What I'm Reading Now--Blood, Bones & Butter: The Inadvertent Educaion of a Reluctant Chef

Blood, Bones & Butter: The Inadvertent Education of a Reluctant Chef by Gabrielle Hamilton--I think I first heard about this book over at Books On The Nightstand. Michael loved it (his review starts at 18:02), and I'm sure I heard or read other good things about it, but every time I thought about adding it to my TBR list, I'd hesitate--I wasn't quite sure if it was something I'd be interested in or not. Well, I finally saw it on display at my library one day and figured I'd check it out. I'm so glad I did--I loved it!

Hamilton is the owner/chef of the restaurant Prune, in New York City, and the book's title pretty much says it all. She never really set out to become a chef, but, in one way or another, she's been training for it for most of her life. The book is broken up into three sections--"Blood," "Bones," and "Butter"--and each has a very different feel.

To break it down roughly, "Blood" is about Hamilton's childhood, who she is, what's in her blood; although she takes a turn toward the dark, depressed delinquent teenager eventually, I love the nostalgic sense of family that she portrays early on. Her father was a set designer for the Ringling Bros. and Barnum and Bailey Circus and "[p]rying back the lid on a fifty-gallon barrel of silver glitter--the kind of barrel that took two men and a hand truck to wheel into the paint supply room of the shop--and then shoving your hands down into it up to your elbows is an experience that will secure the idea in your heart for the rest of your life that your dad is, himself, the greatest show on earth."(p.9) Michael said that he often found himself with a big smile on his face while reading this book, and I felt the same way, especially during this part.

"Bones" is about Hamilton's adult journey to becoming a restaurateur (and includes, among other things, what I think is a highly useful take on balancing family and work life.) The magical childhood has, sadly, lost most of its magic, but we start to see other influences in her life. Although she doesn't realize it at the time, Hamilton's travels abroad are preparing her for her future position as a supplier of food, comfort, warmth, and welcome. Also, there is a great/horrific story about a rat. If you have ever thought about opening a restaurant because it would be "fun" you should read this book. There is a lot of blood, sweat, and tears involved in getting a restaurant up and running and keeping it going every. single. day. If you don't think you have to be tough to open up and run a restaurant, think again.

"Butter" is largely about summers spent in Italy, cooking in the kitchen with her Italian mother-in-law, a woman who does not speak a word of English, but speaks the language of cooking and family and love. This comes back to family again, but with another feel yet again, this time with a realization of things that are slipping away.

I mentioned that I first heard about this from Michael over at Books on the Nightstand, but Michael mentioned it again (review begins at 20:52) when it came out in paperback...with a new chapter! Dang-I read the hardback; I would totally like to get my hands on the paperback because I definitely wanted some follow-up on a few things.

If you have reviewed this book, let me know, and I'd be happy to link to your review. I'd like to hear what other books have inspired people to cook. Books like this make me think, Yeah, I could do that! I could totally make my own pasta and use eggs to make things rich and savory instead of icky and egg-tasting. I'm going to start growing all my own vegetables and plant olive trees and become familiar with an actual butcher and raise chickens and stuff!

And finally, you know how I love my coincidental literature bits, and I have some for this book. Not too long after I finished reading this, I was on line looking for information about my tomatoes that were turning black (blossom end rot, as it turns out), and I found Keavy's 10 pound of onions blog where she talks about cooking all kinds of wonderful looking things (things that look like they have been inspired by Gabrielle Hamilton), and I saw an entry that started out with "Bill and I went to Prune today" and I thought, Hey! That was inspired by Gabrielle Hamilton! Then I clicked around on her blog a little more and found a recent post that starts out, "I've been obsessively reading Blood Bones and Butter by Gabrielle Hamilton of Prune for the last week." Hey! Me too! Well, mine was a month ago, but still. Also, I don't really do eggs, but after reading this book, Eggs Poached in Tomato Sauce is the kind of thing I might get brave and try one of these days.

What I'm Reading Now-Mycelium Running: How Mushrooms Can Help Save the World (part I)

Mycelium Running: How Mushrooms Can Help Save the World by Paul Stamets--Okay, so I have to start out with a couple disclaimers: 1) I started this book about a year ago and never finished it, BUT I've been dying to talk about it since I finished had to turn it back in to the library. I even went so far as to buy my own copy since the library only has three copies and the wait list for it was always ridiculous...but I never got around to picking it back up. The point is, don't let the fact that I didn't finish it make you think it's not worth picking up. It totally is! 2) This post is all mostly lead-up to the actual book review which is in a separate post. So if you just want to skip all the interesting weirdness that is this post, be my guest, but I think you'll be missing out.

So, why have I finally decided to talk about this book? Well, mostly because of the pile of ants that were swarming my hair clip on my bathroom counter tonight. "Eh?" you say? Oh, sorry, "Ew," you say? Well, yeah. This has actually happened a few times over the last several years now. The first time was when we owned an ice cream store and I thought perhaps I had accidentally gotten some ice cream on my hair clip while I was hunched up on the top shelf of our walk-in cooler trying to de-ice the back of our condenser unit with a blow torch. (Yeah, that happened...frequently.) Aaaanyway, the ant swarms continue to this day even though we sold the store several years ago, so I have discarded the ice-cream-on-my-hair-clip theory and moved toward the theory that the ants are mining the rubber that makes up the grippy surface on the inside of the hair clips because it's petroleum-based. Obvs.

*crickets*

OK, first, watch this TED talk by the author, Paul Stamets. This is what made me seek out the book in the first place. I know it's 18 minutes, but it's an interesting 18 minutes. Mushrooms can do amazing things! (If you really don't want to sit through all 18 minutes, then skip ahead to 7:32 and watch until 9:40). That was the part that intrigued me the most and made me want to learn more.

OK, so you saw how the mushrooms ate up the oil, right? You may also know that ants are somewhat famous for being fungi farmers.  So, what I'm thinking is that the ants have figured out that there is this petroleum-based product that they can harvest and use to grow some kind of fungus. Makes sense, right? By the way, they don't only go after my hair clips. I've also seen them tear up surgical tubing and various types of seals on containers. It doesn't happen slowly over time either; it's not like I have to shake a pile of ants off my hair clips every time I go to use them. (Ick!) They (my hair clips) will exist on my bathroom counter or my nightstand, in my purse or on the desk next to my keyboard, in and out of my hair, unmolested for months, maybe even years, and then one day, BOOM! Hair-clip-shaped pile of ants! The only thing I can figure is that the rubber breaks down to a certain point where it suddenly becomes the perfect fungus-starter and the ants move in to take advantage. 

So: Ants mining rubber to grow fungus. That wasn't in the book (at least not in the parts that I read), and I think I might be onto something here. Maybe Paul Stamets will do some studies on this and get back to me! 

OK, so feel free to take a break here, or move on to part II, wherein I actually talk a little bit about the book. 

Freedom!

Today is the one-year anniversary of the day that we sold our Cold Stone Creamery store and got our lives back, so I figured today would be a good day for this post.

While we were in the store, I knew that I hated it and I knew that I wasn't happy and I knew that it was sucking away my will to live and making me wish for things one normally doesn't wish for like sink holes, tornadoes, and lightning strikes.  That said, I still didn't really realize how unhappy I was and how much other people were perceiving it until a picture of me imitating a plant made my cousin cry.  

What?  The progression isn't intuitive?  Let me explain.

My husband took these picture of me in Australia back in July.  

(Yeah, I'm not afraid to make a fool of myself on camera.)

We were at the Royal Botanic Gardens & Domain, and I saw this plant and thought I could do a funny imitation of it.  Well, we took the pictures, and I'm fairly happy with them, even though you can't totally see what a really great imitation I am doing of the scrunched up leaf because I am sort of hidden behind the other leaf.  Anyway, other than having some fun with these pictures, I didn't really think too much of them.  

After returning from our trip, I put the pictures on line and sent out invitations for people to view them.  My cousin called me later and said she got all choked up looking at the picture of me imitating the plant because it was so nice to see me looking that happy.  That, of course, got me all choked up because, well, I cry at just about anything (but usually in a good way!).  

I've briefly mentioned the misery that was our Cold Stone Experience a few times in this blog, and you may be wondering what, exactly, happened?  Well, I'm probably never going to go into any detail for various reasons.  Suffice it to say that owning a Cold Stone Creamery franchise was the worst experience we've ever had, and we learned many painful lessons along the way.  It sucked away our will to live every single day for the year-and-a-half that we owned it.  We're still not Done with the Cold Stone fiasco, but at least we don't have to walk into hell every morning and set a pile of money on fire.  

My cousin captured our sentiments best with the Congratulations card she made for us upon the sale of our store.  The front has a picture of Mel Gibson in Braveheart attire with "FREEDOM!" written underneath it.  Inside it says, "Because they don't make cards that say:  'Congratulations on getting out of that stinking shithole.'  Congratulations on having your lives back!"  

So, apparently it took me about 10 months, but I finally made it back to Happy.  And that's a good place to be.

You may be wondering if there is a silver lining to this experience.  It's taken a while, but on our recent trip to California and Oregon I think I finally figured out what the silver lining is.  Through our Cold Stone training and our local Cold Stone community, we have met some of the nicest people ever (I'm talking about franchisees here, not corporate folks, although some of them were very nice too).  There are our friends in Oregon who had to close the doors on their store and walk away.  There are our friends in California who sold their stores for roughly half what they paid for them.  There are our friends in Pennsylvania who had to close the doors and walk away from their store.  There's our friend in Texas who had to declare bankruptcy, and there are our friends in Georgia who have managed to keep their doors open but have never actually had to pay anything toward the purchase of their store.  So, while it sucks that we're all in financial ruin or close to it, I do feel sincerely blessed to have all these people in our lives-they really are some of the nicest people I know.      

(Also, I didn't realize it at the time, but the plant pictures make a pretty good "during" and "after" representation of our Cold Stone ownership experience.)      

Las Vegas

When people find out that you live in Hawaii, they always ask, "Where do you go to vacation if you LIVE in Hawaii??" Fair enough. The answer is Vegas. Seriously. Vegas is where people go to vacation when they live in Hawaii. There's no gambling in Hawaii (okay, there's no LEGAL gambling in Hawaii) and there's a serious shortage of quality entertainment out here that isn't Hawaiian-themed, so Vegas has that going for it-gambling and quality productions. Other than that, I am seriously missing the draw. 107 degrees is just too damn hot, dry heat or not. The entire freakin' city smells like an old ashtray, and our time share presentation lasted THREE HOURS. Oh, did I not mention that this is how we got suckered in to Vegas in the first place?

We initially had a trip to Oregon planned where we were going to participate in Tree Climbing Northwest's Tree Week. Since Hubby is a Hilton HHonors member, we received a call from the Hilton folks telling us about a Great Property! they have in Vegas called the Hilton Grand Vacations Club and asking us if we would like to receive some discounted rates, gambling money, and free food to come and listen to one of their spiels. Hubby and I have done the time share spiels before and knew that we could endure sitting through one AND not fall prey to their tactics. We are nothing if not jaded after our Cold Stone fiasco (thanks, Cold Stone!). We can say no to practically anything now, no matter how good a deal it might actually be!

Anyway, we decided to tack on the Vegas trip, catch a show while we were there, drive over to L.A. to see some good friends, and then drive up to Portland. Bad idea. Vegas was so not meant to happen on this trip. First of all, the Hilton Grand Vacations Club is at the far end of the strip, so if you're idiots like us and decide to walk down and check things out at noon when it's 107 degrees out, you will be miserable by the time you get anywhere. Second, as we were packing our things, preparing to go to the airport I noticed what felt like a bladder infection setting in. Awesome. There's nothing like long hours on an airplane, being outside of your primary care...jurisdiction or whatever, and a four-day road trip to make a bladder infection even more exciting!

So, on to the good stuff, but first our itinerary, as it appeared in my head:

Saturday night-Catch red-eye flight to Vegas
Sunday-Arrive Vegas, walk around, check things out, try not to fall asleep immediately upon landing so as not to screw up internal clock too badly. Chill.
Monday-Sit through time share presentation, enjoy remainder of afternoon, go see "O", for which tickets had been purchased far in advance and for a lot of money.
Tuesday morning-Drive out of Vegas.

Saturday and Sunday pretty much went as planned. On Monday, we made it through the THREE HOUR time share presentation (it was only supposed to be two) and managed not to buy anything. Incidentally, Hubby no longer stays in Hiltons when he travels because every time he does, they don't have any hot water when he shows up, and after 20 or so hours in the air, this tends to piss him off. After that, we walked around for a while and then went over to the Bellagio to pick up our tickets for the show that night. This is the part where the Lady Behind The Counter (the LBTC) informs us that "O" doesn't show on Monday nights. Oh no. Oh no,no,no,no,no. Please don't tell me the tickets were for last night. The tickets were for last night. F&*#$#! She politely tells us that even though the missing of the show was through no fault of their own, they would be happy to honor the tickets the next time we are in town. The last time Hubby was in town was 20 years ago. The last time I was in town was January, 2007, but that was for a mandatory work conference. Before that, 1993. The show was the main reason we decided to take advantage of the Hilton offer in the first place. We don't go to Vegas, and honestly have no interest in ever going back again...except maybe to catch another show. After listening to all of this, the LBTC kindly conferenced with her supervisor again and informed us that, although it is not their normal policy, they would go ahead and refund the money for us. So, thank you to Natalee, the kind LBTC who decided to help out a couple of schmucks who couldn't remember what night of their 2-night stay was scheduled for fun and entertainment.

Tickets for "Mystere" were still available for that night, so we got them instead. The seats were actually pretty good, and we got a really good military discount, so it worked out ok as far as that goes. The show was good...but I had a hard time enjoying it because A) the bladder infection which had never completely set in, yet had never completely gone away either, made it hard to sit still and enjoy a show, and B)when I could no longer sit still and had to get up and go to the bathroom, I realized that my ID and credit card were not in my back pocket, like I thought they were. So, the first half of the show was spent in physical discomfort, and the second half was spent in mental and physical discomfort. We could have left the show to deal with the missing items issue, but I figured A) there was a chance that everything was still in our hotel, B)if anyone had stolen it with bad intentions, they were already doing damage-we might as well enjoy the show, and C) if someone had found it and turned it in, then it was safe and would continue to be safe until after the show. Turns out everything was sitting on our bed, right where I had left them when I took them out of my other pockets right before we left for the show. Phew!

Since we were setting out on a four-day road trip the next day, and my bladder infection was still lingering, we decided we should deal with it now, and that's how we ended up at the Las Vegas Emergency Room at 2:00 in the morning. The triage nurse who checked me in and got me set up to see the doctor was great, but after that, things went downhill. As I sat in my gown behind my curtain, waiting for the doctor, they wheeled a patient in to the bed next door to me. Apparently, the patient, whom I will call J, had tried to kill himself by stabbing himself with a shard of glass. Some people saw him and called the police. J was pretty out of it-I'm not sure if he was drunk or on drugs or had just lost a lot of blood. This is all sad and disturbing, but the worst part was the conversation that the doctor had with him, which went like this:

Doctor: J? J? Are you suicidal, J?
J: (Incoherent response)
Doctor: Have you tried to kill yourself before?
J: (Incoherent response)
Doctor: You almost succeeded. There's a lot of blood. You'll have to try again, J.

Now, I understand that as an ER doctor, you probably see a lot of attempted suicides, and I understand how you could become a bit jaded; and, granted, I've never been to medical school, but I'm fairly certain that there is something ethically awry in telling a suicide survivor that he is going to have to try again because he failed this time.

After that disturbing little exchange one of the nurses came in to give me my cipro. I said, "Isn't that pretty hard-core; don't they give that to people before they go into the jungles of Borneo or something?" and she said something to the effect that it's pretty broad-spectrum but fairly gentle, so it should't make me nauseous or anything. Then she told me, "It's also good for STDs. I just thought you'd be interested in knowing that." Um...okay. Look, I know it's 2AM and I am in a Vegas ER with a bladder infection, but could you not imply that I'm a whore or that my husband, who is outside in the waitng room, has been sleeping around and has brought something home? Geez, lady. I'm on vacation here.

After I got my clothes and my dignity back on, we went outside to wait for a cab. As we were waiting, we heard a lady on the other side of the waiting area having a very heated phone discussion with someone about the treatment of her son. I'm not sure what the person had done, but nobody was to treat her baby that way, and she spared no cuss words in making sure that her point was understood. Hubby asked me if I wanted to go back inside. The onslaught of cussing was offensive, but I really didn't feel like going back inside, so we waited it out. As we got in the cab, I finally looked over at the angry, cussing woman, just to see. I didn't want to make eye contact while we were waiting for the cab, but now that we were safely ensconsed in a metal shell, I figured it was ok to look.

Me: She's not on the phone???
Hubby: No
Me: Jesus, I thought she was yelling at someone on the phone.
Hubby: Nope. She's nuts. That's why I asked you if you wanted to go back inside.
Me: Well, I didn't know she was crazy. I just thought she was on the phone!
Hubby: Nope. Not on the phone.
Me: Why didn't you tell me?
Hubby: I thought you knew.

---

And so ends our adventure in Vegas. Leaving Las Vegas never sounded so appealing.

How to Dismantle the Ultimate Experience

I was driving home tonight, listening to my Rattle and Hum CD, and I decided it was time to write this post. So, here goes.

Okay, so it may seem a bit late to be posting a review of U2's Vertigo Tour concert I went to in December...2006, but this isn't so much a review of the concert itself (you can find plenty of those on line) as of the feeling of perfection that existed for a few brief hours a year-and-a-half ago. Go back in time with me, if you will.

November, 2005: Tickets go on sale for U2's Honolulu show, which is scheduled for April, 2006. Tickets go on sale at 9:00AM, and I am sitting at my computer by 8:45, just waiting for Ticketmaster sales to begin. Anybody who knows me knows that this is impressive. By 9:02 I have my tickets. $55 for general admission!

March, 2006: My husband and I have just made the worst decision of our lives to date and have decided to purchase a Cold Stone Creamery. We are in Arizona for our franchisee training. At this point, we expect to be taking over our store by April 1, and we know things will be crazy, but somehow I will find a way to see U2. It is announced that U2's Honolulu show has been cancelled. They are considering November or December for a reschedule, details to follow.

This is a drag. Not only am I not going to get to go see U2 in April, but now I have to wait until November or December. On the plus side, by November, we will have been in our store for a while, it will be winter, so business will be slower (yes, even in Hawaii), and we will have a better handle on everything. All in all, it should be a much better time to try to take time off for a concert. As time goes by, we hear rumors that the show was cancelled due to an illness in one of the band member's families. While I genuinely hope that this situation improves for the sake of said band member and his family, I can't help but feel that this might not bode well for a reschedule. I'm not proud of this, but there it is.

May 26, 2006: We FINALLY take possession of our store. We have jumped in on the Friday of Memorial Day weekend, summer is in high gear, all sorts of new programs are rolling out, we don't know what the hell we're doing, and we're short-staffed. So begins our journey into hell.

July 21, 2006: U2 has announced their new Honolulu tour date of December 9th! Pearl Jam has been added to the ticket as well. Nice. At some point, a second show is added due to popular demand. Meanwhile, we are up to our armpits in alligators trying to get our feet under us in the store.

October, 2006: My little sister and her boyfriend pack up their lives and move out here, from the mainland, to help us with the store. The day they arrive we have to tell them that we may be facing bankruptcy. The store is losing money fast and is secured, in part, by our home. Welcome to Hawaii kids! It's a great place to be homeless!

December, 2006: The only bright spot in my future right now is the U2 concert. I hate the store. I am devoting my life to running a business that will very likely cause us to lose our home. I have dragged my little sister out here and thrown her into a crap situation. I would be better off going into the store every morning, lighting a big pile of money on fire, locking everything back up and going home to relax for the day. At least I wouldn't be incurring food and labor expenses.

December 9, 2006: Come hell or high water, I am going to see U2 tonight! I don't care if I have to close the store and face all kinds of possible fines and trouble from corporate. The store has taken away our will to live; it has taken all the joy out of our day-to-day lives. I cringe every time my phone rings. I'll be damned if it's going to ruin U2 too. This is the one thing that I have had to look forward to for the last year.

Just as I suspected, my shift leader calls in sick for the night. We manage to scramble and bribe one of my other shift leaders to come over and close up the store after she gets off work at her other job. Phew! Crisis averted!

My husband and I are going to the concert with my cousin and her husband. We are worried that parking is going to be horrendous. We have general admission seats, which means on the floor of Aloha Stadium. We are afraid that it is going to be a claustrophobic nightmare. Well, they are worried about these things. I don't care. My main concern is that these things don't ruin it for them because I don't want someone else's bad vibe to ruin my night. I am going to enjoy myself, dammit, and you'd better not put a damper on this for me. I've been looking forward to this FOR OVER A YEAR NOW AND IT'S THE ONLY FORESEEABLE SHOT AT HAPPINESS THAT I CURRENTLY HAVE!

We get there about 3 hours before the concert. Parking's a breeze. Security is no problem. Well, not a big enough problem to ruin our night, anyway. We get beers and sit down at a table by the entrance where we can do some good people watching. We continue sitting and drinking through the opening band. Pearl Jam takes the stage, and we decide we should make our way onto the floor. We steel ourselves for the tight-knit, drunken mass that we know we are about to enter. We make our way to the floor where we have PLENTY OF ROOM. Sure, if you want to fight your way up to try to get by the stage you can, but really, what's the point? I'm pretty sure Bono's not going to pick me to come up on stage with him anyway. We're happy where we are, around the 50-yard line. We can see everything on the giant screens, we have room to move around, and we don't have to go all the way up the field to get back to the bathrooms or the beer.

Pearl Jam put on a great show, but I'm not here to see them. I'm here to see U2. Please tell me that they are, in fact, somewhere backstage.

After Pearl Jam, the stage goes dark in preparation for U2. At this point, I am still not sure that I am going to get to see U2. I'm so used to every bit of happiness I experience being cut short by the store that I'm not going to believe it until it happens. I'm still waiting for some guy to come on stage and say, "I'm sorry, folks, but U2 isn't going to be able to perform tonight. You'll all have to go home now." Then I would have to go home disappointed AND witness some guy getting torn apart by an angry mob.

A ticker starts running across the top of the giant screens showing all of the Vertigo tour dates so far. "#131 Honolulu" rolls across the screen. This is the final show of their tour. It's been a rough road, but they've made it. It's been a long wait, but we've made it. We've all made it! We're all here! Everybody is cheering. And then the opening notes of "City of Blinding Lights" start floating out over the audience and everybody goes insane. I'm jumping up and down cheering, yelling, rejoicing, tears streaming down my face. Oh my God! They're really here! I hear The Edge! He's actually ON STAGE, PLAYING MUSIC! You have no idea how relieved I am at this moment! I didn't want to have to watch a guy get torn apart by an angry mob. This is the first time I've been happy-really, honest-to-God happy-in about 4 months (and it's about the last time I will remember experiencing joy until almost a year later when we sell the store. Thanks, Cold Stone!). This is the best possible way this moment could have gone.

I have the play list from this concert on my iPod, and every time I hear the intro to "City of Blinding Lights" I throw my hands in the air (open palms, wiggly fingers, like jazz-hands, but more relaxed) and cheer (concert cheering, like for The Beatles, not sports cheering. There's a difference). When I am driving I only do it for a second and only when it is safe to do so. Don't tell my mom, she'll have a heart attack.

But I digress. Everything about this concert was perfect. It was just good. I know that sounds a bit anticlimactic after all I've just said, but I mean good as in "good vs. evil" or "all the goodness in the world" type good. The band was amazing, the crowd was happy, the vibe was good. The set was perfect.

U2 has a large body of work, and to pare it down to a concert-sized play list, I absolutely could not have asked for a better set. "City of Blinding Lights" was the perfect way to open the show. I had thought that they might open with something really powerful and high energy like "Vertigo," something to really get the crowd going,and I thought that was exactly what I wanted; but after such a long wait and so much trepidation and being mired down in the mental and emotional exhaustion that we were in, "City" was the perfect opening. It just trickled out over the crowd and said, "Hey. It's all ok. You can relax and have fun now. Now let's do this," and everybody was so ready to take that journey. "Oh, you look so beautiful tonight!" They were singing to us. We were singing to them, and truer words had never been drunkenly sung. It's a deceptively mellow song. Just to listen to it, you wouldn't think of it as being something with which to kick off a concert, but therein lies its beauty. It set the perfect tone. It has such a clarity and simplicity to it, an uplifting, life-affirming feeling that I can't even explain. It starts out quiet and builds to this joyful crescendo that the crowd can't help but become a part of. It allows for a sense of hopefulness, that everything might still be ok. And it was, just like the music had promised. For a few hours in December, everything was ok. Perfect, in fact.

There were 2 songs that I had hoped to hear but wasn't counting on since they are, to my mind at least, a bit obscure as far as U2 tunes go. I got to hear both "Angel of Harlem" and "Who's Gonna Ride Your Wild Horses". At the end of the show, Billy Joe Armstrong joined the band on stage for a rocking version of Saints Are Coming. Eddie Vedder and Mick McCready joined U2 for their version of "Rockin' in the Free World."

The whole experience was just good.

Even the porta-potties were good! I kid you not! The majority of the crowd had to trudge all the way back up the aisle and halfway around the stadium to use its permanent facilities, but for a privileged few down on the floor, they had the cleanest most efficiently-attended, easy-to-get-to porta-potties I have ever seen. There were attendants who would hold your drink or your sweater while you were in there. I don't think this was their job, but when all of us drunkenly handed over these items, they were kind enough to hold onto them for us. When we came out, they had wet wipes available for us so that we could "wash" our hands and they handed back our belongings which, due to the generosity of the attendants had not been thrown into a heap on the ground or given away to some other foolish drunk. When even the porta-potty experience is good, you know you have experienced a rare moment of grace!

Stop Wasting Time Reading Blogs and Buy Your Mother a Gift! (But not before you finish reading this.)

Okay, first of all, for those of you who haven't been paying attention, Mother's Day is this Sunday, May 11. Slackers. That means if you haven't already figured something out, you are running out of time (and are a big, giant slacker). I have a couple of ideas that might help keep your butt out of a sling. These are gifts that still say, "I put some thought into this," and may even excuse you for a belated gift, and they are affordable without being cheap. Nobody wants the cheap kid on Mother's Day.

1) Chocolates that will make her cry. I'm not talking about a box of chocolates that you ran out and bought at Long's Drugs or Walgreens on Saturday night when you stopped to pick up some Aspirin and Cheetos on the way home. I'm talking about organic chocolates made with dark sugar, cane rum and island bananas or how about Equadorian dark chocolate and filled with a mix of plum wine and plum puree? No? Mom needs a little more kick to her chocolates? How about a dark chocolate ganache with Tullamore Dew Whiskey? Oh, now YOU'RE interested. I see how you are. Go ahead and order a box for yourself while you're at it.

I ordered some of these as gifts for Christmas in 2006. I'd never tasted them before, but they sounded wonderful, and I ordered A LOT. I owned a Cold Stone and thought these would make nice gifts for my employees. The day they arrived, I had been in the store for about 9 or 10 hours, hadn't eaten anything all day, and was trying to decide whether to grab something to eat before my hour drive home or not. Instead, I opened up my box of chocolates to inspect everything. Along with my order, Lesley, the owner, had included a little sampler pack. You have no idea how happy this made me! I grabbed those suckers and headed out to my car. I don't remember which flavors she sent me, but I was having a hard time deciding which one to try. Whichever one it was, it was SO GOOD I STARTED CRYING. I know this may not seem very impressive, given my previous disclaimers about how everything makes me cry, but food has never been one of those things. Seriously, they were that good!

Now, it could be that I hadn't eaten anything all day, or it could have been the relief that I hadn't just spent hundreds of dollars on a sub-par product, or it could have been that after being in the store all day, these were the only bit of joy that were available to me, but these chocolates held up. I did include a box for myself in my order, and every time I'd eat one, I'd get a little teary-eyed. Oh, AND they lasted. I can usually devour a box of chocolates all by myself in one or two sittings, but I would eat one or two of these, be totally satisfied, and be able to put them away until the next day because even someone like me can't eat that much goodness all at once.

So go visit the Life Is Sweet web site and pick out a nice collection of chocolates for Mom. You can go to their Artisanal Chocolate Flavor List to see descriptions of all the different flavors. There are several different collections available, AND Lesley donates part of her proceeds to support various fabulous charities. Mom will understand if her gift is a little late when she finds out you took the time to order a box of artisan chocolates for her and that in doing so, you made a donation to a good cause on her behalf. It just might make her cry. And if the chocolates don't make her cry, take them away from her and send them to me because, clearly, your mother has no soul and does not deserve chocolates this good. (One disclaimer: If you are ordering close to a holiday, they may be out of certain flavors, so you might not get all of the flavors that are listed in a collection, but Lesley and her crew will do their best to give you a good sampling of what they've got. If you find a particular confection that you are really set on, you might want to call and ask about it's availability. This could actually work in your favor-"Mom, I'm sorry your gift is late, but the hand-crafted organic chocolate collection that I ordered for you is still being made. They were out of the saffron-infused cream and Moroccan mint when I called, and I wanted to make sure those were included in your order.") Can you feel the tears coming to her eyes?

2) Hand-made jewelry. You can go to any Kay Jewelers or Zales and find Mom some diamond-studded ring or pendant that 8,000 other last-minute shoppers will be buying for their mothers too. Not that these aren't lovely, I'm sure, but come on. Get Mom something that doesn't scream out, "Oh @$^*! I forgot to get you something for Mother's Day, so I picked this up at the mall! Sorry about the Cheeto dust on the box."

Have something hand-made or even custom-designed. Julie at Silversmyth creates hand-made jewelry at reasonable prices. She makes these cool little box pendants that would be perfect for Mom. Not only is it a unique piece of jewelry, but there's room inside for a little note or a tiny picture of her kids or grandkids (your mom's kids, not Julie's, although I'm sure her kid's picture would fit in there as well). She also makes earrings, bracelets, rings, and chains, all the stuff you'd expect a jeweler to do. You can order off her web site or call her to discuss an idea for something original. Again, you might not be able to get this by Mother's Day, but if you tell Mom her gift is going to be delayed because the artist is still working on her original design, she'll probably cut you some slack; and if she doesn't, confiscate the gift when it arrives and send it to me because, clearly, your mother has no soul and does not deserve a beautiful piece of custom, hand-made jewelry.

3) Hand-crafted chocolates AND custom jewelry. You might want to reserve this for if you've REALLY screwed up bad recently or if you just have a really great mom and you want to let her know. Awwwwww!

I like these gifts for a couple of reasons. For one thing, I'm actually not big on consumerism (all evidence above to the contrary), but I believe in spending money on quality things that you really like. If you're going to buy chocolates, buy good chocolates and help out a worthy cause while you're at it. If you are going to buy jewelry, buy something thoughtful and unique that the recipient will love for both its beauty and the meaning behind it. Most people I know don't need more stuff. Raise your hand if you know someone who NEEDS another trinket to put on her bookshelf or another "World's Best Mom" coffee mug. Chocolates are consumable and jewelry allows you options-you can wear it or not, and you don't have to figure out what to do with it.

And finally, remember that you don't have to just celebrate YOUR mom on Mother's Day. Stepmoms, friends who are new moms, the mother of your child (AHEM! Guys, pay attention!), grandmas, aunts, or anyone else who has been like a mom to you. I'm not saying that you have to go out and buy stuff for all these people, but at least acknowledge them with a call or a visit to say thanks for being in my life.