<![CDATA[Welcome to all things Stacey Longo

<![CDATA[Welcome to all things Stacey Longo - My Blog]]>Tue, 21 May 2013 14:40:14 -0500Weebly<![CDATA[Fish On!]]>Fri, 17 May 2013 16:04:51 GMThttp://staceylongo.com/1/post/2013/05/fish-on.htmlIt's fishing season again. If you have a fisherman in your household, then you know what this means - endless days of sitting on the beach, freezing your tuckus off and slapping sand fleas as they bite your legs. However, if you are truly dedicated to your fisherman, the following tips might make your life easier!

1. Know your tide tables. Nothing ruins a college graduation or child's birthday party faster than your fisherman not showing up because it's an ideal tide for fishing. Knowing your tide tables will help you to avoid planning pesky nuisances like dinner during peak fishing hours.

2. Know your bait. Nobody wants to be the guy who brought the wrong lure to the fishing party. Familiarizing yourself with the proper bait for the target catch will make your fishing trip much more pleasant. I find it helpful to keep emergency packets of squid innards, minnows, and maggots in the cooler next to the cold sodas.

3. Prepare for any situation before leaving the house. Wear short sleeves for warm weather, pack sunscreen, bring a sweatshirt for cooler weather, wear rubber boots over your sneakers in case of rain, don't forget an umbrella (you don't think a little monsoon will cause your fisherman to pack up early, do you?), bring a blanket for sitting on the beach and wrapping up in once the temperature drops, and bring a shovel as a handy walking stick/beach fire prevention tool...just in case. It's also important to remember to spray yourself in insect repellant before leaving the house. Otherwise, the soft "fwoosh" of the bug spray on the beach might scare the fish away, something your fisherman will hold against you for years to come.

4. Know your fishing knots. Lost hooks and lures are par for the course while fishing. You never know when you will be called into service to re-tie a hook at a moment's notice. Remember the angler's rule of thumb when tying hooks: the rabbit runs around the tree three times before jumping in the hole. Bonus: As a fun beach activity, why not tie a few flies while watching the fishing line drift listlessly in the water?

5. Know your limits. Size limits, of course (your limits of patience and endurance will be tested throughout the day.) Familiarize yourself with state regulations on every breed your angler is trying to catch and make sure you can cite them when prompted. It's helpful to know the limits on all the fish in the ocean - you never know when your fisherman will aim for a fluke and reel in a scup. Don't forget the tape measure!

Overall, it's your choice whether to spend the day fishing with your loved one or to read a good book in the comfort of your own home. After all, nobody's going to ask you to stab a meal worm with a hook when you're camped out on the couch. Even then, you're never safe - after all, someone's got to fillet, de-bone, prepare and cook the big catch once your fisherman brings it home!

Jason would never have caught this undersize fluke that he had to toss back without my help.

]]><![CDATA[In The Name of Science]]>Fri, 10 May 2013 16:36:23 GMThttp://staceylongo.com/1/post/2013/05/in-the-name-of-science.htmlIt might surprise you to know that I'm a bit of an amateur scientist. (Maybe it wouldn't. But it surprised me to type that sentence, as dissection makes me hyperventilate.) Recently, I let a few bananas get a tad overripe, and my kitchen was overrun with fruit flies. I figured the best way to turn lemons into lemonade (or bananas into banana bread, if you would) was to conduct a few experiments. The results were shocking.

I put a clear glass bowl over the banana mush, gave them a little water, and started right away. First, I subjected my fruit flies to ten days of Sweatin' to the Oldies VHS tapes. Sure enough, within 40 days, all of my first-generation fruit flies were dead (though two insisted on getting a Richard Simmons perm before expiring.)
Proven fact: exercise is bad for you.

My next generation had it a little easier. I fed them lentils and a high-fiber supplement that rhymes with Betabucil to see how they'd do. All were dead within 37 days.
Proven Fact: a high-fiber diet is even more lethal than exercise.

I had a few more theories to test. One generation was subjected to three days straight of Under the Mistletoe by Justin Bieber. Sadly, I didn't stop this experiment early enough, and I lost several fruit flies when they threw themselves in the water bowl to escape the madness. It was a veritable fruit fly suicide.
Proven Fact: Justin Bieber = death.

Next up, I gave some flies the cheap dollar store chocolates that Jason bought me for Easter instead of going to Munson's, like I'd hinted at for days leading up to the holiday. (Honestly - how do you misinterpret a text that reads "Munson's has choc. covered Peeps. Bring some home or don't come home" ?) Sure enough, the fruit flies were dead within 40 days of being subjected to cheap cocoa and powdered milk.
Proven Fact: Next time, don't cheap out on the chocolates, pal!

Finally, it occurred to me that all of my experiments had been negative. What if I tried something fun, that I was sure would bring about positive results? So I played the DVD of Sing Blue Silver, a documentary of Duran Duran's 1983-84 World Tour. Unbelievably, all of my fruit flies were dead within 40 days. But I looked closer. Underneath the microscope, the evidence was clear: each one of those buggers had died with a tiny fruit fly smile on their faces.
Proven Fact: Duran Duran is good for the soul.

Next week: My hilarious exploits as I try to rid my kitchen of fruit flies.

Bonus: Book recommendation of the week! A Requiem for Dead Flies by Peter Dudar. Buy several copies today!

A different sort of Bieber fever.

]]><![CDATA[Here's a Story...]]>Fri, 03 May 2013 17:10:45 GMThttp://staceylongo.com/1/post/2013/05/heres-a-story.htmlIf there's one thing I've learned as a writer, it's that not every novel idea should see the light of day. While a love story between myself and Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson might sound like a good idea to me, there are other things to consider - like, will Mr. Johnson, Mr. Johnson's girlfriend, or the WWE sue? Will a restraining order be taken out against me? And how do I explain this to my husband?
I've had a few failed novel attempts over the years. Let's take a look at a few:

"My Mother is a Monster": Conceived of during my teenage years, this tale was about a 16-year-old who has to deal with such horrors as her mother insisting she come home by curfew; the cruelty of her mother refusing to let her out of the house in a skirt that barely covers her butt; and the worst of terrors, her mother insisting on calling her friends' parents to make sure the party the poor girl wants to attend will be supervised and that no alcohol will be served. It turns out that probably all of these things were for the main character's own good, but it took me a few years and a few failed agent queries to figure that out.

"Lame-o, the Sheepish Werewolf": In my early horror-writing days, I thought it would be fun to write about a werewolf that generally spent his days sunning himself on a rock, and preferred to eat Friendly's chocolate peanut butter sundaes over people. The terrifying part, of course, would be when Lame-o discovers he's lactose intolerant. However, it turns out there isn't much of a market for a non-snarling, dairy-loving werewolf named Lame-o. Live and learn.

"Zombie A-p-o-c-a-l-y-p-s-e": Sure, we all know that to survive the apocalypse of the undead, one will have to have some basic skills: hunting, gathering, finding weapons, using those weapons well, and, of course, the sidekick that always gets asked "how do you spell...?" Kept around for his impeccable spelling and grammatical abilities, Theodore hangs out with Butch, Fang, and Eyeball, letting them decapitate zombies and disembowel ghouls, while he reminds them that the decapitations are having a negative effect, not affect, on his appetite. This story was humming right along until Eyeball killed and ate Theodore in Chapter Three. Rule of thumb: never trust a character named Eyeball. Had I known he was a cannibal when I started writing the book, I never would have let him live past Chapter Two.

So remember, aspiring writers, not every idea is a good idea. And when you show your first draft of your novel to your family and your mother says "you have a LOT of nerve, young lady! You're grounded!"...well, then, maybe it's time to explore new ideas.

Alas, Lame-o was not to be.

]]><![CDATA[Mood Swings]]>Fri, 26 Apr 2013 17:44:42 GMThttp://staceylongo.com/1/post/2013/04/mood-swings.htmlI don't believe in PMS. I think it's a cheap excuse created by insecure chauvinist pigs in an effort to dismiss astute points raised by brilliant women simply because it makes these jerks look insignificant.
I do, however, believe in mood swings. And I suspect my mood has been swinging lately.
Take this conversation my husband and I had yesterday:

Jason: What's for dinner?
Me: Fish.
Jason: Hooray!
Me: Hooray? Hooray? Hooray that my wife just spent her day stocking books, cleaning shelves, and vacuuming and shampooing the store carpets, and now she gets to go home and prepare me dinner? Is that what you're cheering? That you've got your own personal Dobby the House Elf?
Jason: Umm...what?
Me: It's not like the flour and breadcrumbs mix themselves, and then the fish jumps into the breading and swims on over to the oil in the frying pan. Dobby has to do a lot of prep work before you get to eat, you know. (Starts crying.)
Jason: I'm sorry! Why are you crying?
Me: Because it's your fault that Malcolm got kicked off of Survivor.
Jason: Umm...what?
Me: It's your fault. You mentioned when we watched the first show that you hoped Malcolm won the million dollars, and you jinxed him. Now he's been voted off and I never, ever want to watch Survivor again, and it's all your fault!
Jason: Listen, you seem a little stressed. Why don't I take you out to dinner tonight?
Me: What, my cooking's not good enough for you? You insensitive jerk!
Jason: I give up.
Me: You would. You don't love me.
Jason: Yes I do.
Me: You don't know what love is!
Jason: Listen, you're talking crazy, and I'm tired of getting yelled at for nothing. I've had it!
Me: Please, let's not fight. I love you.

See? See how he twisted everything around on me there? I'd go into further detail about how I'm perfect and he's crazy, but unfortunately Dobby has to go make dinner now.

Dobby is going to miss Malcolm.

]]><![CDATA[Bad Day]]>Fri, 19 Apr 2013 21:35:28 GMThttp://staceylongo.com/1/post/2013/04/bad-day.html

Why, pray tell, would I start out a blog post with a picture of this book? First of all, it's a pretty good book. That cranky, crabby kid cracks me up every time I read it. Secondly, because I'm having a pretty bad day myself.
I woke up with pretty terrible bed hair, which, although I tried to brush and tame it with gel, mousse, hairspray, and even a little mayonnaise, didn't get any better, so then I had to wash it because the flies were really attracted to the mayo when I stepped out the door. Then I got on Facebook and found out from George Takei that Boston was on lockdown (that's right, people - my main source of news and current events is, in fact, Mr. Sulu.) This ticked me off. Boston is probably my favorite city ever, and I love everything about it - the chowder, the cobblestone, the Kennedys. Now, thanks to a spineless smear of dookie (that's right, I said it, and forgive my language, but I'm mad) the whole city is being locked down. Which meant that Boston Comic Con was probably going to be postponed. It was.
Now my weekend plans were shot, which meant no chowder in a sourdough bread bowl from Quincy Market for me. (Ooh! I wonder if chowder would have worked on my hair?) I scowled my way into work, only to find that someone had misfiled the Pattersons after the Picoults, and I had a sneaking suspicion it was me. (After all, I had been alphabetizing while listening to a particularly lively rendition of "The Reflex" by Duran Duran. Mistakes were bound to happen.)
I'd been hoping to make spaghetti with sausage for dinner, but when I got home after a rainy, gloomy day, I discovered that we were out of pasta and sauce. I'd meant to add both to the shopping list last week, but again, those boys from Birmingham had lulled me to distraction with "Save a Prayer," and I'd forgotten. Sure, I could recite the whole third stanza of the song, but "feel the breeze/deep on the inside/ look you down into the well" wasn't going to help dinner get made. I scrambled some eggs and went to lie down, disappointed.
Lying down turned out to be stupid, because the bed head came right back. I did finish the book I was reading, but it turned out to be disappointing, and I'm a little mad at Larry McMurtry for not being perfect. And still my favorite city is silent while they ferret out a murderer.
So all in all, it was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

]]><![CDATA[Animal Lover]]>Fri, 12 Apr 2013 17:35:57 GMThttp://staceylongo.com/1/post/2013/04/animal-lover.htmlI love pets. I've owned a ton, and for this reason alone I like to pretend I'm an animal expert. If you're thinking about getting a new addition, here's a guide to some animals I've owned. Take a look to see what might be the best fit for you:

Soon I'll be big enough to climb those drapes!

CATS
Who doesn't love cats? Besides people who are allergic to them, I mean. There's nothing sweeter on a rainy day than to have a purring cat in your lap whilst reading a good book. Open a pint of Ben & Jerry's, though, and that sweet little kitten will turn into a velociraptor hunting small children in a kitchen. Deny him a lick of Chunky Monkey, and your face will become his new scratching post.
PROS: Self-cleaning; poops in one place and buries it
CONS: Withholds affection; hairballs
WHERE'S MY CAT NOW? I do own two cats, but mostly I've been known to adopt a cat and then let my parents take care of it.

I won't be this cute in a couple of months.

DOGS
Who doesn't love dogs? Besides cat people, I mean. A dog will be your loyal companion, your security alarm, and your faithful bed-warmer. However, he will also chew up your shoes, ruin your hardwood floors with his claws, and sniff all of your friends' crotches when they come over.

PROS: Dogs think you're the greatest. person. ever!
CONS: Poops wherever it wants; friend may not want crotch sniffed.
WHERE'S MY DOG NOW? Mom eventually got tired of walking the dog and feeding her and gave her away to a nice home. I think.

Is that a mouse in your throat or are you just happy to see me?

SNAKES
Who doesn't love a good snake? Besides squeamish people, I mean. And that kid in Lonesome Dove who was attacked by water moccasins. But otherwise, who else, really?
Snakes are a fairly low-maintenance pet. They don't demand attention and they poop, like, once every two weeks. What they do require, however, is for you to feed them live mice every once in a while. Also, they need a cage with a secure lock, or else "Snuggles" might try to eat you as you sleep. He probably won't succeed, but still, he'll try. Unless he's poisonous. Then you're going to die, which you deserve, because owning a poisonous snake is just stupid.
PROS: Controlled shedding; chicks will dig you because you own such a cool pet.
CONS: This is a wild animal that really should be living outside. Each time it stares at you with its sad, trapped eyes, your soul will die a little.
WHERE'S MY SNAKE NOW? Mom selfishly refused to let me dump this pet on her, so he traveled with me until he died of boredom.

This is about as exciting as I get.

FISH
Who doesn't love fish? Besides people who bore easily, I mean.
Fish won't jump on you, won't poop in your shoe, and won't try to eat you in your sleep. They won't do much of anything, really, except swim, poop where they swim, and eat foul-smelling flakes. Sometimes, they'll eat each other, which can add some excitement to the day, until you're left with just one (rather content and well fed) fish.

PROS: Fairly easy to maintain; just keep their water clean and feed them. Also, easy to dispose of.
CONS: There's not a lot going on with fish. Plus, cleaning their tank sounds suspiciously like work.
WHERE'S MY FISH NOW? Mom admirably kept my two kissing gouramis, Bill and Hill, alive for a good year after I left them with her. Eventually, however, they wound up flushed.

]]><![CDATA[Vader, Darth and Light]]>Sat, 06 Apr 2013 02:05:54 GMThttp://staceylongo.com/1/post/2013/04/vader-darth-and-light.htmlThis week, Jason and I watched Star Wars, Episodes I through VI. Watching all of these movies back to back made me realize two things: one, Jason and I have too much time on our hands. And two, these movies are really all about the life and times of one tragic hero: Darth Vader.
I'm not really sure why Anakin Skywalker gets such a bad rap. It's not like he asked Qui-Gon Jinn and Obi-Wan Kenobi to land on Tatooine and rescue him from slavery. I didn't hear him begging to leave his mother and train to be a Jedi. No, all he cared about was fixing his pod racer and building himself a protocol droid, two perfectly normal activities for a well-adjusted, content boy. It was those rotten Jedis who insisted on ripping Anakin from his home and family to train him in a career that perhaps he was a tad emotionally immature to embark on. Can't blame Vader for that - he was just a kid!
As soon as Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan get this forlorn boy on their ship, that's when that sleazy seductress, Padme, starts to work her cougar magic. Before this stupid kid can stop himself, she's entranced him with her wily seductive powers, which is a little gross, quite frankly. Really, how old is he? Eight? Padme was like a cat in heat, chasing after that child! She should be in jail instead of ruling over Naboo like some sort of pillar of society.
Well, the Nabooan tramp got her way, because by Episode III, she was pregnant with little Anakin's twins. Poor Vader now had to figure out how to support a wife and family, and as we all know, Jedi Knight is one of the lowest-paying professions in the galaxy. When the Emperor offered him a higher paying job (and really, Dark Sith Lord is right up there with lawyers and doctors on the pay scale) what other choice did he have but to accept the position? Obi-Wan didn't take Darth Vader's resignation very well at all, trying to burn him to death for his efforts. Remember, folks: employees don't quit their jobs, just their bosses -- and we can certainly see why Darth wanted to quit that toxic tyrant!
Padme the pedophile dies, and Vader's twins are hidden away, which is just a crappy thing to do to a new (and recently widowed) father. Luke and Leia grow up not knowing their dad, until Vader puts it together that this kid named Skywalker who looks just like him (maybe that's a stretch) is his son. So what does Vader do? He asks -- nay, begs! -- his son to join him on the dark side. Great pay, good benefits, and sure, you have to be the Emperor's lap dog, taking orders all day, but you get to live on a really cool Death Star. All he wanted to do was see his son follow in his footsteps. But Luke, little ingrate that he is, refuses to listen to his father. Darth Vader is killed for his efforts to try and connect with his boy, and those insensitive Ewoks actually hold a big party now that Darth Vader is dead. Quite frankly, Luke and Leia didn't deserve to have a father like Darth. Hard working, sharp dresser, eager to work with his son and rule the galaxy...what more could a kid ask for? Apparently, if you're Luke "I killed Yoda" Skywalker and Leia "I'll kiss a wookie if the price is right...just like my mother" Organa, all of that wasn't enough. They were clearly ashamed of their father, maybe because of his chronic asthma.
Darth Vader: tragic hero and misunderstood dad. I'm really not so sad that he killed Obi-Wan after all.

]]><![CDATA[Happy Easter!]]>Fri, 29 Mar 2013 19:05:18 GMThttp://staceylongo.com/1/post/2013/03/happy-easter.htmlEaster in the Longo house was always filled with candy, good food, and a little bit of terror. As a kid, I remember Dad telling us the story of Easter. Not that one about Jesus Christ dying and being resurrected; I'm talking about the one where Dad would describe waiting up all night, rabbit snares at every doorway and window, waiting to catch the Easter Bunny. He'd go on and on about the feast we'd have Easter Sunday: rabbit stew, beer-braised rabbit, welsh rarebit with rabbit, rabbit sausage...a veritable feast! Once we were crying good and hard, Dad would scoot us over to Mom in the kitchen to dye Easter eggs.
Sometimes, we'd dye them in the Greek tradition, which, for you non-Greek heathens, is to dye all of them a deep red. No multiple colors, no festive wax drawings or stickers. Just a dark...blood red...Easter egg. To represent the blood of Christ, you see.
Good times for little kids, I tell ya.
Easter morning, we'd wake up to a magically filled Easter basket, complete with marshmallow eggs, jelly beans, and a giant chocolate bunny. That Easter Bunny, he never held back. Sometimes he even left extra candy for my parents, too. What a rabbit! He never held a grudge against my dad for wanting to trap and skin him.
We'd then go on an Easter egg hunt. Perhaps aware of the trauma blood red eggs cause, the Bunny would leave Cadbury Creme Eggs (R) throughout the house. Oh, what fun we had trying to find them before Dad ate them all! Then we'd sit down and peel off the foil carefully, biting into the sugary goodness. When my sister and I were about four creme eggs in, Mom would remind us that we had a dentist appointment on Wednesday.
All in all, Easter was full of happy memories. (Except for the year that we learned one should never, ever, die right before Easter because it's impossible to book a church for the funeral, but that's a hilarious story for another time.) Truly, the worst thing about growing up is no longer getting a basket full of goodies on Easter Sunday. But I have to tell you, the blood-red Easter eggs have really grown on me.

Χριστός Ανέστη!

]]><![CDATA[Fashionista]]>Fri, 22 Mar 2013 15:49:47 GMThttp://staceylongo.com/1/post/2013/03/fashionista.htmlWhen people meet me, they often think "Wow! What a fashionista!" (They don't say they're thinking this, but I can tell.) One of my favorite things to do is to find a picture of a model and recreate her look. Take this lady, for instance:

Nice, right? She looks lovely. However, her whole outfit probably costs $4,000. I don't have that kind of money. What I do have is the innate ability to find a bargain. So off I went.
First off, her blazer is white, which is a terrible color on me. I decided to go with gray, which is a little more flattering. Also, I don't like wearing tops that button, so I went with a sweater (Price: free, raided my great-aunt's closet.)
Her skirt just isn't practical for New England in March. It might be spring, but it was snowing yesterday, and that skirt would just look silly over a pair of long johns. I swapped it out for a nice, sensible pair of corduroys (Price: $5.00, JC Penney clearance rack.)
Now for the accessories. Her Jackie Kennedy glasses seemed a tad pricy, so I went with cheap imitations that were equally as big and gaudy. (Price: free when you buy the first season of CHiPS on DVD.) Her heels looked a little cumbersome, plus, due to an old knee injury, I no longer wear heels as a rule. I like the pattern, though. It makes a personal statement. So I found some sneakers with my own personal statement - the logo of my favorite baseball team, the New York Yankees. (Don't you boo me, Red Sox Nation. I like a team that WINS.) I added my own personal touch - some orthopedic arch support inserts - and I was ready to go! As soon as I found a purse, of course. (Price: $10 for the sneakers at the Reebok outlet; $14 for supports for my falling arches at Walmart.)
I LOVE the Vera Bradley bag the model has, but again, I'm sure I could make a personal statement for less. I found a great Halston-print bag at Job Lot for much less. Oops! Did I say Halston? I meant Holstein. Only $10! My look was complete.
Here's the result of my careful replication of the model's outfit:

It's like we're twins, right? Right?
If you'd like me to come redo YOUR wardrobe for less, I'm available for consultation at the low, low price of $100/hr. Arch support inserts get expensive, you know.

]]><![CDATA[St. Patrick's Day Celebration]]>Fri, 15 Mar 2013 17:13:57 GMThttp://staceylongo.com/1/post/2013/03/st-patricks-day-celebration.htmlWe don't have a drop of Irish blood in my family, but that doesn't stop us from celebrating what's really important about St. Patrick's Day: overindulgence.
What we DO have in my family is a St. Patrick's Day birthday, which is my sister Kim's big day. In recognition of this, I like to start my March 17th by calling Mozzicato's Bakery in Hartford and ordering a giant chocolate mousse cake. I have them write "Happy Birthday, Kim" on the top, and I go pick it up right away. Sometimes, I even remember to invite my sister over before I dig in.
I think everyone knows that the best part of St. Patrick's Day is that you get to imbibe as much as you want of your favorite drink, and when you puke on a stranger's shoes, they'll just chalk it up to holiday festivities. This is why I like to fire up not one, but twelve coffee pots early in the day. My college days are long over, my friends, but that doesn't mean I can't drink my favorite quaff - Dunkin' Donuts Morning Blend - to the point where I'm so hyped up, I start pretending I'm a smurf with a brilliant plan to outsmart Gargamel using just our living room furniture and spackle. Our first St. Patrick's Day together, Jason thought I had lost my mind completely, but once he saw my giant spackle fort, complete with a sofa moat, I could tell he thought my idea was smurftastic. Yippeee! More coffee, please!
Of course, the worst part of St. Patrick's Day is the way you feel the next morning. I can't tell you how many times I've woken up with the worst caffeine migraine in the history of headaches. I've found, though, that the best cure is the hair of the dog that bit you. Which is why, on March 18th, you'll find me with my coffee in a giant to-go cup, driving back to Hartford for my second chocolate mousse cake in as many days.
Happy St. Patrick's Day, everyone! And Happy Birthday, Kim!

Happy St. Patrick's Day! Photo purloined from www.blessedcookiesandcandys.com.

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