La Moretta

Pousse cafe

In the old days, I used to meet up with friends in some of the hotel bars in DC. (Then it was tea houses, now chocolate bars. But I digress.) During that time, I began to realize that I didn't enjoy drinking too much. However, rather than being a wet blanket by saying "Just club soda," I developed a ritual of asking for a pousse cafe or nothing. Few bartenders know how to make one, and the remainder don't have the time to do so, so I never got one. It was just a silly thing, but we enjoyed it.

Finally, I went to New Orleans for a friend's wedding and decided to actually try one at a famous bar. 

Now, the pousse cafe is a layered drink that puts the heaviest spirits at the bottom, and then carefully adds one liqueur after another, to create an effect like this. 

 

Pretty impressive, huh?

When it was delivered, it did not disappoint. It was made in a tiny glass and since I was out in the courtyard, the pousse cafe appeared to be lit from within -- it cast a rainbow shadow. People were fascinated. And it could potentially pack a wallop, although I shared mine with several people -- we used straws to remove a full rainbow without stirring up the layers.

 

Don't drink and drive. Hope everyone has a happy and safe New Year!

Some people shouldn't work for Hallmark

I was speaking with a friend about the importance of providing counsel to clients rather than simply deliverables. It comes in relation to a project that I am working on now, so I can't provide a jot of detail. 

However, I can tell you about the way I first realized that clients could be capable of colossally poor judgment, because it involves a government agency and the document is available via FOIA. 

Here is the image my former agency ended up choosing as the cover for a proposal to the National Institute of Mental Health. It's after the jump.

It wouldn't be winter without a West Virginia Corgi

This year, our rescue work is winding down, although we find ourselves marketing the odd dog and dealing with a few returns of middle-aged dogs. Since we don't have fosters, I have been trying to make a case for shutting up shop entirely, but at the same time we have been inundated with dogs of people who can no longer afford them, and, strangely enough, a lot of people who can afford their dogs but no longer want them. (They don't say it, but I think it's their way of economizing.) 

Right now we are cross-posting (listing on Petfinder) a Pomeranian with Addison's Disease, and reluctantly placing a senior Chow with Cushing's disease via our organization after a volunteer twisted our arms. We also have one return, from a very wealthy family who decided that "they weren't dog people" after three years. (The dog, Charlotte, came back to us so unused to attention that she would automatically go sit in a far corner whenever she came in to her foster's house, because clearly that was where she was sent in her adoptive home.)

And then, of course, there are the dogs who just show up on very cold nights. They are normally smart young outdoor dogs who finally get their chance and look for someplace friendly and warm. Although we search and search, we never find their owners.

 

And that's the story with Zeb. He is ridiculous-looking and shameless. He showed up at a senior citizen's house and has refused to leave, but she is 82 and he is 1.5 years, meaning that this is not a good match. He also likes to clamber up into her lap for affection, and he's strong enough that he could break something.

Also, do you notice something about his legs? They are impossibly short. He weighs 60 pounds, but his weight is all in his torso.  In any case, the vet calls them West Virginia corgis -- mutts with outgoing personalities, long torsos, preposterously short legs and open faces. We have had one such dog, always a stray, every year since we started running a rescue.

 

 

 

When you can help a dog like this, all of your earlier crabbiness melts away. They are the best little/big mutts you'll ever encounter. Invariably when we place dogs like this their adopters refer other people to us and thank us profusely for giving them "the best dog ever."

 

There are a few country names for these dogs we encounter -- mush hound, which means a short, squat, ungracious-looking brown hound mix with little sophistication and a lot of enthusiasm, and a dirt road sport, which means a dog that keeps on hoping and trying no matter what. But the West Virginia corgi's comical lack of proportion, jaunty air and playful confidence makes them more of a gift to us than a responsibility.

Update on Abe

Here are the pictures from his adoptive home, where he is doing well (with the standard big dumb country dog problems):

 

The healing has been better than expected, as you can see. He'll always have an indentation, but it won't be angry-looking.

 

Here he is asleep on his adopter's foot. He's made himself a little den , complete with what looks like a stuffed animal.

 

I think this picture speaks volumes.

When the cat's away

The mouse accidentally falls asleep with a face mask on and wakes up looking like this.

 

Have you been ogged?

I have always had a fascination with people on the outside. Thus it's probably no surprise that I'm interested in clever, or at least novel, confidence games.

Here are two with their Wikipedia definitions.

This first one is a phenomenon I've variations of many times, but I had never heard a name put to it:

• The Ogged -- For this scam, the con artist creates a pseudonymous internet persona and befriends a group of people online who will become his marks. Then the scammer feigns some terrible disease, such as stomach cancer. Finally, the scammer subtly pushes the idea that his online "friends" could pitch in for something to make him feel better, such as a $700 gift certificate to the French Laundry. After the boon is received, the scam artist claims a miraculous recovery or doctor error. Finally, once the gift certificate has been cashed, the con artist claims that he must "go on hiatus" or even quit blogging altogether.

• Or, if you want to get really obscure, the Melon Drop is a scam in which the scammer will intentionally bump into the mark and drop a package containing glass that has already been broken. He will claim that the contents were broken by the clumsiness of the mark, and demand money to replace them. This con arose when artists discovered that the Japanese paid high amounts of money for watermelons. The scammer would go to a supermarket to buy a cheap watermelon, bump into a Japanese tourist and demand that they pay a high price.

I'm sorry to say that some of my other family members are susceptible to small scams in certain categories. I remember once on the phone my dad told me that a guy had been doing some paving work in the neighborhood and had some left over and had offered to pave the driveway for a great price. He said that the people were due to arrive any second. I pointed out that this was a very old scam and that chances were good he'd end up with a driveway made out of some cheap material, but he brushed me off. A few days later when I stopped by, the driveway was covered with what looked like oily pine sap and gravel. It was literally spongy and sat on top of the previous pavement. Did I say I told you so? Of course not.

I could have done better in the compassion department

I have been thinking a lot about compassion recently, and I realized that there have been some times in my life that I've failed spectacularly in this category. In all of those cases, it has been because I didn't see them as human beings -- they had become the sum of their wrongdoings and the pain they had caused me. As a result, when they needed me, I was unable to feel anything at all, or provide comfort or sympathy or even basic kindness. 

Those people didn't necessarily "deserve" anything from me, but they reached out to me at low points and I gave them nothing. It wasn't a conscious decision -- there was simply nothing in the well, or at least nothing I could reach. I didn't try to summon anything, because why should I? They were "pain agents" and nothing else.

Well, I know better now, and if I'm ever faced with other situations like those, I'll fake it 'til I make it. While tending to someone out of duty, hopefully genuine kindness and goodwill will emerge. 

Now repeat after me...

The Italians have some nifty words and phrases that I occasionally use in my everyday life. Here's one I really like:

Punto e basta.

Literally, it's "period/point and enough." It means, "This conversation is over, I win, and that's the end of the discussion." You should pause for a half a beat longer between punto and e. Hand gestures are welcome -- I recommend something equivalent to "talk to the hand."

It's a fun phrase to use! (At least the dogs seem to appreciate it. Actually, now that I think of it, they are the only ones I ever speak Italian to.)

Yaar

My oldest nephew got this wooden pirate for me years ago and was adamant that I would love it. When I first got it, I was literally speechless, but now I love it. For many years he was also convinced that I love purple.

Hope all of ye mateys had a fun and surprising holiday.

Happy

This was, without a doubt, my best Christmas ever. 

We ended up having Christmas dinner with my sister at my place, and we actually "cooked." Well, that depends on how you define cooking. OK, Whole Foods prepared everything, but we cooked the turkey at home. My husband took care of the turkey-related responsibilities, which was very kind of him. 

In the morning, I played jazz -- Thelonius Monk and Cannonball Adderly -- while setting up. 

We had some guests stop by who can often try my patience, even though I love them, but I remembered to greet them like they were new people. It was amazing -- I learned a lot about them that way, and I think they were pleased to have been "seen." Normally, I am ashamed to say, it is very hard for me to hide my exasperation and impatience with this duo, although I try to be polite and respectful. This time, though, I felt none of it. Just kindness and love. Buddhists have a concept called metta, or lovingkindness, and I was there. For a lot of reasons, I've had some setbacks in this area over the past few months, but this reaffirmed the importance of stopping, seeing, accepting and loving other people for who and what they are.

I realize this sounds remarkably drippy, and tiresome. But trust me when I say it was nothing of the sort. We all laughed all day and had insane conversations, including one where my seven-year-old nephew and I pretended to be effete Southern vampires. And I was reminded that my husband and my sister are incredibly funny, literate, creative people, and I can never predict where the conversation will go when we all get started. At its best, it's simply brilliant.

Oh, and at one point I fell asleep on the couch and when I woke up, my husband had covered me with a quilt. And the dishes were done.

I'm so incredibly lucky.