Fifty shades of grandma: A 98-year-old’s take on ‘Grey’

It’s true: I downloaded the steamy book dubbed “mommy porn” onto my grandmother’s unsuspecting Kindle. It, like she, were expecting another nice romance, the kind where kisses are stolen at the gate just after sunset and eyes meet briefly across the pews at Sunday Mass.

“Fifty Shades of Grey” by E L James has a sprinkling of similar type language, but more in the vein of “wicked grins” that travel “all the way down there.”

Gram didn’t mind all the “down there” references, or the repetitive use of “holy crap” and “jeez” over other choice words. She was actually swept up in the initial romance of the dashingly handsome billionaire Christian Grey and the sexually innocent college student Anastasia Steele.

But as soon as things went from grins to, well, spankings, my grandmother was a bit perplexed.  So, yes, I did download the book into my Nook so I would know what she was talking about and could answer such burning questions like “Have you ever heard of such things?”

I didn’t know much about “Fifty Shades” expect that I didn’t want to read it. I’m not into romances and once it was compared to “Twilight,” I really didn’t care. I tossed it my grandmother’s way because she likes breezy romances with a bit of sex. And sometimes it’s tough coming up with a new book week every week.

Well, this book did give her something to talk about. “I shouldn’t be reading this at my age.” Then, “Do people really do this?” And, “I must’ve missed a lot.”

Gram shook her head a lot when she talked about “Fifty” and mused that all this silly heroine does is gaze at this man’s eyes and hips. “She’s a stupid, stupid girl.”

Despite the head shaking, she couldn’t put it down and quickly wanted the 2nd book in the trilogy, “Fifty Shades Darker.” About half way through, she decided to ditch it. “Is the weird sex getting to you?” I asked.

“No, no. Well, it’s just dumb sex if you can even call it that. But it’s just the same thing over and over.” She reads me a paragraph that sounds so familiar from the first book I’m still trying to get through. “How many times can you read the same thing?”

So she won’t be going on to book three, “Fifty Shades Freed,” and if I don’t finish the first, I know I’m not missing anything I haven’t already read in the first 200 pages.

 

 

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The benefits of flying solo

My first crush was in the third grade. He wasn’t just my crush; every girl was in love with baby-faced Billy with the tousled hair and crooked smile. We all longed to sit next to or in back of him, hoped to be his partner on line, and crossed our fingers and toes that we’d be picked for his team during gym.

If I couldn’t have Billy – and I couldn’t, I wasn’t nearly cute enough or popular enough – I had a second, third and fourth boy choice, and even an “I’ll settle for” pick. As long as I can remember, I always wanted a boyfriend.

My first kiss was in fifth grade – John Lawton, during a heated out of town game of Spin the Bottle. I was disappointed for years that he never tracked me down for a follow up date. I remember contemplating if I could be a funeral director’s wife, if I could live above dead bodies. If I had known then that my first real date wouldn’t be until ninth grade, I wouldn’t have come out of my room.

Girls and boys, women and men. Without this crazy dynamic, pages of women’s magazines would be empty and thousands of websites blank. It may be true that women dress up for each other, but in the end, it’s the man’s eye we’re trying to catch.

This is the first time in my life that I’m not with a man or trying to catch some man’s attention. It’s also the first time I’m experiencing something really unfamiliar: peace.

When I got divorced eight years ago, online dating was just taking off and I had a blast with it. I dated youngsters and musicians, artists and New Yorkers, stay at home dads and trust fund loafers. I had a one night stand with an Italian tourist, a fling with a man who never got it up and a bohemian who channeled Jim Morrison. It was an adventure. Some men I really fell for, some I almost loved, and a few loved me. But, as my single friends predicted, the whole dating game got old.

After a few years I settled into the comfort of a relationship that got really messy after factoring in ex-spouses, soccer games and the whole whose-weekend-is-it craziness. After some more online fun, another intense relationship ensued, this one even messier because we actually fell in love.

Midlife love is messy. Anyone who arrives at the midway mark without a lot of baggage obviously didn’t do much traveling through life. In the end, the second relationship sadly ended over baggage — my baggage — some of which I should’ve left behind long ago. But that’s another story.

I’ve been intentionally flying solo now for six months. I set out to see what it would be like to just be a party of one. I’ve been pleasantly surprised. I expected to enjoy deciding what I wanted to do every weekend. I expected to enjoy reading instead of being forced to watch a movie or do something more conducive to couples. I didn’t expect to find peace. I didn’t expect to be so damn happy all the time. I didn’t expect to like it so much.

I also didn’t expect to find out so much about myself, to get a chance to, well, look at some of the baggage that I’ve been lugging around. I’ve been doing a little unpacking and plan to discard a lot of things I haven’t needed in a long time.

Part of me is thinking I should end this solo flight and find a man soon because time is running out. But that’s just crazy talk. Right now I’m peaceful and happy. I’ll know when it’s time. And when it is, my load will be a little bit lighter.

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Good eggs, unscrambed

Buying food used to be a fairly easy process. I went to the store and just bought whatever what was on sale, whatever I had a coupon for, or whatever brand my mother bought while I was growing up.

It’s not so simple anymore. As awareness grows about the dangers of processed foods, chemical additives, pesticides, antibiotics, growth hormones and labels in general, it’s increasingly difficult to know how to buy healthy food.

Photo/Wikicommons

Photo/Wikicommons

Since I can’t digest too much information at once – or make many too many changes at the same time – I decided to start with educating myself about eggs. I love eggs, and generally start the day with two, something I’m thrilled is actually endorsed by the nutrition powers-that-be. Eggs, it turns out, are packed with all kinds of good-for-you nutrients and also are convenient, low cost and low calorie.

I love to eat my eggs soft boiled, sunny side up or poached, which never used to be a problem until salmonella became an issue. The foodborne bacterial illness – which causes 40,000 cases of food poisoning each year – is often traced to undercooked eggs, the worst case being in 1994 when 224,000 Americans became sick. Another bad case was in 2010 when 1,300 people got sick from eggs. There was even talk of putting warning labels on egg cartons and menus that eggs – like beef – must be thoroughly cooked.

All it takes is one sick hen to spread the disease to all the others before there’s an epidemic of salmonella-infected eggs.  That’s the problem with industrial farming: hens are jammed into cages, unable to stand, let alone move.

So buying eggs that come from “cage-free” hens should be better, right? Well, not necessarily. Aside from “organic,” labels are mostly unregulated and that’s what makes it so hard for consumers. Eggs labeled “free range” or “cage free” lead people to think the hens are roaming about an open field. They’re not. There’s actually no legal definition for either term. All those terms mean is that the hens are not kept in cages. They can be kept jammed into large, indoor spaces, however, without enough room to even spread their wings. And neither term is any indication of what they’re fed, which means pesticides, antibiotics and hormones can all be part of the recipe.

The rules for certified organic are legally defined and do offer some guarantees, like hens have to live cage-free, with access to outdoors. They also eat an organic, hormone-free diet that’s free of genetically modified organisms. Granted, this is no guarantee that their eggs will be disease-free. But the odds are better. In a British survey, 25 percent of caged hens were infected with salmonella compared to just 5 percent of organic hens. In six other U.S. studies it was concluded that people who ate eggs from caged hens had twice the risk of getting salmonella compared to people who ate eggs from cage-free hens.

Organic is the best bet, but they’re about double the price of conventional eggs, and not as readily available. It’s also easy to be tricked. I used to buy Egglands Best Eggs, thinking I was getting something better, something organic. I pictured hens roaming about in an open field, feeding on fresh, organic grains. The label makes a lot of health claims, dropping words like “natural” and “cage-free” and health claims like less cholesterol, more omega 3, B12 and D. Then I realized that nowhere on the label did it say “organic.” Egglands Best does make organic eggs, but the ones most commonly found in supermarkets aren’t. Further digging uncovered complaints to the FTC over deceptive claims, and a bad rating from the Cornucopia Institute that Eggland’s organic eggs came from a dozen different producers that were known for poor hen house conditions that offered little to no transparency. In fact, many of the most commonly found supermarket organic egg producers had poor ratings and were on an industrial scale.

Overall, studies indicate that cage-free of any kind is still safer than industrial brands, and organic is likely the safest bet of all. For me, organic is the way to go when I am going to eat cake batter and runny eggs. But when I’m cooking eggs thoroughly, I guess I’ll go the less expensive route.

I can’t wait to start researching chicken …

 

 

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Customer expresses opinion and gets banned from Chipotle’s Facebook page

Stephen Murphy, a reporter I worked with many years ago, just announced on Facebook that he got banned from a corporation’s Facebook fan page.

I swear I’m not making this up. He said he got banned from Chipotle Mexican Grill’s page for sticking up for his friend Ryan Madrid, who got banned for making a FB comment the company’s social media moderator apparently found unpleasant.

There was a discussion on the Chipotle fan page about how great it would be if the Mexican chain would cater weddings (they don’t). Well, Stephen’s friend commented that serving Chipotle at a wedding would be less than classy. So, Chipotle’s FB moderator “Joe” banned him for saying that.

Stephen, in turn, commented that a company shouldn’t ban customers who make slightly negative comments. Suddenly, he too, was banned, something he said he totally didn’t see coming.

The thread has since been deleted by Chipotle and reduced to this (as stated by the original poster): “I wish you guys catered. I’d love to serve Chipotle at my wedding!”

The odd thing is, in Stephen’s comment on the original wedding thread, he said in response to his friend Ryan’s comment that he thought having Chipotle at a wedding would be “amazing.” He also told me said he loves Chipotle and eats there several times a week.

The chain has a loyal following with over 1.6 million Facebook “Likes” and Joe the moderator is right in there interacting with the continuous stream of commenters. That’s a smart move on Chipotle’s part; that’s the way to build a fan base. I’m actually surprised by how few companies actually engage users.

But boy did “Joe” blow this one. Short of obscenities, threats or in-fighting, what corporation would ban a customer from a page? Is it because they have so many “Likes” Chipotle feels a few banned users won’t be missed?

The whole point of social media – especially for a corporation — is to get the conversation going. Granted, some of that conversation might not be positive. But even the negative is useful for a company to know.

Companies usually bend over backwards to get an angry customer to return. In this case, Chipotle is bending over backwards to boot a customer out the door. It doesn’t make any sense.

If Chipotle wants to ban customers for having opinions, then people are going to return the favor and buy their burritos elsewhere.

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Great concept fades fast in Buchanan’s latest crime story

(This appeared on Feb. 5, 2o12 in the Asbury Park Press and other Gannett NJ newspapers. )

Cindy Capitani
Correspondent

In an ambitious novel that explores the concept of predestination, 1986 Pulitzer Prize winner Edna Buchanan ties together factual and fictional love stories laden with criminal twists.

“A Dark and Lonely Place” tells the story of two John Ashley’s — one a turn-of-the-century notorious outlaw, the other a fictional homicide detective. The crux of the story is that history does, indeed, repeat itself, whether one is aware of that history or not.

The true criminal love story of bandit John Ashley and his childhood sweetheart Laura Upthegrove are part of Florida’s prismatic outlaw history. Although Bonnie and Clyde got more press and are thoroughly cemented in American pop culture, John and Laura surpassed them in criminal adventures. There are nonstop jail breaks and bootlegging, bank robberies and pirates, all set in then-uncivilized Florida Everglades.

Their tale is juxtaposed with the contemporary fictional love story of detective John Ashley and his very own Laura Grove. The detective, like his long-ago ancestor, is forced on the run to avoid facing charges for a murder he didn’t commit.

The concept of taking a true story and fusing it with a fictional ancestor should make for a brilliant tale. And what better author to pull it off than Paterson-born and -raised Buchanan, who was an award-winning police reporter for the Miami Herald?

It should have been a fantastic read. But it wasn’t. The characters whisper fervently, murmur and bat their eyes, making for a sugar-shocked cop-shop romance. The two stories merge unevenly, and they so closely mimic each other, both come off as unbelievable. As sound bites, the stories sound great, but Buchanan’s book lacks any hint of dramatic suspense. Instead, the characters lapse into banal dialogue, and the boilerplate plot spirals to an utterly predictable ending.

 

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New Jersey: More noir than not

(This ran Dec. 16, 2011 in the Asbury Park Press and other Gannett NJ newspapers.)

By Cindy Capitani
Correspondent

The word ‘noir’ is hard to define. It conjures dark, bleak settings coated with cynicism. It embodies misdirected passion, betrayal and a calculating impulsivity. Noir doesn’t provide answers.

In the foreword of “New Jersey Noir,” Joyce Carol Oates unravels the atmosphere of ‘noir’ in this collection of brilliantly written stories and poems. In it, she says noir is “… the essence of mystery: that which cannot be solved.”

Princeton-based Joyce serves as editor of the book and writer of a puzzling story based in the Kittatinny Mountains. There, a new family and fresh start is grimly unraveled by a buried secret.

The book’s authors unearth a little noir in every Jersey neighborhood, even in the cookie-cutter suburbs of Paramus and Rutherford, where two of the 19 stories take place. Asbury Park serves as a backdrop as well, and not surprisingly, Newark, Camden and Jersey City, among others.

In Jonathan Santlofer’s “Lola,” a Hoboken artist stalks a woman he sees on the Path. But who is calling the shots: the painter or the Path-riding trophy wife? The reader is never quite sure.

“New Day Newark” by S.J. Rosen pits neighborhood gangs, crooked cops and a little old lady who saves the day with quiet manipulation. The essence of Newark Mayor Cory Booker hangs in the background.

The mystery of Jimmy Hoffa unfolds in “Meadowlands Spike,” by Barry N. Malzberg and Bill Pronzini, and Jonathan Safran Foer tells a tale of clashing realities in “Too Near Real.”

All of the stories have unseemly elements: drug addicts and dealers, seduction and betrayal, murders and alibis. If the book were a movie, it would unravel and twist like David Lynch’s “Muholland Drive.”

“NJ Noir” is part of the indie Akashic Books series that began with the award-winning “Brooklyn Noir.” There are now more than 25 noir anthologies, set everywhere from Copenhagen to Wall Street; a dozen more are in the works.

 

 

 

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The secret ‘Other’ folder on Facebook

You might have important Facebook messages and not even know it. Thanks to an article by Slate’s Elizabeth Weingarten, I discovered I did. I had well over 50 messages, all unseen by me until now, some dating back to 2009. I’m not kidding.

I was shocked to find the  “Other” folder, and that it contained a whole lot. One message was from an Associated Press reporter who wanted to interview me for an article. Excellent. Too bad it was dated Nov. 9; I’m sure his article is long written.

Other messages were from events I had RSVP’d “maybe” and other things to do I might’ve found interesting. Too late now. There were even several from people I’m actually FB friends with, so it’s not just junk mail being filtered.

It’s so strange to me that Facebook, which is so quick to share all of my info with the world, purposely hides messages in a place no one knows to look. Generally, Facebook alerts me to more than I can handle – like who commented on posts I “Liked,” and if someone wants to play a game. I just assume Facebook is telling me everything I need to know – and more.

But apparently it does not. I really would’ve liked to have known the Associated Press was looking for me. And I didn’t need to know so much that someone wanted something in Farmville … or that someone I didn’t know “Poked” me.

To find out if others are still waiting for a reply from you, click on the “Messages” tab in the left column of your home page; the “Other” folder appears right beneath it. Or, you can click on your Messages and then on the bottom, where it says “See All Messages,” click that and the “Other” folder appears.

One way to ensure you never miss a message is to go into your account settings and change your notification settings so Facebook sends you a personal email anytime someone messages you. Or, now that you know the “Other” folder exists, remember to check its contents.

I wonder what else Facebook is keeping from me?

 

 

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Dear Jenna, Thanks soMuch for the minute by minute account (of your boring life)

“Gym, work, then happy hour!!!!!” (shoot me.)

Screen shot 2011-11-18 at 5

“Work at 6. (who cares.)”

“Need a cupcake. Now.” (That explains a lot.)

“Johnny got 1,327 touchdowns!!!!!! Go Big RED!!!!!!!!!!”

“Who actually reads my posts? Leave me a one word comment …”

blah blah. (eff you) BLaH.

Seriously? You want me to leave a comment starting with the first initial of my first name … and what? Pass it on? Re-post? Are you KiDding? What the eff.

You want me to LiKe your cat’s heroics, your kid’s homerun, that new (OMG!) haircut? What’s that about your new gig? WoW. That’s just – aMaZiNg.

What’s that? You’re off to the gym? And had meatballs for dinner and pecan pie for lunch? Woo effing (insert expletive) hoo. You love kittens, Ghandi, cupcakes and Smith & Wesson. Wow. I was soooo-ooo wondering. Oh, and you love LIKE Wal-Mart. That IS amaz-I-ing.

Facebook. LoveHate you. When I find myself bored with a few minutes of spare time, I log on … and then throw up my breakfast when I’m 3 minutes in. If I see one more chuckle from Chuckles, or inspirational quote from InspirationalQuotes ‘R Us I’m deleting my account. (Seriously.) The youtube posts? REALLY? That’s all you got?

Yes, I know it takes 147 steps to delete an account, and I know I won’t care know what time Carol got to work or what kind of wine tea Courtney and Jonathan had (they’re underage. I’m a stalker journalist. Shoot me!).

Oh my. I won’t know that Anthony did 7,788 squats or Christina is down 187 pounds. I won’t see the video of the first steps that cutie-pie kid attempted in the driveway, or the kittens who saved the dolphins in San Fran. Or the puppies that break-danced at the Westminster or the cats who … who act like (insert disgruntled class action suit here) cats (oh, those effing cats).

Wait. What was that? Something about Van Gogh? And Joe Paterno? He has lung cancer?? (stop, I read that on Twitter.) But what’s that about pumpkin ice cream and massages?

Go aWay!  (Now, please :) )

Wait@! No! He’s dating (that slut) HER?? ShuTT Uppp.

(extra consonants added for emphasis.)

Goodbye Facebook. I’m back to my real life. But. … Wait … Ashton and Demi are divorcing (oh, we knew that). But … Wait … What’s that about Patrick the Dog and an indictment? No! Shut the …

Wait. (Seriously.) Good-bye. (Seriously.) Wait …

(Sigh.)

 

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The best quiche ever

The best recipe in the world is one that has a prep time of 5 minutes and includes handfuls of cheese. Thank you quiche Lorraine.

It was my roommate who woke up with quiche on the brain. Well, why not?

Quiche. What other food is appropriate for breakfast, lunch or dinner? What other food brings lots of comfort and protein? What other food cooks itself and requires minimal fuss?

I haven’t thought much about quiche since the 1980s stocking-stuffer book “Real Men Don’t Eat Quiche.” Quiche. Yes, quiche. Brilliant. What do real men know anyway? Now I knew what I would have for dinner and breakfast. Now I knew what I’d bring to a potluck Christmas gathering. Now I remembered why I loved quiche.

We went to the supermarket and promptly forgot why we were there. We bought light bulbs, potatoes, mascara and cookies before remembering we wanted to make quiche.

A quick Google search (thank you smart phone) gave us the ingredients (just eight, including the frozen pie crust) and ensured prep time was minimal. Bake time was an hour, but who cares? The oven takes over.

Bring this quiche to your next gathering and make people smile.

Quiche Lorraine

– 2 deep dish, 9-inch frozen pie crusts
– 2 cups of Swiss and Gruyere shredded cheese
– ¼ cup minced onion
– 5 beaten eggs
– 12 strips of center cut bacon
– 1 ½ cups light cream
– ½ teaspoon cayenne pepper
– Salt and pepper to taste

Preheat oven to 425 degrees. Toss cheese, onion, salt, pepper, cayenne and bacon into defrosted pie crusts. In a medium bowl, mix beaten eggs, cheese and cream together; pour mixture over the bacon-cheese party in the pie crusts. Bake 15 minutes at 425 degrees, then lower oven temperature to 300 and bake for an additional 45 minutes, or until a inserted knife comes out clean. Cool 10 minutes, slice and dig in.

 

 

 

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‘Goodnight Joe Frazier. I love you dear friend.’

Everyone’s heard of Smokin’ Joe Frazier, even those who never watched a boxing match. The Philly fighter was known for the left hook that floored the then-unbeaten Muhammad Ali at Madison Square Garden in 1971, and the unexpected right that almost took “The Greatest” out again in 1974 in Manila.

Joe Frazier awarded by the Daily News in 2011/WikiCommons

Joe Frazier awarded by the Daily News in 2011/WikiCommons

But the toughest battle of Frazier’s life was the one he lost to liver cancer Nov. 7, 2011 at the age of 67. No amount of training could have prepared him for this brief but powerful contest that ended under hospice’s care in a Center City apartment.

The 1964 Gold medalist started his professional career (37-4, 27 KOs) in 1965, defeating Woody Goss by TKO. He went on to become World Champion after beating Jimmy Ellis in 1970. Ellis held the belt after Ali was stripped of it and suspended from boxing for refusing to go to war in Vietnam.

Frazier was one of the many people who petitioned President Nixon to allow Ali back into the ring, leading to the “Fight of the Century” between the rivals. Frazier would go on to lose his crown to George Foreman in 1973. He retired after losing to Foreman a second time in 1976, returning to the ring for an unsuccessful brief comeback in 1981.

Upon the announcement of Frazier’s death, Foreman Tweeted, Good night Joe Frazier. I love you dear friend. Ali issued a statement, “I will always remember Joe with respect and admiration” and was known to have said “If God ever calls me to a Holy War, I want Joe Frazier fighting beside me.”

Manny Pacquio said “Boxing lost a great champion, and the sport lost a great ambassador.” Facebook pages for Frazier sprung up, seemingly overnight, and #JoeFrazier became a trending topic on Twitter. Floyd Mayweather Tweeted “RIP Smokin Joe. My thoughts and prayers go out to the Frazier family. We lost an all time great tonight.

As is often the way with Greats, Frazier’s accomplishments are being rightfully jump-started in his death. There’s re-buzz of erecting a Philly statue in his honor and the film, “Joe Frazier: When the Smoke Clears,” just opened in Manhattan. No doubt his 1996 autobiography will see a revival.

Perhaps in death, people will see Frazier as the legend he was, and not just as Ali’s nemesis.

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