A gift from author Susan Mallery

While I was on the plane from JKF to SFO, I listened to the Words To Mouth interview with Susan Mallery. I was lucky enough to meet Susan at the Harlequin book signing at RWA, and when I mentioned the interview she gave me an extra signed copy of Sweet Talk to give away on my blog.

So here it is!  My very first contest.

Leave a comment on this post and I’ll enter your name.  (Please note that I’m having trouble with the commenting function right now so I have to approve every comment. If your comment doesn’t show up for a while, that’s why.)

I don’t want to carry the book back to NYC, so I’m going to mail it out on Tuesday.  I may even include a few treats from the RWA Goody Room.

Still recovering from the conference, but I promise to post a report (with pics) soon!

Thanks Supernanny!

I never used to watch Supernanny because I’m a teacher.  I work with kids all day long. The last thing I need is to come home to more screaming children.

But during the writer’s strike I turned it on occasionally, and I recently discovered that her naughty step technique isn’t just for humans.  It can, in fact, be used as a muli-species disciplinary technique.

Hamudi and I are still visiting my mother, and the new environment has made my already neurotic dog bark even more than usual.  And it’s not your typical bark.  It’s an ear splitting, wake the dead, shriek.  He’s only twenty pounds, but man, he’s got some serious lungs.  I’ve tried everything from the disgusting citrus spray collar to the sonic sound thing. Nothing has worked.  Except for, believe it or not, the naughty step.  

And I have proof:

Now, when he barks, I point to the stairs.  More often than not, he shuts up.  Today, he’s barked less than usual.  

When he’s done with his time out, he comes and sits at my feet (which I consider the “apology”) and then I give him a hug.  It’s exactly what Supernanny recommends. 

Now, if you try this with your own pets and it backfires or scars them for life, don’t blame me.  Try it at your own risk.  

All I know is that my neighbors, not to mention my ears, are grateful.

P.S.  For those of you worried about my mental state, I want to assure you that I do realize that Hamudi is a dog and not a human child.  Just had to state that for the record.

P.P.S.  If you’ve got any anti-barking tips, please share them here!

Why I totally flunked my eye test

So.  I come home for two weeks and what do I do?  I get my teeth cleaned.  I get my hair cut.  I get my eyebrows waxed.  It’s partly because it’s cheaper here than in NY (although not by much).  It’s partly because I have more time here (although again, not much).  And partly because RWA Nationals is just days away.

Well, according to the dentist, everything is fine and dandy.  But she did say that I have a very small mouth. I quoted her to my family, who thought that was the most laughable thing they’d ever heard.

Anyway, I’m like a car going in for a tune up, so when I go back to NY, I’ll be ready to roll.  

Except for the eyes.  The visit to the optometrist didn’t go so well.  I failed the eye test.  In a big way.  This was very odd, the doctor and I thought.  She shook her head and declared that we had to stop the exam so she could check my corneas.  Which, it turns out, are all inflamed and scratched up due to faulty contact lenses.  No wonder I’ve had to make all my documents 200%.  

So no contact lenses for at least a week.  This wouldn’t be such a problem since I don’t have any real plans that involve the outside world, except for the fact that my glasses broke and are beyond repair.  They just fell off my face.  The very nice office lady at the eye doctor asked if I could function without any corrective lenses.  She then proceeded to hand me a key pad so I could fork over a month’s salary for the eye exam.  I could barely make out the numbers.  “I guess we have to give you something temporary,” she said.  

Um, yeah.  Because without corrective lenses, I’m blinder than a bat.  With the added cornea issues, I’m blinder than a bat with cataracts.  (Do bats get cataracts?  I don’t know.  But you get my point, no?)  And as smart as Hamudi is, he’s too excitable to be a seeing eye dog.  And let’s face it.  He’s too selfish.

The nice office lady found a sample pair of frames and squeezed my old glasses lenses into them.  Which is why I look like Toula Portokalos before the makeover:

My replacement frames arrive Wednesday.  At least they’ll be free.

I just hope I don’t have do go to Nationals in glasses.  Sigh.

(Hi, it’s me again.  A few hours after I wrote this, it suddenly occurred to me that some of you may think that that’s me in the picture.  It’s not.  It’s Nia Vardalos.  It’s just that my temporary glasses make me look just like that.  O.k.  I feel much better now that that’s settled.)

Aka Greek Chicken With Lemon, Oregano and Garlic

(You’re probably wondering how Death Row Chicken got its name.  I’ll get to that.  I promise.  Just give me a sec.)

Whenever I come to the East Bay to visit my mom, she knows that I expect Death Row Chicken.  I love to cook and I cook a lot when I’m here because I love having access to a real, modern, non New York kitchen.

But Death Row Chicken is my mother’s domain and maternal responsibility.  I’ll help her peel potatoes and chop garlic, but the rest of it’s up to her.

I don’t cook any meat in my apartment because I keep kosher and I don’t have the room or the patience to deal with two sets of dishes.  It’s easier to just have dairy dishes.  Besides, kosher meat is expensive.  So chicken is an extra special treat.

Still wondering why it’s called Death Row Chicken?  No, it’s not a Greek expression, but good guess.  And no, it has nothing to do with the treatment of chickens. Please don’t go calling any animal rights agencies.

It’s just a result of my morbid mind.

You see, years ago, during a visit to CA, a batch of my mother’s Greek chicken turned out particularly well. “How is it?” she naturally wanted to know.

I took a bite of the moist, flavorful chicken.  “If I were on death row,” I said, “I’d totally request –”

At which point my mother cut me off with her chorus of “G-d forbids” and “Bite your tongues.”  But, eventually her pride began to outweigh her horror at my disturbing comment and she began to laugh. “That’s the ultimate compliment for a chef,” she said.

Hence the name Death Row Chicken.

My mother tells this story to everybody she makes the dish for, and then adds, “The chicken is just like my daughter.  Greek and kosher.”

I love being compared to a chicken.  In fact, I wonder why Shakespeare’s Sonnet 18 doesn’t read, “Shall I compare thee to a chicken?”

Currently, my mother is in the kitchen preparing two Chickens a la Death Row.  One of the chickens is for my Uncle Steve, who you will hear about soon.  Outside, it’s 55 degrees and foggy.  Inside, the heavenly smells of lemons (from our very own lemon tree), oregano (also from the garden) and garlic are filling the kitchen.  The wine is open and ready.

Although it’s sometimes hard to believe, I’m technically an adult.  I’m aware of that.  But it’s so great being home!

We wish we could have you all over to eat with us!  But all I can do is post the recipe and some pictures.

Enjoy!

Click here for the recipe!

Right back where I started from. . .

Yes, I’m starting another post by singing (and no, the title of this post has nothing to do with the O.C. because I’m old enough to know the original song, which I learned from Mrs. Breault in fifth grade).  Sigh. I’m sorry.  The songs are going to keep on coming.  

All the leaves are brown. . .

But, I have good reason.  I’m off to California!  And as you can see, all my bags are packed.  I’m ready to go! (Nothing against Peter, Paul and Mary, but that song is so depressing, don’t you think?  But I digress.)

And yes, the dog is coming.  Wish me luck with that.  His grandmother is more excited about his trip than I am. But she’s not schlepping him 3,000 miles.  Although she has travelled with him, so she gets it.  She also predicts that he’s going to charm the pants off of everybody at JFK with the angelic behavior he uses to fool everybody into thinking he’s actually a good dog.  (He knows that I know it’s all an act.)

I’ll blog from my mom’s house and I definitely promise to post regular updates on RWA Nationals.  (*Waves* to those of you I’m about to meet!)  Super Shuttle is on its way, so I’d better say ciao for now and go put some flowers in my hair.  

P.S.  If I missed any good song reference opportunities in this post, chime in and let me know!  Unless you’re thinking of Beach Boys songs.  I don’t need those going through my head at 4 a.m.  

Thank you Sam and Lani.  It’s been sweet. . .

And I’m Rosie Real!

You’d better believe me, 

I’m a great big deal!

Be-LEEEE-ve me!

O.k. sorry, I’m done.  I was just busy having a blast from the past.  I’ll stop singing now.  Thanks for your patience.

Anyway, so I have been deep into revisions of the oh-so-sappy Daphna In The Rough and my brain is fried. I was all up night worried about it.  (I mean my book, not my brain.  My brain I’ll worry about tonight.)  In an attempt to wake and cheer myself up, I decided to have a little fun with YouTube, and found my old friend Rosie.  

Rosie and I go way back.  I’ll confess that when I was a kid, I used to put on a pink feather boa and a big hat and sing along to the record (yes, I’m that old).  Then, when I taught elementary school, the Nutshell Library and Really Rosie soundtrack had a huge presence in my classroom.

Learning the months of the year?  Easy!  

Oh my once, on my twice, oh my oh Chicken Soup With Rice:

And any student who dared to say, “I don’t care!” had to hear me sing/read this:

Ah, I wish Carole King sang more children’s music.

And with that, I’ll end this trip down memory lane and get back to edits.  Must be done before RWA Nationals.  

Wish me luck!  

Happy Fourth of July!

Hello Everybody!

I hope you’re all having a lovely holiday weekend.  Me, I’m just at home.  The rain is making me sleepy.

So.  I took this firework themed personality test, and the results cracked me up.  Read on:

Ha!

Not intense and passionate?  Hello, I’m a writer!  More importantly, I’m Greek.  Smiling to myself?  Please. More like clenching my jaw. Life full of things to be happy about?  Well, that may be true, but isn’t complaining way more fun?  

But the easily excited part is actually true.  Sometimes, believe it or not, I’m surprisingly easy to please.  For example, plugins and widgets have been known to provide me with at least a week’s worth of endorphins.

But enough about me.

Whatever you’re doing today, enjoy!

And if you have a moment, you can take the test for yourself:  The Fireworks Test

Oh, and in other news, you can now follow me on Twitter.

How about you?

No offense to the cast of Babes on Broadway, but well, quite frankly, I’d have to go with. . .no.  A very emphatic no.

You see, New York in June looks something like this:

or this:

Don’t let the gloominess fool you.  It’s hot.  

Warning:  I’m about to complain.  A lot.  I was raised to believe that to kvetch is human, and to kvetch well is an art.  But don’t worry.  I’m going to make an honest effort to put a positive spin on this whole very wet, very sticky situation.  Those of you who know me are thinking that being positive might make my head explode.  You’re right.  It could.  But just for all of you, I’m going to do my best to stay on the sunny side.

Ready?  O.k.

Complaint # 1:  It’s hot, and when I’m outside it feels like I’ve been thrown into a working dryer.

Positive Spin #1:  Hey, I don’t have to iron!  I can just pin a dryer sheet to my clothes and be done with it. Plus, the dryer sheet will guard against static cling, thus preventing me from sticking to sweaty, wet New Yorkers.

Complaint #2:  Walking the dog in this weather really sucks.

Positive Spin #2:  I don’t have to feel guilty for not walking him more, and the rain gives him something interesting to look at:

Besides, he looks absolutely adorable in his raincoat:

Complaint #3:  My hair is a frizzy mess.  (And there we have the understatement of the year.)

Positive Spin #3:  I don’t have to worry about doing anything special with my hair.  No matter what I do it’ll end up looking like a warped piece of modern art anyway.  So I can just tie it in a knot and forget about it.

Complaint #4:  All the storm watch stuff on the news is driving me up the wall.

Positive Spin #4:  I’m learning all about meteorology!  Well, that’s not totally positive, since I’m still confused about the difference between scattered and isolated thunder storms.  (Hey, I tried.)

You might be wondering if all that positive talk has made me rethink my take on New York in June.  

Well, no, I’m sorry to report that it hasn’t.  Now that I’ve been all bright and cheery on this oh so dreary day, it’s time for me to take some Aspirin and go back to my old ways.  

I’ll leave you with this thought: New York in July and August will probably be even worse than this.  

Wait.  Scratch that.  It would be very mean to leave you with that thought.  So instead, I’ll leave you with a video of Judy Garland singing the song I just so mercilessly mocked.