Blowing up pumpkins

Today was the perfect introduction to fall: a high 60s, somewhat breezy and overcast, windows open kind of day. James and I used the day to catch up on our busy lives, most of which involved mopping the entire house and doing laundry. However, I did get to use some of the day to drag out my autumn decorations.

During my mini-decorating session I came across two little glass pumpkins that James and I were able to make at a local glass-blowing studio. A few years ago we went to Flame Run and met with a glassblower to start the process of creating some special fall centerpieces. I had been wanting to do a "blow your on ornament" session for a while but when the opportunity arose to make pumpkins instead I had to jump on it. I would much rather have fall than winter anytime, and the longer I can stretch out my pumpkiny, leafy, and cozy season the better.

So we headed downtown to get started on our pumpkins. We had come at the perfect time, in between larger groups, and thus, had the opportunity to work with the glass blower independently. We first started by perusing other blown pumpkins. Some were rather average - orange with green stems, however some were outrageous - pink with white stems, purple with blue stems, rainbow colored and clear. Now, you know us better than that... so traditional it was. We picked out our different shades of oranges and yellows and headed back to the studio.

It was a rather chilly day, but inside the studio with the glass ovens burning it was toasty and warm. We got started with our glass blower and he walked us through each step. First, he pulled a glob of hot glass from the pool of liquid glass inside one of the ovens. He rolled it up in the specs of colored glass that we had chosen and then stuck it back into the glory hole - the bright red glowing oven. This melted the glass specs to the existing clear glass and gave it some color. We had chosen two colors each, so he repeated this process again with our other colors.

After he had gotten our colors all fused together he stuck the hot glass ball into a mold, which would give the pumpkin its' ridges. He blew into the long pipe until it expanded into the mold and pulled it back out.

At this point it was time to get our pumpkins into shape! We each blew into the long tubes while the glass blower spun the pumpkin around in circles and shaped it a little bit more.

After we had plumped up our pumpkins to the right size they were pulled off the tubes. They sat there on a towel, glowing red hot, and waiting for their finishing touches.

It was at this point that the glass blower worked in our stems. He had gone through the same process as with the pumpkins, except rolling them in green specs. He took the hot glass and placed it on top of our still warm pumpkins. He pulled the glass out a little and started to twist the pipe, giving the stems the distinct ridges, as well.

When he had the base attached to the pumpkin, he quickly twirled it around another pipe, giving it a little curly stem. Adorbs. You can still see in these pictures how hot the glass stems are, they aren't even green until they cool.

Once he had made sure the stems were attached all the way, and had tucked them in, we had to wait at least 24 hours before we could pick them up. Since they were still so incredibly hot when we left them, we couldn't even tell what color they would end up being. Now, you know me and you know that doesn' fly for long. I am the most impatient human being on the planet, so, as soon as I got the call that the pumpkins were ready, I took my lunch break to drive downtown and pick them up. I love them so much! Mine is the bigger clearer one on the right and James' is the littler one. Not only do we have these perfect little pumpkins to set out for 2 months out of the year, but we have a great story, too!

A side note is in order... I briefly mentioned a surprise we have a'brewing... Well, James and I are waiting for confirmation (tomorrow) and your only hints are that... you can fully expect my pinterest to be blowing up and this is about to be a whole different kind of blog... 

Walking through NuLu

This past weekend my best friend came down to Louisville for a wedding. On Sunday, while she was nursing her celebratory hangover, we decided to meet up.

I decided to have her meet me at one of my favorite brunch places - Garage Bar. while it is normally more popular at night, this place has some badass breakfast potatoes and a waffle that could make you cry tears of joy. They also bring you simple syrup to sweeten your own tea and I kind of like that.

We sat outside under the old filling station's canopy because the day was absolutely perfect - here in Kentucky we happen to have a lot of those. We ate and talked and watched a family of birds share a fallen potato. After filling ourselves it was all but necessary to walk off the breakfast paunch, so we took off down Market St. in a little area of town now called "NuLu"... as in "New Louisville".

The street is wide and lined on both sides with those little cutesy shops I just die for. There are beer shops, taco stands, Why Lou Two - which has awesome novelties and too many t-shirts for me to make a decision.

There are jewelry stores, reclaimed furniture showrooms, record shops, and just about anything else you would want to enjoy on a Sunday afternoon.

We strolled and shopped, and if I hadn't been completely convinced that Louisville was the single greatest city on the earth (for the record - I already was), this walk would have converted.

The gardens behind Red Tree.

I understand that some people don't have a liking for this kind of place - the independence of it all, the uniqueness around every corner, and the complete lack of excuses to be "bored". It is my belief that these people just haven't found their neighborhood yet. Keep wandering, my friends...

Saturday's Derby preview day date

My friend and her coworker came down this past weekend to run in the Derby mini-marathon. Go them! I am not all about the running, but I do appreciate the coming and going of the races as one of the major events leading up to... the Derb. That's right. We're so close that I have a nickname for it now.

Since Erin had moved from Louisville, things had changed. The city has been developing some different areas of town, and building them up to be more appealing. Butchertown is one of those areas.

So after their race they headed over to my house and we decided to find something to do. I suggested we go over to Butchertown and hit a few of the cutesy little shops and bars before we went out for dinner. It turned into the best little girly day date I have ever had!

We first stopped by the Butchertown market building, where we headed to Work the Metal. This shop is full of just about everything imaginable. They have great jewelry that is super affordable. They have homegoods and housewares that are both ironic and awesome. They have candles, foods, paintings, etc. The only problem is... I WANT IT ALL! I cannot walk two feet in that store without wanting to buy at least one thing I see. I have several pieces of jewelry from there and I have a few pillows, too. One has a big green bee and is made out of burlap. I love it.

It is absolutely the most adorable shop you will ever peruse. If you are from Louisville and haven't been, yet, go. If you are from out of town, put this on your list of places to visit. I am dead serious. I love bringing people here, especially out of towners, because I think it does such a good job of wrapping everything that Louisville is all about up in one nice little bow.

I ended up getting some ingredients for the Derby Brunch I will be hostessing on Saturday. Some bourbon smoked sea salt. Yum. It smells like smokey heaven. I want to rub it on my steaks. I also got some bourbon barrel aged vanilla. Uh. Yea. This is going in just about everything I am going to bake from now until I run out and have to buy another bottle. It is amazing. It smells so fantastic that I want to drop some in every corner of my house so I can just smell it everywhere I go. Um... new idea? Bourbon Barrel Vanilla Perfume? Make it happen.

We shopped and shopped in Work the Metal, then we wandered over to the Cellar Door chocolate shop that connects to it. Mistake. They have a whole case of different kinds of bourbon balls and truffles. They have chocolate horses, chocolate fleur de lis, chocolate jockeys, chocolate roses, chocolate turtles. I like all of these things. So, of course, I left with several different kinds of bourbon balls. My favorites so far are the pecan, brown sugar and honey varieties.

After we bought our jewelry, accessories, bourboney things and chocolate, we left the market and walked across the train tracks to the Blind Pig. I have written about the pig before, if you do recall. It is where James and I had visited before we saw Wicked.

Well, this time we were just stopping in for a beer. Celebratory post-run beers. Or, for me, just a beer. They were spectacular. We all tried something different and one beer turned into two... you know how it goes. We drank our beers and chatted about the upcoming weekend and everything that went with it. Erin is coming back this weekend for the Derby and we started making plans.

It was a perfect kickoff day for the week of Derby and just made me so excited about this coming weekend! There is still so much to be done- especially with my move going on at the same time, but if there is anything I know, the Derby comes whether you are ready or not, so saddle up!

Ferdinand's Ball!

As I have mentioned before, I occasionally convince James to put on a suit and traipse around town with me. We have a few favorite events we hit up every year and one of these is Ferdinand's Ball.

It's my favorite time of year: Derby time, which can only mean one thing - the Ball is right around the corner! Now, it just so happens that a good friend of mine co-founded this particular derby gala. All the more reason to support it. However, Ferdinand's Ball is for a great cause, and one that I fully support.

The Ball supports Old Friends, which is a thoroughbred retirement farm. Some Derby newbies might not realize that most of the horses they are watching race, are under 3 years old - just lil' baby horsies! Wouldn't it be nice to retire by 5? When the racehorses retire, it can sometimes be hard to find permanent retirement farms for them. Some of our other friends actually own retired race horses and use them for trail riding and pets, but the bulk of retired racehorses aren't that lucky. By "not that lucky" I mean that some of the retired racehorses, even the superstars, are sent overseas... where they are eaten.

It isn't a fairytale end for these ponies. So that's where the farm steps in. Farms, like Old Friends, are permanent homes for these guys and gals, and what's even better is that you can go and visit them there! Imagine being able to pull up to a house with all of the old reality TV stars in it, and being able to hob nob and hang out with these pseudo-celebs. That's kind of like visiting the farm would be for me.

So Ferdinand's Ball donates their proceeds to the Old Friends, which gives a nice, loving home for all these retired horsies. I love the message. Especially around Derby time. The horses are the real reason we have this huge celebration that lasts 2 weeks long, and they deserve to be treated like the super stars that they are!

Now, the Ball is a great cause and everything... but it is also a great party. James and I love attending. There are so many things to do and see, and it is always in an amazing venue.

Photo taken by the one and only - Jacob Zimmer, Zymage, LLC.

We dress up, eat, drink, dance to some jams, bid on silent and live auction items, watch a painting done live, mess around in the photo booth, and even get to walk the red carpet (which James loves... he would never admit it, but he is totally a glamourpuss).

I am super excited about this year's Ball, especially since one of our own Cardinals is hosting (Peyton!). I can't wait to get all gussied up and hit the town, photogs all over, and have a great time.

This is just one of the many Derby events James and I will be hitting up this year. It is so much fun to attend and I love being able to see everyone there. We meet jockeys, owners, celebrities and new friends. Our pictures are splattered all over the society pages in the Louisville magazines - one even used a picture of James and I kissing in their lead story! He would die if he knew...

May 2nd is the night! I'll put up some of our undoubtedly awesome pictures from this year's ball soon after.

My hood

Getting ready to move in with James has had me thinking, lately. Mostly about where we are going to put all of his tools... but about some other things too. I know, I know... another sentimental blog post? What the hell, Bridgette? What's gotten into you?

Springtime in Kentucky is my favorite time of year, and everything I love about the Spring is amplified in the hood. That's right. You may not have realized, but I live in the hood. I have for about 6 years now. I love my hood. It is the kind of place that my mom is afraid to leave her car parked outside for more than an hour at a time. But it is my place.

Years ago I was working for a company doing promo work. This meant a lot of traveling. It was summer and I was between classes, so it worked out well. I would be gone for 3-4 days at a time, finding out which city I would be staying in the morning of. Then I would be back for a few days. I was also in the process of moving out of my old house, which I had shared with 4 other girls.

I didn't have anywhere to live. For most people, this would be frightening. You see, I have a little bit of a gypsy side and this was nothing new, really. However, it just so happened that my newish boyfriend, James, was looking into investment properties.

So we struck a deal. I could pick out the house, he would buy it, and I would rent it with some friends. Pretty good deal, huh? So after a few weeks of living out of my car, I found a house.

It was cute. It was perfect. It sat up on it's own little hill and looked cheerily down at the street. It had a precious little front porch. Shotgun style with a hallway, three bedrooms, a laundry room (a luxury, here in the hood), and one bathroom. The kitchen was massive.  Lots of windows. And it only got broken into once!

I won't get into much more detail about the house, that's probably another story for another sentimental time, but I will describe my hood for you.

I am close to campus, and close to downtown, but far enough away that I have some non-student neighbors. I can see the fireworks from Thunder over Louisville from my front porch. I can hear concerts at the old stadium in the summer. I can smell the grass being cut in the park and cemetery across the street. I am a short walk away from bars, pizza and ice cream.

My permanent neighbor, Thomas, is senile, but he grows a little row of grapes between our houses. He told me one time that he makes jellies and jams with them, but I have never seen him pick a single grape. So sometimes I eat them. My neighbors on the other side are constantly changing, and right now they have left their Halloween decorations up for so long that I am beginning to think that they live in an actual haunted house. Across the street, the family of four will sometimes drag their couch and TV out on their front porch. The old lady across the street doesn't feed her cat, so I do. The little old man down the street will sit outside every day and wave to me as I pass and the man that lives in the garage down the street finally stopped following me when I walked to campus.

When I drive around my neighborhood, the sights and smells are mostly what I will miss. Especially in the Springtime. In the morning the air is warm and the breeze is strong enough to waft the scent of coffee and donuts from the bakery and cafe, Nord's and Sunergos. On the way home, in the evening, I have to drive past Zanzabar's smoker out in front of the restaurant, and then Vito's pizza.

People are always out walking, mostly because I live right on the bus line. They walk their dogs and ride their bikes. They are walking to school or picking up cans. They are buying wine from the Greenhaus or stopping in the Barber's College.

It is a busy little place. It always smells amazing. There is always something to do or somewhere to eat. It is close to everything. I am trading in this little city-skirts life for the burbs in just a few short weekss and the only thing I will drive past then is hoodlums loitering outside of the movie theater and a bunch of other houses.

I will have to make side trips through my hood every now and then, just so I don't forget my roots, and so I can pick up a tub of pulled chicken from Frank's and a bottle of wine from the Liquor Store, where they know my name.

What an NCAA title means to me

I semi-promise this might be my last post about the championship, then I'll maybe stop rubbing it in everyone's faces. Maybe.

So, those of you who know me, personally, am well aware that I have a unique perspective when it comes to all things U of L. Those of you who do not know me personally are about to get schooled.

I have 3 college degrees: a Bachelor of Arts in Communication, a Bachelor of Arts in Psychological and Brain Sciences, and a Master of Arts in Communication; all of which are from the University of Louisville. I love school. As a person who never excelled in any kind of sports whatsoever, I learned from a young age to embrace my brains and take them as far as they could go. They aren't all that tired yet and I can sometimes see a PhD in my future, but... for now I'll settle with the 3 degrees I already have.

Growing up, I was under the impression that going to college was not an option. Neither of my parents attended, and while they are the smartest people I know, they never even considered letting me follow the same path. The question in my house was not, "Are you going to college?", but "Where are you getting a full-ride?"

That place was U of L.

Although I grew up less than a 2 hour drive from the University, I had rarely heard of it. I knew that it existed, somewhere in the depths of the state, but I had never even been to the city of Louisville, and knew very little about either. The first time I came to Louisville was with my family and my suitcases, moving in to the dorms.

Slowly, over the 4 years it took to complete my first 2 degrees, pride had built up inside of me. I was involved in campus life, joined a sorority, and spent more time in the library than in my own home (there's a chair in the corner of the 3rd floor that probably still smells like me). I met James, and we embraced our school, together. We had both come from a place that was infiltrated with UK fans. Now, I will admit... there is a picture of me somewhere dressed in a UK cheerleading uniform, just know that I was young and had no control over who dressed me. The bottom line is: being a U of L fan was almost like wearing a scarlet letter. "Cardinals" was a word not oft heard.

Don't get me wrong, I love many UK fans. My uncle is a proud alumni, and my best friend bleeds blue, but they can't help it. UK has strong roots around here, as the rural state school. Everyone knows about UK, whether it is because one of their family members graduated from there, or they are basketball fans, or they were just born into fandom. It happens. UK is a great school. I even considered attending. Briefly.

But U of L is the underdog. We are known as the "urban" school. We sprouted up in the middle of a bustling city and spread into all corners. We accepted students that were unwelcome other places. We rose out of the city like a skyscraper and built a name for ourselves as a competitor, athletically and academically.

When I was growing up, going to college was the ultimate goal. Now, being as I am (lacking athletic ability and the competitiveness that usually coincides), my biggest adversary is myself. I decided a long time ago that, not only would I attend college, but I would teach it.

What did you want to be when you were growing up? An astronaut? A doctor? A superhero? Not me. I longed for the stereotypical college professor life... lecturing in front of hundreds of students in a crowded auditorium, grading essays long into the night, pushing my knowledge and experiences onto other pursuers of higher education. I even have a tweed jacket with suede elbow patches. I am dead serious.

So when the opportunity presented itself... on a bus ride on the island of Tobago, to be exact... to be a teaching assistant, I grabbed it up. Shortly after my semester as a T.A. I was offered a legitimate adjunct position. It was literally a dream come true.

Now, not many people can understand why this means so much to me. Let me put it this way: The University of Louisville has given me everything that I have. Without this school, I would not be the person that I am today. I am an alumni, a student, a fan, and a faculty member. It would be an understatement to say that for the past 7 years my life has revolved around U of L.

I am getting to my point... With a national championship in basketball, the University garnishes a lot of media attention. For several weeks it was all anyone could talk about: Kevin Ware's gruesome injury, the sportsmanship and camaraderie of the team, the struggle back in the Final Four, and ultimately -  the win.

Due to this influx in attention, University of Louisville Cardinals became a household phrase. It was a name that was recognizable. With this recognition, U of L becomes tangible. When high school students think about colleges they no longer only consider UK. Because of a basketball championship win, we will undoubtedly draw more students. Once they visit, there is no way they could not want to attend. The campus is beautiful. Everything is landscaped, bricked, and beams with Cardinal pride. Even the streets scream "Go Cards!"

Nationally, people will recognize the University for having a basketball team that grew up with U of L. We have 4 year seniors graduating this year from the team. They didn't come here just to play sports, they came here to learn, and the draw was strong enough to keep them here all 4 years. Nowadays, that means something.

We are an amazing research university, we have outstanding degree programs, and fantastic campus life. Unfortunately, they don't really have an academic "Final Four", or the accompanying media attention, but our basketball team has made the run for us. They have brought the spotlight to our city and our school. I couldn't be more proud to be a Cardinal, in all the ways that I am. Not just because of an exemplary basketball team, but because of the University they chose to represent.

Downs After Dark: Night racing

Every summer, for the past 2 years or so, Curchill Downs hosts a new event they call Downs After Dark. This event usually consists of turning the entire track into a huge nightclub with live music, night racing, and red carpets. James and I have gone several times.

It is usually a fun time, since, because of our jobs, we are rarely able to enjoy the weekday races. While Churchill Downs by day is a fun, exciting, casual event, Downs After Dark is a completely different animal.

The people dress as if they, themselves, are competing for something. The lights flash, drinks are everywhere, music fills the paddock, and horses ramble down the dirt track, lit by huge overhead spotlights. It is an interesting mix of both horse racing and clubbing at the same time.

Once I went with my friend, Maggie. We were going to meet up with James later, he had gone, separately, with his friend. We paraded down the red carpet into the paddock. Disco balls twirled and drinks poured. The band was getting set up in one corner and lounge areas surrounded the usually standing-room-only paved brick.

We actually were able to run into Mine That Bird's trainer in 2009 when he miraculously ran away with the Derby win.

It is always hot, it is always crowded, it is always loud, much like a regular nightclub, but here you share the spotlight with excited, anxious thoroughbreds, ready to race.

Another time James and I attended the Downs After Dark races was with my former employer. We were able to get suite tickets, inside. This meant not having to stand in line for drinks, and air conditioning. Whew. We were also able to step out onto the rood of the stands, where they had arranged the area to look a lot like a posh South Beach nightclub. The breeze blew billowing gauzy curtains around the seating areas, filled with plush, white chairs. We bet on a few races, but came up empty.

It is always interesting to attend these night races because the atmosphere and experience is so much different than what we are accustomed to. Although I still prefer the day races, night racing is definitely something everyone should experience at least once.

Onion volcanos blow your mind and your gut

When James and I were invited to help celebrate our good friend's birthday we accepted without hesitation - even though it meant eating sushi. Neither of us had ever had sushi. Well, I take that back.. one time at a grocery store in Florida my mom encouraged me to eat a piece of sushi. It was disgusting. But James had definitely never had it. Weird little chunks of raw fish are a tad outside of his comfort zone.

We met our friends at the sushi bar and hibachi grill on Bardstown Road, Sapporo. We had gotten one of the grill tables. Where I am from, going to the hibachi was one of those special event things: birthdays and dances. There is something unmistakable and undeniably delicious about hibachi rice. I can't get over it. 

Our chef came over to the table and started pouring out the oil over the top, steam swelled and rose over our group. The chef started his routine, swinging the knives and spatulas around, flipping them in the air, slapping them on the table, generally making a lot of show and noise. He did the signiture spin-the-egg-then-throw-it thing and everyone clapped. I love the show, but I love the smell better. Mmm... hibachi rice...

I looked over to say something to James about what we had ordered and saw him staring back at the chef. His eyes were practically popping out of his head. His mouth was gaped open slightly and he was oblivious to everything else going on. I stopped mid-sentence and blurted out, "Have you never been to a hibachi grill!?"

It was another one of those fun big-city experiences. Oh geez. He had never been to a restaurant like this. He was in for a treat. 

He watched with amazement as the chef threw some rice around. I poked him in the ribs and laughed as I told him to watch out for the onion volcano. The wha? And sure enough, the onions were all stacked up and cooked for a few seconds before steam started erupting from the top ring. By this point our sushi rolls had come and the table next to us was enjoying their hibachi chef, too. He grabbed my arm and pointed across to their table, "LOOK!" The chef was popping little clumps of rice into the girls' mouths with impressive accuracy. This amazement went on for quite a while. James watched with a combination of joy and skepticism. Of course. 

After our chef had finished his show and served our table, we finally got down to eating. We had ordered a sushi roll that had a little bit of everything - steak, crab, and something else I couldn't identify. It was delicious after all. I watched as James poked around at it with his chop sticks. He clumsily tried grabbing it and eating it but it was too big. I had been taking bites of mine as best I could without letting the rice, and whatever the unidentified sea creature was, spilling out. 

After a few bites I turned to mention how delicious it had turned out and saw, to my horror, James attempting to saw his sushi roll in half using his chopsticks as a knife and fork. He had pierced part of the roll with one stick and was slowly mashing and tearing through the middle with the other. If the sawing was unsuccessful he grabbed them in both hands with his fists and stabbed each end, ripping the roll apart. Each time he ended up with a pile of unidentifiable steak, rice, seaweed, and crustaceans. 

I politely asked for a fork. For the both of us. 

The night went on and we enjoyed our food with friends. The company, atmosphere and drinks were great. We ended up all passing around shots of warm sake, another new experience for James. Is it supposed to be warm? Yes? Gross.

All in all it was a spontaneous and exciting night. The food was amazing. To sum it all up: the sake shots turned into sake bombs, which turned into jaeger bombs, which turned into straight tequila, which turned into the casino, which led us to get home no later than 5:30 a.m., $400 richer. See what trying new things gets you into?

German chickens dance

Let me make this very clear, I love beers. I like the light fizzy beers, I like the stout and dense beers, I like the thick and creamy beers. I don't discriminate. I love beers. Where I am from there is a large German influence, and I think this might have had something to do with it.

When James and I visit northern Kentucky we often go to Hofbrauhaus in Newport. I love the food - schnitzel and pretzels and saurkraut, you get the idea, and the beer is amazing. I like the Oktoberfest atmosphere and would probably eat there every night if my wallet and my gut could handle it.

At the Hof.

One weekend while in Louisville, James and I, along with a group of our friends, were looking for something new to do. We had worn out the bars and it was a nice weekend. We wanted something outside. It just so happens that one of these friends had read a sign off the side of the interstate earlier that day advertising a Biergarten at our local German-American Club.

It was decided. We would attend our local Oktoberfest celebration in honor of our German heritage. We all set out together towards the club, nestled in a neighborhood not far from our own.

When we arrived we realized we were not the only group of friends to have made this decision. The parking lots were packed and we made our way to the music and lights of the festival. We paid our $6 fee to become official members of the German-American Club for the year, which also covered the cost of our admission for the night.

When we pushed our way through to the main area we saw what it was all about. There was a covered area with a live band blasting away on an accordion. People sat at picnic tables all around, pitchers of beer in the center. Lines were formed at various kegs and beer stands. The area was lined with tables and vendors selling authentic german steins. The smell of pork and pretzels filled the air and every other person was wearing lederhosen. It was a glorious sight.

We all lined up to try out some new beer and grabbed some pretzels to snack on. We took over an empty picnic table and set ourselves up with our food and some extra pitchers of beer to get started. It was a lively night. The band was playing loud and people danced unashamedly in the center of the ring for everyone to see. The weather was perfect, the music was fun, and the beer was cold.

One pitcher turned into two, two pitchers turned into three, and three pitchers turned into... well, I don't know we lost count. We ate and drank and did the chicken dance every time it was played. I am not really sure what is so German about the chicken dance, but you hear it every time you are at a biergarten and no one else really seems to question it... so... (to the tune of the Chicken Dance) it's a little bit of this and a little bit of that and shake shake shake, now turn around... la la la laaaa da da da daaa daaaaa...

By the time we had gone through at least 8 pitchers and 6 chicken dances we had started a fun new game. We watched as the groups of people at other picnic tables tried to stack their pitchers as high as they could without them all crashing to the ground and bouncing all over the place. We had plenty of building material so we got to stacking. If we successfully reached our full height we started sneaking pitchers from other tables and adding them to the top of our tower. Someone would stand on the table to reach the top before they would all come tumbling down, crashing all over the table and people around it, only to be met with cheers from the surrounding tables.

This went back and forth between the tables for quite a while, each table trying to make a taller pitcher-tower than the other, in a strange, impromptu beer pitcher jenga. After we got tired of this our friends, who had recently returned from an extended stay in Germany, decided to teach us a fun new drinking game they had learned from some other internationals. If it were simple to explain I would give instructions here, but trust me, especially after a few beers, you need to see what I am talking about in order to fully understand.

We sat in a circle around the picnic tables, our arms all crossed over each others and overlapping. The game consisted of a serious of hand slaps, fist pounds, double taps, and double slaps, all signifying something different. Each hand gives a direction to the next hand, who then has to read the direction and respond accordingly. At any time someone can change the direction or skip someone. When you screw up the rhythm of the game, you drink. Thus, the more you drink, the more likely you are to break the circle and be made to drink, thus making this a viscous cycle. The game was overwhelmingly entertaining, not only for us, but for the people around us who had started to gather around our table and watch the game. People cheered and clapped when the circle was doing well, squirmed and squealed when someone was taking too long to make their move, and let out giant sighs when someone inevitably missed their move.

We stayed almost all night. We had quite a beer pitcher tower by the time we left, and we had accomplished our night's goal - to try something new.

Every day when I am driving down the Watterson Expressway I pass by the German American club and check to see when their next biergarten is going to be. We haven't been back, yet, but we definitely need to. Oktoberfest is the best time of year, and German is the best kind of beer. I am already craving pretzels and kraut.... mmm. If you are in the area and you haven't become a member of the German American Club, you need to look into it. No need German heritage necessary.

A tale of five derbies

Every year, on the first Saturday in May, people flock from every corner of the globe to gather in Louisville, Kentucky. The entire city shuts down, if not the entire state. All eyes are on the track. One and a quarter miles. An oblong dirt ring surrounded by thousands of men and women, mint juleps, and large brimmed hats ornately decorated with flowers, ribbon, and feathers.

Derby hats displayed at Dee's.

A collective breath is held as a bugle touts the call to the post. Excitement builds as revelers make their last-minute bet at the window, skewing the odds with just minutes to go. They race to their seats, gripping the rails with one hand, and their sure-winning ticket in the other.

Silence mounts as the thousands settle. Not a breath can be heard among the crowd of people and horses, alike. No one stirs. All eyes are focused on the long green gate, holding the contenders. Then, BANG, the gates fly open and "They're off!" Screams fill the air and hooves pound the dirt. Everyone is on their toes shouting and flailing their arms in the air, cheering on their favorite horse and rider. Even with the pounding of the horses' hooves on the track, you can hear your heart beat in your ears as you jump to see over the hats and feathers and scream with your ticket in hand.

They round the bend and are on the backstretch, racing down the straightaway and soon enough they are back in front of you. The tension mounts, you get lightheaded as you yell on your horse and rider to make that final push. You scream, you jump, hooves pound, drinks are spilled, nose and nose, neck and neck, and... *flash* a photo finish.

The Kentucky Derby is world known as one of the most exciting two minutes in sports, but, to me and many other Louisvillians, it is the most exciting two weeks of the year.

The stretch.

The city celebrates for weeks before the Derby, with parades, balloon glows, steamboat races, chow-wagons, tournaments, and parties. The day of, the city shuts down. Whether you have a ticket to the track, or not, there is plenty to do.

One of the iconic Twin Spires looms over the memorial gardens.

Around our house Derby time means entertaining. Every year we have a derby morning brunch. We get up early and start mixing the mimosas and bloody marys. The living room is usually packed with out-of-towners who have come to see the madness. By 9am everyone is up and getting ready. Hair dryers are blowing and curling wands are whipping in the air, the smell of hairspray and bacon fills the air. Hats are fastened in place shirts are ironed. Mimosas and beers are downed before heading out. Our guests go in any number of directions. Here is where you can choose your own adventure.

Sometimes Derby looks like this...

And sometimes it looks like this.

Your first choice is to stay home and actually watch the races. If you are a betting soul then this is the place for you, because this is the only place you will actually have a clear view of who will win. Make sure you are set with your home-made juleps and burgoo and have already placed your bets at Trackside. If you have guests, make sure you have several fun derby games and that you collect a pool for each race. $2 a chance and a day full of races makes everyone a winner.

Your second choice is to party hop. undoubtedly, you have been invited to little over 5 Derby parties, all taking place today. Pack up your wine and hold on to your hat, you are in for a ride. Derby party etiquette states that you should stay at each party for at least one race. Sip a drink with your host, bring them some snacks or alcohol and move on. You have places to go and people to see at each party, and if you are going to make it to all of them you have got to socialize as fast as those horses run.

Choice number three is tailgating. You're really stepping it up here. Prepare for the worst. You know that Derby falls on an early spring day in Kentucky. It could be snowing. It could be 100 degrees. Most likely it will monsoon for half an hour, then the clouds will part and sun will beam down from above just in time. Last year there were tornadoes. You get the idea. Make sure you are prepared. You head over to Papa John's Stadium parking lot with the thousands of other partiers. You are just down the street from the action and can hear the screams and cheers from where you stand. Bring your cooler full of beer and some sun screen. make sure you also have a chair, some extra toilet paper, and a radio to at least listen in on the races. Cheer on the tailgaters who go on to the track, and join with the parties that stay behind. Pool your resources and your wagers.

Ah, choice number four. You're a brave soul. You're going to the infield. Whew. The infield is as close as you can get to the action without class. You are in the center of the track, crammed into a dirt arena with thousands of other drunkards. You might not want to be wearing your Sunday best. Rain boots and sunscreen are recommended. Make sure you have practiced sneaking in your alcohol and remember that, here, it is totally OK to wear a plastic horse mask, fake roses around your neck, or any other ungodly creation you have made for this special occasion. Leave your dignity at home. Surely, by the time the actual Kentucky Derby race is ran, you will have either made out with a stranger, climbed on top of a port-o-potty, or passed out on the ground. You will come back when you wake up with the most awful sunburn and day-hangover you have ever experienced. Man-up.

Finally, option five. Congratulations! You know someone who knows someone who was selling a ticket and you ponied up the cash to get in. You better be decked out. Wear your nicest dress and biggest hat. Do your make-up and curl your hair. Tough it out in those stilettos. Guys, go for it. When else can you wear a pastel suit and suspenders and still fit in? Grab a julep on your way in. Pick up a program and start circling your winners. This is going to be a big day. You're really doing it right. Keep an eye out for the celebrities that are in town for the races. Take lots of pictures. Make lots of bets. Enjoy the moment, feel the Kentucky sun shining down on your face, sing "My Old Kentucky home" as loudly as you can. Sip your mint julep and breathe in the thick stench of cigars. Don't worry about how much money you've spent, for you, my friend, are one of the lucky ones today.

This post is to notify you that there are now only 100 days between you and the next Kentucky Derby. Are you ready?

Ramsi's Cafe on the World

Every now and then James and I come across a restaurant that we need to add to our favorite's list. I might review some of them here. So, for those of you who are local, you can make sure you have been at least once, and, for those of you who may one day visit the 'Ville, you know where to go. One of these restaurants is Ramsi's on Bardstown Road.

Bardstown Road, in itself, is something of a spectacle. There is plenty of great people watching, for sure. It is also an epicenter of awesome restaurants and bars. Bam! That's my kind of place.

The street is crawling with hipsters, walking their dogs and drinking their coffee ironically, and punks, and sometimes zombies... we'll get to that later. Ramsi's is a great place to go because I think it does a great job of wrapping up everything I love about Louisville and putting it in one place. It is diverse and eclectic to the max.

Ramsi's is my favorite restaurant in Louisville for bringing out-of-towners. They get the experience of driving down the tree-lined Eastern Parkway to hipster central, the intersection of Eastern and Bardstown. They can see all the shops and bars and galleries on the way to the restaurant. Once we are there, the menu is so long and diverse that there is something for everyone. I especially love their tortellini graciella, tri-colored tortellinis covered in a rich, creamy sauce, but I can honestly say that I have never been there and not loved my food.

Friday and Saturday nights are the best. One time, when I brought a group of friends from Cincinnati there was an old man magician. He came around to the tables while we enjoyed our drinks and showed us all of his tricks. Another time, when I was there with James, there was a belly dancer who wiggled around the tables. There is rarely a time on the weekends that live music isn't playing throughout the crowded restaurant, the drums and strums bouncing off of the tapestries and artwork smattered all over the walls.

James has discerning taste and even he approves!

The restaurant is richly colored and decorated, slightly dim, and a different experience every time you go. If you go on a lovely Louisville evening you can sit outside in the courtyard. A fountain dribbles down the wall near where you entered and plants crawl up the others. You can hear the music from the restaurant and Bardstown Road all mixing together, and watch the hordes of people who walk up and down the street.

My mom, sister, and I outside of the courtyard. It's on the favorites list now, too!
Also, you can't even tell we're related, can you?

The food is amazing. The drinks are even better. If there is one thing I wish they would bring back, it is the mango sorbet champagne martini. Ugh. I still long for it. All of the drinks are great though, and in the spring and summer, they come with pretty little flowers floating around in them.

All in all, it gives guests a good experience and a good introduction to the type of independent dining that Louisville is so noted for.