ParentZing! had the, er, “cool” opportunity to interview Becky App, one of the smooth gals behind eCreamery. Becky and her business partner Abby Klusmire churn out custom-made ice cream concoctions. (And it’s *yummy*! We tried it!) Yup, you get to design and name your very own creations. Not only will it be fun for you, but think of the glow on Aunt Fran’s face when she and her card-playing buddies dig their spoons into the Chocolate Coconut Caramel Canasta Night blend you conjured up just for her.
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Q: I remember when I was 7 or 8 years old, I thought no one was looking so I grabbed a marshmallow peep and cracked a Cadbury Egg and smashed it around in my bowl of ice cream. I just got in trouble for doing it. How’d the heck did you manage to turn your ice cream dreams into a lucrative business?
A: It actually all started with diamonds and crystal. Abby and I worked together in the custom gift department of a Fine Jewelry store and helped people create unique personalized gifts. Gifts with a personal message and unique stories that made them special. We kept thinking how we could take this concept into the realm of our true passion – food! So aafter many meetings over lunch and dinner it hit us: What could be sweeter than personalized ice cream? A partnership with a long established mom and pop ice cream shop and HOURS UPON HOURS of learning the intricacies of gourmet ice creams & gelatos (serious taste testing) and we were off!
Q: Admit it. Jennifer Aniston helped you develop your“Break Up” flavors, right? What other celebs order from you and what flavors do they like? After hunky Daniel Craig places his order to celebrate the success of his newest film, could I personally deliver the package to him? Will the package include two spoons, because we’ll need them.
A: Break ups were inspired by none other than Carrie Bradford of Sex & the City. Everyone needs a sympathy scoop now and again. We’d love to share the delectable secrets of our sweet toothed celebs but we have to respect their privacy. Rachael Ray however, is proud to share her love of her creation, Izzy’s Pick Me Up, publically. She had it made in honor of Isabel, her dog. She is a fantastic customer! As for the long list of others, I can only hint. Park Avenue Fashion Designers, Wall Street Secret Lovers, we’ve even had an Oval Office Ovation order. We love reading the order list. Read the rest of this entry »
Each month ParentZing! highlights a different city; this time around City “X” is San Francisco. Our guest poster, Helena, lives in the Noe Valley neighborhood with her spouse and two kids. She tells us why she’ll never leave her heart in San Francisco… because she’s never leaving.
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Yes, it’s expensive. There, I said it. Yet I still love raising my family in San Francisco.
Besides, there’s a reason it’s so expensive to live here: It’s great, and deep down inside everyone wants to be here, whether they admit it or not. Read on to see some of the reasons our family loves living here.
Paul Ruddhas no idea that he has a sister soul floating around out there. (That would be me.)
So what, yeah, I’ve always thought he was freakishly adorable and ever-so-wonderfully quirky, even way back when… blah, blah, blah… Clueless… blah, blah, blahbity, blah.
Just like, well, pretty much every other organism with any brain activity and half the people from West Virginia.
Honestly, who else aside from Pretty Paul could make it not only acceptable for a (barely) high-school aged girl to fall in love and make out with her college-aged brother, but downright *desirable*?! Sigh…
But it isn’t like I’ve been constantly trying to channel Little Mr. Sunshine since then, given that we’ve only gotten glimpses of him over the years here ‘n there. (And in some cases — er,a certain movie which shall remain nameless but has to do with a holiday around Oct. 31st – there was no “there” there, if y’all know what I mean).
The last thing you need is another post about how to prepare the Thanksgiving turkey. Who do you think I am, Tom Colicchio? (BTW, it’sTop Chef season again, as if I had to tell you).
No, I’m here to help you with a different dilemma: How to prepare your little city mice for mingling with the country mice.
I don’t know about your kids, but when my urban offspring get together with their suburban cousins, all sorts of comparisons are made about every day life. So before you pile into the car, jump on the train, or step into the pressurized cabin it’s best to teach ‘em how to appropriately respond to suburbanspeak such as, “Like, you wanna go to the mall?”
Of course, it’s important to first promote respect for various lifestyles. So, practice what you don’t preach and read them the politically correct “The City Kid & Suburban Kid“.
Then ditch being PC and pull out the heavy artillery. Look, it’s time your innocent babies learned that shopping centers, at least in part, caused the demise of Main Street. (You know, the one that Sarah Palin talked so lovingly about even though her own home town is basicallyone big ol’ strip mall.)
Feel free to try the subtle approach first. Check out the video game Mall Tycoon. Read the reviews; basically everyone says it’s a complete snorefest. Force the kids to play even though after 5 minutes they announce in their best whiny voices how booooooring it is. Reinforce over and over the association “mall = boring”.
The next step involves scaring the pants off of them. Find every book you can about getting lost in the mall. One example isDakota Gets Lost. Skip the happy endings where things work out and stop at the point where the kid is crying and can’t find Mommy or Daddy or Aunt Camilla anywhere.
After that it’s time to put that final nail in the, er coffin. Rent the original Dawn of the Dead (1978). What’s it about? Flesh-eating zombies snacking on humans stuck inside….tada!…a shopping mall.
Seriously. The majority of movie takes place in Monroeville Mall, a honest-to-goodness real, live shopping mall located outside of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.
He sang about dreams. And it’s safe to say he’s voting for Obama.
Speakin’ of dreams, I’m in a bit of a dream haze myself… but it has nothing to do with politics.
About a week ago or so I completely and utterly randomly chatted with The Boss. No, not “my” boss, but THE Boss… As in Mr. Springsteen, himself. Days later I still feel like I’m in that haze, andif there hadn’t been witnesses I probably woulda chalked it up to one too many Jello chocolate pudding cups before bedtime.
I’ll explain, but let me preface the story with this: I’ve never been one of Springsteen’s mega-crazy, whack-a-doodle-doo fans. I’ve always appreciated him, respected his work and his hardscrabble climb to fame. I have lots of favorite Springsteen songs. Many of his CDs.
Once in junior or senior high school — I don’t remember which but it was way before CDs existed — tix to one his concerts sold out before I could score one. For some particular reason that escapes me, going to this concert was dire.
I tried and tried to win one from the local radio station, listening day and effin’ night for the one Springsteen song you were supposed to be the 15th caller on. I was the 8th caller one night; that’s as close as I got. My dialing fingers raw and my eyes jacked open by Mountain Dew, I finally had to let it go. I knew defeat when it came knocking. I might have even cried myself to sleep.
So, yes: You could say I’m a fan. But not one of *those* kinds of FANS. You know, the kinds that have been to hundreds of concerts; refuse to give away their vinyl, 8 tracks and cassette tapes even though they also have the whole collection on CD; would swoon and declare life has meaning if handed his toe-nail clipping in a keepsake tissue. Or, would gladly hand over a first born in exchange for a chance to hug it out with Bruce. And while I am not personally one of those fans, I do know at least one who is.
Anyway, back to the story: I was at a horse show held in a big indoor arena. The very kind of venue that Bruce plays (and has played) in. Our kids like going to these shows because it’s a sport where they totally “get” what’s happening: The pretty horsey that jumps over all the fences and doesn’t knock anything down gets a “yea!”; the poor horsey that knocks down poles gets an “awwwwww”.
[What can I say; it's much easier to explain that than, say, why the pitcher should throw an inside pitch to that particular batter or why the quarterback should go for it when it's 4th and inches.]
Kids being kids, although they really *were* totally into the show, they were also totally into making us get up time and time again to fetch this and/or fetch that.
“Oh, no! Pole down. Daddy, I’m hungry, can I have some pizza?A horse refused a jump! Whew!Mommy can I have something to drink?That one was good, she didn’t knock any down!Daddy, can I have some ice cream?That’s a pretty horse, it has spots.Daddy, I’m still thirsty.Mommy, look at that big jump! I don’t think any of the horses can make it over that. I‘m still hungry. Can I have a pretzel?
With the pretzel request, my husband cracked. “That’s it!” he glared. You go. I’m not going again for *anything*!” I said nothing but shot back the, “Fine, I’ll go get the da*m pretzel, you lazy bleepity-bleep” look. I’m sure you know it well.
I picked up my barely-settled tush and slogged my way up the stairs. Exited onto the concourse. Shuffled my way past the hot dog stand, the pizza place, the donut emporium. Luckily we went during the middle of the day when none of the big prize or final competitions were being held, so lines were at a minimum everywhere. Even at the pretzel stand.
In fact, there was only one other guy standing next to me, already paying for his pretzel. I ordered mine as he dug around in his jean pocket for money. Hmm. Cool jeans, I thought. Wow, he’s a fun guy… look at all of those friendship bracelets tied around his wrist. Probably made by his daughter and her friends.
My eyes traveled up to his face…and.. “Holy Rosalita,” I thought. “That man looks just like… just like…just like… Bruce freaking Springsteen!”
Right, I sneered to myself. Springsteen is buying a day-old pretzel at some pony show. Himself. Not his assistant, not his body guard. Just him, standing in the pretzel line and rummaging around for change in his jean pocket, thick black glasses dangling from the shirt collar. Then a real voice interrupted the deep conversation my head was having with itself:
“Hey, man,” Pretzel Dude said to Cool Jeans/Friendship Bracelet Guy, “I saw you when you played here last year. You comin’ again?”
My heart thumped right out of my chest the way they do in cartoons, where you can actually see it beating. I swear! ”WHAT?” I began the conversation with myself again. “The Pretzel Dude asking him if… WHAT?! Could this random guy standing next to me really be….”
“Probably be back here again,” this gravely voice said in response to Pretzel Dude’s question. “Didja have a good time at the last one?” Pretzel Dude eagerly confirmed that he had. Read the rest of this entry »
Q: Admit it. Jennifer Aniston helped you develop your “Break Up” flavors, right? What other celebs order from you and what flavors do they like? After hunky Daniel Craig places his order to celebrate the success of his newest film, could I personally deliver the package to him? Will the package include two spoons, because we’ll need them.
“Oh, no! Pole down. 
