Growing up Italian American: My Grandmother's Wooden Spoon

I grew up in an Italian American household. My dad is half Italian and half Sicilian, and my mom.... she's not Italian at all but she sure tries hard to make food that reminds my dad of home. My dad's mother on the other hand, my grandmother, grew up in Brooklyn and is VERY Italian. And if you know anything about Italian matrons, you know that they hate it when anyone is in their kitchen while they're cooking. My cousins and I used to make a game of seeing how long it would take before our grandmother would chase us out of the kitchen with her wooden spoon and a string of Italian profanity.

"Esci dalla mia cucina! Poco bastardi!" And that's mild. VERY MILD.

If you grew up Italian American then your ass and your mother/grandmother/aunt's wooden spoon are well acquainted.

As a child, I realized quickly that even my father and grandfather were not immune from my grandmother's wrath when she was cooking.

Part of the reason why Italian women do not want you in the kitchen while they're cooking is because they usually cook in very small spaces. It's dangerous to have more than one person in the kitchen at a time. Honestly, I have utilized this tactic a couple of times.

Another reason is that you might mess something up. If you have been recruited to "help" in the kitchen, be careful. "Don't rinse the pasta! You're cutting the cheese wrong! You'll burn the sauce if you stir it like that! ESCI DALLA MIA CUCINA!" Honestly, don't help. As terrible as that sounds. An Italian woman being on her feet all day, cooking a meal for her family, allows her to show how much she loves you. It also gives her something to complain about. And if you tried to help and you messed it up, you're gonna hear about it for the next ten years.

And finally, and this is a big one, keeping you out of her kitchen keeps you from "grazing" and spoiling you appetite. My dad is horribly guilty of this. When my mother or grandmother cooks, he gets in the way and grazes. If my grandmother is slicing mozzarella cheese and she turns away from it for a moment, my dad swoops in and starts eating the cheese. Even the dog did this. My grandmother used to have a white German shepherd who did the same thing. She stole cheese off the counter. This called for a "DAMN YOU STAR" while my grandmother chased her from the kitchen with a wooden spoon. "DAMN YOU STAR! WHAT'S THE MATTER WITH YOU?!"

But seriously, stay out of the kitchen.

Procrastination: I'm doing it!

Why am I writing this blog? Seriously. Why?

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Okay I'll tell you. Grad school is very stressful. I think I've complained about this in nearly every post I've ever put up on this blog. But seriously, it's extremely stressful. I have several large assignments due each week, plus with all of the crap (and I'm putting that nicely) that I have to read, I need some down time. Unfortunately, I have trouble turning off my brain during this down time. 

I noticed the other day that I have been overly educated. My brain makes a million different connections a minute when given one idea. When I think about it, it's kind of like "Wiki races" where you are given a random topic with the goal of reaching another seemingly random topic as fast as you can. For example, I could give you the starting page "fly" (as in the insect) with the goal of reaching the page about Africa. The goal is to get from one to the other as quickly as possible and honestly with those particular topics, it doesn't take long. That's what my brain does. Everyday. All day long. Especially when I try to give it "down time."

I want my brain to shut up sometimes. The other day a news report made my mind go CRRRAAAZZZYYY making historical and literary connections to the point where I was like: SHUT UP BRAIN! BWAH!

Seriously it doesn't stop...

Now what was I posting about again?

Oh yeah, why am I writing this blog:

This blog has become a way for me to get my brain to calm itself down so it can go back to work. It also helps me get my super nerdy ideas out there because I cannot be the only one bothered by this stuff. There are a lot of things that really annoy me making my brain do somersaults. I used to write a journal, but I kind of gave up on that when I realized that it wasn't calming my brain down because no one was reading it. So I decided to write a blog.

This is also a way for me to procrastinate. I'm good at procrastinating, but what's ironic is that I feel like I never get anything done when I do. This blog has helped me get something done while procrastinating. 

One more thing. I have terrible social anxiety. It wasn't so bad when I was an undergrad, but it's gotten really bad now that I'm in a city that I do not know or understand with people who are unfamiliar to me. I am much better back in cow country (and no I am not some hill-billy redneck, I've just grown up in a rural area) but here in Pittsburgh... There are days where my social anxiety is so terrible that I would rather curl up in a corner and read my books all day than go out and have to interact with people. This is really bad for an aspiring librarian who has to be the social center piece of a workplace. It probably stems from being an only child and having much of my early childhood take place where there were not many children around who were my age. I got very good at entertaining myself after a while. But anyway, this gives me a way to "talk" to people without actually TALKING to them. 

Did you hear? I have super powers... okay not really...

So I realized earlier today that I have super powers. Besides having the power of being super spazzy I also have the power to know exactly when the bus is going to come. Okay maybe not exactly... Okay I guess most of the time, but I realized today that I usually walk to the bus stop when I "get a feeling" that the bus is going to come.

I feel like this would be a lot more interesting if I drew pictures about it but I suck at drawing so no.

Anyway, when I got to Pittsburgh being from a mostly rural area, I am not used to taking public transportation for anything. I tried really hard to figure out the bus schedule only to get frustrated and then do this:

Don't care!

(I probably should have been more upset about this. I mean I am getting a Masters Degree and I cannot read a bus schedule... I have a Bachelors Degree and I cannot read a bus schedule.)

I refuse to pick up a bus schedule and I realize that this limits me greatly in places I can go, but if I want to go somewhere I tell my phone where I want to go and it gives me a less than perfect plan on taking the right buses to get there. It usually works out but depending on where I am going, the levels of frustration differ. 

But honestly, I usually only take one bus daily. And I always get this "feeling" when it's going to come. And I have decided that since I am so nerdy that this is a super power. Honestly this is partially from me not missing the bus lately as I walk out of my door. But still I HAVE SUPER POWERS!

Thoughts on Wikipedia

Ever since Wikipedia started showing up in more and more bibliographies in high school and college, teachers and professors alike have been discrediting its authority. Honestly, it has no authority. Allow me to take a few minutes to rage about Wikipedia.

I have a big paper due on Tuesday but as soon as I ran across a scholarly resource that cited Wikipedia, I lost all faith in the assignment said "FUCK THIS SHIT" and spazzed for a little bit. Then I decided to complain here.

Look closely and you shall see that Kim Armstrong directly cited Wikipedia in her work. There are so many things wrong with this. I'm not saying that I want to be able to cite Wikipedia in my papers, but allow me to bitch for a moment. I graduated from high school in 2007 when Wikipedia was just starting its rise to prominence. We had been told over and over again by teachers that we were not allowed to use it in papers without any reasoning against it. When I got to college, however, we were suddenly made aware of the "sudden death" rule. The sudden death rule goes like this: If you are caught using Wikipedia as a source in your papers you will die... Well you won't die but you'll fail this assignment and possibly the class. I had one professor go so far as to tell us that it was cheating and that we would got to Hell. I don't believe in Hell in the religious sense but I believe in Historian and Librarian Hell. I will explain those two concepts later, but first let me explain why Wikipedia is not a credible source for ANYTHING.

Wikipedia contains user-created information. It allows its readers to edit information and while this is revolutionary, it is not credible. My grandma could edit something on Wikipedia. Your idiot neighbor could edit something on Wikipedia. The internet group "Anonymous" often declares war on Wikipedia by choosing a page at random to screw up. Do you seriously want to cite a moron in your paper? No. Let me send you to the following link for an example of why you should not cite Wikipedia: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2010/04/06/the-funniest-acts-of-wiki_n_522077.html#s224977&title=Blood_Libel_Entry

What really bothers me is that this person, Kim Armstrong, was able to publish in a scholarly journal even though she cited Wikipedia. She is a moron. I feel like this not only discredits her but also the journal that agreed to publish her: The Serials Librarian. I'm wondering if anyone else who reads The Serials Librarian has noticed this and has experienced the same rage and disgust for not only the author but also the publication.

Through the years I have realized that using Wikipedia is a cop-out for someone who is too lazy to look further than the first result in their Google search.

Feel free to tell me what you think.

UPDATE: So I was relating my frustrations to a professor who said that another problem with Wikipedia in academia is that since it is user-generated content there are times when it can reinforce general misconceptions about a topic. For example, children are taught the story of George Washington cutting down a cherry tree in elementary school so that they can learn about telling the truth even though the consequences for it may be less that desirable. Well, I feel like most of us know that this story is not true and was only made up to teach young children a lesson. But if someone posts on Wikipedia over and over again that it's true and more and more people reinforce this, then the public may eventually take it as historical fact. This is another problem that I have with the History Channel but that's another story. 

How I lost $30 by trying to take a cab.

I have been living in Pittsburgh for the past two months and while I brought my car with me, I have found that getting around can be quite a hassle. A problem I often run into is catching the bus on time. No matter what I do, I always seem to miss the bus that I want to take. I have tried leaving my apartment earlier and earlier but EVERY SINGLE TIME I walk outside, the bus blows by and I have missed it again. It's enough to make anyone want to punch a panda because then you have to wait 15 minutes to an hour for another bus to come. Sometimes I just start walking in the direction that I want to go and eventually end up catching a different bus but it's usually packed tit to ass and everyone on it has decided to skip deodorant that day. Seriously, it makes me want to punch a panda.

(I like pandas but Y U NO SCREW TO SAVE YOUR SPECIES?! Pisses me off...)

Well, this past weekend gave us the celebration of the most famous Italian known to man: Christopher Columbus. His birthday usually results in a day off from school for me. I love it. And I had not been home in two months so I decided about a month before hand to purchase a bus ticket. The ticket was about $30 and is cheaper than me driving the whole way home on the PA Turnpike. The only problem was getting from where I live in Shadyside to the David L. Lawrence Convention Center at the crack of dawn when the city buses are not running. Yes, I could drive but there's no where to park down there that is (1) safe and (2) a place where my car won't be towed after twelve hours. So the night before I was set to leave I called Yellow Cab and arranged for a cab to pick me up at 5:15am, which would give me plenty of time to get there and catch the bus.

Well at 5:14am as I am walking out the door the cabbie calls me.

Cabbie: Hey I'm here, where are you?
Me: Walking out the door. I'll be right there.
Cabbie: Okay.

So I go outside and go to the curb. No cabbie. I try to call him back three times to no answer. I wait about five minutes before I call the cab company to ask where my cab is. They tell me that they have no clue and that they'll send another.

Around 5:45am I am getting really upset. No cab has come to get me. I call the cab company while staving off an asthma attack and ask them where my cab is. They tell me that they cannot get anyone to take the job and even though I tell them through sobs and chokes of an asthma attack that my bus leaves at 6:20am. They tell me there's nothing they can do. It takes thirty minutes to get downtown and there is no way that I'll make it in time. I do the only thing I know how to do when I am in a crisis: I call my parents.

Me (choking and sobbing): Mom! The cab-- *sob* *gasp*-- never came!
Mom: What do you mean 'it never came'? I thought you made the reservations last night?
Me: *gasp* It never- *choke* showed up.
Mom: Did you call them and ask to send another one?
Me: Yes! *sob* And I'm gonna miss *gasp* my bus! I'll never *sob* make *sob* it!
Mom: Do you have enough gas to make it home?
Me *sucking on inhaler*: You want me to drive now?
Mom: Get in the car and drive home.
Me: Okay.

By this time I was really pissed. And what pissed me off even more was that as soon as I started my car I get a text from Yellow Cab telling me a cab had been dispatched and would arrive soon. It was 6:00am. I said "Fuck that" and started driving home. When I hit the Turnpike, there was nothing that could stop my lead foot adrenaline rush. I was pissed off and I was going home.

My bus ticket was non-refundable even though I did fight with the cab company and the bus company about it. And that's how I lost $30 by trying to take a cab.

That's your idea of a motivational speech?!: Why professors should ALSO think before opening their mouths.

So after a weekend in my home town, I traveled the four hours back to Pittsburgh on Monday to sit down and finish the rest of my homework. Naturally, as a grad student I am constantly feeling overwhelmed. I swear that I have aged about five years during the few months I have been here. (Forwards or backwards I don't know. My acne seems to be coming back though.) I am feeling more and more like a cynical asshole. I was one before but it's gotten even worse. It doesn't help that I am not sleeping well due to the noise from the street in front of my apartment at all hours of the day. After living almost my entire life in a suburban/rural community, being in a very noisy city is not sitting well with me. Add to this my money problems and my constant fear of the people around me and I am on the verge of a psychotic episode.

Because of the holiday weekend I only had one class yesterday. We're getting to the middle of the semester and a lot of us are really showing our stress. Well, my professor decided that this would be a good time for a "pep talk." Except his idea of a pep talk is telling you to suck it up and that it doesn't get any easier, it only gets harder so you better get used to it.

I don't expect life to be easy, I just expect it to get a little easier as I get used to my new role in it. I frowned while he told us this and I gather that I looked like I was going to cry (I was and I did) because my professor picked me out and told me not to give him such a sad look. I wanted to tell him that his little "pep talk" was not a pep talk at all and that he was pushing me one step closer to the mad house. Unfortunately, he interrupted me before I could give any retort whatsoever, which caused me just sit there and cry quietly in disbelief.

Honestly, just because you're a professor doesn't mean that you have the right to be a complete dick and then tell people that it's a pep talk. Just because you tell someone you're feeding them apple sauce when you're really feeding them cow manure doesn't make it apple sauce. Why don't you think a little before opening your stupid mouth?! Maybe then you won't be so confused when people start to cry in your class.

My Parents' Dog is Retarded: An Odyssey

Recently my parents got another dog after being without one for almost two years. Our previous dog was an epileptic Jack Russel Terrier with a serious attitude problem. But this dog was VERY smart and when she felt like she wasn't getting enough attention, she would proceed in entertaining herself by ripping up tissues or tormenting my mother for fun. Well... our new dog... Lemme give you some background on this...

This all started back in March. I have nannyed the same set of children since I was fourteen. In that time, their family has experienced the death of a very elderly Shi Tzu, the mystery of their gigantic cat who only liked me going missing (we believe he had a run in with a coyote... poor baby :c ), and the arrival of a half-starved kitten in the tree in their front yard approximately two days after the oldest child was told she could bring home ANOTHER cat. Their luck with pets is odd. So when the youngest had her ninth birthday in March this year, she decided that she wanted a puppy. So what did they do? They had a Shi Tzu puppy shipped in from Washington state and gave it to her for her birthday.

Now I don't believe in giving dogs as gifts, especially to children. Children cannot comprehend the idea of a dog being another gift of life like themselves. They cannot comprehend that this "present" will live with proper vet care for an upwards of ten or more years. They just don't get it. So when the little one got her puppy, she was naturally excited but the novelty wore off by June. Guess who was stuck taking care of the dog? Me.

Now I was not upset about this in the very least. I was actually pretty happy about it. He looks like a tiny Ewok from Star Wars and he's very snuggly and cute. I love him. But he's retarded.

It started out that I would come over during the day when everyone was at work or school and I would take him for a "walk." Now I am using the term "walk" loosely here. It was more like I would put a leash on him and drag him down the street while people in the neighborhood stared at me in horror thinking that I was abusing this dog. The truth of the matter was that he was so stupid that he did not understand the concept of WALKING. Honestly this would be a lot more funny with illustrations.

Anyway, so I would drag the dog up and down the street encouraging him to go potty. And of course he was like "Herp derp! But I crap on the rug! That's my potty! DERP!" -_-

I did eventually get him to understand the concept of going to the bathroom outside. But this was only for me. When I was not there, I was told that he would still potty in the house.

Me: "Well how often does he go out?"
Them: "Oh I dunno. Whenever we remember to."
Me: *facepalm* "Well he's only a puppy. You should take him out every two hours to be safe. And make sure you use this special cleaning stuff on your carpets so that it gets rid of the pheromones so he won't be even more encouraged to go to the bathroom in the house."
Them: "OKAY! Derp!"

Well, no one followed my instructions. Now I've grown up around dogs. We've ALWAYS had a dog. I actually spent most of my childhood interacting with our psychotic Jack Russel and other dogs because I could not understand the concept of interacting with other children. (Most of the pictures of me in my parents' photo albums are of me with that dog.) The dogs weren't able to make fun of me for reading. I also worked for PetSmart for a while in their PetsHotel caring mostly for the dogs and occasionally the cats who were crazy and hated my guts. During "play group" the dogs would "argue" with each other about who was going to sit on my foot. Even the most neurotic and emotionally scarred dogs were happy to be my new best friend. So you could say I know a lot about dogs. I know what they're going to do before they do it and I understand why they do these things.

Well, the family continued to not follow any advice I gave them.

Me: "Here. When you mix up his food like this, he'll eat it. Here try it."
Them: "OKAY! DERP!" *does not follow directions*
Dog: *refuses to eat*
Them: ???
Dog: *eats the cats' food*
Them: D:
Me: *facepalm*

When the kids got out of school, we commenced our normal summer time routine. I would come over in the morning, wake the kids up, walk the dog, feed the kids breakfast while they were still comatose, pile them in the car and take them to swim practice, come back to the house and snuggle with the dog, pick up the kids, walk the dog, break up fights between the kids, walk the dog, play with the dog, play a board game with the kids, read my book with the dog in my lap, walk the dog, etc. etc. It was a lot of me walking the dog. And when I would ask the kids to walk him they would whine and drag their feet, take him out and as soon as he peed a little bit on the bush at the front door, they would bring him back inside. The novelty had worn off for them.

July rolled around and the family went on vacation, leaving me with the dog and two apathetic cats. I decided that the dog would stay at my house and I would come over during the day to feed the cats and clean their litter boxes, give love and attention, and then go home. At first my parents' weren't exactly enthused about the idea of the dog coming to stay for a week. The death of our psychotic Jack Russel a year and a half before had scarred my dad for life and my mother just didn't want another dog. My dad especially resisted and started to mope the closer we drew to bringing the dog into our home. I have to admit that I did not know how to feel about another dog either. The Jack had been my companion for almost fourteen and a half years and I have to say that even now I am still not over her death. But I brought the little Ewok home anyway.

The first night he was in our house, my dad looked at him with disdain. My mother was apathetic. My boyfriend and I started off by playing with the fuzzball in the living room. We threw his stuffed toy back and forth, but the dog got confused and started to bark at the ceiling fan.

Dog: *barks at ceiling fan*
Me: *facepalm*
Boyfriend: *facepalm*
Mom: "OH MY GOD! He's so cute! I love him!"

My mother thought his stupidity was adorable and immediately grabbed him and started to cuddle the dog. I was horrified. I had seen stupid dogs, but this dog... I tried telling myself that he couldn't be that stupid, I mean this is only one instance of extreme stupidity. At least my mom liked him.

The next day, the dog pulled his bed out of his kennel and slept in my dad's office for the whole day, guarding the stairs, and freaking out when anyone left the house or so much as went into the bathroom with the door closed. (Seriously, this dog has a fit if you go into the bathroom and close the door like a normal person.) My dad cracked and fell head-over-heels in love with him.

That night at dinner, the dog entertained himself with a shadow on the floor.

Me: *facepalm*
Mom: "OH MY GOD! HE'S SO CUTE! WHAT A SMART DOG!"
Dad: "I love him! He's such a fuzzy little bastard!"
Me: *fighting off a brain aneurysm* "I think he's retarded."
Mom: "Oh no! Don't say that! He's very smart! What a smart doggy!"
Me: "Mom he's barking at a shadow on the floor."
Mom: "He's still only a puppy."
Me: "Daisy was inherently smart, Mom. She was smart from the beginning. This dog... is retarded."
Mom: "No he isn't. He's still only a puppy."
Me: *facepalm*
Dog: *chases his tail, catches it, and barks at it*
Dad: "HE'S SO CUTE! BEST DOG EVER!"
Me: *twitches*

Don't get me wrong. I love this dog. He's a sweetie. He's just retarded.

After the dog went back to his family, the problems started. He had been on a strict schedule while in our home and the stress of going back to a place that was often complete chaos was shattering to him. The family complained that he was weird. Then finally the father announced what was so obvious: He didn't think they had the lifestyle to care for the dog and he wanted to find him a better home. Also, he didn't want to be bothered with caring for him.

My parents offered to take him and that's how he ended up at their house. I currently live about four and a half hours west of their home and I'm going home to visit this weekend. But the other night I got a call about the escapades of the dog.

Boyfriend: "Your parents' dog is retarded."
Me: "Tell me something I don't know."
Boyfriend: "Well tonight when I went to visit your parents' house, I walked in the door and the dog didn't understand the concept of who or what he was supposed to protect."

The dog had ignored him at first, not registering a new person for about five minutes. When my mother brought it to his attention, the dog ran to my boyfriend, growling and snarling like all hell. When he got to him he flopped over on his back and begged for his stomach to be rubbed. Then he proceeded in barking at our dining room chandelier. Then he humped his teddy bear for a while. Then he stared at the floor for a while.

Yeah my parents' dog is retarded. I'm the only one besides my boyfriend who seems to see this. *facepalm*

 UPDATE:
My mother called me today to tell me that the dog pranced out of the bathroom today with the toilet bowl brush in his mouth. That thing is as big as he is.

The Day America Shat its Pants: 54th Anniversary of the Sputnik Launch and Reflections on the Space Shuttle Program

Today in history, the USSR made history with the launch of the world's first artificial satellite, the Sputnik I. Today also marks the day that we in the States shat our pants and realized that we needed to pick up the pace on our own space program. Now whether or not you believe that the moon landing in 1969 was real is irrelevant. I don't really give a shit what your opinion of that is and I don't want to hear about it. You can bite my ass on that one.

I first learned about this event in high school when we watched October Sky in my physics class. It's not that we in America were not looking to the heavens before. Mankind has been dreaming about the stars for thousands of years. The idea of touching the stars and swimming through space is exciting to us. I feel giddy just thinking about it. With the recent demise of NASA's shuttle program, I am forced to ask the inevitable question: "What now?" Seriously, this program lasted less than half a century. It makes me sick. Now I am being extremely ethnocentric here with my "America is #1" talk, but I was raised that way. The first awareness that I had of Patriotism was when I was in Kindergarten.

What bothers me most about the end of the shuttle program is that our government would rather turn to commercial companies to build future shuttles to space. So this is about capitalist gain now? Anyone who knows me will tell you that I am hate Communism (It's fine on paper, but it can never work as long as the element of man is involved. Read Animal Farm if you don't believe me.), but I was hoping that it would be my government colonizing the Moon and Mars rather than Virgin Mobile or something horrible like that. What was it that they said in Fight Club? "When deep space exploration ramps up it will be the corporations that name everything. The IBM Stellar sphere. The Microsoft Galaxy. Planet Starbucks." Yeah well it's funny how that works, right?

Anyway, I will leave you with a little Fallout connection.

See anything odd?

Grandma Troll

This weekend I was able to get my hands on a little something from home.

I have lived in South Central PA for most of my life and these babies are something that I simply cannot kick. I try to not eat them very often but lately... Lard fried little bastards are my best friend. I cannot get them where I live now, so I have my boyfriend run them out to me about once a month.

I just want to say that Grandma Utz is a vindictive bitch.

There is no way that you can eat just one.