OK, so let's be honest here. I can't write a blog on being a hipster. As anyone can tell you, I don't fit the mold. Oh sure, I have my moments. And I'm not fashion-challenged (anymore, in any case). But ask me to wander Williamsburg or the Lower East Side, and I become painfully aware of how tragically unhip I truly am. (And neither of those places is even the center of hipster-dom anymore now, so again, I flail).

Thus, instead of pretending I can speak authoritatively on the subject, I've decided to latch onto one of the bullets in the Wanna Try section: Vintage t-shirts.

Vintage tees are amazing. My sister-in-law got a great Rolling Stones one to wear to their recent concert. I'm forever on a hunt for a � sleeve baseball tee version from the 70s. eBay makes everything so, so easy...

ALMOST as great as vintage tees are non-vintage, all-organic, vegetable-based ink tees by the great guys at TS Designs. The Bite loves their stuff. And strangely enough, TS Designs just HAPPENED to make the Ideal Bite "Biter" tees... ahem.

Here's a pic of our fabulous designer and her fabulous husband (and Biter Blogger) in one of said tees (click it for a better view).

And we are selling them, just in time for the holidays. Should you want to buy one ($25 including shipping in the US), feel free to drop us an email at tees@idealbite.com and we'll get one out to you! (Note: the women's shirts are made for little tiny people who must live in dollhouses. If you normally wear a medium baby-doll style woman's tee, get a large. Men's, on the other hand, run about a size too big. Go figure).

-Heather... off to sleep in my Biter tee...

I few summers back, I went to Prague for a few days. (I actually met Keith Richards at 6 am in the middle of the Charles Bridge, but that is a story for another time).

I loved Prague - everything about it called to me: the fairy-tale streets, the completely eclectic architecture in every conceivable style, the stunning crystal...

As soon as I saw all the crystal, I knew that I HAD to buy a set of cut crystal wine glasses in Prague. It would be the perfect memento of my travels. But there was one catch: all Czech crystal had about a 24% lead content.

Eating Paint Chips

Now, I have never been able to get a solid answer to the question of whether or not lead in wine glasses is really bad for you. The wine industry tends to promote the idea that - as long as you don't leave spirits in a lead crystal decanter for years - harmful levels of lead won't find their way into your system just by drinking a glass of wine (or 4) out of a lead crystal glass or decanter. On the other side of the debate, it has been proven time and again that acidic beverages (such as wine and port) will leech lead from the glasses into the drink. And without belaboring the issue: if you shouldn't eat it in paint chips, you'd be better off not drinking it in your wine either.

Interesting side note: some imported wines have a lead foil wrapper. You should wipe the mouth of the bottle down before pouring, after taking the foil wrapper off.

I'd like to be the big person and report that I decided NOT to buy the wine glasses because I wanted to be more green and adhere to a strict no-lead rule. But the truth is, I found an amber ring I wanted more, so I bought it in place of the glasses. (Meanwhile, I have no clue as to the sustainability of amber mining practices... off to research that now). Anyway - now, whenever anyone compliments the ring (or has to drink from one of my sad old wine glasses that has a Napa Valley winery logo on it), I answer "Thanks - I'm wearing my wine glasses."

In the meantime, this year, my Christmas list contains requests for lead-free versions of some of my favorite glasses.

-Heather... off to research amber mining practices...

Do you remember that song?  It was in the same era as the album from D’light that had the “Groove is in the Heart” song.  (Am I dating myself? I promise it FEELS like yesterday!  Indeed it was 1992.)  Anyway, we used to listen to that album in our cooler-than-school boy friends’ frat house, Theta Delt, at William & Mary. About 10 of us would crowd into one of the boy’s rooms, put on the black lights, C-R-A-N-K the music and just rock it.

Back then if you wore a white shirt with cuff links I would have changed the song to “things that make you go puke.”  However, now, for some reason, I love to see a bad boy all cleaned up, with long hair pushed back (not too much “product” please!), and some flash of style (like vintage cufflinks) without going over the top....you know, they still really couldn't care too much.  

Post Script: my Theta Delt total bad boy surfer ex-beau is doing fantastic today, running his own video production company that produces extreme sports videos . . .  however I don’t think he would be caught dead in a dress shirt.

The point of this blog? There really is none.  Write about the things that make YOU go hmmmm.. Let's have some fun.

Off to think about chiseled bad boys in white organic shirts,

Jen  

Holidays are here, bring out the nuts!

I kid you not: today I was accosted by a woman who let herself into my property, and stole the drain slats to my pond so she could instead create a pond downstream on her property.  I ran out of the house attempting to stop her.  She then twisted and turned and shoved me.  I slipped on the frozen pond, regained my balance, and then shoved her back but refrained from using my adrenaline-induced incredible hulk strength as I wasn't in the mood to impale her on the metal pieces she was stealing from me.

I yelled, she yelled, she threw the metal slats at me.  I lost it.  I ordered her off my property until she could produce legal documentation showing me that she had the rights. (I might have called her a few bad names too.) They say in Montana that only two things start a fight:  women and whiskey.  Turns out water rights start wars.

Is there a hidden camera Jerry Springer show in the works? The drama continued but I will spare you fine Biter people. Now I just need a glass of wine (BIG), but please, no more nuts (I've had enough for one day).

Off to concentrate on happy holiday thoughts... like warm fires with friends, slowing down a bit, and maybe on Thursday reconciling neighborly relations with a big basket of organic nuts (hee hee, I wonder if she will get the pun.) - Jen

For the first decade that I lived away from home, my dad sent me a Christmas tree in the mail every December.

I'm not kidding. It would arrive, every year, without fail. My family has a homestead cabin in the Rocky Mountains (about 10 miles from their house), and my dad would go there, cut down a tree, wrap it up in a pair of old jean legs and strapping tape, and would UPS the sucker to me.

Now, OF COURSE, that is about as ecologically unsound as you can get. Cutting forest trees and throwing carbon into the air for transit... And it doesn't even cost less. It's not like I couldn't walk to my DC or SF or LA street corner and buy a similar tree for the cost of shipping. But there was something about that tie to home - that process of my dad going out and doing something just for me - trudging through the snow, bundling it up, hauling it to the UPS store... For a kid in or just out of college, that was about the best-smelling care package/bundle of love a girl could get.

Now, of course, I am on a mad hunt to find an organically-grown, cut tree. Sure, I should have a live tree in a pot (ain't gonna happen here in NYC). Sure, I should get a great fake tree and use it forever and ever and hand it down to my grandkids (also ain't gonna happen - no smell). In the end (and I might go to eco-hell for this), even if I can't find an organic tree-farm tree, I am going to get my Christmas tree. I will give it to the local park for mulch chipping afterwards, like I always do. I can give up a lot of things. A Christmas tree isn't one of them.

I realize that this smacks of crazed selfishness. So, help me in my quest - if you know of an organic tree farm that is selling trees in Brooklyn, let me know.

In general, I make a pretty bad tomboy. I'm a little squeamish about a lot of things (bugs, mice, sludge), and there are a lot of girly things that I really do like (you all already know I'm a total spa/cosmetic whore).

But I just don't get the diamond thing.

Seemingly normal women turn all gushy and strange when it comes to their diamond engagement rings. (I'm soooo going to get in trouble for this blog). Honestly: I like bling and beauty and love and a good cry and schmoopiness as much as the next person. But what is it about diamonds that makes completely sane women start gesticulating wildly with their (left) hands and then constantly straighten their arms out in front of them, hands back, cocking their heads to one side as if they were checking a manicure, moving that blasted stone back and forth to catch the glints in the sunlight/spotlight/bar light/barely-there-light in the back of the cab?

I mean, maybe I, too, would become a huge diamond-lover if I were given a pretty ring. It could happen (as one friend said recently, after becoming engaged and getting an arguably gorgeous ring: "Who KNEW I liked diamonds so much???!"). But I just can't see it, really. I think I'd rather have an old heirloom ring or simple band or, let's be honest, a bang-up trip to Italy.

Fortunately, I avoid the atrocities committed in the name of diamond sourcing by staying resolutely single and consistently broke. Let's just call it me doing my little part for the planet.

Two years ago, my mom was in town, and instead of a big family Thanksgiving, we had grand urban plans. We went to a big fat dinner at Le Pescadou (yes, the site of the slightly infamous Jen-Heather meeting). The dinner itself was great - capped off by some truly incredible white chateauneuf du pape (you did read that correctly, white - me).

But we were both feeling a little sad about the fact that we wouldn’t be able to have turkey leftovers. So, we did what any sane, roast-turkey-lovers would do:

We bought a turkey breast to cook in my tiny Brooklyn oven just so that we could make sandwiches and soup for the rest of the weekend.

And yes, I got a pasture-raised, organic turkey breast, thank you very much. Of course, at the time, I paid about a million dollars a pound for it, and somehow, in spite of the p-r-o label on the thing, it was HUGE. That all-natural turkey had to have been doing some serious workouts.

ANYWAY. In the end, I think I may have been duped. It seems unlikely that it was truly pasture-raised and actually grew to that size. But I guess only time will tell, and I'll rely on all you Biters this year to tell me if your pasture-raised-organic turkey could possibly have had a 15 lb breast to roast.

-Heather… off to figure out where we are having Thanksgiving this year…

Yo, this is Pete, Jen’s brother.  I have never blogged before but my bossy Biting big sis is making me.  Here is what I say about this whole green thing:

Our dental office is considered more "green" than most.  At my sister’s insistence, we opted to have bamboo flooring instead of hardwoods, digital x-rays and photographs instead of chemical developing, and a paperless office to reduce deforestation.  I have never really been green, per se, and quite honestly I have always chided Jen by calling her ‘treehugger’ – but guess what?  This green thing is actually cool.  Patients like the atmosphere here, and I feel better about spending most of my days in doors. 

We actually took the idea of “green” to the next level, so it could mean “lush” – and so developed spa-like features with the help of a fung shui consultant (yes, this too at my sister’s insistence). 

Business is pretty healthy already, in all senses of the word.  If you are in the Atlanta area drop by and we will give you a free teeth whitening if you become a new client.  Just say, “the Biters sent me” - and you will the spa treatment while getting your choppers whitened with non-chem, state of the art procedures.   (You can see the office photos and location, here:  http://www.AtlantaDentalSpa.com.)

Off to replace more mercury fillings from my patients’ mouths –

Pete

When I was a kid, there were all these "grown-up" things I wanted to do. I wanted to stay up really late (I was awake anyway), I wanted to read Huckleberry Finn and write a novel (I was 9 years old), and I wanted to know how to wash dishes.

Don't learn to do something and then do it well, or it becomes your job. Somehow, my brother figured that out early on. He KNEW - innately - that if he did a bad job cleaning the bathroom, then sooner or later, he wouldn't have to clean it. So when it came to washing dishes, I took my cue from Brent: I decided to be pretty bad at it, and thus avoid having to do it altogether. My poor parents - never had a kid who could wash a dish decently (although, I gotta say that I DID do a good job on the bathroom).

Now that I am in the unfortunate position of having to wash my own dishes, I'm a bit more circumspect in how clean they actually are. So, I do actually use the sink. I'm currently loving Sun and Earth citrus dishwash soap during those rare occasions when I actually cook.

-Heather... off to pack and head home after being away for a week and a half... no sleep 'til Brooklyn...

And I mean HOT. Hot, hot, hotties swinging by our Biter booth at all hours of the day. Sigh. Men of GreenFest, we salute you.

-Heather... off to wash all her GreenFest clothes, because believe me, they all do smell bad...

.... that looks like Herpes.  But alas, I am definitely more proud of my herbies. 

I have never been the Martha or Betty type, but when I moved into the new house, this big indoor window box area just called my name.

So I went to the nursery and got rosemary, thyme, and two types of basil. The whole planting process of making them happy in their new little rowboat of a home was great.  And then once I used some basil with tomatoes and mozzarella apps.  Once.

Off to pick some rosemary to inhale, Jen

Since I have been in San Francisco for the past week, doing the GreenFest and business-meeting thing, I've had plenty of opportunity also to do the dessert thing. Best dessert thus far? The apple-huckleberry crisp at the great restaurant behind the bar Lazlo in the Mission, and the Affogado with candied lemon peel at Chez Panisse in Berkeley. (And here I thought 'inoteca's affogado couldn't be matched). We wanted to get a Biter shirt on Alice Waters, but we didn't have any luck there (mainly because we forgot to take said shirt with us to dinner).

This time of year, it's a sin to eat almost anything but crisps and crumbles (or bettys and cobblers, depending on who you talk to). The apples are pears are just too good in the autumn. As winter comes on, I move more to chocolate and acheeses, steering clear of berries and anything else that smacks of having been shipped 4000 miles to reach my plate. It's a small thing, but one of those little bits that keeps us honest.

Mainly, though, it makes me feel a little less evil about the fact that I drink Italian wine that was sent across an ocean.

... but bars of shampoo?  While in NYC with my fellow Biter in Crime we tried out a few different shampoos for this tip.  One was in a bar, or really, in a tin.  Instead of making the same motion that one makes with a bar of soap on your body on my head with this bar in tin, I choked.  I just didn't put two and two together, and so I dug my fingers into the bar to scoop out a bit into my hand, and then rubbed it on my head.  You know, like you might do with a little tin of lipgloss? 

Well later that day when Heather (finally!) took a shower, I heard this hysterical laughing. Yup, you guessed it.  Einstein over here could have taken bar out of the tin and rubbed a dub dub.  Maybe I am "old school" but I like my soap in a bar and my shampoo in a bottle. The cool thing about the bottles of shampoo is that you can refill them at the Co-op.  I didn't see any tin refills. Ha.  -Jen

Would somebody PLEASE tell me how to get mold out of my shower without using Tilex?

Biters, I swear... I am trying to be green here. I scrub with oxygenated-hydrogen-scrubby stuff. I douse with white vinegar. I spray down with tea tree oil in water...

And mold/mildew persists.

Maybe it is just the humid NY climate or the fact that I inherited other people's mold underneath the putty in the tub... but try as I might, I cannot keep the blasted bathroom mold-free. (However, the vinegar and tea tree oil do make me feel like I am A- making salad; and B - in a spa; so that is interesting, at least).

Help. Anyone got a foolproof mold-buster? We've tried them all, but I just know that one of you has to have a magic method.

-Heather... off for another crazy day at Green Fest SF...

I don't know of any other day that restores my faith in people in quite the same way. First off, you marathon runners are complete nutjobs, but I have an unbelievable amount of respect for you. I mean, there is no reason whatsoever to run that far, but the sheer grit and determination it takes to do it inspires no end of continuous awe in me.

And then there are the spectators/witnesses. Supporting and yelling and hollering out names of people they don't know... Clapping continuously. Screaming when screaming is needed. Parking themselves on the slight hills to yell at just the right time. Carrying signs and water and flags.

In the end, a marathon is a luxury - it's a play day for people who have a LOT - a lot of food, a lot of fitness, a lot of access to great running shoes and a lot of time to train or to cheer on the trainers.

But it beats the first snowfall in this town, hands down (and the first snowfall is breathtaking), and when I see those runners coming down the Park toward the finish line, it always makes me cry.

-Heather... off to GreenFest, where I hope someone will run and let me cheer them on...

I'm a total bloodhound. I might have a slight hearing loss, and wander the world saying "Pardon me" to the point of annoyance, but I can tell the difference between the smell of the pavement and the dirt on the pavement, and I'm not kidding.

So scents are kind of important to me. At one time - after toying with the thought that I wanted to be a Master of Wine - I even thought about going to a perfumery school in the South of France so that I could become an expert perfume-maker. After some consideration of the true job possibilities there, I decided to satisfy myself with playing with my essential oils instead.

And what good is an essential oil fetish if not shared? So - for the best air freshener imaginable, try the following:

Take an empty bottle of Annick Goutal Le Nuit d'Hadrian perfume.

Fill it with distilled water, and the following organic essential oils:

• 10 drops lavender
• 10 drops tangerine
• 6 drops bergamot
• 2 drops eucalyptus
• 2 drops clary sage

Shake it all up and put it in your bathroom for a room spray. Shake before each us

OK, so let's be honest:

There. I said it. We're just not. It might taste better. It might make us feel more warm and fuzzy inside. It might keep some bad pesticides out of our bodies...

But it's not going to save the world.

This question seems to be getting a lot of play lately in the broader world. The latest issue of Plenty asks "Can we buy a healthy planet?" Veal activists the world over write to us telling us that we are evil to be tipping pink veal, since even just switching to pink veal over white veal isn't going to fix anything anyway. Every once in a while, wearing my leather shoes while buying my organic broccoli, I watch the card scanner run through, and think "Does this really matter anyway?

But the thing is this: no - your olive oil ain't gonna save the world. Neither are your broccoli and vegan shoes and recycled rubber handbag. Individually. But by starting to be more conscious (and thus conscientious), we make changes. I started buying organic food long before I started cutting back on my meat consumption. I recycled well before I started using my own shopping bag at the store. It's gotten to the point now where I even think about what kind of packaging my chewing gum comes in (stay tuned for future tip - you only think I'm kidding) or if I even need to have it. Every step leads to another.

So - go get some organic olive oil. Try it out. It might feel like it's just a drop of water in a desert, but there are a lot of us, and we do a lot of things, and that is eventually a lot of water.

Not to be a ring pusher, but this concept of recycled jewelry is so amazing. Did you know about the pollution associated with gold mining, or that Canadian diamond mining is trashing sensitive permafrost regions?

These two beauts are from the greenKarat site... I like some of their pieces a lot and their purist attitude. The upper-left is called "seed" and it is recycled Titanium. The other set is recycled platinum pair for only $350!

As the founder of greenKarat said when we spoke to him:

"Using recycled gold displaces demand for mining of gold. That reduces the massive waste rock, energy usage and risk of cyanide spills associated with mining. We are also finding that we can leverage our success to help other environmental projects.

It's also gratifying to hear that we've provided couples with a means to express their love for each other, while also embracing the environment. We are frequently told that the combined symbolism is important to them."

Awww... off to find a husband who would be into eco-rings,

Jen