a stroller, diaper bag, snacks, and activities to keep your tired child occupied, and I no longer doubt why my parents never took us anywhere.

Mom and Dad -- You're officially forgiven. And I'm done with Disney.

Rockin' out middle school style

Please pardon me if I seem a little tired today. Last night we partied like it was 1989.

They say you can't relive your youth, but try telling that to the thousands of screaming women in their late 20s and early 30s who packed the Verizon Center in D.C. last night for the New Kids on the Block reunion concert. It was just like we were 12 again, minus the acne and pre-calculus homework. (Okay, for me maybe just minus the homework.)

We sat in the uppermost section in Row O (as in Oh oh oh oh oh.) We didn't have the worst seats in the house -- that honor went to Row P, the last row of seats in the arena. But the distance didn't matter. We were still there and they were still the same old New Kids. And per instruction, we threw our hands in the air and waved them like we just didn't care.

There was bare-chested Jordan, with his nearly disturbing falsetto, Danny with his breakdancing, Jon with his always sheepish look, and baby-faced Joey, showing off his Dancing With the Stars moves. And of course, we can't ever forget bad boy Donnie, with his Boston cap and same poor command of the English language.

The guys have aged really well. I think they're far more attractive now than back in the day. Of course I also recognize that my tastes may have changed somewhat in the last two decades or so.

I feel pretty confident in saying that the majority of the women there spent the first 30 minutes of the two-hour concert just laughing. It was a very "is this really happening?" kind of mood. I don't think any of us really thought we'd ever see that synchronized, pendulum-like swinging leg dance set to The Right Stuff ever again.

The concert structure did seem a bit disjointed at times. Clearly they planned it so that the guys would have a chance to rest (and do one of their many costume changes) between sets. They alternated between their new songs and old hits. At one point they did an "in memory" tribute to those they've lost, and included Donnie's father and Danny's mother in the same breath as Heath Ledger and Tupac. It seemed very out-of-place and inappropriate.

None of that mattered. The ladies in attendance loved every second of the show. They came decked out in painters caps, denim overalls with one flap hanging down, and big New Kids buttons. They bought $40 t-shirts like water in a desert.

For one evening, we could all remember what it was like to hang tough and live a life without responsibility. That alone was well worth the price of admission.

Wet dog: A beautiful smell

There isn't enough Prozac in the world to give me the same high I get from the annual Doggie Paddle. This is the fourth year in a row I've gone to the neighborhood pool for some dog-on-water action, and I still contend that life doesn't get any better. For two hours, all is right with the world.

All of the usual suspects were there: the gung-ho water dogs, the scaredy cats, and the dozens of wet dogs, all seemingly named Buddy. And this year featured the dog in the red collar who almost knocked me into the pool not once, but twice. My favorite though had to be the little guy who starting the swimming motion ever time his owner picked him up.

I could go on and on about how much I love this event, but I'd rather let the pictures tell the story.



Someone is a little reluctant.





"Uh huh. So if one wanted to exit the pool, how exactly might they do that?"



Don't you know the cardinal rule of perms? You always have to wait two days before washing your hair.




"This swimming thing isn't so bad. Just don't let go of me."







"Um, excuse me. That dog took my Frisbee."






"But I 'm not ready to go yet!"

Usurping the Olympic spirit

I've previously documented my extreme hatred for the Olympic games and the crappy television programming that results.

Just how many interviews with Michael Phelps' mother does anyone really need anyway?

Thankfully, the good people at Animal Planet, the network which brought us the Puppy Bowl, are there to help me through it.

Get ready for the 2008 Puppy Games. The show will air Friday night, opposite the colossal disasterpiece that has become the opening ceremonies.

My television viewing decisions couldn't get any easier than this.

Sundown

Getting thinner is usually a good thing -- but not when you're talking about my daily newspaper.

Last week the Baltimore Sun, my morning subway read, took another in its seemingly endless turns for the worst and completed an additional round of buyouts and layoffs. This cycle witnessed the loss of another 55 people.

Gone are the likes of Gregory Kane, Mike Himowitz, Roch Kubatko, Greg Garland, and John Wostendiek, as well as many behind-the-scenes players who kept the paper going every day.

Gone is a stand-alone business section.

And gone is any confidence a person could have in this once-great paper.

Yes, I'm more than just a casual news reader. I'm a media junkie, or maybe a media snob. But I also have a long history with this newspaper. I've been reading it every day since I learned to read. My very first job was selling subscriptions to The Sun.

And now, when I see an ad running on the front page of a this newspaper, I weep.

Who would have guessed that only a year after its inception, The Baltimore Examiner, the free daily tabloid, would become the big guy in town? And moreover, who would have thought it would happen due to the Sun's own self-cannibalism?

Had The Sun paid any attention to the growing popularity of the Internet, I doubt it would face such a predicament. Instead, it casts off its popular bloggers and scrambles to function with what's left. I really sympathize with the Sun staffers who must truly do more with less. I know some of them, and I know what they're facing.

At what point did it seem like a good idea for The Sun to turn its efforts to b, its youth-focused publication where an in-depth story gets no more than four inches? Every day, I face several b hawkers and I grow angrier and angrier when I think that this is how the Tribune Company views my generation.

Please believe me when I say that I really don't care about someones greatest pet peeve, as submitted by text message in less than 100 characters. I don't need the Cliff Notes version of your newspaper which amounts to little more than borrowed wire briefs and unattributed summaries.

Oh, the poor Baltimore Sun... or poor, as Sam Zell would have you believe. I'll keep reading you everyday like I have since I was in elementary school, but it'll never be the same.

My brown thumb

I'm now one step closer to becoming my mother. I can no longer be trusted around plants.

I inherited an aloe plant with my office nearly three and a half years ago. Recently it took a turn for the worst.

Last week the state had to step in and take away my plant to put it in foster care. And by state, I mean my co-worker, the green thumb, who works three offices down. And by foster care, I mean she had to give it more soil and plant food before returning it to my window ledge.

I've always been very hands-off in terms of my plant. I did replant it in a nicer pot soon after I started working there. I give it water every once in a while but other than that, I try to leave it alone. Who knew plants like this need food? Not me, apparently.

This plant is just one in a line of my failures in growing green things. We suffered the loss of another plant at home a few months ago. Rich and I dug up our whole front lawn just last year, all in the hopes that something would grow. We're still waiting. We've also had to replant our front hedges twice since moving in.

Thankfully my work plant is starting to show signs of life again, as you can kinda see in the picture above. My co-worker even gave me a bottle of plant something-or-other to water it with next time it needs it. If that doesn't work, I'm just going to give it ice cream. That always helps me perk up.

Fiscal Fun on the Fourth

The Fourth of July has always been my favorite national holiday, next to my birthday. Every year I try to do something truly American to celebrate the day.

This year was no exception. This Fourth of July I decided to exercise my right as an American to act with great financial irresponsibility and gamble away my hard-earned dollars in Atlantic City.

Actually, let's back up a little. I really did partake in a bit of our county's rich history as we started out the long weekend in Philadelphia, with my first visit to the Liberty Bell and Independence Hall. I just love this history crap, so I got a kick out of seeing the very place where our forefathers signed the Declaration of Independence and where the Constitution was born.







With the historical part of the visit out of the way we switched gears and headed straight for authentic Philly Cheesesteaks at Pat's and Geno's. I'm really not sure what all the fuss is about. To be honest, the cheesesteaks were okay, but I've had better... and that was in my college's dining hall.





The next stop was at a little place called the Naked Chocolate Cafe, where we shared some kind of peanut butter and chocolate torte and a mini chocolate fudge cake. They were amazing and I'm thoroughly embarrassed to even admit this but we couldn't finish either of them.





We finished out our visit to Philadelphia by taking in a performance of Les Miserables at the Walnut Street Theater, the oldest continuously operating theater in the nation.

We left Philly and headed to Atlantic City on July 3rd, where we took in the pre-holiday fireworks from our hotel room in the new Waterfront Tower at Harrah's. The fireworks came so close that it reminded me of my days in Baghdad. (Or what I imagine Baghdad would be like, had I ever gone.)

Our actual Fourth got off to a nice start with a great breakfast and a trip to the beautiful pool area, complete with free drinks. In honor of the Fourth, Harrah's had this nifty giveaway every half hour. If your name was called, you had 15 minutes to claim you money. I thought you had to be playing at the time in order to win, so I was only half-listening to the names called while up in the hotel room.

It was then that I heard the most beautiful mispronunciation of my name ever. I'd won. I didn't know what I'd won, but I'd won something. I shot up out of bed and took off for the elevators, running across the casino floor. Simultaneously, Rich heard my name called and figured I was fast asleep and oblivious to my win. He tried calling my cell phone, which didn't work because apparently the one amenity lacking in the new hotel tower is cell phone service. He started and O.J. Simpson-style airport dash and eventually we met up at the prize table. I was the lucky recipient of $1000!


I can't even describe how good it feels to win. All I know is how much more fun an Atlantic City trip can be when you come home a winner.

Coming home, however, is always a treat in itself. There's no toilet paper like home.

The newest in old music

Come this fall I’ll once again be embracing my inner dork. I’m finally going to see the New Kids on the Block in concert.

The New Kids are a fitting addition to my summer concert lineup. Every other musical act I’ve seen so far or plan to see in the coming months has officially acquired has-been status. I'd say we're one step away from making an AARP membership or double hip replacement a prerequisite to seeing a band live.

We started the concert season with Van Halen – a performance that had to be postponed due to Eddie Van Halen's undisclosed health problems. Rich also wanted to get tickets to see Yes, but the band's front man went and suffered respiratory failure so that was a no-go.

This past weekend we went to see Lisa Loeb at the Recher Theater. At 40, she’s hardly old, but let’s be honest – she hasn’t had a hit since O.J. Simpson was just known as a good football player. I adore her and I’m very glad I went to the concert, but she's hardly a top heat seeker on the Billboard charts. (I don’t really know what that means, but I’m sure Adrian would be glad to explain.)

We’re going to Hershey in July to catch another Billy Joel concert. I feel like I can never get enough Billy Joel, especially when nobody really knows when he’ll wrap his car around another tree and be done for good.

In August we’re headed to Delaware for the Unicity Festival in Middletown. Rich hasn’t seen The Fixx since college and is very excited to go. And because John Waters, my favorite baby boomer, is speaking at the festival, I agreed to join him.

The following week we get a double dose of 70s and 80s goodness as both Boston and Styx perform at Pier Six. Pier Six has really cornered the market on aging musicians and their fans who aren’t quite up to a crazy evening at Merriweather. Sit on the lawn? Thanks, but no thanks.

I went to my first Pier Six concert last year where we saw Squeeze and we’ll we back later in the summer for George Thorogood of "Bad to the Bone" fame.

Sometimes I like to play a little game at these concerts and try to find the one person in the crowd who isn’t white, above 30, and investing at least 10 percent of their income in a solid mutual fund. I’m rarely successful in this endeavor. You know you’re dealing with a slightly more mature crowd – when the bathroom attendant notes that "Gosh, tonight’s crowd sure is polite."

Still, I wouldn't have it any other way. Give me a good reunion or comeback tour any day -- just as long as it doesn't go past 10 p.m. We do have to work in the morning, y'know.

Happy 70th Anniversary, Grandma and Grandpa!

I have the cutest grandparents in the world and today marks their 70th wedding anniversary.

I've previously detailed how they met and the other highlights of their lives so I won't repeat myself on that end.

What I will say is that I consider myself so lucky to still have my grandparents around and get to learn from their wisdom and the great example they set.

I wore my grandmother's wedding band today in honor of their anniversary. It's the first piece of jewelry my grandfather designed and the same ring I wore on my wedding day. I consider it a good-luck charm.

It gives me chills to look at their initials engraved on the inside along with 5/1/38 and 12:50 p.m. Rich and I had our initials engraved alongside theirs.

If there's any marriage to emulate, this is the one.