Long Live the First Amendment

In honor of Banned Books Week, this post will be a listing of all the banned books you should read.

By censoring books, we tell our children that it's wrong to think differently, to dream, to question, to disagree, to challenge a way of life or an idea. I've already written my thoughts on censorship and book banning here, so I won't repeat myself. Happy reading!

His Dark Materials by Philip Pullman
Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret by Judy Blume
Blood and Chocolate by Annette Klause
The Giver by Lois Lowry
Charlie and the Chocolate Factory by Roald Dahl
James and the Giant Peach by Roald Dahl
The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood
The Da Vinci Code by Dan Brown
The Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison
The Satanic Verses by Salman Rushdie

Here's a great resource from Random House that offers a more extensive list of banned books: The First Amendment First Aid Kit

On Food and Love

My landlord stopped by the other day to check on our furnace (which needs to be replaced after being submerged beneath 6 feet of water and not “fixed” like he thought) and mentioned in passing that he couldn’t eat mashed potatoes anymore (I was making them at the time). Something to do with cholesterol and a hardening of the arteries. Not at all worth giving up potatoes slathered in butter, sour cream, and milk. I mean, if you’re going to be living, you should be LIVING, right? Here’s my new goal in life: To never ever get to the point where I need to give up a food I love.

I exercise not because it’s good for me, but because it means I don’t have to diet. Because here’s the sad truth. I CAN’T diet. When it comes to food, I have no will power (well, except during Lent, but that’s only because there’s an END). Don’t get me wrong, the foods I eat are normally healthy and fresh, but not because I’m dieting, because to me, THAT is good food. That is what I crave (when I'm not craving chocolate or Skittles or mashed potatoes slathered in butter and sour cream). I can’t imagine giving up the foods I love for the rest of my life. Like everyone else, I'm guilty of falling into the "I'll Just Make PB&J for Lunch Because I Have No Time" trap. And those days are sad and colorless. I crave something with taste. Something new and exciting or familiar and comforting.

For me, eating and eating well is one of life’s true joys. You know those times when you bite into something so incredibly delectable, you just sit there and sigh, at a complete loss for words? Those are the moments I live for. Growing up with an Italian grandmother taught me one thing: to eat good food is to know love. You could be completely alone, and a bite of something that tastes like Heaven can fill you with such completeless, you need nothing else in life at that moment.

What is it about food that makes it transcend mere sustenance and provide comfort, even love? Sometimes it's the people; either the people who cook the food, or the ones with whom you are eating. Or perhaps it's the simple chemistry of ingredients providing taste. I'm sure it's different no matter whom you ask. But one thing is for sure: there's no better way to show someone you love them, than cooking for them (even if what you make is completely inedible).

I experienced this after my mother passed away. Friends, people in the community, cooked us casseroles or soups, and left them at our front door, not to insinuate my father was unable to cook (he's a fantastic cook), but because that was the best way they knew how to show their love and support. It was such a simple gesture, and so loving.

So, tonight, your assignment is this: wherever you are, whatever you're eating, slow down, focus on the taste and enjoy it. I remember my grandfather coming over after dinner every night when I was little. He was diabetic and was forced to give up the foods he loved (he had a terrible sweet tooth). Every night, out from under the watchful eye of my Nonni, he would drive to our house and have a bite of dessert. One little bite. Because he knew firsthand, it is a sad, sad life without good food.

Meet Casper, Our 3rd Roommate

I've mentioned before that I believe in ghosts. I'm fascinated by them, in fact. As a child, I read Goosebumps and watched ghost documentaries until I was completely petrified. During the summer after I graduated college, I was a nanny for my cousin's 2-year old son and his neighbor who was the same age. They live in historic rowhomes in Philadelphia. One day, we were in the living room playing. One of the boys went into the kitchen and almost immediately, came screaming and running into the living room. "A man! A man!" he screamed. I was a young girl, in a city, alone with 2 toddlers. There was no way I could navigate the childproof doorknobs while carrying both of them. I had no idea what to do. I heard nothing, so, heart pounding, I went into the kitchen and grabbed a knife thinking it was possibly an intruder. The back door was in the kitchen. I check the door. It was deadbolted shut. There was no man. I told the little boy that there was no man, that everything was fine. For the rest of the day he refused to go anywhere near the kitchen and stayed by my side. A case of overactive imagination? Possibly. Personally, I'm pretty positive he saw a ghost.

We have been experiencing the antics of our own little poltergeist. While (thank God) there haven't been any sightings as of yet, they're enough to completely petrify me. The lamp on Kurt's desk is touch-sensitive. When you touch it, it turns on. When you touch it again, it gets brighter. Every once in awhile, I'll wake up in the morning, walk into the living room, and see that lamp shining brightly. The first time it happened, I assumed Kurt had just left it on from the night before. But it kept happening. So I asked him to stop. He told me he hadn't touched it, had never touched it. Our house is about 150 years old and multiple homes and shops in town are rumored to have spectral visitors, so it being haunted isn't that far-fetched. When I told him my theory (that a ghost had turned it on), he gave me a look and said it was probably the wind. Right. Because the wind is so strong coming through our completely closed-up apartment. So I've run "tests" on the lamp. I've touched it with the blinds on the window, paper, staplers, anything I can find. Nothing. It only responds to human touch. At this point, I'm so petrified of seeing a ghost that I won't look in the dining room (where the desk is) until all lights are turned on. Just in case.

(As an aside, I also won't walk into a room without turning the light on first, just in case there's an enormous spider or spricket on the floor ready to attack me. It's a great way to live. You should try it.)

To add further basis to my theory, Kurt told me last night that the ghost has been trying to watch tv. Apparently, Kurt will turn off the cable box in our bedroom and later, it'll be back on. Why he needed to tell me this I don't know. I could've been left ignorantly, blissfully in the dark about the ghost's new obsession. But no. Now I'm afraid of my own bedroom.

I figure, as long as the ghost doesn't startle me or show up, I'll be fine. (Ghost, if you're reading this, you're welcome to stay, just PLEASE don't scare me. Otherwise, we'll have to move and I think we can all agree that we've been really good roommates so far. Who knows what awful people might move in if we leave.)

'Sounds Like Parades'

Here's a little known fact about me (or not so little known fact): I am a huge dork. As a child I watched Star Trek with my dad. Of my own accord. I love The Discovery Channel. I enjoy crossword puzzles. I once read an almanac, cover to cover. I was in 3rd grade. I know all the books of the Bible by heart (this is more because of a song we learned in Sunday School when I was little, and less because of some sort of awful compulsive disorder I have, and really only comes in handy when doing crosswords or while watching Jeopardy. Did I mention I love Jeopardy?) I love to learn. I'm sure many people assume my good grades were a result of some natural intelligence. Not so. I found most subjects in school to be interesting, so I paid attention, and retained the information. It was that simple. Add that to the fact that I'm highly competitive and you've got the recipe for a straight-A student.


To add to my dorkiness or perhaps because of it, in high school, while others were learning to drink, building their tolerance for college, my friends and I played charades. No, that's not some euphemism for something I don't want my family knowing I did, nor is it the name of an elaborate drinking game. We actually played charades. Intensely. We'd get together and split up into teams, boys versus girls and spend the night, sober, I might add, yelling at each other. GIVE US ANOTHER CLUE! WHAT DOES IT SOUND LIKE?? SOUNDS LIKE SWEEPING? WHILE YOU WERE SLEEPING!!! were the screams you could hear on a typical charades night. Over time, we got better. It didn't hurt that my best friend and I knew each other so well that we were practically telepathic (here's a hint: never play us in Taboo. We'll kick your butts). Those nights, when we yelled until our voices gave out, and laughed until our stomachs hurt, are some of my fondest memories to date. We entered college with embarrassingly low tolerances for alcohol, but armed with the knowledge of charades sign: 'movie' 'tv' 'sounds like' and so on, because surely that would come in useful in college.


Much to Kurt's dismay (he hates charades. I KNOW, right?), I'm planning a charades night with some new friends. I can't wait. I am a little nervous about how they will react to my competitive streak. They've never seen it. I might have to tone it down. At least the first time.

Must Love Dogs

Tonight, while I was trying to straighten up before my friend came over, Kurt walked out the door without a word (granted, it's entirely possible that he did tell me where he was going and I just wasn't listening. Which happens more often than I will ever admit.). When he didn't return after about 10 minutes, I went outside looking for him, expecting to find him either dead in the street or on the phone with some hussy (for the record, he was up the street, buying the gift card I'd asked him to get about 20 minutes prior). Instead, I found some random dog, with a collar and tag wandering around on the sidewalk. I looked about. No one. Let me preface this by saying I am very cautious around dogs. I love dogs, but my mother (who raised collies) taught me to be very careful around ones I didn't know. So, against my better judgment, I followed it. 

I am an animal lover to the core. Yes, I prefer cats, but I love dogs too, not to mention every other furry being on the face of the earth. You know those ASPCA commercials with the Sarah McLaughlin song playing over shots of starving, pathetic, lonely looking animals? I bawl like a baby. I actually have to change the channel every time I hear the opening notes to that song. I will not watch Old Yeller, nor Marley and Me for that matter. Too painful. I ran over a frog once. And cried. 

So clearly, I could not let this poor animal wander the streets of Allentown without trying to help it. Let me mention also that this was on Main Street - the major road in Allentown. Ok, yes, the speed limit is 25 mph and if you, God forbid, were to go 26 mph, the police will pull you over, and give you a ticket, but still. It could totally be dangerous. I had to help this poor creature. I called it. It ignored me. I slowly followed it, keeping a large distance, just in case it had Rabies or something. I made eye contact. Then called it again. Still it ignored me. Finally, it approached me and I was able to test the water and pet its head.

And then it ran into the street. Being the animal lover I am, I couldn't let it get run over. So, I RAN WITH IT INTO THE STREET so it wouldn't get run over. I figured, if the cars didn't see the dog, they'd see me and slow down. I am aware this was not the smartest thing to do, but what I did next was even less smart.

When we crossed the street, without having been hit by a car, thank you very much, I tried to grab its tag to determine its owner. Then it bit me. I don't mean it snapped at me, narrowly missing my hand. I mean, it actually bit my thumb. It growled, bit down hard on my thumb, and then growled again, all in the fraction of a second. By some miracle, it didn't break the skin. And then I ran away. Upset and shaken.

I mean, really. I'd just saved this dog's life. You'd think he'd be SOMEWHAT grateful.

In case any of you are still worried about this ungrateful little jerk, on my way back from this traumatic experience, I found his owner. So he's home safe and sound. And I'll be able to sleep tonight.

Don't Say I Never Gave You Anything

I've recently discovered an amazing blog I think you should all start reading. It's called Nothing But Bonfires and is one of the most hilarious blogs I've ever come across. I've actually gone back to the beginning and started reading posts from when she started blogging in 2005. I'm now on October of 2007. I know what you're thinking, but don't judge until you've read a few posts. Holly is funny, quirky, utterly and sweetly self-deprecating. And obsessed with Target. I want to be her friend. And in my delusional mind, I feel like I already am. I am also insanely jealous of her life. She does the most interesting things, travels to interesting places, and shares her experiences with a heavy dose of humor and wit. With pictures. And a British accent.

My favorite posts (I'm not sure she does them anymore since, as I said, I'm only up to 2007. Yes, I know, I'm pathetic, obsessed. Whatever.) are Secret Bachelor Tuesdays, in which she recaps episodes of The Bachelor, complete with baudy details and hilarious commentary. You can't NOT laugh out loud. I don't even watch The Bachelor. I can't bring myself to do it. Partly because I can't stand the contestants with their fake boobs and constant drama and partly because I know that if I start watching, I won't be able to stop. But her recaps are a saving grace. I can READ about the episodes instead. Because reading is learning. No matter the subject. Right? That's what I tell myself at least.


So march your little butts over to Nothing But Bonfires and meet Holly. Pronto.


Also, if you're so inclined, check out the other blogs on my favorite reads list to the right. They're written by some of my incredibly talented and interesting friends.

Why Mother Nature Will Smite Us

Conversation regarding renters insurance:

   ME: "We should think about getting renters insurance."

   KURT: "Renters insurance is a sucker's bet."

   ME: "This flood proves we should. We could've lost everything!"

   KURT: "Are you kidding? We rolled the dice and WON! We DEFINITELY don't need it now!"

El Cuarto de Amy

I love bookstores. I love the smell of bookstores. That combination of paper and ink, so subtle, yet so books, that you'd never mistake it for something else. I love the secrecy of each aisle. Maybe you'll know someone in Fiction section, or meet the love of your life in Poetry. There's a certain mystery in bookstores. The hushed whispers, the reading nooks. I love that everyone stands around engrossed in a book, trying to find that perfect one to take home today. I love that every book is organized by genre and then alphabetically.


I love looking at the rows upon rows of books. I love their covers, their spines. The tables showcasing NEW BESTSELLERS. The shelves of Reference books. I can spend hours upon hours in bookstores. It was even worse when I worked in publishing. I'd pull Kurt into every bookstore we passed to make sure our books were where they were supposed to be, pointing each one out to him as he got more and more restless and ready to leave. I don't know what it is about bookstores that draws me in so. Kurt urges me to buy my books on Amazon. We have Amazon Prime so 2nd Day Shipping is free and books are usually cheaper. I also have a Kindle and can buy ebooks on a whim at the touch of a button. But that old-fashioned, stubborn part of me wants to hold a book and wants to browse books in a store, touching each one, reading the flaps. There's something comforting, even peaceful, in that tactile experience.


When I heard that Borders was going bankrupt, I knew it would be a huge blow to the publishing world. But it was also upsetting to me. It felt like the precursor to a life without bookstores, without that experience. I hope more than anything, that bookstores will survive. Shopping online just doesn't offer the same satisfaction that shopping in a bookstore does.


Today, I went into Barnes & Noble to find The Bridges of Madison County for my book club. Forty-five minutes later, I left with three books. I spent the time slowly browsing the Fiction shelves, looking for anything that caught my eye, or even a reminder of a book I'd wanted to read, but haven't had the chance. To be completely honest, I left with three books because I thought six would be overdoing it a bit. I made a list of ones to get in the future, and then forced myself to leave before I spent another 45 minutes as the creepy girl aimlessly roaming the shelves. 


My trip to B&N wasn't the best part of my night, however. I got some amazing, exciting news I will share...at the end of this post. Come on, you need some incentive to keep reading! The best part of my night, was this: 

From left to right: LOL, el porta retratos con la foto, el televisor

On the door to my room

This week, I'm staying with my friend and her husband. She is from Costa Rica and it appears that while I was at work today, she labeled everything in her apartment in Spanish. There is a sticky-note on every surface in the apartment. It totally made my night. My favorite is the one on my bedroom door, above. I can only assume this is her way of teaching her husband Spanish. Or teaching me Spanish, who knows. I've been walking around the apartment reading them and laughing (and learning). It's because of little things like this that I love her. Also, that she's putting me up while I'm "displaced."


Ok, so here's the big news. Are you ready? Our apartment's ready!! I'm moving back in tomorrow night! I'm so excited. Our landlords called today and I absolutely cannot wait to go home. Although I was a little surprised to feel a touch of sadness that I'm leaving this little sleepover with my friends. I guess there's always the next hurricane.

The appeal of a broken ankle and hooker heels

My sister and I went shopping two weekends ago and, as always, spent about 3 hours in the shoe department at Macy's. I think if I had all the money in the world, it would be spent on shoes. And then those shoes would sit in my closet, unworn, forever. I love shoes. I hate uncomfortable shoes. The problem with this is all the shoes I love seem to be uncomfortable.

I try to control myself. I only buy heels of a "sensible" height (no more than 3 inches), with a chunkier, '40's style heel, rather than a stiletto (thank god chunky heels are in style). I tend to spend a little more on heels because they're usually made better and thus (slightly) more comfortable. I try not to buy patent leather since they don't mold to your feet the way leather does. I promise, I'm not Amish. My heels are actually pretty cute. And fashionable.

However, finding cute, classy, "sensible" heels is made next to impossible since all the heels at Macy's, and most shoe stores for that matter, look like something only hookers wear (no offense to those of you who are able to walk in these shoes. I envy you, I do). And I'm not talking the classy, Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, prostitutes. I'm talking the trashy, wouldn't touch them with a 10 foot stick hookers (no offense to those of you who might be hookers, though I do not envy you).

What is up with these heels? Who can walk in them? No, who can walk in them and manage to look NORMAL? If I were to put those things on, I'd forever look like I was trying to walk a tightrope. They look like they could be used as a very effective weapon. I do not understand this trend. Granted, there have been some trends that I was fully against in the beginning, but then got used to until I came around to them, and then gave in and replaced my previously trendy (and now Salvation Army material) clothes. You know the ones: Uggs, skinny jeans, high-waist trousers. But these. I don't think I could ever get used to these heels. Not only because I KNOW I wouldn't be able to walk in them for more than 2 steps, but also because I can't get past the images of hookers they bring to mind.

If any of you out there wear these things, please enlighten me. What is the appeal? Are broken ankles and bunions THAT in demand? And HOW DO YOU WALK IN THEM?