Rules for Trick-or-Treating

We live on Main Street in Small Town, USA, where parades, Civil War reenactments, and knowing your neighbors are the norm. Here, Halloween is an experience. At 6pm, every Halloween, Main Street is closed, fire engines, police cars, and the high school marching band slowly make it down the street, followed by hundreds and hundreds of trick-or-treaters. I've lived on Main Street for 5 years. The first 3 years were spent living in a tiny apartment above a shop. Our apartment number was something straight of a Harry Potter novel: 18-1/2. Since people who knew where we lived could barely find our apartment, it should not have come as a surprise that we got zero trick-or-treaters. Zero. The first year, we bought tons of candy, excited to see the kids dressed up. That candy sat in our living room, not one single piece having been given out to trick-or-treaters. I'd like to say that candy lasted us until Christmas, but that would be a lie. It lasted maybe three days. The last Halloween I spent in that apartment, I stood outside with a bowl of candy, determined to participate, dressed like a creepy twenty-something girl eager to give out candy to little kids. Oh. Wait.

When Kurt and I moved in together, in an apartment across the street, I had no idea what we were getting into. Halloween came, we bought candy. A lot of candy. It lasted 45 minutes. I ran out to CVS to buy more and rushed home. (I'm pretty sure they marked up the Halloween candy at the last minute since those few bags of candy cost me what seemed like an arm and a leg) It lasted another 45 minutes.

This year, we were more prepared. We went to BJ's and picked up four huge bags of candy. We sat on the porch with our neighbor handing out candy to the kids. After tonight's experience, I have come up with four rules for trick-or-treaters. That's right, kids. Your night of fun now comes with a side of rules. As an aside, I'm really not as grumpy as this will make me sound. It just really bothers me that some kids (and parents) think they are entitled to EVERYTHING FOR FREE and feel no need to even say thank you. So here goes:

1) If you don't dress up, you shouldn't get candy. Put cat ears on, paint whiskers on your face, anything! (more to the point, if you are a parent, you do not get candy. you can buy your own, you don't need the free stuff from strangers. leave some for the kids, huh?)

2) Say "trick-or-treat." Really, how hard is it? They're three measly words and you get FREE CANDY. No "trick-or-treat," no candy.

3) Take ONE piece of candy. There are hundreds of kids behind you and I'm not made of money. (I couldn't believe the number of kids who grabbed handfuls and ran - because they KNEW THEY WERE WRONG.)

4) If you've come to my house once, I remember you. No double dipping. (PARENTS, this one is for you as well. It's time to teach your kids honesty and integrity. Saying "Ooo look guys, candy!" doesn't fool me for a second. I remember you from the first time you came around and encouraged your kids to take handfuls of my candy.)

There. Four simple rules that really shouldn't even need to be enforced. I honestly don't think that's too much to ask. Is it? Am I a grump?

Truthfully, most of the kids said thank you and "trick-or-treat" and at least put on a Phillies jersey as a costume. Some teenagers even went all out (one kid was Max from Where the Wild Things Are). The parents stood behind the little ones, nervous, waiting to correct them; "say trick-or-treat!" "say thank you!" I love these kids and these parents. I appreciate their manners and enthusiasm. A little effort and kindness really go a long way.

And yes, I gave candy to the ones who didn't dress up, who didn't say "trick-or-treat", who took a handful of candy, and who came twice (a couple kids DID ALL FOUR of these things). I'm all talk. I "jokingly" scolded the kids whose parents encouraged them to come back for seconds, but that was really more for the parents to hear than the children. The truth is, I love Halloween, I love the costumes, I love handing out candy, and I love making just one child's night, even if a thousand didn't appreciate it. My only regret from tonight? Not getting the chance to watch the movie I watched every Halloween as a child: Hocus Pocus. I guess there's always next year (when I'm printing these four rules on a piece of cardboard and posting it on my porch). Kids, next year, at the Bernhard's, you get a piece of candy AND a lesson in manners. Bring your parents!

On Snowstorms, Flag Football, and Dedication

For the past month or so, my Saturday mornings have been spent playing flag football. Yes, you read that right. Flag Football. I joined a co-ed team in Princeton with some friends and former co-workers from The Restaurant. While I am pretty terrible at flag football, I'm starting to get a little better, at least on defense. And I'm having fun, which is what's important, right? Have I mentioned we're in 2nd place in the league? That doesn't hurt either.

If you're in the Northeast, you'll know that this Saturday Old Man Winter decided to grace us with his presence about 2 months early. I woke up Saturday morning to near freezing temperatures and frigid rain. I checked weather.com. The forecast was snow. I checked my email. The games were still on. The league moved our games to the turf fields (we play at one of the local prep schools) and we played as usual. Snow? Pah! We are co-ed club athletes. We laugh in the face of snow! On the drive to the fields, the thermometer in my car read 40 degrees, and it was raining. Hard. Halfway there, the rain turned to snow and it quickly began to accumulate.

Having been informed of the potential for freezing temperatures, I had gone on a little shopping spree earlier in the week. I picked up cleats, pants, underarmour shirts, and gloves. I was prepared. Or so I thought. Frankly, the gloves did nothing and what's more, interfered with my ability (or existing lack thereof) to catch the ball. There was already about an inch of snow on the field when I got there, and the snow was still coming down hard. I put on a second long-sleeve shirt and got ready to play. I think it's safe to say I've never been so cold in my life. And that's saying something. I went to college in Boston. My fingers were numb, my toes were numb. I couldn't tell if my pants were soaked or not, so I'm assuming my legs were numb too. When we weren't mid-play, we hopped from foot to foot, swung our arms, jogged in place. Anything to get warm. The snow was that heavy, wet snow, so we were soaked, snow and water in our eyes. For about ten minutes after the game, I sat in my car, worried my fingers had frostbite (they were swollen, red, burning, and still numb). Despite all that, I can honestly say I had a great time. There's something about sharing a comically ridiculous experience with friends that makes it all worth it. It was one of those once in a lifetime (hopefully) experiences that I'm sure I'll look back on fondly. Here's a little glimpse of the game so you can look back on it fondly too, from the warmth and comfort of your home.

Top Secret: Kiss Cookies Recipe

Since I was about 7, my dad has made these fantastic cookies (see the worst picture of them ever to the right). My best friend christened them “Super-Duper-Extra-Special-Mr.-Ricci-Cookies” when we were in 3^rd grade, though we just call them Kiss Cookies. They were/are her favorite cookies (which is why my only job in planning her bridal shower was “BRING THE COOKIES”). My sister and I have helped my dad make them over the years. They really are fantastic and they’re usually a big hit (Kurt is the only one I know who doesn’t go crazy for them), but they’re a pain to make. While the recipe is very easy, it is a painstakingly long process. You start by unwrapping Hershey’s Kisses (at least 28 oz.). Then, you wrap each newly unwrapped kiss in dough. During the holidays, our kitchen usually resembled an assembly line (or a sweatshop. Take your pick). We’d put on Elf and spend hours unwrapping and wrapping hundreds of kisses.

In the past, whenever I needed these cookies, I asked my dad and volunteered my tiny fingers for the unwrapping/wrapping part. Well folks, the student has become the master (or you know, the amateur baker who calls her dad every five minutes in a panic when the dough doesn’t turn out exactly the way he said it would). Putting my new food processor and KitchenAid mixer to good use, Kurt and I spent about 7 hours over the past two weeks making a grand total of 600 cookies, more or less…but probably close to more. The first round of baking (or torture, as Kurt puts it) was for Maca’s going away party, where my former co-workers fought over who got to take some home with them. Is there any better feeling than people loving something you made so much that arguments and fistfights ensue? I think not.

The second round was for a charity bake sale at Kurt’s work this week. On Monday night, we spent five hours making about 400 cookies. For me, this is fairly standard. For Kurt, it was intensive labor akin to sweatshop work. This time, the dough didn’t do exactly what it was supposed to, so I called my dad. “You must have done something wrong.” Thanks, Dad. I appreciate your candor.* But, against all odds, and by some sort of magic, the cookies turned out the way they were supposed to. My dad offered support the way any concerned father would, by calling three to four times during the process to ask how things were going. These are his babies after all.

My dad has always believed in sharing recipes, so in that spirit, I give to you the recipe for the Super-Duper-Extra-Special-Mr.-Ricci-Cookies. Happy baking!

1½  cups of butter or margarine, softened
¾ cup sugar
1 tablespoon of Almond extract
2¾ cups of all purpose flour
1½ cups of finely chopped almonds (consistency of grated parmesan cheese)
2 (14 oz) packages of Hershey’s kisses
½ cup of semi-sweet chocolate chips
1 tablespoon shortening
powdered sugar

Heat oven to 375 degrees.  In a large bowl, beat butter, sugar, and almond extract until light and fluffy.  Add flour and almonds; beat at low speed until well blended.

Shape scant teaspoonful of dough around each candy kiss, covering completely.  Roll in hands to form ball.  Place on ungreased cookie sheets.

Bake at 375 degrees for 8 to 12 minutes or until set at the bottom edges (cookies will not darken much).  Cool on the cookie sheets for at least 5 minutes (they will crumble unless they stand for 5 minutes).

In a small saucepan over low heat, melt chocolate chips and shortening, stirring until smooth.  Drizzle over each cookie and let set.  Sprinkle cookies with powdered sugar before serving.

Helpful hints: Place parchment paper on cookie sheets. Leave cookies on sheets of parchment and drizzle chocolate on them.  It makes cleanup easier.  Place chocolate in a pastry bag to drizzle and use a fine tip.  Refrigerate cookies after drizzling to set the chocolate before sprinkling with powdered sugar.

*My high school AP US History teacher was an interesting man. I'd go as far as to say he was quirky, maybe even weird. When he asked a question, if you gave him the incorrect answer, he'd respond, "I appreciate your candor." and move on, never actually telling you what the correct answer was. One thing I'll say about LHS, it was certainly not lacking in unique teachers.

Sweet Transvestites

In 8th grade, my friend's parents took three of us to see The Rocky Horror Picture Show performed at Bucks County Playhouse. And it changed my life. We dressed up in trampy costumes, black lipstick and tons of black eyeliner, carted toast, playing cards, water guns, etc. We left covered soggy toast, our hair and makeup ruined, with a newfound sense of happiness. While Rocky Horror might be considered by some to be too risque for 13 year old girls, we absolutely loved it (and for the record, it did not corrupt us in any way). We returned every year until college, including more and more friends in our guilty pleasure. Our guy friends and boyfriends came along, gamely borrowing our skirts and letting us do their makeup. Those fall nights at Bucks County Playhouse are some of my favorite memories. We had a blast doing something a little risque yet totally innocent, a little taboo, but extremely popular (for those who knew of it).

(To this day, I am still shocked my father let me go all the way back in 8th grade. I truly believe there are only two reasons I was allowed. 1) My friend's parents took us and more importantly 2) my dad was a theater major and amateur actor. He had always encouraged us to get involved in theater, but my sister and I both chose athletics instead. While he was never a huge fan of Rocky Horror, he was able to appreciate the theatricality and the fun. He understood what it was about: pushing the limits and shocking audiences.)

If you've never been to a performance of The Rocky Horror Picture Show, the only way I can describe it is it's an Experience. It is raunchy, shocking, hilarious, over-the-top, dirty, and above all...weird. The audience spends most of its time standing up, dancing, singing along with the cast, and throwing things at each other at the right moments (which is why you should watch the movie before you go...and maybe google "what to do at Rocky Horror"). The cast, mostly men in drag (whom, I might add, looked better in short short skirts and cleavage-bearing shirts than I did. It was depressing really.), spend their time wandering through the audience, sitting on laps, dirty dancing, and generally trying to make people feel as uncomfortable as possible. It is absolutely fabulous.

Glee did a Rocky Horror episode last season and watching it brought me back to those fabulous nights filled with friends, toast, and eyeliner. For those of you who have never seen it, rent the movie, this very second. Then, go for the full experience and see the show. I had planned on taking my sister this year to expose her to this strange and crazy world. However. The theater we used to go to has since closed. If anyone knows of a theater in the Princeton area that puts on Rocky Horror, please let me know. I can't stand the thought of another Halloween without The Time Warp.

The Bumbershoot

I have a love/hate relationship with umbrellas. I love that they keep me dry. I hate how awkward and annoying they are to carry. I have at least 4: one in the car at all times, one in my purse, one at the office, and one at home. Every time I walk past an umbrella stand, I have to stop and look at them. Have they invented a more ingenious way of keeping me dry yet? I’ve debated buying the huge, cumbersome golf umbrellas (surely those would keep me, and ten other people dry), and also the clear, bubble ones. I can’t decide if they’re super cute or super ridiculous.

In college, using umbrellas was just too much of a hassle. I tried wearing hoods or just putting my hair up and pretending not to care that I was soaked to the bone. Boston wind ruined every umbrella I had, except one: the fundraiser Lawrence High School Cardinal umbrella we sold my junior year. I guarded that one with my life.

While studying in Rome in college, I learned never to carry an umbrella. As soon as the first rain drop fell, men would appear from out of nowhere with tiny umbrellas hanging from their wrists. We were usually able to haggle them down to 3 euros a pop. Genius. I wish that would happen everywhere. How great it would be if you were just walking down the street in Princeton, you feel a raindrop, and poof! there’s some random man ready to save you with a $3 umbrella? The Italians have so many things right. We Americans have so much to learn.

As a commuter to NYC, I learned quickly that I needed to prepare for the elements. I bought snow boots, two pairs of wellies (one with a wedge heel and one without), a trench coat, a warm, puffy coat, gloves, etc. The umbrella became that useful, but annoying friend again. My one requirement for a new handbag was that it could fit my umbrella. Trying to juggle a handbag, work bag, coffee, and umbrella and still stay dry is not easy, let me tell you. I’ve tried in vain to find a cute trench coat with a hood (if anyone finds one, please send me the link), and so the umbrella has remained ever present in my wardrobe, mocking me. "I’ll keep you dry", it seems to say, "but I won’t make it easy for you."

I am aware umbrellas are cumbersome and sometimes ridiculous. But they’re useful. At least I think so. For as long as I’ve known him, Kurt has never used an umbrella. “Real men don’t use umbrellas”, has always been his mantra. I’ve always thought it was silly. “Real men” would rather be soaked all day, or ruin a good suit, than be seen carrying an umbrella. I thought he was just being stubborn. But today, I saw this: http://www.post-gazette.com/pg/04181/338865-154.stm. This writer makes some hilarious points about umbrellas and machismo. Good to know I’ve married a “real man.” I was worried.

You Don't Know The Jersey Shore Until You've Run It

Sunday was an historic day - I ran my first half-marathon with my friend, Macarena. It was our last little venture together before she moves to Chile. I have to admit I was a little nervous. We had been training for the past 12 weeks, but I still wasn't sure exactly how I'd feel during the last 3 miles. We'd only ever run 10. The race was in Seaside Heights, NJ, known, as of recently, for fist-pumping guidos. On Sunday, however, the boardwalk was filled, not with overly-tanned, buff men with blow-outs, but with men and women ready to check something off their bucket list, or train for their next marathon. I can safely say Maca and I were of the former group of people. The race began on the boardwalk. We ran past arcades and foodstands, closed for the season. When the boardwalk ran out, we ran through the streets to Island Beach State Park, and then back to the boardwalk, finishing where we started, though maybe a few pounds lighter and definitely sweatier. The course was beautiful. Running on the boardwalk, we were able to catch some glimpses of the ocean through breaks in the dunes. Above all, it was flat, thank God. We started out slowly, too nervous to push ourselves too much too early, but at the halfway point, we realized we were making good time. Our goal was to finish in two hours and 30 minutes. At the halfway point, our time was one hour and 12 minutes. Feeling good and encouraged by our time, we picked up the pace on the way back. I think we were both surprised with how good we felt. Neither of us was gasping for air or ready to quit. My knee started hurting about a mile into the race, which was fantastic, but thankfully, it held out for the next 12.1 miles. Maca's entire family came to support us, equipped with cameras, video cameras, and signs. It was adorable. It felt so good sprinting to the finish line with Maca, her family cheering us on. We finished in two hours, 21 minutes, and 49 seconds, 9 minutes under our goal. Her dad shot a great video of us crossing the finish line, which I'll post when I get it from him. I never thought I'd say this, but I will definitely be running another half marathon. That thrill at the end, when you've actually done something you've been preparing for for so long, but still weren't entirely sure you could do, is something I hope each of you feels one day. It's exhilarating. But now that Maca's leaving me (unless of course I succeed in kidnapping her and her husband before they get the chance to leave), I need a new running buddy. Who's in?

On a separate, though not completely unrelated note, we threw a surprise Going Away Party for Maca and her husband Sunday night. Let me just say that you should all go out and make friends with people who work in restaurants. Everyone brought and/or made the most amazing food. Our host (one of the managers from the restaurant), made duck, steak, and ribs on the grill. It was a great night. I don't think I have ever been to a party where everyone ended up sitting around the same table, eating, talking, and laughing, until now. I hate goodbyes, but I think if you do have to say goodbye to someone you love, this was the perfect way to do it: surrounded by good food, laughter, (with maybe a few tears thrown in) and friends.

Chasing Rainbows

On the way home today, I saw a rainbow (believe me, it was much more beautiful than this picture shows. God, my photography skills are lacking. Can you even tell there's a rainbow there? There is. I promise. It's in the middle. Look close.). I love rainbows. They always make me feel a little nostalgic. For four glorious years, between ages 3 and 7, I lived next door to my best friend, Eric. Most of my memories from those years include him; like the time we chased a hot air balloon that was landing in the field behind our building, or when I told him I wouldn't be his friend if he didn't tell his Grandmother (a die-hard Mets fan) that he liked the Phillies more (he did and she chased us around the yard, tickling us, until we submitted). Some of my favorite memories with Eric are when we tried to find the pot of gold at the ends of rainbows. We had enough freedom, and our development was large enough, that we had plenty of room to run. Each time we saw a rainbow, we'd run as fast as we could, to try to find the end of the rainbow, where surely, treasures awaited, not to mention Leprechauns. There were even a few times we convinced our parents to drive us on our mission. No matter how far we ran or how long we drove, we never made it to the ends of the rainbows. They always disappeared after enough time, nothing more than light and drops of water. But the sense of adventure, the excitement of what we might find if we ever made it in time, was enough for us. Seeing rainbows, even now, reminds me what it's like to be a kid, to believe in magic, and let imagination take over.

Carb Overload

This Sunday, I am running my first half marathon. While I very clearly remember saying I would never run a half marathon, sometime shortly after The Broad Street 10 Mile Run I think it was, I found myself signing up for the Seaside Heights Half Marathon with two friends.

(As an aside, I will NEVER run a full marathon. You can hold me to that one. Bucket list be damned. Not only do I have no desire to run a full marathon, I also don’t have the time to train for one. How do people work full-time AND go for 4 hour runs on a regular basis?)

Anyway, I have been training for the past 12 weeks, running 3-4 times a week and have already run 10 miles twice (more than I’ve ever run for any period of time since high school when my field hockey coach was forcing me to). While I cannot wait for this race to be over, I think I’m going to keep running. I love to run, especially in the summer, but sometime around November, my motivation goes out the window and I end up sitting in front of the tv pigging out on holiday leftovers all winter. Come Spring, I’m out of shape and the thought of getting back INTO shape depresses me. This race has forced me to keep a steady schedule and I have to say, being able to run 5 miles and FEEL GOOD during it, is totally worth it. THAT is what I don’t want to lose this winter. Yea. Let’s see how long this lasts.

I have, however, entered the very best part of the training: Carb-Loading. This week, I have to run 3 2-mile runs at an easy pace, so as not to tire myself out before the race on Sunday. No problem. Easy-peasy right? Just wait. Here's the best part: Thursday, Friday, and Saturday, 80% of my food intake needs to be carbohydrates. Apparently, I need to cut down on the fat and fiber (which are difficult to digest), and load up on pasta, rice, bread, bagels. Seriously? THIS I can do. If only the entire training had been like this. The article I found on RunnersWorld.com said I should aim to gain about 3-4 pounds in the 3 days leading up to the race. Less running + all the carbs I can eat? I’m on this.

Squatters

This weekend was Allentown's Harvest Festival. I'm not entirely sure there's anything better than walking out your front door and being met with the following choices: BBQ or Thai food? (answer: Thai food) Petting zoo or rescue a kitten? (answer: we already have a kitten, so petting zoo) Make a scarecrow or watch the Civil War reenactment? (answer: Civil War reenactment) Cupcake or ice cream? (answer: both). Kurt and I walked through the festival yesterday morning planning our meals over the next two days. In the past two days, I have eaten a cupcake, kettle corn, a pulled pork sandwich, Thai dumplings and fried rice, a pork kebab, part of a kielbasa, egg, and cheese sandwich, and potato leek soup...and possibly more I'm forgetting. I love Harvest Festival. All day, for two days, Main Street is shut down and filled with vendors selling everything from homemade candles to organic dog treats. I never buy much, but I walk the street at least four times, just in case there's something I missed. 

Every year, the fair attracts some interesting people. This year, the fair attracted people who believed our front porch was public domain. We have a crooked wooden bench on our front porch that was left here by a previous tenant. Almost every time I walked out of the house yesterday and today, there was someone sitting and eating on the bench. Our house is very clearly not a shop or otherwise public property. It is a house. And it's not that strangers sitting on my porch bothered me per se, I just don't understand it. I would never walk up someone's porch steps and plop myself on their chairs or benches. I find this extremely odd. It's the first year it's happened and let me say, it happened often this weekend. Some of the people were the family from one of the vendors (whom we do not know), but some were just fair-goers. Is this odd? Am I being grumpy? Perhaps. But would YOU sit on a stranger's front porch and eat your lunch? If so, please explain this behavior to me, since I am clearly ignorant.

essie: Absolutely Shore

New Favorite Nail Polish:

essie: Absolutely Shore

I don't normally do these super girlie posts, but I had to share this. Guys, bare with me here. essie is my preferred brand of nail polish and their new shade, "Absolutely Shore" is my new favorite. I normally play it safe and go with "Sugar Daddy," a very light pink, but I LOVE this shade. It's sort of a sea foam green and is fun without looking too unprofessional (for those of us in corporate America). It's matte and opaque, two musts for me when it comes to my nails. It especially looks amazing on toes, perfect for the transition from Summer to Fall. Plus, how can you go wrong with a name like that?

What 4 (or 5) Drinks Will Make You Do

We've had a busy few days. Thursday night, a few of my girlfriends came over for our weekly Grey's Anatomy Get-Together. I served Sparkling Peach Juice (which was AMAZING. Forget the Sparkling Apple Cider from now on) and this:

Chocolate Croissant Bread Pudding

I think next time, a little honey drizzled on top would make it even better. But it was the perfect Fall dessert: hearty, savory, sweet, and chocolate.  Though to be honest, I'd eat pretty much anything that contained croissants and chocolate.

Friday afternoon/evening we attended my cousin's wedding in New Hope. I love a good wedding. Before we got married, I'd spend the whole reception making mental notes. Now, I use them as an excuse to dress up and wear my blue wedding shoes, because really, there just aren't enough opportunites in life to get dressed up and wear bright blue shoes.

The ceremony was at a pavilion at Bowman's Tower in New Hope, PA. They had a beautiful afternoon for it. The bride was gorgeous in her gown. But, when she walked down the aisle, for the first time in my life, I watched the groom (my cousin) instead. I couldn't actually see the bride from my seat, so instead of standing on my tiptoes and craning my neck in vain, only catching glimpses in between people's heads, I opted to watch his reaction. I am so glad I did. I could tell the moment he first saw her, as she appeared at the top of the aisle, because his face just lit up. It was so heartwarming to see how happy and in love he was. I always look at the bride, but my cousin's face was just so sweet as he watched his bride walking towards him, that I think I've found my new focus at weddings. To all future brides of the future weddings I attend, I'm sorry. To all the future grooms of the future weddings I attend, make sure you look MADLY in love. I'll be watching.

Later that night, at the reception, the fathers of the bride and groom provided cigars and Port for everyone who wanted one. Feeling adventurous, and surprising everyone, I convinced my sister to split one with me. I have never smoked anything in my life before. And for some reason (possibly it was the 2 martinis and 2 (or 3) vodka and sprites talking), I decided that night would be the right time to smoke half a cigar. We joined my father and uncle, and some of the other men (we were the only women to partake) outside on the patio, in the rain. It was fun in the way doing something out of character, even a little rebellious can be. (By the way, I didn't inhale it. I knew it would make me sick if I did. And, really, let's not get carried away. We all know me. My rebellion has to have SOME sort of control.) However, the next morning, I woke up to a sandpaper tongue and the taste of tobacco in my mouth. While visions of Pinocchio at Pleasure Island swam in my head, I drank glass after glass of water and brushed my teeth at least four times. No amount of water hydrated my tongue and no amount of mouthwash or toothpaste rid my mouth of the awful taste. Suffice to say, I will not be smoking any more cigars anytime soon. Oh well. The rebellious streak was fun while it lasted.