Election Night: Left, Left, Left, Right, Left!

As a Nutmegger I’ve come to assume my vote doesn’t matter, at least on a national scale. Presidential candidates only come here when they need to raise money, because they trust us to swing decidedly to the left — and don’t much care about our electoral votes. Since I’m always voting for the abortion-loving socialists, like the rest of you, I feel pretty confidant that my vote will in no way impact the overall outcome of the race.

With election night drawing near and Facebook throwing invitations to various election night parties The CuT’s way, I’ve got to thinking about what I did on all those previous election nights. Back in 2000, I was in college and my roommate and I fell asleep still wondering what the Hell had happened. My boyfriend at the time was up in Boston, rubbing elbows with Al Gore. We all know how that turned out…

Greenhouse Creates Bitterness

I am bitter.

Middletown Full of Fascists…or Commies…or Something

Recently, a Courant writer headed out to Wesleyan University, the last great bastion of white people with dreadlocks, in search of a John McCain supporter. Obviously, this was a giant waste of gas. Basically what he learned was that if the kids from Wesleyan have anything to say about it, we’ll all be standing in line for bread by 2020.

Quinnipi…a…Whatever

I tend to forget about Quinnipiac University. With Yale so close by, it’s a wonder any one remembers it’s there. But three geniuses over there at the foot of Sleeping Giant are getting some attention. First, racial slurs written on boards got attention earlier this week. But then some crackers (Cracker U.S. A poor white Southern person also “rustic”, “countrified”, “backwoods”) started making threatening phones calls and now I have a theory.

Poor Powder Ridge

I’ve never been much of a skiier but I hate to see one of CT’s recreation sites go down in flames. On my way to and from Boston, recently, I noticed that Ron-a-Roll looks pretty much abandoned, which is sad, because I remember spending many a night there in my “tween” days. That Sports Plex thing off of I-84 where the grass has dwarfed the fences and buildings is a shambles and an eye-sore. Now, Powder Ridge is practically a memory…and it’s been vandalized.

The Glawackus Will Git Ya

One of my favorite CT critters is the Glawackus, and by “favorite” I mean “most deeply feared.” I’ve written about this fearsome creature before, and normally, I would tell my readers that the Glawackus was probably just a Fisher, a rare sight in Connecticut during the first half of the 20th century. But since it is October, and therefore a good time to scare people, I would like to warn residents of Hartford County about this creature.

Getting the Real Deal with Wally Lamb

When it comes to supporting incarcerated and recently paroled women in the Connecticut penal system, Wally Lamb is no fake. Connecticut’s own great American author (just ask Oprah–she loves his books) appeared at the 11th Annual Tea and Silent Auction to benefit the Resettlement Program on Sunday, October 26 at the Pond House in Elizabeth Park. As Honorary Guest, he was the keynote speaker, sharing his experiences as a writer and teacher at some of Connecticut’s detention facilities for women. He even shared several excerpts from some of their writing, and what it was like working with them. An he auctioned off two copies of his newest book, The Hour I First Believed which is to be released in November.

Dozens of people lined up to chat with him and have him sign copies of their books. Personally, I always expect authors to be a little standoffish or full of themselves, but Mr. Lamb was extremely friendly and compeltely capable of holding a not weird conversation.

Gay Guru & the Wannabe Hag

Dear Gay Guru:

I have a fantastic friend, let’s call him Bob. Bob is a great guy–he’s very attractive, has a great job, a great condo in Hartford and a fun personality. He dresses extremely well for an insurance dude (Brooks Brothers, J. Crew, etc…) and keeps his place immaculate. I’m pretty damn sure he’s gay (as are most of our friends). He deflects any blind date we try to set him up on and has never had a real girlfriend. How do I help him to realize this, or if he has realized it, be comfortable in coming out to us?

Cordially,

Wannabe Hag

Blacksmith’s Ghosts

By Clamp

When I was 15 years old I had a weekend job at a local upscale restaurant, Blacksmith Tavern, Glastonbury, as a dishwasher. It was my first job. Many interesting people worked in that kitchen but some very, very interesting people lived in that kitchen.

Blacksmith’s Tavern was the town’s hot-spot for ghost sitings. Several hundreds of years old, the tavern was believed to have many “residents” inside its walls, surprising staff and others fairly often. I was no exception.

Working some Saturday afternoon I was asked to get ice cream cakes from the basement. The restaurant being a modified big ol’ creaky house, it had a basement which was accessible from the outside. Around I walked to the side of the tavern and opened the cellar doors. Down into the basement I went, ducking because the ceilings were no more than five feet high in some spots. It was cool and damp and oddly lit as it was more like a railroad apartment setup than an open basement. Walking past the laundry-room I waved to one of the Peruvian guys I worked with. He didn’t speak English. This was the norm with the tavern’s dishwashers, except for yours truly. I was glad I didn’t have this guy’s job doing laundry. After I left the basement that afternoon I never wanted to set foot in it again.

My New CT Hero

Normally, I dismiss the Green Party. I’m an “independent” but I don’t like to waste my vote, so for any office above Mayor, I wouldn’t bother with a Green Party vote (though I’d love to see some real influence thrown their way someday). But I think I’d vote for this guy if I could:

They’ll Give a License to Anyone

As if the streets of East Hartford didn’t have enough problems, now motorists need to worry about complete jerks who choose to race their old, ridiculous Mustangs on Main Street…in the middle of the day.

One of two Mustangs being raced illegally southbound on Route 5 Sunday afternoon smashed into a pickup truck stopped at a light, flipping the truck over and injuring two people before the Mustang burst into flames, police said.

One might expect a teenager to be behind this kind of reckless idiocy, but no, the driver of the crashed Mustang was a 32-year-old. Smashing!

Lock Him Up

I don’t particularly like drunks, and I really hate animal abusers so this dude is really on my shitlist. But I feel about this guy much the way I felt about Michael Skakel. He looks shifty, and belligerent, like he’s committed crimes he may not necessarily be accused of. So, I say lock him up and throw away the key.

Sex & the Suburbs: The Internet

With Match.com, eHarmony.com, Chemistry.com, J-Date and a slew of other matchmaking sites cluttering up the internet, the old fashioned yenta has become obselete (actually, there is a yenta.com). Not having had a positive experience during my foray into eHarmony.com (see Sex & the Subrurbs: Introduction), I decided that to be “Fair and Balanced,” I should ask around, and see what kind of experiences others have had.

Costa Del Sol: Delicioso!

Holy crap!  Saturday night, I had one of the best Hartford dining experiences in recent memory. The “other half” suggested going to Costa Del Sol on Wethersfield Ave. I’ll admit, the idea of Spanish food didn’t tickle my taste buds like say, sushi or Thai, but we had heard good things from multiple sources. So, being a good girlfriend I figured, what the hell?

Location, Location, Location…

This weekend I got to take advantage of one of Connecticut’s best assets; its central location. Friday night I zoomed up to Boston and Saturday, headed back down to New York. It was quite a bit of traveling, but I can’t think of any other place in the country where one can easily bounce between two major cities. Can you?

No ghosties here...

Friday, I took my brother along with my friends and I on a Haunted Boston tour. We started out by the Commons and spent 90 minutes following a guy in cropped pants around town while he told us tales of Boston’s sordid and possibly haunted history. Unfortunately, it wasn’t nearly as scary as I’d hoped. Drunk BU kids wandering by kind of kills the mood, and so did the tour-guide’s inability to close his stories. I would have preferred a gaunt, deathly looking guy with a skull cap and a lantern with an old, crazy New England accent. Still for $15, it wasn’t a half bad way to spend a Friday night.