Collotype

echoechoecho

2011-12-04T07:24:00.001-08:00

June 27, 2011, 11:28 pm

Two Cream, No Sugar

“What is your favorite hour of your typical weekday?”My typical weekday involves waking up tired, drinking too much coffee, standing for 8 hours at my soulcrushing job, eating dinner too late, and trying to fall asleep. The best of this is the time I get to drink coffee.

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June 23, 2011, 9:28 am

It takes 18 hours to rise.

“What do you wish you spent more time doing?”
Anyone who knows about my insomnia would probably guess sleeping. Honestly, though, I get enough sleep. Sure, I can go for days and days on just a few hours, and I being to feel still and weak and nervous, but even then I know I’ll fall asleep eventually, and in the meantime I catch up on reading, or housework. What I really, really wish I could dedicate more time to is cooking. It is the only thing, the real, true, only thing, that I always enjoy. And there is a new focaccia recipe I am dying to try.

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June 4, 2011, 11:49 pm

Sgt Pepper's laser light show

“Name three bands or musicians that you hope to see live some day.”
1) Idina Menzel, ideally back in ‘Aida’
2) Penn Jillette on the upright bass
3) The Beatles as holograms

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February 17, 2011, 9:46 am

And I still won the scholarship.

“What’s the most expensive thing you’ve ever broken?”
The spring on the film holder on a field camera, at the Ft Lauderdale Art Institute. I was there on a scholarship summer program. I had never seen this kind of contraption in my life. I pulled back the lever, and something made a terrible, horrible noise. The professor couldn’t stop staring, repeating over and over, “how did you even DO that?”

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February 10, 2011, 10:16 am

There's an option?

“What songs must you always sing the lyrics out loud to?”
Any song. All songs. I cannot be stopped. Years of camp songs, girl scout songs, and cheerleading have given me the singular ability to say things, in rhythm, out loud.

Christmas Miracle

2011-11-29T06:03:00.001-08:00

As I'm moving all of my blog-based things here to Collotype! I'll be periodically doing these things where I put up four or five mini-posts from my Tumblr. Please bear with me.

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December 25, 2009, 8:19 pm

What would you do?

Dad always used to have Klondike bars in the freezer. Then mom put him on a diet. Today, I was cooking Christmas dinner and went to the freezer to take out the vegetables. I found three boxes of Klondike bars. I ran in to the living room screaming, “Dad, Santa left a present in the freezer!” Mom was there. She asked, what’s there? I said, “Ice cream!” She turned to glare at my dad, who stood up and shouted, “It’s a Christmas miracle!”

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December 25, 2009, 8:22 pm

XMS FML

Fake FML: Today, I went to visit my dad at the mall, where he was volunteering as a Santa Claus. On his break, we got in a little argument over Christmas dinner. A little kid ran up to me and kicked me in the shins for being mean to Santa. My dad told him I was on the naughty list. FML
It has not been posted.

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December 25, 2009, 8:15 pm

Santa Hat

I wore this hat to work for the last week. A woman in a Santa hat walked right up to me and said, “You must be one of my elves! Why aren’t you in the workshop?!” Then she gave me a candy cane. No one else was around to see it.

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December 29, 2009, 6:06 pm

listening to "Andrew Bird - Anonanimal"

hold on just a second don’t tell me this one you know I know this one I know this song

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January 10, 2010, 11:11 pm

I will never become my mother. She has a corner office.

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FCB Thanksgiving 2011: Part 3

2011-11-25T19:22:00.001-08:00

Dinner was a complete, absolute success. I think. It was a little hard to tell with all the sleep deprivation and unresolved family tension. But the food was perfect!

Spicy Cornbread Stuffing: based on this recipe from Food Network magazine.
1lb spicy sausage (or fresh sausage mixed with an assortment of diced green peppers and red pepper flakes)
2-3 cups of cornbread, crumbled
1/2 onion
1 big carrot, peeled
lots of celery
1/2 to 1 cup chicken stock
Brown the sausage on the stove over medium heat. Fine chop the veggies in a food processor and fold in to the sausage, cook through, about ten minutes. Mix in the crumbled cornbread. Stir in chicken stock until the bread is wet, but not soupy. Even out in a small buttered casserole dish. Bake at 350F for 20 minutes, or until golden and warmed through.

The Best Turkey: I used a dry "brine" this year. The night before, rub down a fully defrosted bird with a mix of kosher salt, pepper, sugar, garlic powder (I added here a secret BBQ dry rub mix I use on chicken to give it a kick). Rub salt mix inside body cavity and under skin.
In the morning, rinse bird and pat dry, and allow to rest about an hour to come to room temp.
Make your basting butter (I used 2 sticks softened butter with 1 cup white wine, the juice and zest from one lemon, and a lot of garlic).

Preheat oven to 500F. Rub the bird all over with butter and stuff the body cavity with aromatics, like apples, pears, onions, carrots, etc. Place in the oven legs first and roast for 30 minutes. Reduce heat to 350F and tent loosely with foil. This butter can be brushed on to the top of the stuffing for extra browning, and a few extra scoops can be set in small bowl in the fridge and served at the table for the rolls.
Baste with more butter every half hour. When an instant thermometer inserted into the thigh reads 160, remove the foil and allow bird to roast uncovered for about 15 to 20 minutes more. A good rule is 15mins of roasting per pound of bird, until the thigh reads about 165F. Move the bird to a counter and allow it to rest for about half an hour before carving.

While all of this is going on, you will have your broth for gravy simmering, as I mentioned in the last post. Gravy is really very easy to make yourself, and it is way way better than the stuff in a jar. I will give that recipe a separate post.

I also had a basic roasted acorn squash (covered in olive oil and maple syrup, roasted at 350F for an hour) and smashed red potatoes. It was way, way to much food. We will have left overs for a week. The cranberry sauce was so absolutely perfect I almost regretted everything else on the menu.
Was I ambitious? Yes. Too ambitious? Never. I spent the better part of two days preparing this meal, and it was some of the best food I've ever tasted in my life. The rolls were outstanding, the gravy was perfect, and did you see that turkey?! Go back and look at it! I was stressed and sweaty and sleepy, but I made a truly Rockwellesque holiday meal single handedly, and I have never been so proud of myself.

FCB Thanksgiving 2011 Part 2

2011-11-24T09:36:00.001-08:00

Thanksgiving prep is in full swing! The bird is in the oven, the wife and I have switched from coffee to wine, and the MIL has gone out to get some fresh air. Since we don't have a television I
missed the parade, but I do have Hulu so it's time to catch up on Parks and Rec.

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Spiced Cranberry Sauce: Canned or fresh? That's up to you, but this stuff is basically my favorite thing about Thanksgiving. If I ever thought about cranberries any other time of year, I'd probably make it every week.
1 bag of cranberries
1 cup sugar
1 cup water
1 granny smith apple, peeled and chopped
Cinnamon, nutmeg, to taste.

Bring sugar and water to a boil, add the cranberries and apples, spice a lot or a little, and simmer for about ten minutes, or until the water starts to thicken and the apples are soft. Pour into a glass dish and chill until dinner is ready. Make the cranberry sauce first so it's cold when the turkey is hot!

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No Knead Onion Rolls, courtesy of Real Simple magazine. I did absolutely nothing different in preparing the dough, so just follow this recipe exactly.
I made these Wednesday night so I'd have one less thing taking up space during the actual cooking phase.
The one way in which I put a special spin on this was I let the dough rise for, like, a hour longer than necessary the second time. This was because I rolled the dough, put them in the pan, covered them, and then left to go get dinner and took way longer than I anticipated. This gave them much more of a yeasty, chewy bread texture than maybe they are supposed to, but they are so delicious I might like it this way better.

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These are things in progress. The broth for the gravy is simmering {one turkey neck, one onion, chicken stock, a bunch of parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme (seriously)}.
The cornbread was made Wednesday as well, so it could be crumbled and mixed with sausage for the stuffing.
Also, look at my KitchenAid standing mixer! Look at it!!! Isn't it just the very best thing you've ever seen? I have wanted this mixer for as long as I have known that such a thing existed, and it was a sort of goal I set for myself: Someday I will get married, and someone will get me a KitchenAid standing mixer as a wedding present, and I will have both a spouse a love and a KitchenAid standing mixer to cook with, and I will be happy. Well, congratulations, me, that is exactly what happened, and that is awesome!!!!

FCB Thanksgiving 2011: Part 1

2011-11-23T00:56:00.001-08:00

Tuesday:

8am: Reread every recipe. Again. Wrote out, long hand, a precise schedule for Thursday, in fifteen minute increments starting from the moment I'll wake up at 9am.

10:30am: Reread the biscuit recipe. Worried that I won't have enough sugar for everything in the meal. Panic had begun to set in.

1:45pm: Attempted to memorize my food:oven temperature:time chart as though it were a multiplication table. Began to see patterns where none existed.

5pm: Spent roughly twelve minutes convinced that my wife might be allergic to nutmeg, because it has the word "nut" in it. Seriously considered researching the subject on Wikipedia.

7pm: Cried.

7:16pm: Stopped by the liquor store to stock up on wine.

8:30pm: Ate for the first time all day.

Wednesday:

3am: Woke up in a cold sweat. Tossed and turned. When I couldn't fall back to sleep, I decided to clean the kitchen and the fish bowl.

4am: Read the Wikipedia article on nutmeg.

Creamy Spinach Pasta Sauce

2011-11-20T18:12:00.001-08:00

One of my wife's greatest loves in this world is spinach. I am constantly trying to throw it in to soups and casseroles, just like she is constantly trying to throw it in to my cart at the grocery store. One recent night, as I prepared to cook dinner, I opened the freezer to discover seven bags of spinach stockpiled, threatening to over take my sherbet and coffee ice cubes. I needed a recipe that could use this stuff, a lot of it, in a hurry.

20oz spinach, thawed, rinsed, and wrung a little dry
1/4 cup heavy cream
1/4 cup cream cheese
1/2 small onion, chopped
2-3 cloves garlic, smashed
2 tbsp olive oil
salt
pepper
oregano
red pepper flakes

Heat the oil in a small skillet, and add the onion and garlic. Cook through, until browned and fragrant.

Combine onions and garlic with most of the spinach, cream, and cream cheese in a blender and blend until smooth. Get a Ninja blender if possible, because it is the best. Big ups to Aunt Helen and Uncle Gary for the Ninja blender.

Pour the sauce in to a saucepan and heat through. Add seasonings to taste (it will take more salt and less pepper than you think, so add a little at a time, stirring often). When it is properly seasoned, add the rest of the spinach for some texture. Reduce heat to a simmer while pasta cooks. Serve immediately. Top with grated parm or asiago cheese.

Why I'm on the Team

2011-11-18T05:25:00.001-08:00

This was round three of Tavern Trivia last night.

The challenge: Name either the artist or the name of the art work. You have five minutes. Go.
Either? How about both, and the date, and the style, and the city in which it currently hangs? Does this guy even know who he is handing this sheet of paper to? I hope Team Maudlin is totally ready for Team Threat Level Midnight to pull ahead and completely win this round! Sorry Team Maudlin, but if you wanted to win at art trivia maybe you should have thought ahead and sent someone on your team to art school.

Girl with a Pearl Earring, Vermeer
Mona Lisa (La Joconde), Leonardo
Sunflowers, Van Gogh
Bridge over Water Lillies, Monet
The Scream, Munch
....Christine.... Christine..... ugh that American guy.... umm...
A Sunday Afternoon on the Isle of La Grand Jatte, Seurat
American Gothic, Grant Wood
Nighthawks, Edward Hopper
The Persistence of Memory, Dali

The only one that stumped me was number six. My brain kept pulling the name Christine, and the words American, 20th century, action, realist. It is, obviously, Christina's World, by Andrew Wyeth. Duh. Why, why did I spent so much time on The Italian Baroque and French Revolution? I took that English printmaking course, I'm sure there was an American elective I could have taken instead! Also, my American 20th century professor was just terrible, I mean, she was from Canada.

The prize for winning that round was One Free Appetizer (up to a $8.99 value)! This is fantastic! At that rate, all I have to do is win all 10 rounds of trivia every Thursday for the next 4 years, and I can pay off my student loans in mozzarella sticks and spinach artichoke dip!

Also, a special thanks to double majoring in Photography because, yes, round 5 question 6, George Eastman founded Kodak. Take that, world, who's degree is "useless" now?*

*Mine. It's still mine.

I hate the grocery store: Part 2

2011-11-17T06:32:00.001-08:00

I have mentioned this before.
I have a lot of empathy for people who work behind cash registers. I also work behind a cash register. It can be demeaning, insulting, frustrating, unstimulating work. I also can identify with the frustrations of a floor manager, because I, too, am a department manager and have seen just about every sort of cheating, lying, stealing, conning customer you can think up. That being said, the really terrible days at work are few and far between, and those terrible customers are a small percentage of the generally pleasant people I see everyday.
It is important to remind you, and myself, of these things, because the story I am about to tell you may lead the uninformed reader to think I was being a bitch.

It is the week before Thanksgiving.
I have a pretty rocky relationship with this holiday. I've worked in restaurants, hospitality, and retail, so I am used to being a conduit to someone else's holiday joy, and usually think of Thanksgiving as a special club I'm not a member of, like the Hell's Angels or the Lady Elks. This year, though, my brand new mother-in-law is coming for Thanksgiving, so I am not only joining the club, I am running for President. I've scoured my magazines and cookbooks, selected the absolute perfect menu, meticulously rearranged the racks in the oven and refrigerator, double checked the pantry, and made my grocery list. Last night, I went to the grocery store. I hate the grocery store.

Unlike my small, terrible market back in Savannah, I now frequent a big-box super store. The produce is, in accordance with corporate policy, relatively local (more of a shipping cost thing that an eco thing), and while I know they've created somewhat of a slave trading cult in China, the prices are good and I am on a budget.

Produce department:
-Red potatoes
-Onions
-Carrots
-Acorn squash
The man in the produce department looked at the squash as though it were a Rubik's cube, in the way I imagine primitive man looked at it, marveling at this soft rock, and wondering how he might discover the mysteries inside.

Meat department:
-Turkey
-Ground pork sausage
The turkey was in a deep freezer, with three signs. The three kinds of turkeys were either $.69, $.89, or $1.08 a pound. I am confident that I can make a $.69/lbs turkey taste exactly like a $.89/lbs turkey, so I picked that one.

Miscellaneous:
-Corn bread mix
-Cranberries
-Chicken stock
-Creamed corn
-Coffee

Check out line:
In front of me is a woman with a full cart of groceries and clothing and toys. Behind me is another of the same. So far, so fine. Except that the woman behind me, who is shopping alone and is not on her cell phone, keeps saying out loud, "I can't believe it takes twenty minutes to get through the check out here at *******." As though every other store has super speedy check out. "It wouldn't take twenty minutes to get through checkout if ******* would just open more registers." Like she has ever, ever been in a store that had every register open, like this company has just decided that they are going to break the mold and make a person stand in a line. "Every time you come to ******* it takes almost half an hour just to go through the line." Yes, it does. This is the largest retailer in the world. There are literally more people shopping here than anywhere else in the history of ever. It is because so many people come here to shop that the prices are so low, which is why so many people, including yourself, come here to shop. It is the pinnacle of a global free market system* and god damnit if you didn't want to wait in a line you should have come at 2am because they are open all of the time.
*I am not an economist and I'm only 70% sure that is what those words mean.

The cashier was a lesbian. I say this with the authority one uses when they point to someone and say "that is my mother," or "that is Julianne Moore." From her steel gray Ewan McGregor haircut to her popped collar to her resin sports watch to her titanium men's wedding band. She wasn't wearing a name badge, but I bet her name was Chase or Eli or Harlie. I loved her immediately. She overstuffed the bags and didn't once ask if it was too heavy for me. Her small talk wasn't about my groceries, but about how my day had been. And then we got to the onions.

The bag of onions didn't have a tag. The manager was called. He was informed the onions didn't have a tag. He asked if I remembered how much they were. I said, "I think it was $3 something, but I don't know exactly." He went to get a tag. They were $4.25. He said, "They were $4.25, not $3." Ok. He walked away. Harlie scanned the carrots and the squash, and then the potatoes. The potatoes wouldn't scan. The manager was called. Harlie told him the potatoes, which did have a tag, wouldn't scan. He tried to scan them. "Why isn't this scanning?" he asked the potatoes. "Do you remember how much these were?" he asked the potatoes. "No," I answered, because potatoes don't talk. He went to get another bag of potatoes. They were $3.28. "Better than the onions!" Harlie chimed. Thank you, Harlie.

The very last thing to scan was the turkey. The turkey rang at $.89/lbs. "Oh," I started, all the while screaming at myself from inside my own head to just shut the fuck up, "I thought this one was $.69/lbs." The manager was called. "No," I said, begging Harlie with my eyes to please, please stop, "really, it's fine." The manager arrived. 'What's the problem this time?" he asked me. "Is this turkey $.89 or $.69/lbs?" Harlie asked him. I stood, mortified, insulted, and hyper-aware that the woman behind me was now telling no one in particular that she has never, ever stood this long in line at the *******. The manager left to check on my turkey.

Oh Jesus fucking Christ Colleen what the shit just pay for the turkey. How much of a difference is it, really? Twenty cents a pound is not that big of a deal. It's a 14 pound turkey. That's, what, less than $3? What are you going to do with $3? Buy another bag of potatoes. Yes, Colleen, I am, I am going to buy another goddamned bag of potatoes with that three dollars. He practically accused me of trying to scam out a dollar on the onions, and now I'm making this big fuss over a few bucks for the turkey... I should just leave. I should just leave all the groceries here and leave. This is so embarrassing, this woman behind me is going to kill me. Listen, now shes going on about how she should have been home fifteen minutes ago, well then you shouldn't have come to the market at 5pm when every single person is getting off from work and going to the market, just like you lady. Oh god I can't leave, I actually need these things. Is this an omen? Is this how Thanksgiving is going to be? Mom is going to come to town and I'm not going to have a turkey. How much better is an $.89/lbs turkey anyway? Is this better? Is that the omen, I got a better turkey? Why am I trying to impress her with a turkey? God, and she's going to be here Wednesday and she'll be bringing stuff and I'm not going to have enough room in the fridge, especially when it has to brine over night. She better be bringing the bourbon because I do not know if I'll have time to get to the liquor store... Thanksgiving is in a week. Exactly a week. I have plenty of time to get to the store. I should just leave. I should just leave all the groceries here and

"Here he comes," said Harlie. "This turkey is $.89/lbs." the manager says. And I say, that's fine. It's fine. Harlie says, "well which one was $.69/lbs?" and the manager says, "THIS one is $.89/lbs.' And, again, I say, that's fine. Harlie looks at her manager and asks, again, "But which one was $.69/lbs, did you bring up one of those?" and to me, "Is that the one you wanted, because we can go get you the one you wanted." No, thank you, really. Please, it's fine, just, it's fine, let me please pay for this turkey. The woman behind me is drumming her fingers on the counter. And clearing her throat. The manager is just standing there, judging me. And Harlie, that beautiful golden angel, is looking right at her manager and asking why, exactly, he didn't just bring up the other turkey because clearly this customer knew which one she wanted and just grabbed the wrong one from that big bin, it gets confusing, and do I just want her to go grab one for me? "No, really, it's fine. It's fine, I'm sorry to hold everything up, just, please, it's fine." And Harlie says, "Gosh, that's almost $3 different, that's another bag of onions."

October 2011

2011-10-19T07:29:00.000-07:00

Under Construction

The One Where I Evaluate My Web Presence

2011-07-25T13:24:00.000-07:00

Note: I always feel like I am spelling the word "presence" wrong. Is it spelled wrong? I checked the wikiionary first. You can't lie on there.

I had a Xanga in middle school. I kept it all through high school. I went to DeviantArt in college. I set up a Facebook account as soon as my college was added. I tried switching out my Xanga for Facebook Notes, which I'm pretty sure is no longer a thing. I started this Blogger in 2009. I know, it looks like I've had it since 2006, but I mined my previous three blogging adventures and salvaged some good posts from days past, then posted them here under their original dates. A LOT of people asked me why I took the trouble to do that, but I feel like the idea that someone might look back through my archives and assume I once posted a single word, and then nothing else for 15 months.

I used to write for a fun media/politics site, which is unfortunately no longer up. I loved that experience. I had a team to work with, a (soft) deadline each week, and a bigger audience than I will probably ever see again.

Right now I have this blogger, along with Fatty Cookbook, and a Tumblr, and a Twitter. I post frequently to Plinky, and I often repost those to one of my other hubs. I have given up on the podcast (That was a terrible idea. Just, really, who let me do that?) and any kind of art gallery for the moment. This is a lot of space, and it is time to streamline.

It will take me a while to redesign, and I want to wait and see what/if Google+ changes are planned. I am hoping to keep everything here at Collotype on Blogger, but I will have to weigh my options. No worries, everyone will be kept up to date. Also, I am getting married in 68 days, so I am kind of busy.

Collotype: Relaunch Fall 2001!!

Edit: Relaunch will be Fall 2011

I went to: Aesthetics class 1

2011-07-06T20:47:00.000-07:00

While going through my Documents folder, I uncovered a series of discussion questions I had prepared for an Aesthetics class I took in college. I've decided to post some of my answers here. So, yea, maybe I'm cheating by posting things I wrote two years ago. Read it anyway.

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# What do you think about Collingwood's claim that a true artist does not know what he or she is expressing until the piece is finished? Is this plausible? What counter-examples to his argument can you think of?

# In like manner, what do you think of Collingwood's claim that the true work of art is utterly mental, not physical? Which genres of art does this claim work better for?Which genres are problematic for it?

# Review Collingwood's distinction between amusement art and magical art. Give examples of each. Why does he think that both forms of art are really types of craft?

Speaking for myself, at least, I know I often do not know what the final outcome will be when I begin a project. I start with a small piece of an image in my head, a single sentence or feeling or color, and it begins to grow. I sketch, or brainstorm, and even after I’ve begun I may still revise extensively. You don’t write a short story by starting with the title. Characters or places may turn out to symbolize something you hadn’t intended. Photographs that didn’t turn out “like I planned,” may still be surprisingly on message. Of course, if you are creating in the moment of passion, expressing rage or horror or happiness, these intense emotions may be fully formed in your head, perfect that way, and you may not feel a piece is complete until it matches that mental image. Or if, like Malevich and his suprematism, you intend to paint a black circle, there is almost no other way for the image to resolve itself than as a black circle.

Rothko comes to mind when imaging the art is not physical, but mental. It is the viewer’s reaction to his color fields, their remembrance of a childhood fascination with color, their associations with yellow or blue, that is the real art. Jewelry design, or architecture, is clearly more about the design of the piece than the viewer’s mental reaction to it.

Collingwood’s definitions of magical and amusement arts, calling them crafts rather than true art, surprised me. I thought of romantic comedies. Chick flicks, we all know them. We know from the beginning who the main characters are, we can guess what the conflict might be, and we know that whatever happens, it will be okay because they will be together at the end. Because we know this from the beginning, does it negate the art of the actors, costume designers, the director and crew? Perhaps, following Collingwood’s theory of amusement art. I understand his belief that religious or patriotic artworks are “magical arts.” I believe this is an appropriate term for them. If anything, it’s less harsh than propaganda. Again, you know what this image, this song, is supposed to make you feel. You feel it, either because it causes you to or because you know you are supposed to. If a craft is different than art in that art is spontaneous, involving a discovery on the part of the artist and the viewer, than perhaps these things

Lentil and potato stew

2011-06-28T17:43:00.000-07:00

There has been a ham bone in my freezer since Easter. Today, I discovered I
a) had potatoes and lentils
and
b) was sick of that ham bone in my freezer.

Peel and rough chop carrots, and place them in a stockpot with whole potatoes, peeled garlic, and ham bone. Cover with water and bring to boil. Add 1/2 tsp both salt and pepper. Once the water has reached a rolling boil, reduce heat to low-medium for about an hour, or until whatever meat is left falls off the bone.

Remove solids from stock. Leave the bone in the broth and keep it at a simmer. Chop the carrots, potatoes, garlic, and ham into bite-size pieces, and set aside.

In a medium sauce pan*, combine three cups of the stock and 1 cup of lentils. Simmer until lentils are tender, about 20 minutes. Stir in the original vegetables. Now is also the time to throw in any extra veggies you want that only take a few minutes to cook (spinach, broccoli, corn, etc...). Slowly add in stock, cup by cup, until you reach your desired consistency. Heat through and serve.

*Since this will be the final pot, make sure it is large enough to accommodate the finished stew.

Gorgon

2011-06-23T07:14:00.000-07:00

"If you suddenly ran into your most recent ex, what would your first response be?"

It has been over two years, and even at the time the chain of events was a little fuzzy, so while I have a Big, Monster, Official Ex, there is also a sort of Pseudo-Ex that immediately followed.

For the PE: There would be a huge amount of obscenities, and possibly some violence. I would use words like abandon, and coward, and PE would say something with liar. Then we would hug.

If, however, I ever, ever run in to BMOE again, I will turn to stone.

Weave

2011-06-22T09:30:00.000-07:00

Some of you might know I'm writing a book. Not, like, full time, or with any sort of real dedication. There are various reasons for my procrastination, chief among them being that a lot of the story is drawn from real life events of which I am ~~still very protective. It's very close to impossible to see them from my own perspective, let alone twist them in to the view of my protagonist~~ not ready to talk about.
My short stories tend to draw on a dirty-minimalist theme, two or three real characters, first person perspective. The plot is not so much a diagram as it is a mab libs: Sarah is mad at her husband for . She will his secretary, and then she/they will him with a and drive off in his Saab 9-5.
A novel, however, should be more complex. Story arcs need to intersect. Time needs to move forward by days, years. If you're John Irving you can start before your main character is even born and tell two life stories in 800 pages. If you're Palahniuk you can more backwards and forwards and flash from scene to scene, so long as the entire third act is told in present tense real time. If you're Emma Donoghue you can almost forgo dialogue, and cram every page with setting, bringing your reader in to the scene just short of drawing them a picture. If you're me, you spin every god-damned thing into a symbol like you're channeling Hawthorne.
This makes mapping out a story far harder than I first anticipated. Because now, nothing can be green that isn't good. Only certain people can own dogs. Blue eyes are a character flaw. Stairs.... don't even get me started on the stairs.

I also didnt finish a title

2011-06-19T11:02:00.000-07:00

"Exactly half of the year is now over. List 10 things you want to do before 2012 begins."

Alright, look, I am super, crazy sorry I haven't been writing lately. I honestly didn't know I had such an audience. I'm looking at you John, Gena, Joe, Mark, Peg, D.M., Jon, Oh, James, Sarah, and Amy. So, this one's for all of you.

1. Get married

2. Get a Kitchen Aid standing mixer

3. Teach my cat to stop clawing at the carpet

4. Fit in to those skinny jeans I purposely bought a size too small after watching too many yogurt and cereal commercials.

5. Spend a day at the Creation Museum. Seriously, I hear that place is, like, crazy well funded. The animatronics are better than Disney World, and it's not like I'll have to suspend my disbelief anymore than I do for the Hollywood Tower Hotel.

6. Start a rumor about Michele Bachmann that is actually more far fetched than her real life.*

7. Start work on my sweet Mayan costume for the 2012 End of the World parties

8. Finish this list

*I understand this one might be impossible

Yellow Squash Risotto

2011-06-14T17:57:00.000-07:00

While a medium grain Italian rice is usually recommended for risotto, I use whichever rice I have on hand.

3 tbsp olive oil
One medium to large yellow squash, sliced in to coins or bite sized pieces
One medium yellow onion, diced
Four medium carrots, peeled and sliced in to coins
3 cups chicken broth
1/2 cup rice (see first note) -- I used long grain white rice
1/2 cup white wine
2 tbsp cream cheese

In a medium saucepan, combine chicken broth, carrot, and half of the onion. Allow to simmer until carrots are cooked through. Salt to taste.

Set broth and vegetables aside in a separate bowl. In the saucepan, heat 1 tbsp oil over medium high heat. Add remaining onion and saute until tender. Add rice, stirring constantly, until golden, about two-three minutes. If the onions start to brown, reduce heat. Pour the wine over the rice and stir, with a heat-proof spatula or wooden spoon, until almost all of the liquid is absorbed. Ladle the broth in to the saucepan, about half a cup at a time, stirring while the liquid is absorbed. You can either discard the vegetables in the broth, or spoon them back in to the rice as I did.

While the risotto is going, heat the remaining oil in a fry pan over medium heat. Toss the squash with black pepper and garlic, and lay out on the pan. Flip the squash every so often, until cooked to your liking.

It should take about 20 minutes for the rice to fully absorb all of the broth. Towards the end taste the rice, you want it al dente, not mushy. It's okay if a little broth is left over. Remove the risotto from heat and add the cream cheese. Fold it in until fully blended.

Spoon the risotto in to a bowl, and top with squash.

BBQ Rib Spice Paste and Sweet and Spicy Barbeque Grill Sauce

2011-05-31T07:05:00.000-07:00

After what has been just the WORST Spring, the skies hasve cleared enough for my very favorite tradition: Barbeque.

It is pretty common knowledge that my father makes the best ribs in the world. The only information I have on his recipe is this: he marinates them, starts them in the oven, moves them to the grill, and bastes them with something. I am not party to any ingredient besides pork, but I know they are spicy and gooey and charred. Someday, on his death bed, he might tell me his recipe. Until then, just as I did with chili and marinara sauce*, I will have to forge ahead on my own.

Marinade

I prefer a paste marinade to a liquid. Mix any dry spices with 2 tbsp neutral oil (any kind of bland oil without much flavor). I used coriander, chili powder, cinnamon, oregano, salt, and pepper mixed with cheap olive oil, and brushed on both sides of the rack of ribs.

Marinate as long as possible, then cover tightly with foil on a deep rimmed baking sheet and pop in the oven. Heat the oven to 275F. The ribs will be fine in there for 2-2.5 hours.

Sauce
This was modified from a Martha Stewart recipe

1 medium yellow onion, diced
3 cloves garlic, minced
8oz tomato sauce
8oz stewed tomatoes
1.5 tsp chili powder
.5 tsp nutmeg
Coarse salt and fresh cracked pepper to taste
1/2 cup white vinegar
2tbsp Worcestershire sauce
1tsp oregano
1/2 cup packed dark brown sugar (plus more to taste)
1 cup water

In 1-2 tbsp oil, saute onions and garlic. I like to let them brown, but if you don't like the taste, just cook them until tender, about 8 minutes. Add tomatoes and tomato sauce, chili powder, nutmeg, and .5 tbsp salt plus a little pepper (you can go back and add more salt and pepper after it's simmered a while) and heat to a simmer. While stirring, slowly add vinegar and WS sauce. At this point I tasted the sauce, and thought it needed a little... something, so I added a bit of oregano, my go-to spice. With everything blended and simmering, slowly add the sugar, stirring it in. Cover sauce and let it simmer about 1 hour, stirring occasionally.
You'll need to puree the sauce at some point, and because I am still short an immersion blender, I scooped out the solid ingredients during this in-between phase, mixed them with about a cup of cool water, and pulsed them in the blender. If you have an immersion blender, you can add the water and puree everything now.
After an hour, remove the sauce from the heat and let cool. I popped mine in the fridge to let it set a little.

RIBS
Once the ribs are done in the oven, you can move them to your grill (or broiler) and finish as you like. Give them a generous coating of the BBQ sauce and let them sizzle! Happy Summer!!!

*You can't have my marinara sauce recipe.

Rick Santorum is a Douchebag

2011-04-18T11:28:00.000-07:00

I hate to lead with an ad hominem, but this man disgusts me on a level I have real difficulty expressing.

It's not just his remarks about homosexuals. I will note, however, that those remarks alone would be enough for me to refrain from voting this man in to political office. That's the point of electing an official, I am absolutely allowed to judge any candidate's entire career and/or policy because I disagree with that person on any issue. The judging, in this case, is my own decision whether or not to vote for this person, and I can vote for anyone for any reason I like. This is not like rejecting a doctor's advice because he cheats on his wife, or ignoring a scientific fact because the researchers are Jewish, because in those cases the information being delivered has (or should have) no correlation with the individual messenger. In politics, most things are subjective, and a politician's character is very much in play.

I just heard that former senator Rick Santorum (R) may be gunning for the GOP candidacy in 2012. The GOP seems to have a history of producing an enormous pool of contenders each election season, many serious, but some just for show. I guess this is true of all parties, but the Republicans really can assemble an all-star cast. It's like Vaudeville, all the acts have a special twist. Immigration! Faith! Climate change! Big Business! The rent is too high!

So what is Santorum's vaudeville act? "The Aristocrats." This isn't even one woman's opinion. One of the top results when you search for his name on Google is a gross sex and body fluid combination with the word "frothy" in the definition, and it's named after him. That means that this substance has been around for almost all of human existence, but no one was ever able to come up with an appropriate word for it, until Rick Santorum opened his mouth. He started spewing shit and someone looked at someone else and said, "hey, you know what this reminds me of?"

He is a social conservative that wants to strip away the rights of women. Period. End of that sentence. Rick Santorum does not want to live in a world where a woman can have sex outside of marriage, have sex without getting pregnant, have an abortion, raise a child without a husband, or hold a job. He believes women should not be allowed to file for divorce if their children are under 18 years old. He doesn't believe American citizens can make moral decisions for themselves. Want me to cite that? Ok. Rick Santorum believes we need more children to be born because we need more contributors to Social Security. No regard to schooling, housing, access to food or medical care, we need more people to work more jobs to pay more taxes to fund Social Security. Citation. Former senator Santorum does not believe that a right to privacy exists under the US Constitution, and therefore sees no real problem with issues such as defamation or identity theft. In fact, he calls Privacy Laws a Constitutional Wrecking Ball. Right here.

Santorum on the issues:
Establishing an official national language.
No amnesty for immigrants.
The proposed amendment enforcing the teaching of "intelligent design."
Privatizing the weather forecast (seriously).

Santorum is a clown, in favor of big government and ignorant of the lifestyle most Americans have to live in order to survive. He is small-minded and confused by viewpoints differing from his own. Still, he is a media darling, and has a LOT of money behind him. I'm sure his campaign will be quite a show. I just hope the punchline isn't, "The President!'

Tilapia and Chorizo Paella

2011-04-17T17:56:00.000-07:00

My girlfriend had a pretty terrible week, and I really wanted to make her a nice dinner. I know she loves her mother's paella, but I am terrified of her mother, so I couldn't call for the recipe. Also, I had to make this on the grand budget of: what I currently have in the house.

She LOVED it. She had seconds.

3 tbsp olive oil
1/2 cup chopped chorizo
2 tilapia fillets, cut in to bite sized bits
8oz diced tomatoes
3 cloves of garlic, minced
1/2 chopped medium yellow onion
2 tsp sofrito
2 piquante peppers, diced
1/2 cup white wine
1 1/2 cup water
1 1/4 cup long grain rice

This is a one skillet meal, and it's best to have all your ingredients ready to go from the start.

Heat 2 tbsp olive oil in a 10 inch skillet over medium heat. Add chorizo and fish, cook three to five minutes until heated through and fish is almost cooked. Remove from pan, set aside.

Add remaining tbsp oil, tomatoes, onion, garlic, sofrito, and peppers. Saute until onions are cooked through.

Slowly pour in wine and water, and heat to boiling. Stir in rice, until all ingredients are well mixed. (protip: some recipes call for saffron or some other coloring to make your rice yellow. I throw in a packet of Sazon Goya. PS, I will be a spokesgirl for Goya any time. Call me!) Reduce heat, cover, and simmer for 15 minutes.

Stir in meat and fish, and cover for another three to five minutes, until rice is cooked through.

This makes two real big servings.

And there better be malt vinegar or I'm going to the gyro place

2011-04-13T05:23:00.001-07:00

"Name three things that are worth waiting in long lines for."

1. Roller coasters

2. Fresh cut curly fries

END OF LIST

Side note: 'upcycled' isn't a real word.

2011-04-13T05:15:00.001-07:00

"What's the oldest thing you own?"

A ceramic and gold leaf ashtray from1922. It's shaped like a maple leaf and is chipped on one side. My former boss gave it to me, she collected ashtrays and Italian paperweights. And crystal ink wells. She was the coolest person I'll ever know.

Elvis Presley, Disneyland!

2011-04-13T05:09:00.001-07:00

"would you rather be a great singer or a great dancer?"

I am already a fantastic dancer, because I spend a lot of my down time watching Usher videos. I'd like to be a better singer, but I don't need to be. As long as there is tequila and a microphone, I will be singing Billy Joel at karaoke, talent not required.

Scientific Terms

2011-04-02T16:45:00.000-07:00

The other day at work, a woman told me she doesn't believe in evolution because she believes in God.

I refrained, at the time, from starting the discussion about all of the different meanings of the word "believe." Belief in God is also called faith. There's no need to believe in scientific concepts, those are empirical. Belief implies personal preference. Someone who sincerely believes in something, say, that the Sun goes around the Earth, doesn't know that their idea is true. In fact, they cannot know that belief to be true, but it is false. Someone who believes Faith Hill is the best singer can't know that she is, because values, and value judgments, are subjective.

Her statement did get me thinking about scientific terms, and how they can relate to every day ideas. Perhaps if there was a basic scientific literacy primer, easily available (or mandatory), people wouldn't think they have to believe in a scientific concept, so much as learn it. So I've written up some basic situations, with an everyday solution, and a scientific one, to show some key words in context.

There's something I don't quite understand.
Laymen's terms: I have a theory about something. I should probably test it to figure out it it's right.
Scientific terms: I have a hypothesis about something. I should probably do an experiment to evaluate it.

My first idea seems to work, but doesn't fix everything.
Laymen's terms: It was always cold in this room. I thought there might be a draft from the window. I found a crack in the window frame and filled it. But it still seemed drafty, so I went back. I found another crack, and filled that as well.
Scientific terms: Newton's theory of gravity, with the inverse square law, accounted for nearly every aspect of gravity, but there were discrepancies in Mercury's orbit we couldn't explain. Einstein's theory of general relativity, with the equivalence principle, helped clear that up.

All of these facts are leading me to the same conclusion.
Laymen's terms: Based on everything I know now, this is the best model of car for my needs. There could always be some later safety-recall on this one, or a new, better model, but for right now it's the best.
Scientific terms: All of our research and observations are now accumulated in this theory. There could always come an observation that doesn't agree with this theory's predictions, or new research could disprove our theory, but for right now it explains our observations of the natural world.

Beef and Lentil Slow Cooker Stew

2011-03-31T11:10:00.000-07:00

So I've been cooking with lentils a lot lately. I don't know what started this fascination, but I bought, like, 6 bags of lentils last time I went grocery shopping. So I've been working on a LOT of lentil recipes.

2 cups of water
1 cup of dried lentils
8 oz kidney beans
8 oz stewed tomatoes, undrained
1 small onion, diced
1 clove garlic, minced
As much oregano as you want. I grow my own, so I usually just rip off a hunk and chop the leaves until it looks good.
1 tsp coarse salt
A recipe I found said to add 1lb of beef, cubed. A little bit ago we had a giant round steak, I saved the leftover, bone in, and just decided to drop that in.

From Drop Box

Combine all ingredients in a slow cooker, set to LOW, for 6-7 hours.
I will let you all know how this turns out at 9pm.

From Fatty Cookbook

Meme

2011-03-31T09:54:00.000-07:00

from kwizgiver

1. Have you ever been searched by the cops? Not personally, but my house was.

2. Do you close your eyes on roller coasters? No way

3. When’s the last time you’ve been sledding? sometime in high school, Aly and two of her friends and I meant to go to a concert, but we went to buy a sled at walmart instead.

4. Would you rather sleep with someone else, or alone? I like not being alone, so there's someone to protect me when the serial killer breaks in.

5. Do you believe in ghosts? No

6. Do you consider yourself creative? Sometimes

7. Do you stay friends with your exes? A handful

8. Do you know how to play poker? Poker is a game of luck, and I am pretty bad at that.

9. Have you ever been awake for 48 hours straight? Yes, because I went to college.

10. What’s your favorite commercial? I don't watch television

11. What are you allergic to? Grass and ceclor

12. If you’re driving in the middle of the night, and no one is around do you run red lights? I don't even speed on interstates, so there is no way I am ever running a red light.

13. Do you have a secret that no one knows but you? I have one secret, one thing I've never told anyone. It's not threatening or life altering, I just like having one.

14. Boston Red Sox or New York Yankees? Dude I love sportball!

15. Have you ever been ice skating? Yes, but not in years.

16. How often do you remember your dreams? I can usually remember them right when I wake up, but not too long after.

17. When was the last time you laughed so hard you cried? oh, my god, constantly.

18. Can you name 5 songs by The Beatles? Yea, who said I can't?

19. What’s the one thing on your mind now? answering this question.

20. Do you know who Ghetto-ass barbie is? No, but I hope it's a drag queen with a talk show.

21. Do you always wear your seat belt? Yes (no)

22. What cell service do you use? Verizon muthafucka!

23. Do you like sushi? Love it

24. Have you ever narrowly avoided a fatal accident? Yes. I was driving in a pretty bad snow storm, and had to take the interstate to get home. I was on the on-ramp, and hit a patch of ice. I spun out in to the highway, spiraling a few ties before stopping straddling the two lanes. Just as the car came to a stop, I saw a Semi speed past, a few feet from my passenger side window. It was universally awful.

25. What do you wear to bed? Why?

26. Been caught stealing? No

27. What shoe size do you have? 8.5

28. Do you truly hate anyone? No, I don't allocate that kind of energy to people I don't care for.

29. Classic Rock or Rap? There's had never, ever been a situation where I had to choose.

30. If you could sleep with one famous person, who would it be? God that sounds like a lot of work.

31. Favorite Song? Ride wit me by Nelly

32. Have you ever sang in front of the mirror? Everyday

33. What food do you find disgusting? Licorice

34. Do you sing in the shower? Yes

35. Did you ever play, “I’ll show you mine, if you show me yours”? No

36. Have you ever made fun of your friends behind their back? Basically every chance I get

37. Have you ever stood up for someone you hardly knew? Yes. I was on a bus from Jacksonville to Savannah, and this gross (possibly drunk) guy was harassing a girl sitting by herself a few seats back. I told the guy, politely, to leave her alone He got surly, and I told him, firmly, to sit the fuck down and shut up, grabbed the girl's bags, and brought her up to sit with me. Now she's one of my very good friends.

38. Have you ever been punched in the face? Yes. Once was at a bar. I went there to self-destruct, and it totally worked.

(1+2)x(12-4)

2011-03-21T19:42:00.000-07:00

From Collotype

It's cool to be jealous.
Also, Oriana got me a goldfish. I named it 'Birthday.'

Easiest Biscuits

2011-03-19T16:41:00.000-07:00

So I'm flat broke and making my finest batch of "whatever is left in the house." We had chicken, peas, creamed corn, gravy mix... Chicken pot pie! Or course. But we had a distinct lack of eggs, and milk, and I needed biscuits...

1 cup flour
1/2 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp salt
3 tbsp oil
1/3 cup water

Preheat oven to 450.
Mix all ingredients, and turn out on a floured surface. Knead slightly, and roll to 1/4 inch thickness.
Stamp out biscuits, I used the top of a mason jar, and arrange on a cookie sheet. Bake about 10 minutes.

Ta da!

The Cold Equations

2011-03-17T17:06:00.000-07:00

There are 168 hours in a week.

I spend 32 of them working, about.
I work 5 days a week, and it's a half hour drive each way, so that's another 5.

I only spend 37 hours each week on my job. That's less than I spend sleeping.

My job is considered full-time, but there's no real full-time in retail unless you're management. I have health insurance. I have a 401(k). I make above minimum wage plus commission.

It's only 22% of my week. Less than a quarter of my time. That, plus the time I spend sleeping, that's 50%.

So I get to do whatever I want with almost exactly half of my time. So, it's really not that unbearable, right?

It was 18:20 when she stirred from her motionlessness and spoke.
“So that’s the way it has to be with me?”
He swung around to face her. “You understand now, don’t you? No one would ever let it be like this if it could be changed.”

Ooey Gooey Mac and Cheese

2011-03-12T16:47:00.000-08:00

From Fatty Cookbook

This recipe makes a LOT of cheese sauce, it's to be enough for 4 regular servings.

2 tbsp butter
1/2 onion, diced. Really small.
2 tbsp flour
1 1/2 cups milk
6 oz of any cheese. I used half Swiss and Extra Sharp Cheddar.

Melt the butter in a medium saucepan, over medium heat. They key to all of this is keeping the heat right, if anything starts bubbling it's too hot. Add the onions to the butter and, stirring and turning often, let the onions turn translucent. Once they're soft, add the flour and cook until well mixed without turning brown. This should take less than a minute.

Stir everything with a wooden spoon or spatula, making sure nothing sticks to the bottom of the pan. Slowly pour in the milk, whisking to make sure everything mixes. Watch the milk, do not let it boil. Test the temperature with your fingers, it should feel hot, but not burning. Special note: this is also the time to add any extra seasonings; salt, pepper, cayenne, or nutmeg. I only do a bit of garlic salt and a pinch of paprika, but this is all up to you.

Grate the cheese, and slowly add to the sauce, about an ounce at a time. Stir the cheese in, waiting for it to melt completely before adding more.

Pour immediately over al dente elbow macaroni. Enjoy!

Fragile

2011-03-06T08:34:00.000-08:00

She called him and said, "I had a dream last night, and you were perfect."
He was silent, so she continued. "You made that one great gesture. You came back, with flowers. A handful, like you had stolen the stems from another arrangement, and tied them with a ribbon. And you said, 'come back with me.'"
The pause was too long before he asked, "What did you say?"
"I said no. I said I couldn't, that I have my life here now, and it was true, but I swear I felt my heart stop, even in my dream. It was the right answer, but it took all the strength I had to give it, and I felt like I might die at that instant rather than look you in the eye.
"And something else happened, I can't remember how it was connected, but it was later in the dream, or at the same time. But there was this machine, that could show you what you children would look like. There was this vivid picture of a blond little boy, and I stayed there just long enough to see my mother's nose, and your blue eyes, and I woke myself up. That was it."

I will always miss you, peanut butter.

2011-03-03T07:28:00.001-08:00

"What unusual food combination is surprisingly tasty?"

ANYTHING plus peanut butter. With my wife being allergic, we have this stuff called "soynut butter," which is almost, but not quite, entirely unlike peanut butter. But it works, especially with carrots.

I hate that stupid adorable cat.

2011-03-03T07:18:00.001-08:00

"If your pet could talk, what would it say about you?"

Samoa: Whichever one of those people gave me attention last is my favorite. The short one gives me the most treats, but she also dresses me up in little outfits. Is that ham? Yea, gimme some of that.

Shasta: (if you can find him awake.) Hey. Hey. Hey. Hey. Hey you. Hey. What? Leave me alone.

The fish: (I like to believe the fish could never talk, because I'm pretty sure they are terrified all the damn time. It would probably just be screaming.)

Chinese style Orange Chicken

2011-02-20T13:42:00.000-08:00

Sauce:
1 1/2 cup of water, plus 2 tbsp water
1 medium size orange, halved
1/3 cup rice vinegar
2 1/2 tbsp soy sauce
1 cup brown sugar
1/2 tsp grated ginger
1/2 tsp minced garlic
1/4 tsp garlic pepper flakes
3 tbsp cornstarch

3 boneless/skinless chicken breasts, cubed
1 cup all purpose flour
4 cups favorite vegetables

Start the sauce first. Mix the cornstarch and 2 tbsp water in a small bowl and set aside. Combine all other ingredients in a sauce pan and heat over medium high. Squeeze the juice from the orange, and zest over the rind to release the oils. I let the fruit set in the saucepan for the first ten minutes while it reached a boil.

Meanwhile, lightly oil a wok or skillet and heat. Coat the chicken in flour (note: most will say to beat an egg, dip in the chicken, and then coat with flour, but I'm trying to be kind of healthy here) and lay in the skillet. Cook until golden on all sides, then toss in the vegetables and heat through.

Pour the water/corn starch mixture in to the sauce and stir until sauce begins to thicken.

Plate the chicken and vegetables (I serve with white rice) and top with a generous serving spoonful of orange sauce. Serves 4.
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From Fatty Cookbook

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From Fatty Cookbook

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From Fatty Cookbook

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But I am Not Playing Punch a Bunch

2011-02-20T00:07:00.001-08:00

"What game show would you like to be a contestant on?"
I want to say Jeopardy, because the sense of accomplishment I get from mentally getting more points than the jacks on the tv is UNREAL. But I'm pretty sure I'd freeze on the show and transpose all the numbers in important dates.
Wheel of Fortune is one of my favorites, but it's a guarantee that on every episode there is one person who is way better than the other contestants, like they spend their entire life playing hangman. Like every interaction they have with another human involves guessing letters and learning idioms. You do not want to mess with that person. Also, I'm pretty sure if I landed on Bankrupt I wouldn't be able to hide my disappointment, and I'd stop clapping when the other people spun the wheel, and while bad sports make good reality tv, it kind of kills the mood on a game show.
Lingo was the absolute best, and you know the boy/girl teams were totally gay couples, but it's off the air now.
So that leaves... shit, I don't want to go on Millionaire, or Deal or No Deal, because that show is terrible. Price is Right? Sure, yea, I want to go on Price is Right. What was the highest big, Drew? $400? Yea, I bid $401, because fuck you, guy, that's why. Oh, did I win? Yea I did. Let's play some Safe Crackers!

Nothing says love like...

2011-02-15T19:10:00.000-08:00

From Fatty Cookbook

Happy Valentine's Day from Fatty Cookbook

Of course it was going to be about marriage.

2011-02-10T00:10:00.000-08:00

"If you could enact one new law, what would it be?"
All government marriage laws are rewritten. Marriage licenses are now proof of contract of a civil union between two or more partners in an LLC.
"Married" in the societal sense will not change. A marriage is a special bond between people, between families, it is an easy short hand for long term relationships. Every culture, each society, generation, religion has its own particular marriage ceremonies and traditions, which can blend and change and keep on truckin' no matter what an outside force has to say about it. Have you ever watched some of these wedding shows on TV? I've seen ceremonies blending Conservative Judaism and traditional Thai. There are some super crazy ways to be "married."
Just like we as people need an easy way to categorize two people from different families who are now part of the same family and are starting a different branch together (i.e. that's the Fogarty's house), the government needs an easy way to decide what belongs to who, and who is responsible for what. Simple, Betty and Jake since a contract forming a partnership. Assets include a house, two cars. Betty and Jake would like to sign Tim on as a partner. Assets now include one house, three cars, and a sailboat. The health insurance policy covers the partnership, just like a small business policy covers all employees. If Jake dies, assets are still owned by the partnership, and it is the remaining partner(s) job to decide who gets what. Anyone is free to leave at any time, divorce now becomes a percentage buy out.
Yes, it's emotionless and clinical, but so what? So is renewing your driver's license. Let's streamline the process: anybody over the age of 18 can go sign a marriage contract, to be afforded all of the state and federal rights of marriage. It is not your Senator's job to care if your mother would approve. That's your problem. Maybe if you had to sit down with a lawyer instead of a JoP people would be able to see the difference.
Right now, in 8 of 50 states, I am legally married. I signed a piece of paper, gave a copy of my driver's license, and that was that. It took three minutes in the lobby of the Stamford, CT city hall. However, according to my family, my in-laws, even myself, really, I won't be married until October, when the officiant gives us our vows. I knew a woman who was married, they separated a few years later, and she lived the rest of her life with another man. They called each other husband and wife. She never got legally divorced from the first guy. Did our Congressman come to her house to find out why? No, because he didn't care. Not his problem.

I Think Oprah Likes One Word Titles

2011-02-09T19:56:00.001-08:00

"You just signed a book deal. What's the title of your masterpiece?"

Torch
As in 'torch song,' as in carrying a flame, holding a candle to; as in trial by fire. It's autobiographical in the John Irving sense of the word. There's this girl, who goes through her life in the cloud of mental illness, and is led out of the mist with the help of a friend with a jungle tattooed on his arm. Hawthorne would die for this kind of symbolism. I've sort of lost my momentum, because with Oprah being canceled I'm not sure how her book club sticker is going to fare, and I want that sticker like you can't even understand.

Here is a snippet of the story in the early works: Survival Rate for Everyone

Container Gardening for Dummies

2011-02-06T14:36:00.000-08:00

From Drop Box

Amaryllis in bloom!

From Drop Box

Just planted some seeds for basil, chives, and tomatoes. I'll keep you posted on the progress. Also transplanted some palms.

From Drop Box

This thing is getting out of control.

From Drop Box

Yea, those are African violets, and yea, I did get them to reflower. Take that.

Throw Down, Super Bowl

2011-02-06T13:08:00.000-08:00

Hey there sports fan! Marie here, ready for the event of the year. I was just (literally, fifteen minutes ago) invited to a Super Bowl party, and now I have to whip together portable snacks fit to impress the new guy across the hall. I tasted his venison chili last night, this is some stiff competition. So now the question is, what will I bring? My A game, that's what I'll bring.

Roasted Red Pepper hummus

1 15.5 oz can chick peas
2 cloves garlic, minced
1/4 cup olive oil
3 tbsp lemon juice
1 red bell pepper

Lightly oil a small skillet over medium high heat. Chop the pepper in to strips and remove the seeds. Toss on skillet and roast, moving constantly, until tender and charred.
Combine all ingredients in a food processor and grind until smooth. Salt to taste.

Note: less liquid for a creamier consistency, but then you should gradually add the garlic to taste so it doesn't get overpowering.

Pasta Salad

It is pretty impossible to screw this one up.

1 box ziti or penne pasta
1 cup peas
1 cup sweet corn
1 cup spinach, chiffonade
1/4 onion, minced
1 cup chopped carrots
1 tsp paprika
2 tbsp Balsamic vinegar
2 cups Italian dressing

Cook pasta according to package directions. Rinse in cold water, and toss with vegetables in a large salad bowl. Mix vinegar and paprika, and pour over the salad. Toss until well coated. Add the dressing and toss once more right before serving,

I know this because Tyler knows this.

2011-02-05T18:23:00.001-08:00

"Name a book that changed your life."

Fight Club. Something about that crazy, desperate, crazy man really spoke to me. For nearly two years in college, I watched the movie or read the book every single day. It was the biggest commitment of my life up to that point. I was going to immerse myself in Fight Club, I was going to learn everything the story had to offer, I was going to decode every single word, because I somehow knew there was a lesson in there. Somewhere in Fight Club was a singular idea that could save me. It was the background noise to my life.

Watching that kind of reckless violence was just as cathartic as actually solving any of my problems might have been. My battered paperback was splashed with red, blue, and black ink, in my handwriting, and in the script of two ex-girlfriends. I had lent the book to them, and encouraged them to make notes, in the hopes that their thoughts might help me decipher. Fight Club was my Bible, because I believed somewhere in its story there was a real truth.

I wrote essays on Fight Club in my Aesthetics, Anthropology, Script Writing, Speech and Public Speaking, and 3D Design classes. I compared to it The Great Gatsby, The Scarlet Letter, Lord of the Flies. I tore it apart and built it back up, chronologically, by metaphor, by character, everything I possibly could to try and figure it out.

A sampling from my worn out copy:

Deliver me from clever art. (Please!!)

Maybe self-destruction is the answer. (Maybe it's the option.)

(Why make a character a recall campaign coordinator? Why? Of all the jobs, why this one? The equation? Why couldn't he be the engineer who designs the faulty cars? Or the exec on the final decision? Why the middle man, the evaluator?)

It took my whole life to buy this stuff (underlined twice)

Monster bitch monster (underlined and rewritten in the margin)

Chatper 8 is the one with all the Buddhist imagery, the ZEN scrEAMING FOR ATTEntion and Tyler all enlightened with cigarette burns marching up and down his arms. And it's so early in the book because it doesn't mean anything. It took me a very long time to grasp that nothing that happens before the last four chapters means anything, because everything before that is crazy, and even though everything afterwards is also crazy, it's crazy with a diagnosis, which means there's hope of a resolution.

The real lesson to Fight Club in in the final four pages. It is summed up very nicely. All of the work is done for you.

"Your one perfect moment won't last forever."

"We just are, and everything that happens just happens."

"You can't teach God anything."

People who are not crazy do not enjoy reading Fight Club. Fight Club was written for a very specific audience of very young, very sad, very desperate people. Fight Club gave me something to focus on other than myself. It was a way to be selfish through self-examination. It gave the exact template on how to be the Narrator, and exist in every day life, and still believe you could be a Tyler Durden and command armies through charisma and cigarettes. Then one day, I grew up, and read the last page, and realized that the craziest story ever written made sense.

Smashed Potatoes

2011-01-25T16:18:00.000-08:00

It's different from mashed potatoes because I leave the skins on, and also because they are lumpy.

10 red potatoes
Whole milk
Butter
1 clove of garlic
Seasonings of your choice*

*I used paprika and rosemary.

Scrub potatoes and place in a large pot. Fill with water just to cover the potatoes, and bring the pot to a boil. Once the water begins to boil, cover the pot, remove from heat, and let sit at least one hour. Test with a fork to see if potatoes are cooked through.

Peel and mince the garlic, and cook down in three tablespoons of butter.

While the potatoes are still hot, cut them in to small cubes and put them back in the pot. Pour in the butter and garlic. Add your favorite seasonings.

Adding milk a quarter cup at a time, mash the potatoes until your desired consistency is met. The red potatoes break down really easily, so the mashing shouldn't take a lot of effort. Adding the milk too fast will make them soupy, which is A) gross, and B) much harder to mash through. It's like trying to walk in flip flops through the mud.

For a fun added bonus, pour the smashed potatoes in to a small baking dish, top with white cheese, and bake at 400 degrees for 20 minutes.

Feel

2011-01-21T21:55:00.000-08:00

Unfinished.
---
Depression hurts. Depression makes the very act of inhaling seem like a monumental task. Exhaling is so, so easy, and the urge is to just stop with that, just push out that last breath and close your eyes and let it be. Eventually, you have to breathe, and the inward rush of the outside world turns your stomach. I remember once climbing the stairs to my bedroom, and giving up halfway up the flight. I sat on the step, clinging to the railing, too exhausted to continue. I was crying. I was a complete mess. I was so, so sad, and the feeling was so big it took everything I had just to feel it. It took me several minutes to gather the strength to crawl to the top, and that image of myself, that sobbing broken wreck, was so pathetic I stopped again on the landing just to hate myself that much more before reaching my door.
There finally came a day where I knew I couldn't go on. I imagine it's something like having a degenerative disease, there must come a concrete point where the patient realizes something else, something more, has to happen in order for this condition to be bearable. I made an appointment, and I started taking antidepressants. If depression is a chronic pain, antidepressants are what you have always wanted ibuprofen to be. These pills didn't dull the pain, they didn't make it bearable, they killed it. These were painkillers. I still knew I was depressed, but I couldn't feel it. My mental illness because just that, a mental condition, not a physical one. All of the craziness stayed locked away neatly in my mind. I could eat, and run, and sleep. It was a miracle.
With no other outlet, depression began to eat away at my brain. I couldn't concentrate, or notice fine detail. My train of thought rambled on and on and then disappeared. This little voice, my voice, began popping up at quiet moments to belittle me. And so my dose was increased. And again. And again. And eventually my mind went quiet, and my body went numb. I was serene, completely locked in from any outside forces. My capacity to feel in any way was shut down, and so I could wander through my day to day life in a haze, like I was underwater. Fuzzy memories, distorted voices, flits and flashes of my life came and went, and I floated along. Have you ever swam out as far as you could from shore, taken a deep breath, and then dove under the water? Have you hovered there, eyes closed, ears stopped, and just screamed under the air was gone and you bobbed back to the surface? I did that for 10 months.
----
It feels like a tide rolling out, leaving the sand wet and pressed flat, slowly revealing the chaos the ocean throws to shore. The pills are weaned from my system. All that is left is me. I'm feeling again, and I've forgotten how complicated that can be.
For the last two years my relation to reality has been processed through the autoclave of SSRI's. I walked in a fog, numb to most everything happening around me. What I could feel, intensely, every moment of every day, was the presence of the shadows that had driven me to the pills in the first place. Good moments and bad, mania and depression, there was always this idea that the sky was about to fall.
----
Every morning I woke up and wondered if some people just always knew they were going to kill themselves some day.

Chicken Enchiladas

2011-01-16T23:07:00.000-08:00

Ingredients:
4 boneless skinless chicken breasts
2 cups salsa*
8 flour tortillas
3 cups refried beans
1 1/2 cups shredded cheddar cheese
2 cans Las Palmas Green Chile enchilada sauce

Salsa:
You can use your favorite salsa, or you can dice 2 large tomatoes, 1/2 yellow or red onion, 1 medium Cayenne chili pepper, and 2 cloves of garlic, and chop in a food processor.

Place the chicken and salsa in a slow cooker, on low, for approximately 6 hours. There's really no wrong way to do this, just let that all simmer together all day. When the chicken is cooked through, use a fork to shred. Leave in the slow cooker with the juice to stay moist.

Preheat oven to 375F. Spray a 9x13 glass baking dish, and lay out the tortillas. Layer on the refried beans, chicken, and cheese, and roll tightly. Pour the green chile sauce on top, and bake 20 minutes.

Tangy Brussels Sprouts

2011-01-10T15:28:00.000-08:00

Based on a recipe from Real Simple magazine.

1lb Brussels sprouts
2 tbps ginger (I peeled a chunk of it in to matchsticks and chopped)
1 clove garlic, minced
1/4 cup rice wine vinegar
2tbsp soy sauce
2tbsp brown sugar

Preheat oven to 325F. Stir together vinegar, soy sauce, and sugar until dissolved. Cut sprouts in half or quarters. Toss all ingredients together until sprouts are coated. Lay out on a foil lined cookie sheet and bake for 20-25 minutes, until tender.

Serve with spicy chicken and red bell peppers!

Fool me twice, shame on you AGAIN

2011-01-07T07:16:00.000-08:00

As I have mentioned before, I hate the bank. As I have mentioned quite a few times here and in real life (just type money, bank, or rage into the blogger search) I really hate Bank of America. This is the institution that "lost the paperwork" twice when I signed up for overdraft protection, even though there was no paperwork because the extent of that process is telling the clerk that I want overdraft protection, she types too fast, and says, "ok, you're signed up for overdraft protection." This is the place where if you come to them with a police report and say, "my card was stolen and now all of my money is gone," they go through this big show of saying they are GOING TO CATCH THAT ANONYMOUS MONSTER and you say, but I know who it was, it was this person, this one in the police report, and they say, "Oh, well, that sure is a shame, hope small claims court gets you your money back." Then you try to explain that, this person is possibly going to jail for a long, long time, and you cannot take said person to small claims court because this person is being held in connection with a very large city-wide drug bust, but they are not listening because they have already moved on to the next person and are trying to fake sign that new person up for overdraft protection.
Bank of America pulled another fake out on me this week, because I was fool enough to call them, and talk to a real person, and say, "hey, that payment I had set up, I want to cancel that." The real person asked a question, and I said, "yea, cancel that payment, I want to cancel that payment I have set up, because I got the bill in the mail, and I am just going to pay that amount when it is due, so cancel the current payment. That one set up for next Monday, the only one planned, cancel that." I feel like I made it really, really clear, and it seemed to have worked because the real person said, "Okay, that payment is canceled."
BUT IT WASN'T! So thanks, Bank of America, I had to run around cleaning up your mess all morning, I am still cleaning up your mess from two years ago, and I'm pretty sure none of this would have ever happened if five years ago you could have just taken those four bucks from my savings account instead of charging me $35 just so I could get that large popcorn at Saw III! SO THANKS SO GODDAMNED MUCH BANK OF AMERICA, I HAVEN'T NEEDED MY CAPS LOCK BUTTON SO MUCH SINCE WHOOPI GOLDBURG SAID MEN NEVER LANDED ON THE MOON!

Happy New Year

2011-01-01T19:00:00.001-08:00

Matching PJs from Momotype! Happy 2011!

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Happy New Year!

2011-01-01T18:28:00.000-08:00

New for this year, thanks to Ma and Pa Cookbook! Hope everyone had a great holiday season. My New Year's Resolution

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Sorry about that ending, guys.

2010-12-28T21:25:00.001-08:00

"If you could live forever, would you? Why or why not?"

Yes. No.

Point: Dying freaks me the hell out. I never want to be aware that I am dying, like bleeding to death or being buried alive. If I die from a some illness, I hope I get so doped up I forget what sentience is. If I ever find myself in a waiting-for-execution situation, I... no, screw it, earlier today I cried for ten minutes and called half a dozen people because there were giant bugs in my kitchen, there is absolutely no way I'd be able to deal with that situation.
Dying seems like a real cop out ending, like finding out the whole story was a dream. Life is hard, and there's a lot to do, and there are so many choices and chances. Only getting a few years to experience all of it makes the little time you have so full of worry, most people seem to waste it wondering "what if?" If you could choose to live as long as you'd like, picking the correct major, or where to take your vacation, or taking time to learn a language, these little personal goals could be accomplished.

Counterpoint: I have twice, once at a Halloween party and two years later after my first failing grade in a class, made it very clear that I have a vested interest in not living forever.
I know, that counterpoint bums me out too.

Happy Xmas 10

2010-12-25T07:10:00.001-08:00

Merry Christmas from Colleen and Oriana. And Samoa.

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Bacon Chocolate Chip Cookies

2010-12-21T17:57:00.000-08:00

Very special thanks to Betty Crocker's bag of cookie mix. We all know that I am no baker, precise ingredient measurements freak me out. But this one is super simple.

-Chocolate chip cookie mix
-1 egg
-4 tbsp butter
-Half a cup of applesauce
-3/4 cup of bacon bits (about 4 or 5 thick cut slices crumbled)

Preheat oven to 375F. Cook up four or five slices of your favorite bacon, extra crispy. Set aside to cool
Mix together egg, BC's chocolate chip cookie mix, butter, and applesauce. Note: the bag calls for one stick of butter, but these are bad enough for you already.
Using your hands, crumble the bacon in to the dough. This helps keep the fatty parts out, so you can eat them.
Drop in rounded teaspoons on an ungreased cookie sheet, 2" apart, and bake 10 minutes. Let cool one minute, then eat your face off.

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Actual Lyrics: Aida "My Strongest Suit"

2010-12-17T07:27:00.000-08:00

In life one has to face a huge assortment
Of nauseating fads and good advice
There's health and fitness
Diet and deportment...

And other pointless forms of sacrifice
Conversation? Wit? I am a doubter
Manners? Charm?
They're no way to impress
So forget the inner me , observe the outer
I am what I wear and how I dress

Oh now I believe in looking
Like my time on earth is cooking
Whether polka dotted
Striped or even checked
With the some glamour guaranteeing
Every fiber on of my being
Is displayed to quite remarkable effect

From your cradle via trousseau
To your deathbed you're on view, so
Never compromise, accept no substitute
I would rather wear a barrel
Than conservative apparel
For a dress has always been
My strongest suit

---
Three years ago I had an office Christmas party, and a mission. I was trying to impress someone, and in the tradition of all office Christmas parties everywhere, especially in sitcoms, I imagined we'd meet under the mistletoe and share an awkward laugh amongst our coworkers and then drink the punch and then hook up in the supply closet. Then the whole next season would be about our clandestine relationship and the zany cover ups until we were discovered by the entire cast making out under the secretary's desk. Step One to this plan was finding the perfect cocktail dress for the party. In retrospect, step one should have been making sure this certain somebody was going to be attending the Christmas party, but that's not the point right now.
I found THE perfect dress, red and black, with crinoline. Silk. Halter top that ties in a bow. It's exactly the kind of thing June Cleaver's sister (no, the other one) would have worn to this party. It was a completely success, even with it's intended victim not in attendance. The bartender sure liked it, anyway. Those drinks were definitely doubles.
I have worn it exactly one other time, to a birthday party where I decided the theme was celebrities, and I was Lindsay Lohan. The resulting pictures proved that my impersonation was spot on. You know, 2009 Lindsay. Everything is different now. (I still hold out hope for LiLo, she could definitely be the next Drew Barrymore and probably won't have to do a gritty Charlie's Angels reboot).
Anyway, the dress is making a come back for my own personal Christmas party, tonight. Since I am happily committed, I may have to go out and find a sweater to wear with it. And since my favorite peep toe pumps broke a week ago, I may have to spend about an hour trying to match it with a new pair of shoes. Oh, the horror.
---

So bring me out my finest, most audacious, my divinest
Most revealing, most expensive and to boot
Most arresting, most heart-stopping, most free-flowing, most eye-popping
A dress has always been my strongest suit

Not now Arctic Puffin!

2010-12-15T16:56:00.001-08:00

"What's your favorite holiday movie?"

"Buddy the elf, what's your favorite color?"

Despite all evidence to the contrary, I still hold fast to the belief that this movie is based on David Sedaris's Santaland Diaries.

Point A: Amy Sedaris is in it

Point B: Jovie asks a question about an elf named Crumpet, with was David's elf name, until he changed it to Blisters.

Point C: A boy named Paul sits on Santa's lap.

Point D: I like it better that way.

Anyway, this movie is equal parts zany comedy and Blonde Zooey Deschanel singing in the shower. It's no "A Christmas Story," which will always and forever be the greatest story ever told, but every year it manages to seem like the funniest thing I've ever seen, a feat matched only by Zoolander. Which also has Will Ferrell. Goddamn, he's a funny man.

Relationship, the game, from SMBC

2010-12-12T08:55:00.001-08:00

Saturday Morning Breakfast Cereal is a hilarious and awesome and sexy comic that is mostly about the differences between engineers and philosophers, and sometimes about graphs. It is always about dick jokes. Thanks Zach Weiner!

Lazy Ladies Shepherd's Pie

2010-12-11T06:25:00.000-08:00

This started out as one of my famous "cabinet to casserole" creations, the ones where I find what food is left in the house and bake it all together with some cheese, but then I remembered the shepherd's pie I used to make with my bestie Ned back in college, and the chicken "pot pie" we used to made at Parker's deli on Tuesdays.

For this recipe you will need
-four cups of mashed potatoes (real or from a box, you lazy sucker)
-1lb ground beef
-1 medium onion
-1/2 clove of garlic
-2 cups assorted vegetables of your choice (i used peas, corn, and carrots)
-4 biscuits (I always recommend Pillsbury grands)
-Marie and Finley's country gravy

Preheat the oven to 425F. Grease a 9x9 glass baking dish.

Mince the onion and garlic and wilt in olive oil over medium heat. Add the ground beef and cook. Salt and pepper to taste.

Prepare mashed potatoes however you like, but they must be stiff-ish because they are going into the pan first and will be the base for your pie.

Layer into the baking dish mashed potatoes, vegetables (don't cook before hand but if they are frozen you MUST defrost them), and beef. Place biscuits (frozen or refrigerated) on top, and immediately move to the oven. Bake for recommended time for the biscuits to turn golden brown.

Take this time to prepare the gravy.

When biscuits are done, remove the casserole and allow to cool for 5-10 minutes. Top with gravy and serve.

Will not hit on you

2010-12-10T06:54:00.000-08:00

BE A PAID COMPANION! $1500/WK

Now hiring for two positions 5pm to 3 am. We are a strictly NON-SEXUAL agency that has been in business over 17 years! We are looking for outgoing, money motivated people, must have own car and cell phoneYou must be height weight proportional.. You must be able to work 5 shifts per week (including a weekend day) We offer complete training for the position. We ask for serious inquires only. We are only interested in people that can start immmediatly. Please call our employment line to schedule an interview.
(571) 230-9455 Please only call if you meet ALL the criteria. (You MUST live between the Manassas and DC area.)

ME: "Money motivated" is the most honest phrase I've ever heard.

FREE GOATS (MUNCY)

female goat and her one year old neutered son. To many goats and not enough room. 435 5413

WARD: FREE!!! They mow your lawn and annoy neighbors

Looking for a Bromance - m4m - 55 (Elysburg)

Looking for a buddy. Interesting guy here with lots of interest. Somebody to visit, go places with, have meals with, kinda sharing and caring. Me taking interest in you, you taking interest in me. Retired proffesional who spends a lot of alone time. Would love visitors, am bi, but will not hit on you. Must be able to talk openly, and truthfully. I have lots of interests, a good income and am comfortable and stable. Physique is stocky, solid, like a football player. Age doesn't matter as long as you are over 18. Let's get to know each other, e-mail me. Again, no sex involved. (goggle bromance)
Thanks

WARD: "Will not hit on you." God 55 year olds can't have bromances who taught them that. "Google bromance." Like, I do too know what this word means!

Trigo-wrong-etry

2010-12-09T08:31:00.001-08:00

"Describe the wackiest but most useful advice you've ever recieved."

Estimating distance by staring at your thumb.

I learned this from my friend the internet, and sort of remember it being in my girl scout handbook. That handbook had the coolest stuff, even sign language and how to set a broken limb, and cookie recipes. Not the official cookie recipes, those are like a state secret. More so. Wikileaks couldn't find those recipes. Seriously, try to find out how to make a Samoa, I dare you. Or a thin mint. We'll find out the Colonel's herbs and spices and the lost library of Alexandria before we find out what's in a thin mint.

Anyway, here's roughly how you do this. It's all in estimating. Find out the distance between the centers of your eyes, and the length of your arm. These are, usually, about 3 inches and 30 inches respectively. Hold your arm out in front of you with your thumb up, and with one eye closed, line your thumb up with the object you want to know how far you are. Away. From. It. How far it is away. From you. The object you want to know the distance to. Is 'to' a preposition? Whatever.

Note: Joe Will, fix that grammar for me, k? Thanks hun.

This works if you know the width of the object. Is it a house, a tree, a billboard? The example used most often is a barn. A barn is 100 feet wide, with the broad side towards you. With your left eye closed, you line the your thumb up with the barn. When you wink instead with your right eye closed, the barn has "jumped" five widths from where your marked it with your thumb. That's five hundred feet. Now multiply that by the factor 10 (length of arm divided by distance between eyes) and you get 5000 feet. Or, about one mile.

No, it's not perfect, but it is pretty cool.

Malt Batman

2010-11-29T12:09:00.000-08:00

In a cocktail shaker, mix:
two parts Coca Cola
one part Kahlua coffee liqueur
one part Johnnie Walker Red

Shake and serve over ice

In a warmed shot glass, pour half a shot of Bacardi 151. Carefully pour over the cocktail and light.

Watch the flames with a serious and contemplative expression, blow out, and drink.

I'm going to try to make a series of comicbook hero themed drinks. The side kicks will be shooters. Now, what should go in a Tim Drake?

dinner!!

2010-11-25T12:15:00.000-08:00

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Family Ties

2010-11-25T11:26:00.000-08:00

Gramps and Gran, Mom and Pop, and the dogs. Pop is taking the reigns on the meal, except for my famous corn pudding, and mom's legendary green bean casserole.

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Blueberry Wine Brownies

2010-11-25T08:02:00.000-08:00

Make brownies according to pacakge instructions, but replace all of the water and half the oil with your wine of choice. We, through couragous acts of will power, managed to save half a cup of this blueberry wine from a local vineyard. Brownies come out fudgy and boozy, which is as close to perfect as chocolate can get!

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Pumpkin cake and "cookies"

2010-11-25T07:09:00.000-08:00

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FCB Thanksgiving 2010!!

2010-11-25T07:05:00.000-08:00

9:00am: Time to make the pumpkin spice cake! Thanks to Betty Crocker for the bag of cake mix. It is no secret that I'm no baker. That process is way too precise for me.
Full disclosure: I did make a tray of cookies along with the cake, but I didn't let them cook long enough. I have a special kind of history with making cookies that are burnt on the bottom, and, determined not to do that this time, I got a sort of circley, doughy, mushy creation.
10:04am: Stabbed myself with a toothpick. Short break to cry while my girlfriend gets me an ice pack and asks a few times if I'm okay. She knows I can't be left alone.

I can see ya boo from way over there

2010-11-24T07:43:00.001-08:00

"When you're feeling down, what music cheers you up?"

Nelly's "Ride Wit Me." It's the best song ever made. "Country Grammar" is a close second. Really anything by Nelly. He was the soundtrack to my junior year of high school, when my first relationship was going to last for ever and ever, when Homecoming was magic, when I got straight A's.

For the record, this was before "Dilemma" became the soundtrack to my... nevermind.

Deck the harrs with boughs of horry, fa ra ra ra ra, ra ra ra ra.

2010-11-16T12:18:00.001-08:00

"What is your most non-traditional holiday tradition?"

I come from Holiday people.

My Dad is a Christmas guy, through and through. Clark Griswold has nothing on my father's holiday display. Icicle lights? A passing fad. A passing fad we had trimming every inch our trim. Lights in the windows? We had sets of five flickering flames on every sill. Wreaths on the doors, even the garage doors. Both of them. There were projectors shining Santa's sleigh on the front and back of the house, and a Guiding Star over the side yard. Rope light ice skating waving Santa? Check. Family of Snowmen with our names painted on their scarves? Yes. Candy canes? Two dozen lining the front walk. We even replaced our standard, year round outdoor lights with green and red bulbs. And I haven't even gotten to the inflatables. My favorite is still the Grinch. And the bows. Oh, the bows.

Oh, what's that you ask? How tall was our Christmas tree? Which one? We bought a house with vaulted ceilings so the two foot tree topper angel could fit on the 12 foot Spruce. It took all three of us to put that tree together every year. My job was to stand in the corner behind the tree and weave the lights around each branch. Think about that for a second. That tree sparkled like the twinkle in Santa's eye. Then my mom put on the ornaments. Which took the rest of the day. It is going to take the estate, like, months to sort through all of my mother's Christmas tree ornaments. There were stockings, garlands, poinsettias, and my train set that I won in a raffle.

Every Christmas morning I would wake up early. I would make the special flavored coffee my dad would have bought a few days before. I'd fill the CD player with all the Christmas music we had. At 9am I'd turn it on to wake up my parents. I'd also, inexplicably, stack all of the presents in to piles. This probably should have tipped everyone off to my latent OCPD, but I thought it was a fun way to see who got more presents. I'd lay the stockings on top of the piles so we all knew what belonged to who. Then dad would make scrambled eggs, sausage, and Pillsbury cinnamon rolls.

The whole day was filled with presents, and usually three family holiday parties. The one at the Krahe's house had twice baked potatoes and deep fried turkey.

I don't know how many families have real traditions anymore, but from talking amongst my friends, it seems like my family was unique in how precisely we reenacted Christmas every year. Like the school Christmas pageant, we never changed the script. Every year was exactly like the year before, but that's because my family had the best Christmas ever.

Same as it ever was

2010-11-12T05:55:00.001-08:00

"A giant meteor is headed toward Earth. What do you do with the last day of your life?"

8:15am: Read the news

8:17am: Confirm the news through google search and mass text.

8:22am: Panic

9:07am: Shower

9:28am: Attempt to call parents, realize all phone communications are jammed.

9:30am: Contemplate driving to parents' house

9:30am: Succumb to overwhelming dread

9:31am: Panic

10:45am: Walk out of CVS with a bag of Diet Pepsi, 4 packs of Camel Wide Menthol Lights, the most recent Allure, Glamour, In Style, and Real Simple magazines, and as many bags of Doritos I can handle. There is no screaming match with management because the management didn't show. Which is a shame because on the walk over I had rehearsed a great speech about how I was NOT paying for this because WHO CARES

11:00am: Chain smoke in my apartment

1:57pm: Repeat CVS episode with the neighborhood liquor store

2:35pm: Reenact the "jacks" scene from Girl, Interrupted

12:16am: Come-to face down on my living room floor

12:19am: Shower

12:42am: Check msnbc.com for the latest

12:43am: BREAKING NEWS Scientists have pinpointed the meteor's trajectory, impact will be in the Pacific (0, +60) causing major damage to Eastern Africa and the Arabian Penninsula. In 6 hours, Somalia will be gone, and major parts of Ethiopia and Saudi Arabia will be in ruins.

12:44am: Oh.

9:45am: Text YEMEN to 10510 to donate $10 to the Red Crescent Indian Ocean Relief Fund

Email is dead, but the chain meme lives on

2010-11-09T20:50:00.000-08:00

The abc meme, totally stolen from Kwizgiver, because I need to write something but I have no imagination left today.

A – Age: 23
B – Bed size: Queen
C – Chore you hate: Putting away the laundry
D – Dog’s name: Gypsy
E – Essential start your day item: The news
F – Favorite color: blue?
G – Gold or Silver: silver
H – Height: 5’8"
I – Instruments you play: I pretend to play the guitar.
J – Job title: beauty consultant
K – Kid(s): cat(s)
L – Living arrangements: fantastic
M – Mom’s name: Connie
N – Nicknames: None
O – Overnight hospital stay other than birth: tons.
P – Pet Peeve(s): repeating myself
Q – Quote from a movie: "No, I want bowel cancer."
R – Right or Left handed: left
S – Siblings: none biologic, that I know of
T – Time you wake up: Sometimes I don't sleep, but I aim for 8:30, but I woke up at noon today. Gross.
U -Underwear: No thanks
V – Vegetable you dislike: I don't think I have any of those.
W – Ways you run late: see T
X – X-rays you’ve had: do full body MRIs count?
Y – Yummy food you make: Everything I make is fantastic except that one time my gumbo burnt.
Z- Zodiac Sign: Proletariat.

All That Glitters

2010-10-29T20:53:00.001-07:00

"Create a character your readers will love to hate."

She is effortless. She is spot-on. She is practiced and scripted. She will not miss a mark. She stays up nights rehearsing conversations, calling out words for her own private improv, so she will never be caught off guard.

She hates her curvaceous hips, round face, square shoulders. She loves her mile-long legs. You love her wardrobe. You hate when she walks in to the room.

She is always right. Even if she's wrong, she is always sure.

She has crying fits for days, followed by weeks of good cheer. She never follows her own advice. She takes the phrase, "out of sight, out of mind," literally. Names, faces, events, in passing and those she has known for years, pass by, and when they are over, she never thinks of them again. She doesn't hold a grudge. She doesn't mourn the dead. She doesn't call you back. Her major as an under-grad was History.

Do not try to best her in a game of wits. Do not watch Jeopardy with her. She spends her free-time making sure she is smarter than you. She spends the rest of her time encouraging you to do your best. She is the exact opposite of a diamond in the rough. Isn't that brilliant?

LISTEN: new blog

2010-10-21T07:33:00.000-07:00

Hey! Hey you! Remember how I wrote that thing about Spartacus and the troops and being angry about DADT? Well, I started a blog about it.

The Spartacus Project Check it out! Tell your friends! Be active!

Halloweenmas Public Service Announcement

2010-10-18T10:42:00.000-07:00

Things you can no longer be for Halloween:

Captain Jack Sparrow
-This is the new Austin Powers. The first few years, a couple of people went all out and got really nice costumes together. Really movie-accurate jobs, some even grew the hair. Now, it's a bag in Party City. It's not even studio endorsed anymore. Now you're grabbing a big plastic sac with a picture of "Adult Black Cutthroat Pirate Costume $49.99"
-A better option: Johnny Depp's The Mad Hatter, Buzz Lightyear

A Na'Vi
-Save it for DragonCon.
-A better option: Johnny Depp's The Mad Hatter, Ang the Airbender, Kickass

Lady Gaga
-That meat dress might have jumped the shark in 2010, but Kelly Ripa really brought this idea down for the rest of us in 2009. Doing a whole episode of Regis and Kelly in Gaga's "Paparazzi" VMA performance outfit was a real funny, topical gag, but it also illustrated how played out these outfits are. The only person who can dress as Lady Gaga this year is Kelly Ripa, and it has to be the 2010 VMA Gaga.
-A better option: Katy Perry in the California Gurl's video, Carrie Bradshaw

Sexy Versions of Unsexy Characters
-A blue wig with a green corset does not make you Marge Simpson. You can't do an all girl version of the Wizard of Oz because the lion is a lion, not a cat, and there isn't anything hot about scarecrows. Do you know that you can buy a "SEXY Olive Oyl" costume? What the hell? How does that even happen?
-A better option: Sexy french maid, school girl, police officer. You don't mess with success.

Adult Baby
-Stop it. Just stop. Your low self-esteem is starting to make everyone uncomfortable. You are too out of shape or self-conscious to dress as a hot version of something, but you still want to basically be naked. You want a funny costume, but you don't think anyone else will think any of your ideas are funny. Dressing as a baby for Halloween is the kind of self-depreciating behavior your friends were talking about when stopped playing Rock Band with you. Also, it is basically guaranteed that you are going to drink yourself in to oblivion trying to be cool, and you will end up ruining in that fake diaper.
-A better option: If you are thinking of dressing as a baby for Halloween, pick up the phone and call a friend. It's never too late to ask for help. We're all here for you.

I am Spartacus

2010-10-15T23:52:00.000-07:00

I have an idea for a project, I think I can get a lot of support for this one if I find the right outlet.

Imagine, or maybe you don't have to, that you are an enlisted member of the US armed forces. Imagine that you are standing in a line, not just with your platoon or division, but with the whole of the military. Some 2,000,000 of you, active and reserve, stand at attention, facing the Secretary of Defense. Imagine that Robert Gates addresses all of you, as a whole, saying that anyone who is found to be gay, lesbian, or bisexual, will be immediately discharged. Imagine one lone voice, far down the line, so distant you cannot distinguish age, or race, or gender, or rank, steps forward and says, "I'm gay."

Then another. And another. Imagine if all two million and more of you looked directly at your superior officer and said, "I'm gay." What if the whole of the military could stand united, as a volunteer force dedicated to protecting our nation, regardless of any factor other than a love of country and fellow citizen? What if every person absolutely refused to let our security suffer? Imagine if every single qualified recruit was allowed to serve. This issue is not about special treatment or protection. The issue at hand is that our nation is sacrificing a fortified standing military because some people are squeamish about what others' do in bed.

Yes, gay soldier would be subject to hazing and bullying. Guess what? That gay soldier was probably subject to hazing and bullying his whole life. That lesbian pilot faces a risk of being raped, but no more so than she does in any other environment this world has to offer. By saying that DADT protects gay service members, the government is implying that openly LGB people are coddled and protected everywhere else. See how I left out that T? Transgender people are not allowed to serve in the military, period.

We are a volunteer force, how DARE the government refuse a citizen the right to serve his country. What if, with one simple sentence, every service member could hold the DoD accountable? If the estimated 60000 gay active service members stepped forward and outed themselves, I'm sure they could be discharged and the Pentagon could ride out the rage. But if all two million stepped forward, wouldn't that be beautiful? I have had more than enough of this nonsense. Don't we have more important things to be worried about than gay soldiers? Like, maybe, hungry soldiers, or wounded, or dead? How about soldiers who need babysitters, or job training, or armor? Really, is 'homosexual' the battle we're choosing right now?

And why stop with the military personnel? What would it take to have every adult in this country just look at one other person and say, "I'm gay?" I think that would be a great exercise, just so that everyone could get a brief glimpse at the kind of strength that takes. Now it doesn't matter if it's true, people tell little white lies everyday. But if everyone just said it, maybe we could make "gay" just a word. Maybe we could treat it like what it is, a detail, not a demon.

Even if they crucify us all, we become like martyrs. So that our children can live as free men.

I'm Spartacus. I'm gay.

In thirteen days

2010-10-14T17:22:00.000-07:00

Every morning, he wakes up and looks at the envelope. It is opened, but that is as far as he has gotten. For over two weeks, the envelope lay on his desk, untouched, but refusing to be ignored. It wore on him, like a scratch in the back of his throat. He couldn't open it, and he couldn't throw it away. He couldn't return it to its sender. And so it sat. On the sixteenth day after he had received the envelope, he opened it. Sitting at his desk, ignorant to the time, he could not stop himself from seeing the envelope in the corner of his eye. Illuminated by his desktop monitor, all sickly yellow, the familiar handwriting barely decipherable, the idea of what could be inside pulsed in his brain like the heartbeat of a ghost. He opened the envelope. Inside, there was a piece of paper, and a photo. He simply could not gather the strength to look at either. The envelope was tossed on to his dresser. Every morning now, when he wakes, when he walks to the kitchen for coffee, when he gathers his clothes for the day, he looks at the envelope. If he were to read the letter, what then? Would he feel happiness, sorrow, rage? What is the photograph of? Her? There is only one way to find out the answers, but instead he tries to ignore the questions. He exists in a kind of limbo. His every-day has not changed, but his mind is frozen on the day he lifted the envelope from his mailbox. The only thing he sees when he closes his eyes is the return address. There is her name, and her apartment number. There is her voice in his ear, whispering over and over;
Soldier... I still... please... don't be a stranger...
These words, these memories, where can he keep them all? He cannot forget her, and yet he cannot bear to think of her. Better she had never existed for him at all, and save them both the trouble. What could she possibly have to say to him now? In thirteen days, he will be another year in his own time line away from everything he wishes to forget. He is forging a new life, and every day, every milestone, every anniversary takes him farther from the person he was forced to be, and closer to whatever he can make of himself. The letter, the photo, would only drag him back in to the quagmire that was their time together. He thinks that she is happy, and he tries his damnedest to let her go.

Truth in Advertising

2010-09-29T14:34:00.000-07:00

This product

Comes with this warning

The gods offer no rewards for intellect.

2010-09-25T17:00:00.001-07:00

"Would you rather be super intelligent or extremely good looking? "

Extremely good looking. And I'll tell you why.

I believe intelligence is based mostly on aptitude and effort. Subjects you don't immediately take to can usually be picked up with a little extra work. For me, anyway. I have never really met a problem I couldn't understand or solve. I did well in school, I read constantly, I'm mechanically inclined, and I know how to cook. I wish I knew more about music or geometry, but not enough to really apply myself, so I probably shouldn't wish for super intelligence just to be better at singing or billiards.

Beauty, however, is completely arbitrary and subjective. Your looks are the luck of the draw, based on genetics, environment, and happenstance. I am super, super pale because my mother is Irish. I have muscular legs because I danced for 13 years. I have a scar on my face because of a maternity ward nurse.

I have worked very hard to be smart, I am very proud of my intelligence, and my superhuman ability to memorize song lyrics the first time through (this is a fluke, but it makes up for my inability to play the piano). I wanted to be smart. I also want to be extremely good looking, but I'm not exactly driven by grades or scholarships for that. I wish I was thinner, I wish I had flawless skin, I wish I was 3 inches taller. But I don't like dieting. And I have freckles, and a scar. And no matter what I do I am not going to be taller than my mother.

I like the way I look, but I find I often want to change my body. I don't think I have ever wished I could be smarter.

Gearing Up for Costume Season

2010-09-19T22:31:00.000-07:00

We only have 41 shopping days before Halloween!!

Oh my god, can you already hear me having so much fun?! You're damn right you can. This Halloweenmas, as it was with the last one, I will be attending, rather than hosting, the party. This saves me all the hassle of baking or cooking or decorating, and gives me a lot more time to put in to my costume.
Keep in mind that this is Halloween, and most women's costumes consist mainly of negative space. My idea for this year, especially so. Therefore the time I'm putting in to all of this is really just not eating. Don't worry, I'll be replacing eating with running laps around my neighborhood. Just for, like, five weeks.
I'm also making a behavior check-list. I'm going to try really hard not to,
-Contract swine flu
-Arrive with two handles "just for me"
-Give the last of a handle to Andrew
-Personally authenticate any kilts
-Steal the piñata.

No promises though.

Ask FCB: Ultimate Tailgate Foods

2010-09-16T07:27:00.000-07:00

Our constant source of inspiration, Mr. Finley, has submitted the following,

So, football season is upon us and the scenario is this: You have three hours before the big game. Your kitchen is stocked with anything you want or need. You want something special to eat on while watching your team play. What is your go-to, never fail, tailgating food that you love the most? I have a couple ideas, mind you. But I leave it in your hands.

Well, you know, when watching Penn State blaze a trail to glory, the likes of which that can only be seen among the top 10 college teams in the country, stretching back in a legacy of 123 years, including 7 perfect seasons and over 800 wins... what was the question?

Mini Pizzas:
1 tbsp yeast, 1.5 cups warm water, 3.5 cups sifted flour, 1tbsp olive oil, 1 tbsp honey, pinch of salt.
Mix yeast with water and set aside for a few minutes until it bubbles. Then mix with flour, salt, and honey in a large bowl. Knead until the dough no longer sticks to your fingers. Cut a cross in the top of the dough ball and let sit in the bowl, covered with a towel, for 2 hours for it to rise.
Preheat oven to really, really hot. Like, if your oven gets to 500, get it there. Roll out the dough into a thin sheet, and slice in to 4 equal sections. Using your hands, stretch these out into little circles, maybe 6 inches across. Lay them out on a nonstick baking sheet and bake for 20 minutes.
Leave out bowls of pizza sauce, cheese, onions, sausage, any pizza toppings you like. When your buddies come over, everyone can suss up their crust and throw it back in the oven, (now set to 250) for 15 minutes.

Nachos:
Cook up some chicken breast, seasoned with paprika and onion powder, and shred. Heat up a can of refried beans, and hit it with a shot of Tobasco. In a 9x13 casserole dish layer tortilla chips, beans, chicken, shredded cheese, diced tomatoes, diced avocado, and sour cream.

Chips and Dip:
Pick up 8oz of your favorite sour cream. Mince some fresh basil, or get the stuff in a jar in the spice aisle at the grocery store. In a mixing bowl, mix together the sour cream, a tbsp of basil, a tsp of onion powder, and a packet of Hidden Valley ranch seasoning. Perfect dip for pretzels, chips, crackers, anything.

Penn State forever, Molder of men,

Fight for her honor, Fight, and Victory again.

Swiss Meringue Buttercream

2010-09-12T20:57:00.000-07:00

This was my first foray in to meringue. In high school, my French professor made these cookies, meringue obliées, which were whipped egg whites and sugar left to set in a cool oven. They were absolutely delicious, but I was terrified to ever make them myself. Desserts, and especially baking cookies, has long been my weak point in the kitchen. My cookies are always burnt on the bottom, and usually they spread and get stuck together and are too thin. I have one chocolate chip cookie recipe that I have mastered, but that's really as far as I've come.
We've got something like 8lbs of apples and peaches in the kitchen right now, and after dinner tonight I decided I had to have something sweet. Nothing like baked fruit with butter and brown sugar to satisfy that sweet tooth, and also to trigger some kind of diabetic coma. Not content with anything so simple, I went ahead and cracked open my Martha Stewart's Cooking School

From Fatty Cookbook

Swiss Meringue Buttercream
based on Martha Stewart original recipe

2 large eggs, separated
Pinch of salt
2/3 cup of granulated sugar
1/2 teaspoon cornstarch
8 tablespoons butter, softened

Set a small saucepan with 2" of water on the stove top to simmer. In a glass mixing bowl, combine egg whites, sugar, and salt. Let this rest while the egg whites reach room temperature. (In the meantime, I peeled some apples and cut up some peaches and set them in a pie tin to bake in the oven. This is accomplished by turning the oven on to any temperature and leaving the fruit in there for any amount of time.)
Place bowl over the saucepan to heat the egg whites and sugar, helping them to melt/mix easier. Whisk until sugar is dissolved and mixture is smooth.
The original recipe called for cream of tartar, but I don't have that and have never used it for anything. Add cornstarch instead, of the tartar if you have it and know what it's for. Now whisk the hell out of this stuff. Until it gets stiff and forms peaks. Most of you might do this by leaving the stuff to be whisked by your standing mixer on medium. I, you will remember, do not have a standing mixer. This is why my triceps are better than yours.

From Fatty Cookbook

Add the butter 2tbsp at a time, and whisk thoroughly in between. The buttercream mixture might look a little lumpy, or even curdled, but that will smooth out in the next step. The important part here is just to keep mixing. From the time the mixing bowl left the simmering water to the time the butter is fully mixed in took me about 15 minutes.

From Fatty Cookbook

You will see there that I also included chocolate chips. If the chocolate was melted, it would have blended right in and created chocolate buttercream. I, however, prefer my chocolate in bite sizes, so I let them mix in as is.
Now smooth out the whole mixture. Using a wide rubber spatula, turn the mixture several times to coax out air bubbles and ensure an even consistency. By hand or with the mixer, this should take 2-3 minutes.
Cover with plastic wrap and let sit for 5 minutes. The cream will thicken a bit, but will still be somewhat runny. Leave in the refrigerator over night for stiffer cream.

From Fatty Cookbook

Serve fruit warm, top with delicious, delicious frosting.

From Fatty Cookbook

My Random Five-Ingredient Recipe

2010-09-11T20:11:00.001-07:00

"Create a new recipe with just five ingredients."

Lemonade
Doesn't matter if it's fresh squeezed. Doesn't even matter if it's lemonade.

Tequila
There are no special instructions for this ingredient.

Sugar
To rim the glass. Or not. Throw it over your shoulder for good luck, who cares.

The other two ingredients are ice and nothing. The next step is "consume."

My cousin got married on my mother's birthday, back on August 28th, and after the ceremony the family headed down the street to a bar to drink before the reception hall opened, where we would also drink. I asked for a margarita. The bartender said they were out of sour mix, so he gave me this concoction. And it is delicious.

For this and more fantastic, incredible ideas, check out Fatty Cookbook. I update that blog far less frequently than Collotype, but it is endorsed by renowned TIME columnist Joel Stein*, so you should go read it.

*actually endorsed by Joel Stein.

Ask FCB: Self-rising?

2010-09-02T20:12:00.000-07:00

Dear FCB:
What's the deal with all these kinds of flour? Enriched, self-rising, unbleached, I mean, what the hell?
Sincerely,
Your kitchen cabinet.

So I was making beer bread. I was serving spaghetti and meat sauce, so I threw in a loaf of garlic bread to round out the starch overload. Beer bread is sort of one of those things that doesn't have a recipe. Roughly 3 to 4 cups sifted flour, 12oz of Beer brand Beer, in the oven for an hour at 375-400 or something. Nothing special, just a simple bread you don't need to let rise or measure or touch too much. But there is this thing: if you use non-alcoholic beer, throw in a package of active yeast. If you don't use self-rising flour, add about a teaspoon of baking powder. This way you end up with bread instead of a giant doughy brick.
I grabbed whatever flour was closest to the front of the shelf and spooned out an amount I measured to be "enough." Dumped in a can of Milwaukee's Best Light, all three words of which are a total lie. Then I popped that sucker in the oven and made some hummus and toast for an appetizer. I know right? Anyway, forty minutes later I check the oven and see a half-risen, golden-brown and spongy wad of failure. Seriously, Colleen-marie? You really couldn't be bothered to read the bag? No, I couldn't.
If this happens to you, here's a pro tip: break the bread in the kitchen and pile it all on a plate. Set the softest bits back in the cooling oven to crisp up a bit before serving. Now the guests won't have to tear up the bread themselves, and you won't have to make some stupid quip about your baking skills not rising to the occasion.

The best of all possible worlds

2010-08-25T22:03:00.001-07:00

"Would you describe yourself as spiritual, religious, or something else?"

I am nothing. I am not even an atheist.

Deities, spirits, the supernatural, and even the transcendental are categorized in my mind right along with Santa Claus, good luck charms, and folklore. All of these things are superfluous. They are shorthand for real concepts, stories told as place holders. They are fun, and interesting, and create a degree of common knowledge that is necessary for communicating across cultures. The differences in our Christmas legends, our cures for headaches or hiccups, our fables and creation myths, is how we compare and contrast ourselves as a people. It stands to reason, then, that the more answers we have, true answers, empirical answers, to humanity's questions, the more we can live as a global society.

There is nothing I see or know of, nothing I can imagine, nothing that eludes me, that would require a God. I do not know why, or how, the universe came in to being. I cannot begin to understand how vast and ancient it is. That doesn't worry me. Someday, someone will know the answer. There is an answer. I think the fervent belief in deities or dogmas reflects a need, not a desire, to have all of the answers. I would like to know everything. I don't need to, though. I enjoy the mysteries of the world around me. There is enough majesty in the pure chance of my life. I don't understand why there would have to be more.

That a short coming of mine: I don't understand the belief in God. Blind faith is one thing, but everyone has faith in things they can't really see or prove. When someone is sick, doesn't one have faith that they will get better? Even if it turns out that the person gets worse, or dies, the belief was that they would heal. Is that the same thing as believing in God? I think the idea that there is a creator who tests and educates and watches over us is just wishful thinking. We are afraid of being alone, of being unprepared or ignorant, and especially we are afraid of death. God solves all of these problems. I don't think this is a bad idea, I just think it's juvenile, and panglossian.

To some extent, I do believe that religion and science are mutually exclusive, in that one is proven and the other must concede the point and make way, or be wrong. Moral relativism versus human rights raises some of the same problems. If you believe that the Bible is the literal word of God, then geology, biology, and physics are wrong. If you believe that killing an adulterous wife will restore honor to your family, then the UDHR is null and void. Not just parts of those sciences or that document, but the entirety. Either the world is 6000 years old, or geology is a hoax. Either murder is a crime, or there are no universal human rights.

As we investigate and learn, beliefs can change and reform to accommodate knowledge. If I believe in anything, it is this: if you can open your mind to facts, and reason, and ethics, there is no need for a God.

Let the supernatural become a fable. Tell it as you would any story, something whimsical and inspiring. Let the myths tell us of our history. Let's figure out our future.

And pay more attention in Geometry!

2010-08-21T20:32:00.001-07:00

"What would you say to your 16-year-old self, and why?"

I turned 16 in Spring of my Sophomore year in high school. I weighed almost nothing, I dressed in black, I spent a great deal of time writing in a diary and crying in my room. I was learning to drive, and I was collecting scars all over my body and writing bad poetry about them. I had an on again - off again somewhat romantic somebody, and a twice monthly therapy appointment. I was a mess.

If I could go back now, I would find myself crying in my bedroom. I would look me right in the eyes, and give myself a big hug. I would cradle myself on my bed, in the dark, and rock back and forth and say, "It's going to be okay, it's going to be okay."

I would tell myself all of the things I didn't have to do. I would tell myself about how the next few years are going to be hard, really hard, and I would feel, several times, like giving up. But I didn't have to do that. I had to keep trying new things, and sticking to my convictions, and I had to learn from my mistakes.

The hardest part about going back is this: if I tell myself all of the mistakes I had made, all of the decisions I wish I could take back, I wouldn't be the person I am now. The person with the life lessons to pass on to a scared and unhappy teenager.

I'd like to think someday I will do this by-proxy with my children, but I hope more than anything that they won't need it.

I've got some gas receipts, a tic tac, and this coupon for a small fries at Arby's

2010-08-13T19:35:00.000-07:00

"What would you do to get the $500,000 ransom by the end of the week?"

Are you kidding me? I can't scrounge up enough quarters for laundry. If someone called me asking for ransom, I'd have to ask if they had the wrong number. The only member of my family who might be valuable if kidnapped would be my uncle David, and that's only because he's a plastic surgeon. He wouldn't be held for ransom, he'd wind up in a palace hospital giving some despot a new face.
From my time spent babysitting and working with professional artists, I have a pretty solid "I don't negotiate with terrorists" policy. That's what drives people to kidnap in the first place. If no one ever paid a ransom, there'd be no point.
"Get me a million cash and a helicopter to Buenos Aires."
"If I don't get another soda I'll hold my breath 'til I pass out."
"I want to hang these glass panes in triplets from a single silver thread."
The answer to all of these demands is, "I am not going to do that for you." So the criminal might kill some hostages, and the kid might go unconscious and hurt himself, and the artist might lecture you for a while about the power of being in-the-moment over the restrictions of our past failures. All of these things are really terrible, but they make a good point: Sometimes you don't always get what you want, so grow up and think of another plan. You know, one that actually works.
We'd live in a much safer world if people didn't have precedent to think these schemes might work. Yes, it's harsh. If it was your relative taken captive, you'd want to sell everything to pay the money. But then what, your loved one comes home to nothing, your lives ruined, and the criminals just go out and do the same thing to someone else. In a greater-good scheme of things, wouldn't the kidnapped person want you to just totally piss off the captors, like pretend you didn't even know them? I'd like that. If I ever get kidnapped, just pretend like I never existed. "Colleen? What, the girl from the bank? No... Taylor's sister? Whatever, man, I don't know who she is."
I feel the same way about that "I'd take a bullet for you" BS. If it's a parent for their child, yes, I get it, protecting your kid is your entire purpose for the rest of your life. Anyone else though, think about it. DO NOT take a bullet for me, why'd you want to put that kind of pressure on me? For the rest of my life I've got to remember that you died because of me. If someone is trying to kill me, they probably have a reason, I don't want to get you caught up in that. Then your family is going to go through hell, and I'll feel obligated to be there for them, and what if I don't like your family? Besides, I wouldn't take a bullet for you. I don't want you to wake up everyday knowing that you were responsible for my death and now you probably have to take care of all of my affairs and deal with my dad and my cat and my student loan. God, you'd hate me if I died for you. You'd especially hate me if you had to pay my ransom, because according to my bank account I am worth about $400, and I would make fun of you FOREVER if you paid that.

Question from That's My Answer

Actual Lyrics: Love the Way You Lie - Eminem ft. Rihanna

2010-08-10T21:33:00.000-07:00

Just gonna stand there
And watch me burn
But that's alright
Because I like
The way it hurts
Just gonna stand there
And hear me cry
But that's alright
Because I love
The way you lie
I love the way you lie
I love the way you lie

You ever love somebody so much
You can barely breathe
When you're with them
You meet
And neither one of you
Even know what hit 'em
Got that warm fuzzy feeling
Yeah them chills
Used to get 'em
Now you're getting fucking sick
Of looking at 'em
You swore you've never hit 'em
Never do nothing to hurt 'em
Now you're in each other's face
Spewing venom
And these words
When you spit 'em
You push
Pull each other's hair
Scratch, claw, bit 'em
Throw 'em down
Pin 'em
So lost in the moments
When you're in 'em
It's the rage that took over
It controls you both
So they say it's best
To go your separate ways
Guess that they don't know ya
Cause today
That was yesterday
Yesterday is over
It's a different day
Sound like broken records
Playin' over
But you promised her
Next time you'll show restraint
You don't get another chance
Life is no Nintendo game
But you lied again
Now you get to watch her leave
Out the window
Guess that's why they call it window pane

Now I know we said things
Did things
That we didn't mean
And we fall back
Into the same patterns
Same routine
But your temper's just as bad
As mine is
You're the same as me
But when it comes to love
You're just as blinded
Baby please come back
It wasn't you
Baby it was me
Maybe our relationship
Isn't as crazy as it seems
Maybe that's what happens
When a tornado meets a volcano
All I know is
I love you too much
To walk away though
Come inside
Pick up your bags off the sidewalk
Don't you hear sincerity
In my voice when I talk
Told you this is my fault
Look me in the eyeball
Next time I'm pissed
I'll aim my fist
At the dry wall
Next time
There will be no next time
I apologize
Even though I know it's lies
I'm tired of the games
I just want her back
I know I'm a liar
If she ever tries to fucking leave again
I'mma tie her to the bed
And set the house on fire

Just gonna...

--------

I heard from her two days ago. Text messages. She wouldn't answer the phone when I called the number back. Asking how I was, what was I doing. At one point, she said, I don't think you really know who this is.
But who else could it have been? She sent me a photo to prove her identity anyway. Not of herself, but of her backdrop. The corner of a bed frame, an end table. Like a still life. Like a crime scene. Like evidence. Those things are mine. Were mine. My glass casserole dishes. My set of tumblers. The bookshelf, the red toaster, my good file and screwdriver sets. The antique, solid wood dining table. My credit card. My checking account. Seventeen hundred dollars. My credit score. My final grades. All those hours of sleep. That long awaited chance at Texas. My will to live.
She took everything.
Then she sent me a photo of herself. Blood shot eyes. That same glazed over, blank stare. Every word is a lie. Every single word is a lie. Every single word is a lie. I'll pay you back, I'll clean up, I'll go back to school, I'll change, every single word is a lie. Every single word is a lie.
August 16th is the anniversary. I have been obsessing over the time line. I should be able to remember the series of events, but everything blurs together. Ups and downs, sober and drunk, screaming and crying, silence.
Once, she stayed all day at my house drinking. Too drunk to pick me up from class. I walked home to find her barricaded in my bedroom. I don't remember what happened. I got in somehow. Got her in to my car somehow. Drove her home. She said she'd kill herself. Her roommate found her passed out with a razor blade. He called me. I called the ambulance.
Sometime after that she went to rehab. I don't know if it was before or after she had to leave her apartment. I think she started seeing someone else at that time. This is around the time money started to disappear. Then she started lying about going to rehab. Then she dropped the pretense and just stopped going. Just stopped everything. I was terrified of her, and terrified for her. She drank at work. I worked two jobs. On July 4th she went to a bar. I tried to take her home, but she was convinced that all of her friends were out, she just had to find the right club. Finally, as we left, walking up the stairs to street level, I said... something. I don't remember. She said, "Stop being such a bitch." And she pushed me. From the top of the steps she looked down and looked angry and then she walked in to the next bar over.
You pushed me. She was gone, but I said it. And then I said it again. I had given up. I knew it, understood it completely now, and it made me absolutely sick to my stomach. It was the end of everything, and this relationship was probably going to kill me but I clearly wasn't going to do anything about it.
Once, I had to do homework. I had a paper due in three days but I was scared to leave her alone in the house so I hadn't been to the library and when I tried to get some work done she said I never paid any attention to her and we never did anything together. I got up to leave and she grabbed my wrist. Then my arm, then my torso. Let me go, I said. I screamed. I started to cry. She pushed me away. She trapped me in the hallway, but she stumbled and swayed in to the wall. I ran upstairs and packed a bag. When I came downstairs she was talking on her phone, to some girl, calling me a bitch, and asshole. She had this light on her phone that turned green when she made a call. It was yellow.

The Secret is Baking Soda.

2010-08-09T19:42:00.000-07:00

"Is there one chore that you don’t mind doing? Or that only you do because no one else can do it to your standards?"
The only chore I really put off is folding laundry. I hate folding laundry. It takes forever, it's boring, if you don't do it right you don't know until you pull the shirt out of the drawer and see the wrinkles all over the place. Oh, and putting the clothes away in the drawer. Why do I hate doing that so much?
Other than that, I love doing chores. I will clean anything in the house. And I do. And I often don't want anyone else to help out, ever. I will wash the bathroom. I will do the windows. I will clean the floors and shampoo the carpets. I will repaint. I love it. I want a clean house, and I want everything in it to be exactly where I want it. Obsessive? Yes. Annoying? Incredibly. I don't care.
Most of it comes from a serious sense of inadequacy. Out in the real world, I am never quite sure if I am as good at everything as I like to think I am. In the home, however, I am a DIY handy-man without equal. True, I got yelled at by my boss, and I still can't figure out what that stupid icon on my ancient cellphone means, and I avoid conversations with just about everyone because I don't feel like being bothered, but my kitchen counters are clean, and there is always an extra place at dinner.
This question sponsored by "That's My Answer."

You're Not Even Trying Anymore

2010-08-05T23:04:00.001-07:00

"Thunderstorm arrives, power outage! How do you occupy your time? "

I hate thunderstorms. I hate thunder. I'm terrified of lightning strikes. I hate driving in the rain.

The last time the power went out, I was at work. The power went out a lot in Savannah, just about every time it rained. The power would go out at Parker's, but most of the time we weren't allowed to close or go home. On St Patrick's Day 2008, which was an entire weekend long in Savannah, some tornadoes in Atlanta took out our grid for about 16 hours. The power died around 8pm, and I didn't notice for around... three hours. I was... occupied. Anyway, the entire city was pitch black, and roughly 112% of the population was drunk enough to start a riot. Best St Patrick's Day ever.

Wait, that didn't really answer the question. Whatever, I guess I'd read a book.

Homemade Pasta

2010-08-04T19:53:00.000-07:00

I have a pasta roller. It is not attached to a KitchenAid standing mixer. Not, this is the kind that you have to spend a whole day cranking by hand. And I love it.

A lot of pasta recipes will tell you to use fine flour and eggs, with just the tiniest amount of water. I don't want, nor do I need, egg noodles. In fact, you don't even need to use eggs at all.

You DO NOT need to add an egg. This is a lie. Do not believe anyone who says you have to add an egg. You can if you want, but flour and water are going to work just fine. You just need to be patient.

Start with three cups of flour, 2/3 cup of water, and, fine, one large egg. Pour the flour in to a glass bowl, and make a little dent in the center for the egg. Crack that in, and slowly fold in the flour with a fork. While you continuously fold, slowly pour in the water. Here's the thing, you can add a bunch of eggs right at first and then mix as fast or as slow as you want, but then you have all that stupid egg yolk cholesterol. You are already eating so many starchy carbs, do you really want to throw that in to the mix? No. So add the water really, really slowly. And keep folding.

Dust your hands liberally with flour and start to knead. This will take a good ten minutes, so make sure you have a tv show or podcast or something to keep your attention. The dough should be smooth and elastic. Seriously, if it tears while you roll it, just go right on kneading.

If you are unlucky, this will be the time to bring out your rolling pin and get to gettin'. If, however, you are smart and fun to be around, you will have a pasta roller. Starting on the thickest setting, roll out 3inx6in sheets of dough. Then go down a setting, and roll out each of these sections. Continue until the sheets are your desired noodle thickness, remembering that pasta will plump almost double while cooking. Now you can either slice the noodles yourself, or pull out the handy guide that does it for you, attached to your pasta roller. (Seriously, Ned and Mooshe, this is the best present ever!)

Fresh pasta only needs to be boiled for about 3 minutes to be al dente. Serve immediately with a rich tomato or cheese sauce. This particular batch, made at midnight during a pretty bad bout of insomnia, was eaten directly from the pot while watching reruns of It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia. Ahh, Italian...

Oven Baked Pork Ribs

2010-08-04T19:27:00.000-07:00

Preheat oven to 300 degrees

In a small saucepan, mix:
-Worchestershire sauce
-Dark or brown sugar
-Honey
-Celery seed
-Paprika
-Cayenne
-Water

There was once, long, long ago, actual measurements for these, but it's really better if you just add whatever smells right, in the order listed above. Stir over medium heat until it boils and begins to thicken.

Good Housekeeping says to pat the ribs dry and dust them with baking powder. I'm not sure why, exactly, but I do it. Place them meat side down in a baking dish and pour the sauce over them. The baking powder makes it go all fizzy, and it's pretty cool.

Place in oven for about 2 hours, basting halfway through.

I tried to take a picture when the ribs were all intact, but I ate them instead because they are SO GOOD.

Father Abraham had Seven Sons and Seven Sons had Father Abraham

2010-08-03T22:39:00.000-07:00

"When was the last time, if ever, you slept in a bunk bed? Today would you pick the top bunk, or the bottom bunk?"

I have no idea when I was in a bunk bed last. Few of my friends lofted or bunked their beds in college, and I didn't have a roommate so I had SuperBed. At summer camp I always tried to get there early and have the top bunk. Most of the time the returning campers, i.e. the cool kids, would create these islands of top bunk by pushing the bunks together in groups of four. We would have pushed all of the bunks in the cabin together and had a really nice loft going, but the counselors were all concerned about those losers who got there late and had to take the bottom bunks. Hey, it wasn't our problem if they had to crawl over each other to get to bed, we had ladders. And a radio. And magazines and snacks hidden under our pillows.

When I was sent to work at the Bible camp, I had the top bunk. I brought a book along with me, called "The Engines of God." It's a scifi novel, and the title comes from a line in a poem discovered on an alien world. The leaders of the camp confiscated it from me, and gave me a big lecture about how taking the Lord's name in vain was a serious offense, and secular authors were not tolerated at that camp. One girl always talked about how stressed she was, and I suggested she try going for a long walk or meditating instead of going on about it. The leaders of the camp gave me a lecture about how meditation is dangerous because unless you are meditating on the Word then Satan and come in a possess you. I said I thought they were taking the whole idea of relaxing and thinking calming thoughts to a totally different extreme, and they told me to shut up. It should be noted that when I went to this camp, I had never even kissed someone. I had a crush, my real first, but I didn't even know if any of my friends were passed the awkward fumbling on the bus ride home. One night in the cabin, reading a Chick Tract about how dinosaurs were on the Ark (I had said something about a seashell fossil I found on a hike that didn't go over well), two of the supervisors, aged 17 and 19, started swapping stories about sex. The 17 year old was trying to decide if she should use protection with her boyfriend because she wasn't sure if he had ever slept with anyone but her. The 19 year old told of the three times she had been called over for a booty call by her neighbor. They were the Christians. They were the ones that had tattled about my novel, and made fun of me because I couldn't throw the bales of hay as far as them. I'm pretty sure they didn't know I was listening. They had bottom bunks.

This question brought to you by That's My Answer

Drop to My Knees to Elicit Crowd Response

2010-07-31T22:39:00.000-07:00

"Do you usually write your blog post first and then the title? Or do you write the title first, and then the blog?"

I always write the title after the post. It's the same formula I use for my short stories. The writing comes, and afterward the title either comes from that, or from some song lyric/quote/line from a book or movie. The titles are like an added little bonus for observant readers. I sometimes mention bonus points for people who can identify and explain the titles, but rarely has an answer come forward. I assume most are just nice little jokes between me and myself. The sole exceptions may be "Slut," because I really, really wanted a memorable, one word title, and "Used," because that really was the only word circling in my head for about a week.

This question courtesy of That's My Answer

In the Cause of Justice, Brothers

2010-07-26T08:03:00.001-07:00

"Do you believe in the death penalty? Defend your answer."

I have no idea. I have gone back and forth on this issue for years. I was home sick from school the day Timothy McVeigh was executed. I remember watching all this news coverage build up, replaying the video from the Oklahoma City bombing, telling the story over and over. Then the coverage cut to a woman standing in a yard in Texas, a barbed wire fence behind her. She said, it has been confirmed that Timothy McVeigh was pronounced dead at.... And that was it. A domestic terrorist was dead. The man who had ruined the lives of so many people was gone from the Earth. It didn't feel any different. The country didn't feel safer. The news for that day didn't get better. It had been years since the bombing, and all that time McVeigh had been locked away in prison, unable to talk to anyone or hurt anybody but himself. That was the justice, wasn't it? Taking him away from his life and locking him away was basically the same as killing him. The victim' families never had to see or hear from him again. And in all that time that he was locked up, hadn't they started to rebuild and move on? Wasn't killing him just reopening all that anger and terror? I thought so.

I had a girlfriend in college who was home the night someone/s broke in to her apartment. She was beat, and drugged, and raped, and robbed. The next night I drove in circles around her neighborhood, saying over and over to myself that if I found that son of a bitch I was going to run him over and smash his face in to the road and slice his fucking throat and... and...

The things I imagined doing to another human being that night make me sick. But I would have. I didn't have a name, or a face, to put on this criminal, but still I wanted to kill him. I wanted him not just locked up, but dead. I didn't want justice, I wanted revenge.

This person had not committed murder. If he could have faced capital punishment for his crimes, I don't think that would have deterred him in any way. If I had killed him, I would have been put in prison, for a very, very long time. That wasn't stopping me either. All crimes, even the premeditated ones, are crimes of passion. A rational person, with clear notions of cause and effect, does not commit theft, or rape, or murder. Planning to blow up a government building, full of innocent people, is not something one does when they completely understand the consequences of their actions. In McVeigh's mind, this act would restructure the government. In my mind, killing that man would... would what? Make my girlfriend feel better? Take away her nightmares? There is nothing that I or any police officer or judge could have done to make her okay again.

Criminals should face punishment, yes, but execution does nothing more than exact revenge for old wounds that have already begun to heal. Justice is not in "an eye for an eye." The death penalty doesn't help to fix any of the damage of the crime. That doesn't mean I don't still want to watch that motherfucker bleed out on the asphalt.

At least this time there was no full moon or collapsed bridge or state lines

2010-07-20T09:15:00.000-07:00

Phone call went as follows:

Me: Hey, baby, you know how sometimes I get lost?
O: ...yea...
Me: Okay, so I'm a little lost. I mean, I don't know where I am, but I think I know how to get somewhere.
O: Are... are you okay?
Me: Yea, I'm heading West on 54, so I don't think I'm more than half an hour away.
O: I have no idea what... I don't know where that is. Where are you going?
Me: 54 takes me to Danville, like past Elysburg, and I think I'm close to there.
O: Okay, so you're on 54, West of Danville. And you got there from Mechanicsburg?
Me: Well, around Camp Hill there was a detour for Rt 11, so I think I followed it, but then I wound up on I-81, and I didn't know how to get back to 11 without just getting back in the detour so I... don't be mad.
O: I'm not mad, I just want to make sure you're okay.
Me: I didn't cry this time!

Sofrito

2010-07-11T21:46:00.000-07:00

My finacee often pines for her mother's Dominican cooking, and says my arroz y frijoles, while good, often lacks a certain something. That something is sofrito. Also, olives.

The olives I leave out because I usually completely forget the jar in the back of the fridge, or I eat them all before they reach the pot. Sofrito is passed up because I had never heard the word before I met Oriana, and had no idea what it was or how to use it.

Note: I knew mirepoix. I knew the Italians, being horrible snobs, called it soffritto, and also cooked it in olive oil instead of butter because they want to keep their food as un-French as possible. Listen, Italy, pretty soon all of your good wines are going to be made in California, and we've all gotten over prosciutto, so cool it.

Anyway...

Two large hot house tomatoes
Two medium sized onions (I used vidalia, but I think you're supposed to use yellow)
Two green bell peppers
One red bell pepper
One head of garlic
A ton of cilantro, like, as much as you can get

Chop all of these ingredients. Place them in the food processor, as illustrated above. Grind until it forms a salsa/paste. Store in a glass jar.

Makes about 2 quarts. This recipe has a lot of spice without a lot of heat. For an extra kick throw in green chilies.

I think next time around I'll make a Hot&Sweet version, which might go like this

One pint of cherry tomatoes
Two sweet onions
Three red bell peppers
Three or four chipotle or cayenne peppers
One bunch of cilantro

Oh man, that would be so good with chicken enchiladas....

Tonight we had our friend Tania over for dinner. Tania is from Puerto Rico, so this was a big Caribbean/Latin event. Oriana made tostones, and we had rice and chicken and black beans covered in a giant helping of sofrito. Delicious!

Assymetry, Border, Color, and Inconvenience

2010-07-09T11:29:00.000-07:00

So, I have this skin condition. It's called that's-probably-skin-cancer-itis.

Mostly it's just freckles and moles and this thing that I thought was heat rash except it never goes away and is probably lupus. Just this month four of my moles have started bleeding, which is really cool because until now they've just been hanging out for 23 years being uneventful. The trademark mole on my neck (I'm getting that thing insured like Grable's legs) changed color. All things considered, then, I'm probably dying.
Just you see up there, next to friend bat? That dark thing that looks almost, but not quite, like a weird freckle? That's called a Cherry Angioma. It's a bundle of capillaries on the surface of my skin. They are crazy bright red. I have dozens of them. Even on my hands, which is specifically the one place they aren't supposed to develop. They are harmless, unless they get damaged, because then they bleed all over the place. Did I mention I have von Willebrand? Just google that for me.
Why am I telling you all this? Because I just shaved my legs, and I sliced one of those angiomas open. And that sucks.

Pollo con Salsa de Champiñones

2010-07-08T06:33:00.000-07:00

This might be my new favorite thing ever.

Dinner for two

1-2 boneless, skinless chicken breast
1 can black turtle beans
1 can condensed cream of mushroom soup
1 cup of your favorite rice
1 clove of Garlic (give or take)

Set your favorite rice to cook, shake in a healthy dose of this newest FCB Secret Ingredient: Slap Ya Mama Cajun Seasoning.
Chop the chicken in to cubes. Split the garlic clove(s) and mince. Sautee these in a little olive oil in a small pan over medium-high heat.
Rinse the beans, and mix in a small pot along with the cream of mushroom soup. Add only half a can of water and heat through.
Serve in bowls, layered: Rice, chicken, sauce. Garnish with cherry tomatoes and avocado.

You are not how much money you have in the bank

2010-07-06T17:59:00.001-07:00

"Describe something you lost that you want back."

I had to leave a lot of my things in Savannah. My bookshelf. My red toaster. My dishes. My Ikea bed frame. The glass top bar table Leslie gave me. My papasan. The bucket full of stuff to wash my car. My casserole dishes and cookie sheets. My television, the old 1986 Sony with genuine stereo sound. Half of my toolbox. My bag of old photo paper, a rubber roller, film development tanks, peel Polaroid film... that one hurts the most.

Hovering somewhere around Savannah is my shock, and anger, and pride. I'm sure there's a significant amount of my dignity and trust mixed in there as well. I like to imagine these things haunting the places where I have left them. My front porch, Oglethorpe square, the 300 block of Drayton, West 41st street, Boundary Village apartment 1203.

It's not a "thing," exactly, but out of that whole awful experience, the only aspect I can't get past is my credit score. I'd really like my good credit score back. So, you know, in case you were wondering what to get me for Christmas.

Not the Audrey You're Thinking Of

2010-07-01T03:07:00.000-07:00

"What celebrity do you look like?"

Brigitte Bardot
Helena Bonham Carter

Olivia de Hollivand

Audrey Tautou

Farrah Fawcett
Sophia Loren

Or You Stay Up And Make Soap

2010-06-29T23:47:00.001-07:00

"You can't sleep. What do you turn to in hopes of falling asleep or embracing your insomnia?"

I have insomnia. It comes and goes, every few months. I can go for weeks on a regular sleep schedule, and then one night I stay up just a little later than usual. The next night, I do the same. The next night, I can't lay down until 4am. Or 5am. Or until the sun comes up. I'll sleep for an hour or so, wake up with my alarm clock, and drag myself through the day. I'll be exhausted, but not sleepy.

Chuck Palahniuk wrote iconically, and correctly, "This is how it is with insomnia. Everything is so far away, a copy of a copy of a copy."

"My heart's still racing and my thoughts are a tornado in my head. This is insomnia. All night, your thoughts are on the air."

It can be horrific. Staying up all night is not an activity most people engage in. it is a lonely, terrifying kind of thing, realizing that everyone you'd like to talk with is asleep. And you are not.

Camus expresses this idea in his novel "The Plague."

.. when one day Rambert told him that he liked waking up at four in the morning of his beloved Paris, the doctor guessed easily enough, basing this on his own experience, that that was his favourite time for conjuring up pictures of the woman from whom he now was parted. This was, indeed, the hour when he could feel surest she was wholly his. Till four in the morning one is seldom doing anything and at that hour, even if the night has been a night of betrayal, one is asleep. Yes, everyone sleeps at that hour, and this is reassuring, since the great longing of an unquiet heart is to possess constantly and consciously the loved one, or, failing that, to be able to plunge the loved one, when a time of absence intervenes, into a dreamless sleep timed to last unbroken until the day they meet again.

The young man pining for his financee is currently quarantined in a small village. The population is slowly succumbing to the plague, and nearly all communication with the outside world has ceased.

I hate my insomnia because it is rarely the productive kind. I have never completed a masterpiece while unable to sleep. Usually I clean, or bake, or sag listless into the couch cushions. I used to chain smoke and watch James Bond. I would commune with Ethan, my fellow insomniac, and watch him draw. I would drive out to a rotation of 24 hour stores, the fluorescent lighting distorting my perspective of space. In the bright lights, fixtures towered over me. Everyone seemed like an extra in a movie. Background. A copy of a copy.

As I write this, it is 2:30am. I have slept ten hours in the last three days. Last night, I became delirious at the grocery store.

Couldn't look you in the eye

2010-06-28T08:32:00.000-07:00

Redux: "Go ahead, get a secret off your chest."

When I'm bored or feeling down, I research famous serial killers or other notorious crimes.
The one that most intrigues me at the moment is the murder of Shanda Sharer. She was 12. She was tortured and killed by a group of high school age girls. Apparently there was a lesbian love triangle somewhere. The entire scenario completely baffles me. When I was 12, I was in sixth and seventh grade. Only one girl I knew said she had a boyfriend, but I didn't really believe her. She said he went to a different school, and was in 9th grade, and was friends with her brother, but I never met him. Aside from my cousins, the only connection I had to anyone older than me was my small private school. The 14 year olds, the 8th graders, were kept separate from the rest of the student body. They were in advanced classes, and applying to high schools, and they intimidated me. The only 16 year olds I knew were friends older siblings, who I never saw. This story, of a 12 year old as the other woman of an 8th grader who was dating a Junior, all of them lesbians, baffles me completely.
The murder is horrific. It is brutal and monstrous and hard to believe. I, however, am still stuck on the premise. How did they even all meet each other? What, at 12, could this girl possibly have been doing that would resemble a relationship, let alone "cheating?" Clearly the girl(s) who killed her were nuts, but I'm pretty sure that, at 16, if someone I knew was screwing around with a 12 year old I would have called her parents, or possibly the cops. At 16, I had a job, and a car. Age of consent laws be damned, it is reasonable to assume that if you can have a job and a car you are too old to be associating with middle school aged children.
I suppose, though, that these girls had very little regard for things like social order or logic. The most reckless thing I can remember being peer pressured in to in high school was driving downtown on a Friday night to play in the fountain. The most I ever talked anyone in to was getting Gena to cut school on a Senior Half Day to go eat Chinese food.

Baked Apples

2010-06-16T22:59:00.000-07:00

So I have these apples, right, and I'm like, "what am I going to do with these?"

So I cut out the core. This is easily accomplished with a paring knife and some patience. Point the knife down in to the center of the apple, where the stem is. Holding the apple straight up, cut off the top of the apple holding the knife at about a 45 degree angle. Now slowly cut out the center of the apple, removing all of the seeds. Be sure to leave at least a half inch of fruit at the bottom. For this last reason, I don't recommend using an apple corer.

Now put whatever the hell you feel like on these apples. I opted for cinnamon, brown sugar, nutmeg, and a dash of chili powder (because that's always fun) and crowned the whole thing with a big pat of butter. But that's the dessert version.

For breakfast you can fill the apples in with oatmeal (just add water and quick oats and it can cook in the oven!) and top it with maple syrup.
For dinner you can stuff the apples with ground pork sausage and rice. It's just like a stuffed pepper, only 10,000x better.

Anyway you do it, you'll want to heat the oven to 350 F and let the apples bake for at least 45 minutes. There's a big window here, and depending on how big the fruit is the time can be much longer. Try the fork test: if you can stick a fork in it, it's done.

My new hapy place

2010-06-16T22:49:00.000-07:00

This is my new happy place. Hurray for moving, and a brand new oven. Also, I recently acquired my very own food processor! Watch out, hummus!

Perfect Oven Fries, Every Time.

2010-06-16T22:47:00.000-07:00

Courtesy of The Achewood Cookbook, these oven fries are simply the greatest. Crispy, crunchy, golden deliciousness on the outside, creamy, fluffy, magical potatoness on the inside. This is clearly not my recipe, but you should totally buy Onstad's book because he is amazing and because my Uncle Gary told you too.