Are you a gardener?
As soon as it starts to get warm in the Spring I start itching to get outside and turn the barren hellscape of my raised beds after a long winter into a fertile playground. I’ve even joined some gardening groups on Facebook, including one where the members like to grow stuff and share an interest in true crime. So you can imagine the buzz that went through this group when the story broke that some complete and utter monster has stolen a zucchini from a library garden in Stamford… AND REPLACED IT WITH A CUCUMBER!
The news of this heinous crime made it all the way to Jezebel (which I stopped reading a long time ago because it made me hate literally everyone!)
Do you think exercising in an air conditioned gym is for wimps? Me too. That’s why I’m thankful Riverfront Recapture has brought fitness classes to Mortensen Riverfront Plaza. Whether you’re into yoga, or something a bit more strenuous, I highly suggest skipping happy hour and getting your jiggly ass (I’m just guessing…) down to the park to partake in what Hartford has to offer.
Stay the F away from these dudes. L to R: Bemer, Trefzger, King
For as long as I can remember, my Nana had a propane tank behind the house that powered her dryer. After my grandfather died, the job of taking the propane payment up the street to the distributor’s office fell to random family members. So we were all a little unnerved when we found out that the man who owns the company was recently arrested in relation to human trafficking. (more…)
You may have seen an article in The Hartford Courant detailing the behavior of a bunch of teenage turds from Canton. Here’s the gist:
Kids from Canton chanted “Trump! Trump!”(and even made signs) during a basketball game at their opponents from Classical Magnet School.
I’m not sure I can think of a lamer, less creative chant to use on your opponents, but hey, what can you expect from Trump fans?
One might rush to associate this kind of incident with the sentient cheese doodle we elected President and the outburst of racist a-holery that has swept the country since then. You’d be partially, kinda, sorta wrong, though. (more…)
Okay, so technically it wasn’t a march, it was more of a rally. Nonetheless, it was impressive. After spending The Farmer’s birthday ignoring anything else that might have happened on that day–and reminding those that joined us around the bonfire that they were not allowed to talk of such things–we suited up for a protest. For me, that meant choosing between t-shirts and then strapping on my hiking boots.
The Trumpocalypse is upon us. Inauguration Day is less than 48 hours away, Connecticut’s senators Dick Blumenthal and Chris Murphy are planning to attend (a questionable decision but as long as they resist when it matter, we’ll let it slide), and we’re still hoping Trump will suffer a panic attack before taking the oath and run screaming from the stage.
On inauguration day I hope to completely ignore the entire affair. It happens to be The Farmer’s birthday (he spent his 30th birthday at Obama’s first inauguration–this year isn’t looking quite as bright) so we’ll be pretending the inauguration isn’t happening. We’ll be doing the New England in January version of this:
(For the record, that entails hot toddies, a parka that fits just right, and a bonfire.)
I hope that you’ll help crush Trump’s ego, turn off the TV, and make sure his ratings are abysmal, but more than that I hope you’ll consider joining the rally in Hartford on Saturday. Get involved!
Many years ago I was rushing from a friend’s Hartford apartment to the car on a cold winter night. I tripped a little, and assumed I’d hit a bump in the sidewalk with the toe of my shoe. But my friend, who was walking behind me, yelled, “Oh my God. A rat!” Yes, dear readers, a rat had run between my feet as I was jogging to the car, and I’d unwittingly kicked the little guy. At this point I screeched, broke out into a full out run, and started scratching at the car door! I had to get out of there, and go home and shower for hours.
Then I spent years in New York City where rats are like furtive little squirrels. You see them hanging out on the train tracks, and they scare the bejesus out of you when you’re sitting in the park and you see one scurry into a tree grate out of the corner of your eye. This is all to say, I thought I was used to rats.
This summer proved me wrong. I was digging around in a friend’s West End basement looking for painting supplies. Just as she finished saying the words, “My neighbor says there’s been a rat down here…” we heard the tell tale squeak of a frightened rat. I turned on a dime and sprang up the basement stairs, and then up another flight of stairs to her apartment. Somewhere in there I hit my hand on something and scratched it all to hell. It’s a miracle I’m not dead. (more…)