You know my name, look up the number...

The modern world has destroyed my concept of multitasking. The other day my grandmother called and I immediately asked, "What are you up to?" (which is what I always ask when I get on the phone with someone). And she said, "Well I'm calling you."

Oh.

Right.

Placing a phone call IS an activity. Typically, making a phone call is something I do when I "have some free time": i.e. when I'm walking somewhere, or cleaning something, or baking a cake. Because God forbid anyone ever actually sit in one spot and perform one activity at a time, on a phone that only performs the function of making phone calls.

Do you remember the last time you answered a landline phone and had to make an excuse for someone who was there but didn't want to take the call?

"Hello?"
"Hey, is Bob there?"
(Bob gesturing frantically in the background)
"Uhh, no, Bob went out to buy a can of catfood, can I take a message?"

Or my favorite, the passive aggressive refusal to make excuses:

"Hello?"
"Hey, is Bob there?"
(Bob gesturing frantically in the background)
"Yeah! He's right here. He's been waiting for your call!"

This happens to some degree in an office, but is way less fun because of Caller-ID and voice mail and general office etiquette.

I'm not saying that I want to go back to a world without cell phones. But it was kind of cool to have everyone's phone number actually memorized in my actual, real brain (how many phone numbers do you have memorized now?), and I liked answering the house phone and getting to talk to whomever called for a second before passing it off to my mom, or dad or whoever. Conversely, I always liked calling my friends and talking to their moms for a second before they got on the phone. And knowing that if they didn't want to talk to me, they had to fess up and make an excuse instead of just ignoring me and letting it go to voice mail.

Sooooo passive aggressive.

Ahhh them good old days. I think I can feel the rain a'comin' in my bum knee.

Tolstoy Treats: UPDATE

Thinking about the potential freedom of getting to read independently was seriously making it impossible to concentrate, especially since my desk faces my "unread books" bookshelf, which is either shamefully or awesomely burdened with books depending on how you feel about personal libraries (and personal budgeting).

I also kept thinking about the books I put on my Christmas wish list and whether or not it's evil to buy one for yourself ahead of time. I went to Borders for the first time in months today, and it was like falling off the wagon. Falling off the wagon.

I haven't been to Borders in so long I feel like my sponsor should give me a chip. Aaaaaand today they should take it away.

Anyway, this is my current short-list. I'm not fishing for gifts here. I'm posting this because these are all books I've heard nothing but great things about, and though I haven't read them, you might be looking for a read or a gift idea. Trust me, you don't really want to know about the books I've been reading for class, so this in lieu of a book review.

• Celebrity Chekhov: Stories by Anton Chekhov, by Ben Greenman A remake of a classic without and zombies or vampires. Unless celebrities count as bloodsuckers.
  
  
• How to Live Safely in a Science Fictional Universe, by Charles Yu I love new, unique science fiction that just has that feel to it
  
  
• At Home, by Bill Bryson Is it because I'm engaged, or because I'm sick of renting?
  
  
• Shop Class as Soulcraft, by Matthew Crawford We live in a world where people are primarily interested in buying things, this book is interesting to me because he celebrates the pleasure of craft.
  
  
• Packing for Mars, by Mary Roach Roach's books are always insanely entertaining--dead bodies, the afterlife, sex, and now the final frontier. Sign me up.
  
  
• The Magicians, by Lev Grossman Harry Potter for grown-ups? Jessica R., your continued endorsements have sunk in.
  
  
• Snow Crash, by Neil Stephenson This is supposed to be the best work of a phenomenal science fiction writer.
  
  
• Everything Ravaged, Everything Burned, by Wells Tower I don't usually like short stories at all, but these are all about men. Put that way it doesn't sound that great, but I've heard great things.
  
  
• The Food of a Younger Land: A portrait of American food- before the national highway system, before chain restaurants, and before frozen food, when the nation's food was seasonal, by Mark Kurlansky His book Salt was wonderfully enlightening and entertaining, this one promises to be even better. (And isn't that a hell of a subtitle?)
  
  
• The Hunger Games Trilogy, by Suzanne Collins It's for teenagers. I don't care.
  

Anyway, so my solution to my book dilemma was to buy myself a book that wasn't on this list, wrap it, and stick it under the tree. I'm not telling what it is because... it's a surprise ('cause it's a gift, get it?). I can open it and read it when my last paper is turned in. And hopefully now I can stop thinking about it!

Tolstoy Treats

I'm reeeeeally supposed to be working on my final papers, but I'm distracted because somewhere in the middle of yesterday I decided that I would allow myself to read ONE (1) for-fun book after finals, over the break.

Why?

Well this is what's going on: my oral exam is scheduled to take place at the end of January, hence am currently in my six-week reading period for said huge exam, meaning that I am supposed to be living and breathing all things Boxing in American Literature. This is fine in that I constructed the reading list myself, so I get to get down and dirty with some texts I really want to read like Gus Lee's China Boy, and Trevor Von Eden's The Original Johnson.

This is not cool in that if I don't get to just turn my brain off and consume some brain candy, and STAT, I might actually, physically explode.

You would think, as a graduate student, as someone whose job it is to read all the time, I would want to go on vacation and maybe run a marathon, or re-watch all of Battlestar Galactica, or put myself in a corner, and oh, say stare at a blank wall and hum quietly. But I enjoy reading. This summer I read thirteen books. Last holiday break I read four (yes, I do keep count, thankyouverymuchas). I really think that this on-the-side reading is what has kept me from from going ballistic.

So while I'm sitting here trying to eloquently describe the class and gender implications in Million Dollar Baby (hooo boy), what I'm really thinking is, "which book, which book, which book, which booooooooooook will I read when this crap is over???" I'm like a dog looking at a buffet table which is just a little too high. If someone would just throw me a friggin' bone, I would be so happy!

When Harry Met Sally Met Chicken

Do you remember that part in "When Harry Met Sally" where they both say "Chicken Paprikash" over and over again and it's really funny? What about the part where they're playing Pictionary and the clue is "baby's breath" and the fat guy keeps guessing "baby fish mouth?"

hahahahahahahah

I love that part. It has nothing to do with anything, but I love it anyway.

So I made Chicken Paprikash for dinner the other night, and I figured that since it was both easy and delicious, you might want to try it too. This recipe is modified to serve two people.

1/4 cup butter
1/2 white or yellow onion, diced
3 heaping teaspoons paprika
salt
pepper
4 chicken legs or 2 large boneless chicken breasts, cut up
3/4 to 1 cup chicken stock
3/4 cup sour cream
1 tbsp flour

Egg noodles, rice, mashed potatoes, or potato dumplings to serve underneath the Paprikash.

In a large pot or frying pan, melt the butter on medium low heat and stir in the onions. Saute the onions approximately ten minutes or until quite soft and translucent. Add paprika, a dash of salt and a few dashes of black pepper (don't over do it). At this point, add your chicken. It will need to cook a different length of time depending on the cut. For legs, cook at least 5-6 minutes on each side, for cut up pieces, cook for 10 minutes, stirring occasionally.

If you have chosen to use legs, remove them to a plate and slowly mix in the chicken broth, making sure to gently scrape any delicious bits from the bottom/sides of the pan (AKA, deglaze the pan). Return the legs to the pan. If you using boneless chicken, this processes can be done, slightly less gracefully, with the chicken still in the pan.

Cover and cook for ten more minutes over medium heat. If it looks as though your sauce is boiling away, feel free to add a little more water/broth or turn down the heat a little. It shouldn't be boiling too hard. Mix flour into the sour cream. After ten minutes, add the sour cream mixture into the sauce and make sure it is stirred well and all the chicken is coated (you can remove the legs again if you wish).

Serve over egg noodles, rice, mashed potatoes, or potato dumplings.

MeatandCheese-Only said, "this is zesty!" and also cleaned his plate, which is two thumbs up, I believe.

Shreveport, Knife and Fork

Is it possible to get a cold from eating too much? If so, that's what has happened.

Tim (who I'm beginning to think should have a blog code name, like "Meat&Cheese-Only" or "Gilligan") and I went to Shreveport for Thanksgiving break. His sister has an enormous, awesome house there with her fiancé so she graciously accommodated about 30 people for Thanksgiving dinner.

I'm particularly fond of Shreveport because it's the only place I've ever moved to all on my own, out of my own free will. That's not to say that I didn't want to live in Crawford or Boulder, just that I lived in those places because my family already did and those were my options. And well, DC is DC is DC is... not my first choice.

Shreveport is also particularly amazing because it's a weird place. It looks a little like a sleaze-pit sometimes (it's undeniable--and there's proof on the interwebs). HOWEVER: it also has a thriving arts culture that existed well before all the movie studios got wind of it and the restaurants are the perfect combination of varied, delicious, atmospheric (I said it) and (compared to other cities of its size) affordable. After the thanksgiving smorgasbord, we ate at a number of my Shreveport favorites because Meat&Cheese-Only's family--despite his seeming aversion to all things delicious--knows how to have a good time.

Friday:

The Blind Tiger
The Regular: Creole Pecan Catfish with extra mustard cream sauce, jambalaya and cajun fried corn.
This is the restaurant where Meat&Cheese-Only and I had our first date. There was a car wreck outside and I wore my foxtail. Those two things are not related. Anyway, unless you happen to show up on karaoke night, The Blind Tiger has good atmosphere, and even if it didn't the food is wonderful. The fried corn is a half cob of corn that is indeed battered and deep fried. Paula Deen--are you listening? The red beans and rice are thick (real thick) and the sausage is spicy. And the mixed drinks come in mason jars. Who could want anything else?

Saturday:

Superior Bar & Grill
The Regular: Superior Nachos con pollo. I love the way they build each nacho on the plate individually. I've never seen that done anywhere but Shreveport and it makes me resent restaurants that bring you a giant messy, soggy pile of nacho ingredients. It takes real TLC to make nachos the way Superior does. And their margaritas will knock you on your face, which is probably why all of their drinks are served in styrofoam cups. In addition, the chips are freshly made and the salsa is served in a carafe and each person gets an individual cup, so you can double-dip until your arm falls off if that's your thing.

PieWorks
The Regular: The Wing It.
Meat&Cheese-Only delivered pizzas here so I sometimes have mixed feelings about the place. On one hand, it's almost like home and I can order off-menu items and they'll still make them for me. On the other hand, when I SEE a PieWorks, this stale pizza stench fills my nostrils and I get a mini-panic attack remembering the way MCo's person and car smelled that year. However, their pizza is undeniably delicious. We ordered a Wing It (hot wings pizza), a BBQ chicken pizza, a fetamato and breadsticks. We tried to order a Heathbar pie, but they were out and comped us three pieces of turtle cheesecake. Which is a fine trade.

Superior's Steak House (for cocktails)
The Regular: A Tanqueray Gin and Tonic
But at Superior's, you have to order a cocktail, because they do them so well. I got a Lemon Drop, which made my hands completely sticky somehow, but still tasted like heaven. They also make a mean Cosmo. And they have live piano and are one of the few remaining restaurants to have Andes Mints at the exit rather than those terrible hard peppermints: I take this as a real sign of quality.

Sunday:

Strawn's Eat Shop on King's Highway
The Regular: Biscuits and Gravy, Home fries, Unsweet Iced Tea and Strawberry Icebox Pie.
This time, however, I got the "Hungry Man" special because I was craving pancakes. This is two eggs, toast, choice of meat, choice of potatoes (or biscuit or grits before 10), two hot cakes and a pound of butter. I think the real reason I hate DC is because while there are placed to get breakfast here, there is nothing, I mean nothing like Strawn's.

Part of it is simply local. We ran into Will, MCo's choir director from college there, which is just something you know will always happen when you walk in the doors. But it's also the atmosphere and the total disregard for frills or health conventions. You honestly cannot get a chicken fried steak like that here. And the pie? Forget it.

Sunday we had to leave. But had I been able to stay, I would have gone to Tacomania, Yeero Yeero, The Real Pickle, Oyster Bar, Counter Culture, Ichiban, Bear's, and I would have loved to go to Murrell's but apparently they closed, which absolutely breaks my heart. I can't see how, as there was always a huge crowd. Perhaps the no-smoking law really did take its toll on just one little place. Anyway, there are other places I'm forgetting (the Glenwood Village Tea Room!), but Shreveport is so full of things to enjoy. I would move back. I said it.

The Brain Drain

I'm getting dumber.

No really. This is a fine art, so it's taking place on multiple levels. And it's distressing considering how much effort I'm putting into this fancy degree I'm earning, but hear me out.

Exhibit A: Last Saturday I had a great day with my friend Alsn, we went out for sushi, we went to Anthropologie, and then we went to see Harry Potter and The Most Depressing Camping Trip Ever, Part I. I realized that Alsn is officially my oldest friend within 500 miles, so that makes her the champion. Still, when we were driving around looking for the theater parking garage, I recommended a restaurant to her that we have eaten at together twice as if she'd never been there, and I told her that I've never been to a theater that we went to together. I can no longer remember where I've gone and what I've done with whom and when. Which really, is pretty embarrassing and like I said she's my oldest friend here. How degrading.

"Oh, you've eaten there you say? Oh, with me you say? Twice? Well, I am an idiot. Obviously the events of my life are not important enough for my brain to store in my memory compartments."

Exhibit B: I keep forgetting simple words. I can't think of any examples, but we'll just put that in the evidence file. Granted, this is probably a symptom of my migraine medication and isn't really my fault, but still, it's unfortunate to have to be reminded that the word you're looking for is "sandwich" or "banana". Tim makes up for this in his own life by saying things like "flibbertydoodle" and "dingledongle" but I'm trying to avoid that whole grammatical mess. Yesterday, he said "when we go to there" in a totally non-ironic way, so I try not to emulate him. Nonetheless, being caught without a simple word is infuriating, English degree or no.

Exhibit C: Ok, I'm actually still getting good grades, and I doing fairly well at Jeopardy, but I'm just fairly certain that I spend way too much time on my couch reading books instead of outside talking to real human beings. So maybe instead of getting dumber, I'm just getting a little weirder? Lately, occasionally, when acquaintances ask me questions, I truly cannot comprehend the literal meaning of those questions. It's as though our conversations have suddenly and rapidly changed context and I somehow did not notice. (This doesn't happen with old friends, for some reason.)

All signs point to a dire need to stop reading so much theory. And to maybe spend some time with some humans.

Cucumbers Another Way

I have a migraine today. That usually means spending the day in a cocoon of pillows and darkness, sleeping it off, but I can't sleep. So instead I'm trying to find something that will hold my attention without making me feel like I'm going to explode (so no reading or TV or really anything with color light or sound). Maybe blogging will work?

So here is a recipe for you.

This is a new take on my favorite simple side dish. This would be a great alternative to more traditional heavy side dishes that tend to get served with Mexican food. It's not even really a recipe, just something I got out of a book about migrant farm workers and then modified.

"Alejo thought of his own grandmother working in Edinburg, Texas, ironing, babysitting, cleaning houses, cutting cucumbers with lemon, salt, and powdered chile to sell at swap meets, or making tamarind and hibiscus juices to sell after Sunday mass. She would do anything to allow her grandson to get schooling." -Helena Maria Viramontes, Under the Feet of Jesus

Calling this something like "Zesty Cucumber Salad" seems really bourgious, since this seems like something people just eat. The way a baked potato is just a baked potato--but I don't know what else to call it. Anyway, here's how I prepared it.

Cucumbers Another Way

1 Cucumber
1 Lime (the book says lemon, but I like lime and that's what I had)
salt
Chili powder

Peel cucumber however you like. I prefer to leave "stripes" in the peel for texture and vitamins. Slice as thinly as you like. I make 1/4" slices and then cut the largest slices in half.

Juice the lime. A citrus juicer is the best for this of course, but if you don't have one, here's a trick to handling stiff, stubborn fruit--microwave the lime for ten seconds, then roll it on your counter, pressing gently to loosen all the membranes inside. After you cut it in half, you can use the back of a spoon to help you get all of the juices out.

Pour lime juice over the cucumber in a bowl. Season with salt and chili powder to taste. This is according to your preference so start light and build up.

Let it chill for at least 20 minutes before you eat and you'll be glad.

Unlike a vinegar salad, this can be refrigerated over night and the cukes won't wilt dramatically.

You could probably put this in a glass, muddle with vodka and ice, and make a delicious cocktail. If you didn't have a migraine.

I'm with Reasonable ------->

Saturday was a very exciting day. First of all, it was my dad's fiftieth birthday, or in his words, his 25th birthday times 2. I didn't get to spend it with him, which kills me, so I spent it doing all sorts of distracting things. The most nationally important of which being the joint Rally to Restore Sanity and to March Keep Fear Alive.

Can I just point out first of all that we're idiots because we live within walking distance of the Mall--we don't even have to take the metro--and we still didn't make it until exactly noon. Needless to say, by that point, it was challenging to find a place to stand as over 200,000 people had already shown up. But luckily we live behind the capitol so we were already at the front of the crowd when we showed up.

So. What the hell was the Rally to Restore Sanity? Based on the fact that it was mostly just a very long outdoor version of the Daily Show, I think it's main purpose was just to prove that there are more Liberals and just plain "normal" people than Glen Beck would like the world to believe, and that we outnumber the crazy-shouters by far. (That's right, I refuse to believe it's normal to be that angry all the time at everything.)

I know the first picture here does not quite convey the scale of this post-rally horde unleashing itself directly upon the city, but it stretches six blocks: from Constitution Ave. all the way to Chinatown, shoulder to shoulder. I've really never seen anything like it except for the inauguration, which was much colder and more somber (and did I mention colder?).

The Highlights:

1. Cat Stevens. The minute John Stewart introduced him, I started crying. I never thought I would hear him perform live. And to be honest, I never expected to have to boo Stephen Colbert for ruining my hippie-Cat-Stevens-Peace-train-euphoria, but I was quite displeased by the sudden interruption of Ozzy Osborn (as much as I love him, he's no Yusuf Islam).

2. John Stewart's speech. It just makes me feel better knowing that at least one person in the media, even if he is a pseudo-comic pundit Comedy Central guy, feels the same way I do and has the power and balls to say so in front of the world. Even if the major news media don't bat an eye.

3. The guys from Myth Busters. Hear me out. 50% of their shtick was a failure, but it was sort of brilliant of them to try to conduct experiments with a crowd that big while they had them. Doing the wave with 200,000 people? That's kind of awesome. And then making them all jump at once to see if it registers on a seismometer? Even if it didn't work, it was neat (neat!) to hear that THUMP, and well, to see everyone cooperating (awwwwww).

4. The signs. People are so creative. Love it.

The lowlights:

1. Jeff Tweedy. No problem with Mavis Staples, but damn Jeff, way to bring everyone the hell down. Terrible. I actually preferred Kid Rock. Kid. Rock.

2. Not being able to see anything but people's heads--anywhere in the city. (And the guy in front of me smelled like he drank a bottle of vodka and then sweat it all out on his sweatshirt.) Amazingly, one of the drawbacks of "strength in numbers" is, as Sarte said that "hell is other people" (or at least it can be). That sounds awful, but consider this: Amazing three hour rally begins at 12 and ends at 3, many people arrive as early as 8:00 a.m. There are very few places to get food on the Mall, so what do these 200,000 people immediately do after the rally? They flood the restaurants. Tim and I went to our "secret" Chinese restaurant, which is usually empty, and the poor place was overwhelmed. It's usually so empty they don't even have a waiter--the host seats you, takes your order, brings your drink. The busboy brings your food. The host's wife brings your check. Now the dining room was full and the chef took our order 45 minutes after we sat down. The line was out the door.

But I have to say, I have never tasted such amazing sushi in my life. I will call it freedom sushi. After the rally and the awesomeness of being around people who just want everyone to be polite... we too were hungry and tired. And happy and hopeful. (But mostly hungry and tired--which is, I think, the point? When you're living you're own life, you're too busy doing that to be too insulted by how other people are living theirs.)

Smile for the birdy

Oh right, the engagement pictures!

In our fast-paced electronic world where everyone who reads this blog already saw these pictures on facebook, this post seems a little redundant. But I do what I want.

We weren't actually planning on having engagement pictures taken, and we kept getting coupons for professional photographers in DC, but here's the formula for getting the pictures you see above (for free!):


One good friend who is talented behind the lens and charitable with her time (Jana)
+ One digital camera which you already own
+ irresistible urge to purchase to cute dress (and nowhere to wear it)
÷ Limited number of crisp October mornings in the National Arboretum
x undying love and devotion (awwwwwww)
--------------------------------------------
Seriously priceless photographs












I know how much I lucked out with these. It's really hard for me to pick a favorite, and I can tell that Tim and I look at each one totally differently. We're both scrutinizing ourselves and laughing at each other (in a good, crinkly-eyed kind of way). All I can say is that I'm glad I passed up the many email offers I received to have the pictures professionally done. Business casual at the Lincoln Memorial just wouldn't have been "us."

Here's the best part though (I thought)--after we took the pictures, we were already all dressed up so we made a day of it.

I called Fogo de Chao as soon as we were done, since we'd been hoping to go there for as long as we've lived in DC, but we discovered that on weekends they don't have a lunch service. Why on earth would they pass up the beaucoup tourist dollar and not serve lunch? I have no idea. So that meant not eating until 4:30--which, let's be honest, is a pretty solid plan if you're going to Fogo.

Since we were all dressed up with no place to go for a few hours, we decided to see a matinee in Georgetown and settled on The Social Network. Sweet mother. If you haven't seen it yet, there is a scene of a regatta that is like a short film in itself. It made my hair stand on end. The rest of the film is David Finchercredible with a whole lot of Aaron Sorkintastic thrown in for good measure. It's the only movie I've seen so far where Jesse Eisenberg plays an actual character and not a bargain Michael Cera--and he did a remarkable job. All of this from a movie about facebook, for god's sake.

Anyhoo. After the movie we sat in the park for a while and watched a crazy man roll around in the bushes without ever taking his lit cigarette out of his mouth. He wasn't old-homeless-dirty crazy, he was young-drunk-needs-attention crazy. Like something from a French movie. It was interesting, to say the least.

Then, on to Fogo. Really the only thing I can say about that is that my dress still smells like meat. The only other time I've experienced residual meat-smells is when I actually sold meat to people for 8 hours a day as a Turkey Wench. This was one meal. Everything I had on me, my purse, my dress, my shoes, everything smells of the heavenly aroma of roasted meat. That is ridiculous.

It's amazing for me to think that we were over-dressed for something that costs as much as Fogo de Chao does (but honestly, I think we were over-dressed for just about everything on earth), though it's shocking how many people go there in border-line sweatsuits and slippers. I know it's a meat-fest, but it's not a BBQ on super-bowl Sunday.

Anyway, after the gorging, we went home and played Super Mario Bros. Wii. Because such things are the solid foundation upon which our relationship is built.

I can't wait for our wedding. These pictures are--if I do say so myself--super cute. But I would like to have some with our friends and family in them.

Tuna P. Wiggle

I'm writing a paper right now, but I had to stop and talk about something here.

No body ever eats sauce on toast anymore. No, no wait. Hear me out. When I was kid, I feel like people ate Welsh Rarebit and chipped beef all the time and nobody batted an eye. Maybe it was reaganomics. Everyone for whom the money wasn't "trickling down" was like, "well, I have sauce. I have toast. This works." And now celebrity chefs are all, "rrrrmmm, there aren't enough complicated steps in that. Can I used braised brioche loaf and a bechamel with leeks?"

Obviously, I like fancy cooking too. Last night I made a New York strip with creamy goat cheese polenta and rosemary grilled zucchini (and Tim ate the zucchini! Yes, I'm bragging.). But sometimes you just have to eat sauce on toast, damnit.

I "remember" this recipe from when I was a little kid, sitting around at my Grandma Karen's house in the 80's while all my aunts and uncles, who were still in high school, ran around and did their thing on a Saturday afternoon. I can tell this an amalgamation of memories, because they weren't all in high school throughout the duration of the 80's and not every day was a sunny Saturday--but I did spend a lot of time at that table in the house on Tenino eating delicious things.

No one ever told me how to make this, so I could be totally off base, but this is what my memory tastes like because I've been making it for myself this way for years.

This is comfort food. This is fast and easy and probably not very nutritious and I doubt anyone would ever, ever in their right mind serve it at a dinner party, but I love it.

Tune P. Wiggle (the "P." stands for "pea")

Ingredients:
1 can cream of mushroom soup
1/3 cup milk
1 can tuna drained
1 half cup frozen peas
salt
pepper
bread to make toast, preferable *good* white bread like potato bread or english muffin bread. Not that wonder bread crap.

For the ambitious:
1/4 to 1/2 cup shredded colby or chedder cheese.
dash garlic salt
2-3 diced white mushrooms

Destructions:
In a small sauce pan combine soup, milk, tuna and peas. Over medium heat, stir together well and then add a generous amount of pepper; salt to taste. If you're adding mushrooms and garlic, add them at this stage. If you're adding cheese, wait until sauce is smooth and bubbly, stir it in and reduce heat to very low.

Cook sauce about five minutes after it bubbles to let everything meld together and the peas heat through.

Toast the bread to your liking. I usually have two slices of toast. Please for the love of God don't be tempted to butter the toast before putting sauce on it. This is coming from me--the Butter Idiot. Doing so will make you want to roll on the floor in a gluttonous semi-coma.

Test the sauce to make sure it's got enough seasoning, cheese, what have you, before putting it on your warm toasty bread. Then spoon a generous amount onto each slice of toast and eat with a fork.

This recipe serves about three people, or just me if I'm being ridiculous.

There's just something about eating what your family eats. My grandma's no slouch. She can make some amazing from-scratch meals that would knock Giada de Lauretiis off her butt, but this one just happens to come out of cans and I like it.

351! 351! Rover, sit! Hut! Hut!

Ah yes, it's come to this. I'm using Ace Ventura to draw analogies to my life.

This, however, is the clip that runs through my head over and over when we work on planning anything that has to do with the wedding. It's a lot of fun--but at the end of the day, it's also a crazy person in a tutu, pitching an invisible football to no one.

Mostly by that I just mean that I don't want to have to wait two years to get married (crickets? did anyone ever expect to hear me say that?). We're throwing a lot of ideas at the wall and the wall is 2012. 2012! You try booking a tent for 2012: people just laugh at you (and not because of the Mayan calendar).

But, that is the way the cookie, she crumbles, if I want to get married where I've wanted to get married my whole life: at home, on my Grandparents' Ranch or up at Camp. (I know, it's shocking, but I did think about that when I was little. It's literally the only wedding-y thing I ever thought about so I'm holding on to it.) That means it will have to be summer, and it can't be this summer because, remember? Crazy person in tutu.

Parly Voo?

La vie she eez very very beezy. Zer are many many exciting zings going on. Oui?

So exciting, in fact, that I'm going to speak with a French accent from now on. Just kidding. Peut-être.

First, Carly--Tim's sister--got engaged last week! Wait, was it last week? I literally cannot distinguish one day from the next at this point. It might have been two weeks at this point. She got engaged and I'm so excited for so many reasons, not least of which because I think Greg, her fiancé is a wonderful person and I feel like they're so great together. I'm also excited because they're having their wedding in Shreveport and I relish any chance I get to go back there. I really miss it. And (as if that wasn't enough) I'm excited because she asked me to be in the wedding!

So--then we have the following exciting things happening.

1. I got to meet Pioneer Woman. The National Book Festival blows my mind every year, but the hands-down highlight this year was meeting Ree and getting her signature (plus hearts and smiley faces) in my cookbook. She is just as funny and self-deprecating and charming in person as she is on her blog--isn't that nice? Plus, you can't really see it here, but she had on cute boots. So... good for her!

Jonathan Safran Foer (see below) was also there to talk about his new book, Eating Animals, which was super depressing, and kind of made me want to read the book but mostly just made me feel guilty about eating a giant steak the day before. Or maybe I ate a giant steak the day after. But I still felt guilty.

We also heard E.O. Wilson and Katherine Paterson (who wrote Bridge to Terabithia and Jacob Have I Loved). There where others there, but those were the highlights. Oh, and I (and lots of toddlers) met the Penguin, of Penguin Publishing fame (see above).

2. I have to send in my first draft of my oral exam prospectus next Tuesday. That is all I'm going to say about that. Jonathan Safran Foer.

3. Our friend Dan is briefly returning from his hiatus to South America and he's staying with us next week. I just like telling people that we have a friend that dropped everything and moved to South America. I feel like it gives me street cred.

4. We're going camping the weekend after that.

5. On the 30th Jason and Kristin will be here for the Stewart/Colbert Rallies to Restore Sanity/to Keep Fear Alive. As if the rally itself wasn't amazing enough, JASON AND KRISTIN. I'm planning on calling the gathering of Centenary people, "The Rally to Negotiate Uncertainty." Plus, that's Halloween weekend. Plus, that is my Dad's fiftieth birthday. I have a feeling that that day is going to be pretty much epic.

That's about it (but not really) until May and June) when the world explodes.

Because in May and June: Ihavemytenyearhighschoolreunion, I'mgraduatingfromGradSchool (crossyourfingers), Carly'sgettingmarried, TimisgoingonrotationsomewhereinSouthAmerica, and only God knows what else.

What am I forgetting? Zis is very crazy, je pense.

Featured Content: Alsn is amazing

Dear everyone,

I knew that my amazing friend Alsn had a blog, but for some reason I'm super self-involved and hadn't actually seen it until today. How do I feel about this? Well, I should feel horrible (ok, I do) but I also feel like I do when I stumble onto one of those random blogs that's wonderful and also written by a stranger. Like: why have I been wasting my time watching NSFW Louis C.K. videos on YouTube?

She is so cool.

Alsn's blog, for sunday morning, is where she shares info about the things that she makes (like ridiculously cute cupcake pin cushions--and notice also the hedgehog in the background) and how you can make them t0o, or, if you're lazy, how you can buy them on her etsy page. You know you love etsy and you know you're a little lazy. I'm just setting you up to win here.

Where Alsn's blog succeeds that mine totally fails is that it's both interesting and useful. I almost can't imagine such a thing.

What really drives me crazy is how I constantly feel the need for art in my life, but I make excuses and I feel like there's never time, but Alsn is so talented and she just does it. And on top of doing it, she shares it with anyone who wants it. I really think she's doing humankind a service here.

Oh bother...

I haven't written a book review since the merry month of June.

For some reason I really thought I'd been plugging along, writing about all of the amazing stuff I read all summer. I have read fifteen novels since my last book post. That's not bragging, that's an indication of how far out in space I am. Floating around, all dehydrated ice cream and no helmet.

If I tried to review fifteen books here, not only would it take me all day, but anyone in their right mind would stop reading and go do anything better. It's almost fall: the season of reasonable weather, ridiculously flavored lattes, sweaters but not gloves, and otherwise-grotesque costumes made adorable by virtue of being worn by both children and pets.

So first things first: this Kindle Business. I bought one. Here it is in its fluffy hand-made sweater. I railed and raged against the whole idea of Kindles and e-readers as a whole for a long time (not that long--I know--because they haven't been around forever) and their cold, evil, electronic ways. But the fact of the matter is, I have to print out hundreds of pages of pdfs each semester and carry those suckers around. This little device will hold them all for me, and save me the cost of paper, ink, and binders. The Kindle also has 24/7 access to a dictionary, wikipedia and YES the internet (albeit, it's a little clunky and black and white), anywhere in the world--for free.

The pros: everything mentioned above, plus the e-ink screen is like nothing I've ever seen before and I could, in theory, download most books whenever and wherever I wanted. And there are literally hundreds of thousands of free classics available.

The Cons: It's not a friggin' book. Period. It doesn't smell like one, or look like one, or get pleasant little tea stains on the pages when you set it down. It has no personality or soul. You'd never lend your copy to a friend (not that I do that anyway, but you see my point). You can make notes in it, yes, but not in your own hand writing. When you read, the top of the page doesn't say the title of the book or the name of the chapter (yes, those things are printed in books for a reason, and have been for hundreds of years.) There are no page numbers. You can't spend a moment lingering on the look of the cover before diving in. The whole experience is just sort of... unsatisfying. Amazon wants you to think it's all very romantic, but it's. just. not.

It's a machine. So I'm glad I bought it because it's a practical tool. But I'll never be in love with it, or curl up with it before I fall asleep. It's an acquaintance, not a lover, no matter how many sweaters it wears.

So. Here is something I love very much.

The Grapes of Wrath (Centennial Edition)
By John Steinbeck

Ahhhhh. This book just feels wonderful in your hands. The Steinbeck Centennial Edition collection from Penguin is just a well-printed set of books. They have a smooth cover, and nice, heavy, deckle-edge pages. When I was in middle school, I used to pick books almost solely based on how they felt; I really liked hard back library books wrapped in clear plastic to protect the original dust jackets. If I work really hard I could probably make this have something to do with The Grapes of Wrath, but it's not really worth it. The next time you're in the book store, just go see if they have this edition, pick it up, and see for yourself if the feel of it alone doesn't make you want to read the thing.

I know that says nothing at all about the content of the book itself, but it's no secret that I love John Steinbeck and I wasn't expecting anything else but to love The Grapes of Wrath with all my heart. And I did. The things that happen in this book are still happening to migrant workers in this country every day. But there's nothing else on earth like Steinbeck's voice to tell it.

I would recommend this book to: people who throw the word "socialism" around too loosely. Oh. No seriously. It's a classic. Just read it.

Where Men Win Glory: The Odyssey of Pat Tillman
By Jon Krakauer

Two of my major weaknesses are at loggerheads in this book. 1. I love and must read anything by Jon Krakauer, because it's like brain candy. 2. I can't sit through anything remotely having to do with war and politics because I feel antsy, angry and helpless.

I wondered, then, what would happen when I picked up this book, knowing that it was about the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan and the massive cover up of Pat Tillman's death by friendly fire. Ordinarily, this is the type of book I would use for a door stop.

What I found instead was a portrait of an incredible human being who was nothing like any of the portrayals I had seen or expected, and an in-depth examination of the situation in Afghanistan in terms that I wish someone had used to explain it to me 9 years ago. Krakauer relies heavily on Tillman's own journals to understand his character, and the result is deeply poignant, more so considering the actions of those in his chain of command following his death. This book was revelatory in so many ways, but it was also gripping to the very last period on the very last page.

I would recommend this book to: anyone who secretly doesn't understand The Wars or feels like it's been a long time since they've seen a true example of heroism.

The Stand
By Stephen King

In 1990, Stephen King reincarnated his already-hefty master-work and expanded it to a sizable 1152 pages. I picked it up because I heard somewhere that it was influential to the writers of LOST. Is that a good enough reason to read something that's 1152 pages long? As it turns out, yes.

My guess is that this novel is immensely popular in part for one of the same reasons that LOST is: it revolves around one of those scenarios you can't help but imagining yourself in. With LOST you think, "well crap, if I was on the island I would have killed Shannon immediately." With The Stand, 99.4% of the world's population is wiped out by a super-flu created by the United States government. The book revolves around the post-apocalypse survivors and their new world. Nevermind that the real answer to "what would you do in that situation?" is probably: "die."

Perhaps I liked the book so much because much of it takes place in Boulder, Colorado and other nifty places where I grew up (even Grand Junction!). The characters make the same trek over the Rocky Mountains that I have to make every year. Only, in a very Stephen King sort of way (PUFFY BLOATED CORPSES EVERYWHERE!). And hence forth, I will never complain about it again.

N.B. The edition I linked to is not the edition I read. Mine had illustrations, which were a little odd and had a tendency to spoil the plot if the book flopped open.

I would recommend this book to: Jessica R. and anyone who thought they might die when LOST ended, but not for the same reasons.

A Voyage Long and Strange: On the Trail of Vikings, Conquistadors, Lost Colonists, and Other Adventurers in Early America
By Tony Horowitz

1492: Columbus Sails the Ocean Blue. Sometime after that, Pilgrim have dinner with Indians. Then there is a tea party (ugh), a Revolutionary War, et VOILÁ! AMERICA!!

The premise of Tony Horowitz's book is essentially: Wait? What? Horowitz explores the hundreds of years of American history that get overlooked in favor of the dominant narrative. We Americans are so fond of the simple history points we've memorized in our origin-story, we tend to overlook the many groups and people who explored this continent long before the Mayflower landed.

Horowitz doesn't want to revise or disparage cherished American mythology. He's not out to upset anyone. He simply brings colorful characters like Cabeza de Vaca back into the picture. A book like this could easily get boring, despite the hilarious antics of sweaty Spaniards slogging through Floridas marshes in 100 pounds of armor, except that Horowitz has his style down to an art. He is a meticulous researcher, but he also follows the paths of the people he's writing about today, and talks to common Americans to learn what they think about the past. It's fun to read about conquistadors, but it's more fun to read about conquistador reenactment festivals being dramatically upstaged by American Indians, about towns where every business is named after De Soto, or the crazy old lady who "discovered" Ponce de León's fountain of youth.

I would recommend this book to: my dad, Tim, and Tim's mom. And anyone who thinks history is interesting, but doesn't feel like they should be punished for trying to read about it.

Bastard Out of Carolina
By Dorothy Allison

I almost don't know what to say about this book. I joined my "Class Fictions" class because this was on the syllabus, and then my professor took it off because she has to miss one week of class and figured that this book was the most well-known and therefor was the most easily-sacrificed. I'd never read it, but I'd already bought it, so I decided to read it before my course work got too heavy.

My god. This book is amazing. It's the story of a young girl's life in Greenville, South Carolina and the writing is just. . . perfect. The story itself--of poverty, abuse, family, self-worth and anger--is so. . . "heartbreaking" seems like too trite a word, particularly when you learn that the story is semi-autobiographical. If there is even a little part of you that feels like taking on a book that will get under your skin, this is the one.

I would recommend this book to: Kacie. I don't know why, I just kept thinking "Kacie would think this book was amazing." And my grandmother, who would have a lot to say.

So Delicious

Ok, I'll admit it. There are a couple of benefits to living in DC. First among them are the free museums. Texas has Dairy Queen. Colorado has mountains. Louisiana has... nutria. No, that's not right. Nonetheless, DC has a free museum on seemingly every corner. And on every opposite corner is a cupcake bakery or a frozen yogurt or gelato shop.

Tim and I try really hard not to be those people who live somewhere and never take advantage of all the cool things it has. I imagine there are a lot of people who live in St. Louis who have never been in the arch. Bad example. Anyway. This weekend we went (back) to the Portrait Gallery to see the Norman Rockwell exhibit, which I'd seen but Tim hadn't yet. On the way we made a pit stop at The-Worst-Museum-in-the-Entire-World, aka The Hirshhorn museum of modern and terrible art. I make a serious effort to avoid it at all costs because, among other reasons, it's designed, as Tim puts it "to fill visitors with existential dread." Oh yeah, and modern art is just crap.

But. There was a piece there called "Flooded McDonald's" that I wanted to see. Here's a 40-second preview of the 20 minute film. It also filled me with existential dread, but Tim said it made him hungry.


Flooded McDonald's from Superflex on Vimeo.
On the way back to Gallery Place to go to the Rockwell exhibit and renew our faith in humanity, we found out it was Arts on Foot day! Arts on Foot is a street festival with art, music, dancing, and most importantly... gourmet food at low, low prices.

For example:

This is an enormous veggie paella. Where do you get a paella pan this big?


And this is the best crab and corn chowder in the world. $3. That's right crab and corn chowder. CRAB! Look at those hunks of meat. "Hunk" is really the only appropriate word.

And this is Tim devouring some sort of slider. There were numerous varieties of those. He's lovely, isn't he?
We also had chicken curry puffs, fresh guacamole, and some sort of beautiful six-layer chocolate mousse from Coco Sala that was just incredible. There are all sorts of other booths at Arts on Foot, but honestly, I never notice any of them because I'm too busy stuffing myself. And I love that I never intend to go to Arts on Foot, but somehow I stumble onto it every year. It's like DC is trying to nonchalantly convince me it's cool. Ok, well, for 2 hours, it worked.

In other news:
I've been wearing my engagement ring for a week. No, not this one. This is the original ring, which was actually so big I had to wear it on my middle finger, and it turned my skin green. But I love it just because it's the one we got engaged with, and Tim got it in Panama.

Still, I think I like this one better, for different reasons. I kind of can't figure out why people are so obsessed with engagement rings in general--why they're so symbolic and everyone wants to see them and talk about them. It freaks me out a little, I'll admit it. I've never liked a lot of scrutiny. But I do like meaningful and I do like jewelry and I do like Tim, so it's a win/win/win situation.

Jack Gilbert

I'm too poor to buy all of my class books from the little independent bookstore, Bridge Street Books, that some Georgetown professors order their books from, so to support them anyway I bought one book there, and one book of poetry by Jack Gilbert. (Effectively wiping out my savings margin from buying my other books on-line.)

At Centenary, we read Gilbert's book, The Great Fires, which contains one of my favorite love poems of all times. And because Centenary is so awesome, I also had the good fortune of hearing him read it... and forget the words. He's sort of a lovely curmudgeon.

This is one of my favorites from the book I just bought, Refusing Heaven, after years of coveting it. The lesson here is that you should never wait to buy a book a poetry, because poetry makes your life better every day.

In the Beginning

In the morning when Eve and Adam
woke to snow and their minds,
they set out in marvelous clothes
hand in hand under the trees.

Endlessly precision met them,
until they went grinning in time
with no words for their close
escape from that warm monotony.

Knee Slappin' Good Chili

I promised my friend Lorena from Panama that I would send her my Chili recipe over a month ago and I still haven't done it (naughty!) so I'll post it here for any and all. This is a quick chili, rather than a crock-pot chili.

Fun fact: at the grocery store when I say "what should we have for dinner this week?" Tim almost always replies either, "Chili" or "Tacos."

Main Ingredients:
1 lb Ground beef or Turkey
1 bottle Beer (preferably light beer, I usually use Corona)
2 16oz cans Plain Tomato Sauce
1 10-16oz can Diced Tomatoes (you can use plain or RoTel)
1 can red kidney beans, drained and rinsed
1 can pinto or chili beans, drained
1/2 Onion, diced
2 Cloves Garlic, chopped fine
Any kind of diced peppers you like
3-4 Carrots, grated finely (the not-so-secret ingredient)

Spices, in order of quantity:
Cayenne Pepper
Paprika
Cumin
Salt
Garlic Powder (yes, more Garlic)
Cinnamon

Toppings:
Shredded Cheese
Sour Cream
Diced Fresh Tomatoes
Saltines or Fritos
Onions (blech, why?)

In a large deep pot, begin to brown the meat over medium high heat. If the meat is very lean (like Turkey) you will need to add a little olive oil to the bottom of the pot to keep it from sticking. Once the meat begins to cook and break up a bit, add the onions and peppers and let the onions get a little translucent, cooking about 3-4 minutes.

At this point I usually add the first round of seasonings. I don't measure these but I would estimate that it's a about 1/2 a teaspoon of each seasoning except for the cinnamon, which is just two dashes. Mix this in and then add about half of your bottle of beer. Let the meat cook in the beer, stirring occasionally, until the beer has cooked off almost all the way, then add the carrots, garlic, and the rest of the beer (assuming you didn't drink it--if you did, well then I guess you need to open another one).

Cook this down a bit, 5 minutes or so.

From here, everything is fairly easy. Add both cans of tomato sauce and the diced tomatoes, as well as the beans. Rinse the tomato cans with a bit of water and put the tomato-y water in the pot. If you forget this step, that's fine, but it helps get all the tomato-goodness out of the cans, and you'll need to add about a cup or so of water to the pot.

At this point, I attack the chili with seasonings again to taste. Be careful because you can always add, but you cannot take out. Start with a few dashes of each and taste it to see what you like. We like a LOT of cumin, and I don't add oregano or black pepper at all. But some folks are the other way around. Obviously though, if you don't have at least some variety of chili powder (cayenne and paprika in this case), you should throw in the towel.

Bring the chili to a low bubble over medium or medium-low heat, trying not to let it boil crazily. After 20 minutes it will be hearty and ready to top with whatever floats your boat.

On the next day, I put the leftovers over pasta with shredded cheddar. Which should be illegal, but no one is stopping me.

Old News is Awesome News

The season finale of Battlestar Galactica aired in March of 2009. Obviously not "Battlestar Galactica, the sci fi series from the 70's" but the reimagined Battlestar Galactica of 2003-2009, which is referred to in our household simply as BSG.

Still, this post is not past its expiration date, thanks to the magic of DVD, and really, I just can't take it any more.

If you people don't watch this shit soon, my brain is going to explode.

Here is my challenge: if you don't watch the entire series from beginning to end, and find it 50 times more satisfying and life-changing than the finale of LOST, I will come to your house, make you and 10 of your friends a 4 course dinner, and never mention it again.*

I don't talk about TV a lot so you must know I'm serious.

Tim and I started watching BSG because of a coworker of mine, who spent a great deal of time on the phone making sure that he wouldn't have any business obligations the night of the show, and saying things like, "OMGit'sgoingtobesofuckingamaziiiiiinngggg!!" Because he was an awesome co-worker, and having Netflix feels like having free movies all the time, I put the first disc of the series on our queue.

Let me just note here: Tim has always stated unequivocally that he thinks science fiction is beyond a waste of his time, like Glen Beck, and brushing his teeth.

When the disc arrived, he said what he also says about rom coms, and things he can't remember ordering: "Who put this crap on the queue?!?! You will be watching this by yourself."

So I watched the first episode--which is actually a three hour mini-series--alone. And fell asleep. It was an epic nap. Lots of explosions and yelling. I don't know how I missed this key fact, but I had no idea it was going to be three hours long, so I didn't program my attention span accordingly. My own fault.

This, however, necessitated watching the whole thing again... in Tim's presence. And at that point, Tim admitted that yes, science fiction was pretty damn awesome and had maybe contributed something to the universe, and we should immediately add the rest of the series to the queue.

Battlestar Galactica is, like LOST, a character-driven series about a group of survivors. Only instead of being on an island, they are on a fleet of star ships, the only few ships to have survived a nuclear attack on their planetary system by a group of machines called Cylons. Cylons were created by humans as workers and soldiers but they rebelled. Now they've returned, and they've evolved. There are some Cylon models who appear human, and they want nothing short of the destruction of the human race.

So. Ok.

This show, being on the Sci Fi Network, could very easily turn into a hot steaming ball of cheese. (Dinoshark? Anyone?)



However, this show is a mass of taut nerves and short fuses. It's a visually stunning show (yay production value!!), but what's more, it's about two issues hidden in a nifty sci fi wrapper: politics and love. Can you have love without politics? Probably not. How many explosions take place when you can't separate politics and love? God, that's the fun part.

From the very beginning of the series, you become invested in the success of the survivors in their search for a place to simply live. The terrorist threat against them comes not only from outside, but from within their dwindling ranks, and possibly from within themselves, as it becomes clear that any one of them could be a Cylon. If you are a machine with emotions, how deeply can you trust those emotions?

I'm disturbed by how much this show says about our culture. Aaaaand by how much the DVD boxed set costs. Because literally every day, I think, "I want to watch Battlestar Galactica."

Bonus, there's a character named "Hotdog."

So say we all.

*If the reason you were unimpressed by the finale of LOST is because you didn't watch the whole series, Dad, you are exempt from this challenge, but I still urge you to watch BSG, because it will make you think twice about robots, er, because you will enjoy it immensely.

So here's what happened.

I am supposed to be in Peru right now. In fact, according to my itinerary, today, the 19th of August, is supposed to be the first day of a 4-day hike over the Inca Trail to Machu Picchu. A hike that I have been planning for well over six months, and dreaming about for something like fifteen years.

Why, then, am I sitting on my couch in DC (curse you, DC!), blogging instead? Oh, that's a lovely story.

In all reality, things started to go wrong on Saturday. I was here in DC by myself, just arrived from Colorado. I'd literally been on a plane, with a headache, all day Friday and I really just wanted to relax and stay in my apartment, but there were a lot of preparations to be made for our trip, and I had to do it myself as Tim was on his way home from Panama. Some time around 3:00, I scraped my butt off of the couch, put some pants on (well, it was a really cute skirt, actually, if you must know), and headed out the door.

1. Bus to the (Sexy) Safeway on L for prescriptions
2. Metro from Chinatown to Tenleytown to Hudson Trail Outfitters and purchase a metric ton of necessary gear for Inca Trail
3. Metro from Tenleytown to Columbia Heights to Target for travel-size stuff, sundries, and an hour of aimless wandering
4. Metro from Columbia Heights to Potomac Ave., walk to the 14th St. (Un)Safeway for enough food for dinner, breakfast, and high-carb and -protein snacks for the trail
5. Carry everything purchased at all of these places home, trying not to lay down under a fort made of my purchases and cry. I hate shopping alone.
   

By the time I got home, I was starving, but I was waiting to make dinner until Tim got home from the airport "at 10:30." This turned out to be a mistake because American Airlines lost all of Tim's luggage in Miami.

So. Tim comes home--no luggage--and it's not toooooo bad because there are only a few really vital things in his bags like his trail shoes; the airline is supposed to deliver them before 2:00 Sunday, and our flight leaves at 6:00.

The curtain closes on Saturday, and I'm only slightly keyed up.

Le Dimanche Arrive. La pièce de résistance.

Sunday morning I wake up with a fever. I feel achy and terrible and I can't stop thinking that I might have another staph infection (Huzzah!), and rather than travel to an underdeveloped country on the wings of a potentially deadly infection, Tim and I decide that we should find a doctor, STAT. (See how I did that? STAT!) But it's Sunday, which means all the normal doctors are closed, and there's no way I'm going to an emergency room, where everything is blown out of proportion: the cost (Oh, you didn't know we were going to charge you $65 for that bandaid? Soh-rry.), the amount of time it takes, the number of people it takes to diagnose the splinter in your finger. Uh uh. We had a flight to catch. Which means: Minute Clinic.

Voilá, a list of things that went wrong in chronological order.

• The car is dead and must be jumped.
• The Clinic's "system is down" and therefore everything is taking three times as long as normal. This means we get to watch the angry lady behind the pharmacy counter mess up 15 people's prescriptions in the space of an hour while-u-wait.
• I'm pretty sure the couple in front of us are here because they have an STD. Which is their problem more than mine. But I'm just saying. "No swimming for a week, young lady."
  
• American calls to say that the guy with Tim's bags is waiting outside our apartment (yay!) but when Tim tries to leave the clinic to let him in, the car will not start. So he has to take a taxi to our apartment, put the bags inside, and then take a cab back. He can't just leave them outside our door... because it's raining.
• I finally get in to see the doctor... who tells me he's not allowed to diagnose staph infections, "that's usually a referral situation." BUT I'm obviously in a huge hurry and I feel like crap so he writes me a scrip for an antibiotic, and then I have to write my insurance info out on a blank sheet of paper because, you know, the system is down.
• I put in my prescription. It's only $4! Yay!
• The car is still dead. And it's boxed in. By what turns out to be church parkers. Baptist Church parkers. Tim's car is an automatic and it won't budge an inch once it's turned off, so there we sit for two hours plus some because the woman with the car next to us, as her her cousin informs us, "is folding pamphlets." When she and her passengers arrive, they all get in the car, close the doors, and pop the hood without saying a word.
  
• At this point it is nearly 1:30 in the p.m. Neither of us have eaten. We are not packed. We have to leave for the airport at 3:00. And my fever is getting worse.
  

So the horrible decision is made to postpone the flight until Monday or Tuesday. Tim calls the airline as soon as we get home, and hearing him postpone the flight that we've been looking forward to for so long makes me burst into tears. Which makes my fever even worse.

FYI: I have never canceled a flight for sickness in my life. Stephen King says that people get sick before flights because it is our bodies telling us the plane is going to crash. I spent a good amount of time scouring the news to see if ours did, but it did not. It is really, really bad, when the only thing that can cheer you up, is the news of a plane crash.

And then Tim starts going through his luggage.

Because his passport isn't here.

And his passport isn't here...

Because it's in Panama.

And if Tim's passport is in Panama,

Then we're not going anywhere.

At all.

You see, for his job, Tim travels on a diplomatic passport. It's illegal for travel on a diplomatic passport just for shits and giggles because diplomats have special privileges. And if you abuse them, you can get fired, and I'm not sure, but I think you can go to jail. At least I kind of hope you do, because if I have to wait in this horrible line you should have to too. And even if he was allowed to travel on the DP, our itinerary expressly states "We have booked this tour with the passport information you provided us, so if you change your passports, you must bring both, the old and the new one, in order to be able to take this tour." So even if he could get into Peru... he couldn't go to Machu Picchu.

This is stated right above the place where it says: "This tour is non-refundable."

That's right folks. We can hold the cost of the flight. We can keep or return all of the gear if we want to. But all of the money we paid for the tour, which, in case you're wondering is a nice fat $1600, is gone. The tour company said that they would let us know in 5-6 days if some of the balance could be applied forward since Tim and I still want to go, later in the year, but it's a big if, and a big some.

So. In the space of a few short hours, the potential for Peru went like this:

9:00 a.m. 100% (we're going today! YES! Best day ehvar!)
12:00 p.m. 85% (we'll go tomorrow when I feel better! Ok.)
1:30 p.m. 75% (We'll go Tuesday, when I'm SURE I feel better.)
4:00 p.m. 60% (We'll go Wednesday when someone in Panama overnights the passport)
4:30 p.m. 40% (No one in Panama can hear my screams. No one in Peru is answering our calls.)
12:00 p.m. 0% (This is the worst day of my life. Period.)

How much more excitement can you handle? Gauge your answer carefully before proceeding, Dear Reader.

At 1:30 in the morning, I had been crying and feverish for fully 12 hours. I was laying in bed, thinking about--I wish I could say, "eating a whole box of popcicles"--thinking about maybe just dying. Tim came and laid in the bed with me, and put his arm around me and I turned to him and said,

"Will you marry me? For real?"

And he said,

"No. Shut up." And he ran into the other room.

Which really helped the situation.

So I rolled over and put a pillow over my head, and wondered if our plane had crashed some more.

But Tim came back with his State Department cuff link box, and in it was a very cheap and crappy little ring, which nonetheless has great symbolism and took Tim a very long time to pick out, because he'd been thinking about it much longer than I had (and it takes him a long time to pick out everything).

And he said, "will YOU marry ME?" and something else that was very, insanely romantic, but I can't remember, because I was laughing at the ring, and I was a little punch drunk from not eating and being on a lot of medication.

As it turns out, he was going to propose at Machu Picchu. But since everything got ruined, and then there was an earthquake, and then demons had a barbecue on top of the rubble, and after all that I didn't kick him out of the house, I think he figured he should get me while my guard was down. Which is almost as sneaky as getting someone while their brain is deprived of oxygen on top of a mountain.

It's possible that this sounds crazy, but I'm almost relieved that the stars aligned this way. That he proposed during the trial-by-fire (btw--our car needs a new alternator, $450 worth of work, thanksverymuch), instead of when everything is cute, and happy, and covered with whipped cream and double rainbows. It's really easy to like someone when everything is going well. How easy is it to like them when they've left their passport in a cupboard in a locked apartment in Central America, the day before you're supposed to go on vacation? For that matter, when they're feverish and sniffling and talking nonsense and they're wearing a "Pineapple Express" t-shirt that's two sizes too large?

If you ask Tim, he will say hands down that he proposed to me. He had a plan (albeit one that did not involve this level of catastrophe). That I have asked him that a 100 times and I'm usually drunk, and anyway, I didn't have a ring. The Gender Studies Minor in me wants to say, "what does that matter?" But the other 80% of me is relieved. I'm more in love with him than ever (how cheesy is that?) and I'm glad we want to marry each other.

And I'm so glad we never do anything normal.