Swimmers Among the Rocks

Fish Tacos and Pineapple Salsa

2012-01-20T12:01:00.002-04:00

Considering how delicious the fish tacos we had the other day were, I thought I'd post the recipe. The pineapple salsa was what really put them through the roof.

Fun fact: every time I type the word "pineapple" it comes out "pineable."

Pineapple Salsa:

1 pineapple, trimmed and diced
1 shallot, minced
2 cloves garlic, minced
juice of two limes
1/2 cup chopped fresh cilantro
1/2 tsp sea salt
1/2 tsp chipotle chili powder (the best part)

Toss all ingredients together in a bowl. Let it sit for at least one hour in the fridge before use to allow the flavors to meld together. Taste and adjust seasoning (or add more shallots) to your preferences. The chipotle flavor will really come out amazingly in the pineapple after a short time.

This salsa recipe makes much more than you will need and can easily be halved

Fish Tacos:

Ingredients for the Fish (makes enough to feed two, adapted from a Clean recipe):

1 lb skinless bass, halibut, or trout, cut into cubes
1/4 cup chopped fresh cilantro
Dash of sea salt
Juice of 1/2 lime
1 cup plain almond milk, or enough to cover

Place the fish in a bowl and mix with the other ingredients. It should be just submerged. Cover and refrigerate for 1-3 hours. When ready to cook, preheat oven to 300 degrees and place tortillas on a baking sheet. When oven is hot, place tortillas in oven to keep them warm until ready to use.

Meanwhile, heat 1-2 tbsp olive oil (I used coconut oil) in a frying pan or wok. Remove fish from marinade and cook until just browned, about 5 minutes. (If the fish doesn't brown because there is too much marinade in the pan, don't overcook it trying to brown it, it will still taste great!)

Build tacos with tortillas, fish, pineapple salsa, and sliced avocado. Enjoy!

In case you're interested, for the Clean program, we used sprouted corn tortillas (which are ok because once it sprouts it's a vegetable... I think) but you could also use brown rice tortillas. And beware: the salsa is juicy! It will run down your arms, but it's so good it doesn't really matter.

Clean: It Begins

2012-01-19T21:04:00.000-04:00

Tim and I are embarking on a nutritional cleanse.

What, you ask, is that? And, why?

Ok, maybe you're not asking that, but you're getting the answers anyway.

Ask yourself this, would I ever follow advice from Gwyneth Paltrow?

Me neither. Not usually. Not least of all because her advice is generally really expensive. It's for things like eight-star hotels in Hong Kong and face cream made out of solid gold.

However, this time she recommended something called the Clean program.

It's a cleanse, which is also something I normally smirk at. It seems fairly obvious that most popular cleanses are a TERRIBLE idea. The idea of the "Master Cleanse" (i.e. nothing but lemon juice, maple syrup and chili pepper for a week) just makes me completely crazy.

This is me (looking a little sleepy)
Day 1, 142 lbs.

Anyway, Clean is a nutritional cleanse, and it was designed by a cardiologist from Uruguay, so I'm already biased.

Long story short, the cleanse involves cutting out packaged and processed foods, and foods that contain potential irritants and toxins, for 21 days. That means no red meat, dairy, sugar, wheat, caffein, alcohol, tomatoes, eggs, potatoes, soy, corn, etc. for three weeks. It seems like a long list, but what I like about this cleanse is what you can eat.

We just finished the week-long pre-cleanse. This includes three solid meals a day from the "yes" list which is pretty much any fruit and vegetable you want, quinoa and brown rice, organic chicken, lamb and fish, etc.

Last night for dinner we had amazing fish tacos with pineapple salsa and avocado for dinner.

The night before we had lamb-stuffed mushrooms and fresh veggies and homemade hummus.

Fresh juice! And vitamins!

So, for the next 21 days we have to the a liquid meal for breakfast (fresh juice or a smoothie), a real lunch of clean food, and a liquid dinner. All of this is backed up with probiotics and supplements. You're still encouraged to get at least 1200 calories or more each day so that your system doesn't go into "famine" mode and stop detoxing.

There's an entire 336 page book that goes along with the cleanse and I read every word. I'm pretty pleased with everything it has to say. And I feel solidly educated.

I'm not in this to lose weight, I just want to feel generally better and have more energy. Tim is in it because I would be awful to live with for three weeks (technically four weeks, with the pre-clease) otherwise. But really, I'm pretty pumped for both of us. Stay tuned.

The Mugi Saga

2012-01-17T15:27:00.000-04:00

Loving and creepy at the same time.

This ridiculous fathead is Mugi (pronounced "Moogie," more on that later).

For Christmas, Tim gave me a cat. He tried to keep it a secret, but I knew what he was going to do the minute he said, "we should wait and exchange gifts after we get back from Colorado." Cats are a gift that notoriously don't age well in wrapped packages.

Despite the "Christmas" intentions, it took us weeks to actually adopt him because of all kinds of complications, including an upper respiratory infection. Finally the vets called and said, "I think he'll get better faster and be happier at home with you." God, she wasn't kidding. I've never seen such a happy cat.

People are always giving me cats. Maybe there's something on my face that says, "I'm a sucker for anything furry." It could also be that I frequently say things like, "Aggghhhh. I wish I had a cat/dog/hamster/squirrel/lemur, etc."

In high school Trina picked up a cat from a box outside the grocery store and brought her to me as a "surprise." I love this. This type of impulsive behavior is why she's in my wedding party.

Srsly Fat Face.

In college, Tim's sister Carly found two kittens under a truck parked outside of a Chinese restaurant. They were small enough that both of them fit in the palm of your hand at once. It was fun to be a full-time college student with two kittens who were too young to be weaned, one of whom liked to sleep in my hair, suck on my ears and pee on my head.

Still, I'm lucky that these people thought of me when random cats appeared because they all turned out to be hilarious, charismatic cats. Which is not just something I'm saying because I'm crazy cat lady (which I probably am). There is such a thing as a boring asshole cat, I know.

In general cats can be compared to Hollywood celebrities. Don't tell me you haven't looked at your grandma's cat and thought of like, Elton John or Joan Rivers. They're simultaneously standoffish and attention-craving. They can be picky and weird and moody and their contributions to society range from "etherial" to "box of crap."

But some of them totally win.

i'm upside down, showin u my bellies.

Case in point: Mugi.

This cat is like the Johnny Depp of cats. What I imagine it would be like to live with Johnny Depp in real life. If he were a cat.

Mugi likes to slink around the apartment, meow philosophically, and then fall over and roll around. Rolling around is his favorite hobby.

He also enjoys sitting as close as he can to your face (sometimes on your face) and reaching his ENORMOUS paws out and touching you.

He purrs almost constantly (i.e., right now), and unlike any cat I've ever met, he loves, loovvesss, to have his belly rubbed. He will wedge himself into ridiculously uncomfortable spaces, like a Chilean miner, but he leaves his belly tantalizingly exposed.

I think he might fit.

Basically, he's lived here for about three days and he's already sneezed on everything I own, discovered every hiding place in the whole apartment, lost his collar, made a disastrous mess in the guest bathroom, and established that he is in charge.

If that doesn't sound like A-list behavior to you, then I don't know what does.

Postscript: His name is "Mugi," which was my "Blue Ivy Carter" moment. The shelter named him "Moogie" which is an utterly meaningless name (though it's better than "Pampers" and "Panera," the names of some of the other cats up for adoption). Given the choice we probably would have named him "Huckleberry" or "Thucydides" but my one real superstition is that you can't change an animal's name. However, according to the illustrious Alsn, "Mugi" is the Japanese word for Barley. (I can just hear Gwyneth Paltrow saying those words. Whatever.) He's definitely a barley kitty, in that he would hide in it and then jump out and love you to death.

Raspberry Mint Chocolate Smoothie

2012-01-13T12:41:00.001-04:00

I like to have smoothies for breakfast in the morning but am lazy and usually just make some combination of frozen fruit/yogurt/juice/banana. Monday I whipped this up as an alternative and, as my colorful grandfather would say, I'm as pleased as a pig in shit with myself. All of the ingredients are pretty good for you (even the cocoa--don't try to tell me otherwise, I will Google fight you into the ground) and I feel not a shred of remorse for having had three of these this week.

Macca approves.
Except I was probably supposed to take the picture
before I inhaled the smoothie.

Raspberry Mint Chocolate Smoothie

In blender add:

1 cup frozen raspberries

3-4 sprigs of fresh mint leaves with the stems discarded

1 tbsp dutch process cocoa

1 tsp agave or honey

1 cup chocolate almond milk (or enough to just cover the other ingredients in the blender)

Blend all this together on low, then switch to medium for ten seconds or so. Enjoy!

Also, Happy Friday!

Crazy Talk

2012-01-05T15:15:00.001-04:00

Being unemployed would be a lot more difficult if it weren't cold outside. Most days, I feel a very strong urge to go outside and make something of myself, but then I open the door and feel how cold it is. I have no idea how people in Greenland accomplish anything.

That would be a good research project to conduct in my "time off."

Here are some book reviews.

Damned
By Chuck Palahniuk

This is the seventh book I've read by ol' Chuck. At this point, I may just be reading them out of habit--a yearly antidote against Fox News and Christmas time car commercials. If, like me, you have ever read anything by him, you already know that this book is not exactly PG. If you have eyeballs, you also probably judged that from the cover. The beauty of Chuck Palahniuk is that, while his books can be aggravatingly childish and will occasionally make your face bleed with the Brett-Easton-Ellison-level of depravity described within, he's not writing filth just for the sake of filth. Damned, like many of his other novels, offers a heavy critique of modern culture with a lot of satire, irony, and dark humor smeared on top. Don't read it if you can't define the word "glib." It's about the teenage daughter of a Hollywood power couple, who finds herself in Hell after dying of... a Marijuana overdose. Palahniuk's hell is both totally different from, and exactly what you would expect it to be.

I would recommend this book to: Kristin and anyone who hated The English Patient, so, not you Dad. :/

Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me? (And Other Concerns)
By Mindy Kaling
(Audio Book)

Like Bossypants, by Tina Fey, the audio version of Mindy Kaling's book has the distinct drawback that you can't see the pictures and you can't really lend it immediately to all of your friends. However, the benefit of the audio version is that you come to feel like Mindy is your bff and the only thing stopping her from texting you is pretty much the fact that she doesn't have your number... yet.

Mindy not only plays Kelly Kapoor on The Office, but is also the only female writer on the staff. This in itself is enough to make me want to read the book (Is Rainn Wilson really as insane as he looks?). But the book also has essays about other hard-hitting topics like cupcakes(!) and karaoke and being chubby. Yes, obviously, I want to know what hilariously funny people my age think about everything. The chapter "Why Do Men Put on Their Shoes So Slowly?" is not only hilarious, but probably worthy of serious scientific investigation. I seriously want to know, why do men put on their shoes so incredibly slowly?

I would recommend this book to: Kacie, Jessica L., Jared (I know you already read it, Boo.)

The Filter Bubble: What the Internet is Hiding From You
By Eli Pariser
(Audio book)

Do not buy the audio book version of this book. It is an excellent, well-researched book that requires at least minimum focus and concentration to comprehend and absorb what Pariser is trying to tell us, which is--I think--that the internet is a powerful tool for building communities and expanding our capabilities, but that the current course of search and social network technology is severely limiting the way we experience not only the internet, but the whole world, in a detrimental way. Got that? Whew.

It will be easier to explain if you just want to watch this amazing TED talk (which is basically the introduction to the book, BTW).

If you've ever felt like something about Google and Facebook (their targeted ads and seeming mind-reading abilities, for example) are just a little bit skeevy, but you can't put your finger on what, this book explains what's going on in language that is easy to understand and far from conspiracy theory crazy talk.

I would recommend this book to: my Auntie T-Bone, and um, others who use Facebook

The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo
By Stieg Larsson

I know, it took me like a hundred years. I don't think I have to convince anyone to read this.

I'll just say that it's easy to see why this book is the thriller for the new Millennium, pun maybe intended. Thrillers and detective novels of the past were founded on the principle that the most dangerous people in society were always outsiders: homosexuals, women, people with disabilities, anyone of a different race. Think of Peter Lorre in The Maltese Falcon. Could there be anyone more threatening to a white male than this effeminate man with an untraceable accent? And then there's the Femme Fatale, the woman who will seduce you and then kill you the minute you turn your back.

That so many people have enjoyed this book speaks in part to the fact that it's a gripping story, but it also has to do, I think, with a new attitude towards who can be "in" and who can be "out." It's amazing how far Stieg Larsson goes, with Lisbeth Salander, to shout in our faces that times have changed, are changing. And when you look at the types of crimes committed in this novel and the treatment of their perpetrators, there can be no mistaking this novel as a novel of the 21st century. The writing style may be simplistic but there is a lot going on.

I'm seriously not even going to bother recommending this. Sweden doesn't need my help.

Resolution Schmesolution

2012-01-03T18:02:00.001-04:00

Here's a picture of some donkeys, just to make you happy.

I have once again run out of bookshelf space.

This isn't really surprising since I obviously have a much bigger problem: my book addiction is still wildly out of control.

I have about 274 books that I own but haven't read yet (not including books on my Kindle).

TWO HUNDRED SEVENTY FOUR.

Under good circumstances, I can read about two books a week--but I don't, because I try to go outside every once in a while. That means that if I stop buying books right now and stop trying to accomplish anything else, I will have all of these books read by July of 2014.

I've never really been a "Resolution" kind of person because that kind of psychology inevitably fails me (and apparently lots of other people too). If I couldn't accomplish something I wanted to accomplish before some arbitrary date, I probably won't be able to accomplish it afterwards. Also, I generally like myself, and don't really want to go through a shame cycle every January.

Ah, the time-honored tradition of the shame cycle.

Nevertheless, last year (in March) I set the goal of reading 50 books in the year because I like goals with definite ends. (NaNoWriMo is a perfect example of this sort of goal.)

"I will work out more," would never cut it as a goal for me because it's not quantifiable. "I will work out 100 times this year" definitely would, not least of all because it would allow me to shop for some kind of notebook where I could cross off days, and after my 100th workout I could probably work out two extra times just to make myself feel extra smug, and then not get off the couch for the rest of the year. Goal accomplished! No guilt needed!

Anyway, I met and exceeded my 2011 goal. I read 64 books, which is enough for me to comfortably cross off the poetry collections and Kindle Singles that don't count and go with a solid 60.

This year, I can't be sure I'll read as many books with the wedding and everything else on deck. Instead, my goal is not to buy any books until I've finished reading at least 10 that I already own. You heard me, no NEW books, until ten of the sad, lonely books on my "unread" shelf get moved over to the "read" shelf.

It seems like an easy goal, but for me that's like saying I'm not allowed to brush my teeth or eat a half of a chocolate cake by myself. I can and I will.

Be aware that this might increase my number of pleas for books as gifts. If I can't buy them for myself, that doesn't mean I won't try to get them through other nefarious means.

In case you're wondering, I'd really like a copy of Murakami's 1Q84.

Delete, Delete, Delete

2011-12-20T05:39:00.001-04:00

Sometime while I was in Uruguay I got addicted to playing The Sims Social on Facebook. Before that, it was Gardens of Time. Before that, I played Plants V. Zombies on my phone. This trend can be traced back in an almost unbroken stream that includes Snood and Collapse pretty much alllll through Centenary until we got the Wii, and on back through Jill of the Jungle, Commander Keen, Duke Nukem, Wolfenstein, Rooms of Doom, and about a million other DOS games that I could play for HOURS on end without stopping. I think I played Klondike so much during my year off between high school and college that it's amazing everything didn't appear to float before my eyes on a green felt background.

Most of the time I don't feel like all that time I wasted really put too much of a dent in my life. I haven't developed any weird deformities at least, and I have to edit my resume down to one page instead of up.

But holy crap, it's sort of time for the madness to stop.

Today I deleted The Sims off my Facebook account, and the sure sign that it was definitely time to blow that sucker up: I felt a little pang of physical pain when I clicked "delete." Because the games on Facebook are designed to be more addictive than crack cocaine and reality television combined, my addled brain actually thought for just one moment, "I'm erasing all my hard work!!"

Bitch, please.

Unlike solitaire and Wolfenstein, which you could play in an infinite loop and never asked anything of you, the new games are exactly like what I imagine your corner pusher is like. A little flashier, a little more street wise, and WAY more withholding. You can't play The Sims or Bejeweled or what-have-you on an infinite loop until your brain melts and you feel better and then go about your life again. Instead, they give you a little taste, (Here, have 15 "energy" or "coins" or whatever) and when that runs out, in order to even make the game minimally functional, you have to either,

a) wait around for the game to "recharge"
b) pay actual legal tender for fake, non-legit "gold" or "bux"
c) beg your friends like a pathetic asshole for more "life juice" to get your fix or parts to build your spaceship, etc.

AWFUL.

If I wanted to play games and feel bad about it, I'd go to one of the three arcades left in the United States and beg unsupervised teenagers for quarters.

Anyway, I have a wedding to plan and a novel to write and like, anything else on earth to do. I'm not gonna lie; I miss it already. I had finally saved up enough "Simoleons" in-game to buy a grand piano for my Sim, which took me about a week of hardcore unemployed time-wasting. And the fact that I even dedicated more than 25 seconds thinking about that--more time than I've spent practicing my ukulele, for sure--is why it totally had to end.

The Audio/Biblio Club

2011-12-15T19:48:00.000-04:00

I'm currently reading Anna Karenina. So.... If I don't write a book review now, it may be a while. Plus, I just realized I haven't written one since September. Like, as in, September.

For some reason I didn't read nearly as many books in Uruguay as I did in Panama. I'm going to blame NaNoWriMo. It's hard to read and write and hike Machu Picchu at the same time.

Also, there are two audio books on here. First let me say that even I am a little baffled by my recent trend of listening to audio books. But because I'm too lazy to cancel my Audible account, I keep ending up with credits and I have to use them on something. It's not that I necessarily have anything audio books per se, it's just that I'm the opposite of most people who like them. Most audiobook listeners chose audiobooks because they don't have time to just sit around and read. On the contrary, I have nothing BUT time, so I have to invent tasks to do while I listen to an audiobook. Like crocheting a blanket, for example. And spinning my own yarn out of cat hair. Things haven't gotten that extreme yet, but I have about ten audiobooks in my queue, so look out.

Your next birthday gift could be very impressive. And maybe a little itchy.

God, No!: Signs You Might Already Be an Atheist and Other Magical Tales
By Penn Jillette
(Audio Book)

There are really two parts to this book that are woven together sort of willynilly. Part one is covered under the, "Signs You Might Already Be an Atheist" portion of the title, and part two falls under, "Other Magical Tales." The two parts really have to be rated separately and will appeal to you differently depending on what you're in the mood for.

If you know anything about Jillette's argument style from the show Bullshit on Showtime, you probably know what you're getting into concerning his arguments about religion. As an Atheist, it's nice to hear someone say out loud (or on paper, I suppose, if you have the book version) that it is absolutely possible for atheists to have morals, principles, and a general philosophy of human decency. The sections of the book that are written about Atheism are by far the strongest and most interesting sections. Jillette is not only interested in Atheism, he suggests that the only useful form of Atheism is one that is unflinching and unapologetic. I'm not as compelling as he is, or I would also have a show on Showtime, but suffice to say that his arguments made me feel awesome about saying, "I DON'T KNOW."

If you're mainly interested in boobs and magic tricks skip all of the philosophy and head to the more memoir-y sections of the book, which are replete with just that. Did you know that Teller, the other half of "Penn and Teller" is actually a normal-sized person? He just looks small because Penn is like 6'9" tall? Yeah. The more you know. I'm less interested in these parts of the book because I really don't care what un-named hot models he dated, but I supposed it's good that the book it not one long tirade on Atheism, since there are enough of those.

Actually, I take it back, there are not enough of those.

The Hotel New Hampshire
By John Irving

Oh John Irving. Master of taking random shit, slapping it on the page, and somehow making a book out of it.

I got the urge to read this book because somehow I learned that it was about a family who lived in a hotel with a bear. That's only a small fraction of it. Of course there's a bear. Of course there's a football player. Of course there's a circus. And someone named Freud and someone named Egg.

This is not my favorite of the many John Irving books I have read, but it certainly deserves credit for engulfing you in the world of the Berry family, for whom it would be unusual if something usual happened. I got mad at the book about half way through for reasons I won't say. I don't want to spoil anything, but it wasn't a case of bad writing or boring plot that moved this book from the "like" column to the "not so much" column. Let's just say I didn't agree with Irving's narrative decisions.

I don't really know what to say. You don't read a John Irving novel to get from point A to point B. You read it to see how "normal" life is actually very strange and vice/versa. I just... Ugh. Why John?

The Invisible Mountain
By Carolina De Robertis

This novel was recommended to me by my friend Natalie at the Embassy in Montevideo when we arrived there. Uruguay has a rich literary history and bookstores on seemingly every corner, but it's almost impossible to find translations of any native Uruguayan books. This one solves that problem because--TA DA!!--it's originally written in English. De Robertis was born to Uruguayan parents in England and now lives, I believe, in the US. Fun!

This book is fantastic, and if you don't believe me, ask O Magazine, where it was number nine on the list of terrific reads for 2009. Would Oprah lead you astray? Would she?

This is the story of three generations of Uruguayan women in one family, in Montevideo and Buenos Aires, through the Peron era and revolution. It's one of those wonderful novels that combines history, mythology, a little bit of magical realism, vibrant story-telling, and great characters all in one package. Plus, you learn things without even trying. Did you know that Uruguay had a military dictatorship? Neither did I.

Town House
By Tish Cohen

I paid 99 cents for this book and thus my review might be a little higher than it would be if I had paid $9.99, if that makes sense. For 99 cents, this book was hilarious and fun to read. For $9.99, I might have wanted a little more out of it, maybe. It's the perfect beach book. Too bad it's December.

Town House is about Jack Madigan, the agoraphobic son of deceased rock star Baz Madigan. He lives in the titular town house with his teenage son and their deformed male cat, Mrs. Brady. He is tormented by three people: his ex-wife's marvelous new boyfriend, the realtor who is attempting to sell his town house out from under him, and a nine-year old girl who may or may not be climbing in through a whole in his wall. Oh, the high comedic value of anxiety disorders. It can't be helped.

I laughed out loud while reading this book multiple times. I almost wish they would make a movie out of it, but only if they could promise not to lose the irony oozing from the narrator's voice.

Blood, Bones and Butter
By Gabrielle Hamilton
(Audio Book)

Oh, foodie memoir. You are moderately charming, but you're mostly getting kind of old.

Anyway, here's the deal, go read the first chapter of this book right now. The first chapter is so charming and well written, so surprising and interesting, that it makes up for the fact that the rest of the book is kind of... whatever. The first chapter of this book could have been a short story in the New Yorker or The Best Non-Required Reading. I listened to it twice.

Alright, enough gushing. The funny thing about the rest of this book is that a lot of times when I hear or read things that food people write, I agree with them totally and completely, and I'm a little horrified by how pretentious they sound. Because that means I sound pretentious too. This book is like that. Hamilton has had a really interesting life and I completely agree with everything she says about everything (YAY FEMINISM!), but after the first chapter this book still made me feel a little UGH. Is it because it seems sort of hip in the bad sense of the word? And almost impossible that so many of us (who is "us"? Middle class white people?) could suddenly have these feelings about food at the same time? I don't know.

Just go read the first chapter.

Win!

2011-11-30T11:38:00.001-04:00

I verified my novel last night--more than 24 hours ahead of the midnight, November 30 deadline--at 50,608 words.

I almost don't want to talk about this experience because I don't want to jinx it.

Think of the one productive thing that you've always wished you could do but have always been too busy, lazy, or intimidated to do it. Now let's say that someone applies just the right amount of pressure, while removing all of the mental obstacles. There's no reason to say no.

Right now, the novel I wrote is not a masterpiece, by any means. Two of the main tenets of NaNoWriMo are "No Plot, No Problem," and "Write First, Ask Questions Later" meaning, basically, that it's an exercise in getting lots of words down on paper, not in being your harshest critic. Over-thinking every word is one of the number one things that holds new authors back. You can't afford to get mired in a cesspool of self-criticism when you've got to write 1,667 words every day, which is the second great thing about the whole experience.

Having a visible daily goal, with a monster end-goal in sight (and a group of hundreds of thousands of other people trying for the same goal) makes an enormous difference. Even with all these incentives, it's incredibly difficult to set aside such a huge hunk of time that could be spent doing just about anything else, but it's really rewarding to look at your word count for the day and see that you've written not just one thousand, but three thousand words.

So... what to do with my novel? It needs so much work before it could ever be anything like something someone would want to read. (And I haven't even written the end yet.) But, cheesy as it may sound, I feel like now I'm better equipped to get it there. And there are more ideas stewing in my head for something else. I'm so glad I did this. Period.

Orange Ginger Cranberry Sauce

2011-11-23T18:47:00.001-04:00

Is it a little excessive to make an entire Thanksgiving dinner for just two people? Probably.

Well, actually, yes. Because there's no way on earth we can eat an entire ten pound turkey. But no one can stop us from trying because this is America.

Anyway. I am ECSTATIC to be back around my sharp knives and cutting board and shiny red mixer and millions of beautiful hand-me-down pots and pans and I have already started the madness. Yesterday I made fudge. Today I made the brine for the turkey (I used the recipe from PW). A pumpkin pie is currently in the oven. And I invented my own cranberry sauce recipe because I couldn't find exactly what I wanted online. All cranberry sauces are basically really simple, but this one turned out pretty damn good if I do say so myself.

Orange Ginger Cranberry Sauce

1 bag fresh cranberries
Zest and juice of 2 large oranges (separate)
3 tablespoons grated fresh ginger
1 tsp olive oil
1/2 cup sugar
3/4 cup brown sugar
1/4 cup honey
1/2 tsp cinnamon
1/4 tsp ground cloves

Wash cranberries and inspect for stems and squishy berries. Discard anything icky.

In a large sauce pan, briefly heat olive oil over medium heat. Add ginger and orange zest and cook until they begin to sizzle. You don't want them to heat too dramatically or start to change color at all, just to get nice and hot.

When ginger and zest are hot, add the juice of two oranges and stir in the sugar, brown sugar and honey. Allow to dissolve slightly.

Add cranberries and bring to a boil over medium-high heat. When the mixture boils reduce heat to medium and continue to stir it until the cranberries start to pop and become soft.

Add cinnamon and cloves. Simmer for five minutes or until the sauce thickens, stirring occasionally. Give it a taste and make sure it's not too tart; add sugar or spices as necessary.

Allow to cool completely. I dare you not to eat this on a turkey sandwich. I dare you.

Mexican Mail Fraud

2011-11-18T12:19:00.001-04:00

We fly back to the States tomorrow. I can't believe that our time here has gone so fast (and that Tim's fellowship is over--he's like, a normal person now! Pfft.)

This is the view today. It's NOVEMBER.

Reasons I do not want to leave Uruguay yet:

It is summer in Uruguay
I totally dig all of our friends here
Waking up to this amazing view from my living room, every single day
The steak: seriously, there is no beef like this beef. This beef sings songs in your mouth. This beef woos your brain. And there is no "well done" here. There is only "jugoso" and "a punto": i.e. "rare" and "less rare." Ohhhhhhh... I can't leave!!
Anyway... Cheap movie tickets
My electric kettle: it changed my life.
Lack of awful bullshit rhetoric-machine on the television 24/7
There are bookstores on every corner. Even if they're not in English, I don't care.

Reasons I'm looking forward to going back to DC:

Access to my full wardrobe
Mexican Food (are you ready, Jana?)
Access to Netflix, Amazon Prime, and Hulu streaming (which you can't get outside the US without a VPN)
Access to my cellphone: I've heard my parents' voices like, twice in the past three months. Also, I need to uh, plan my wedding.
Wedding dress shopping
We might be getting a cat! A cat!!

Ok for real, I'm not looking forward to going back to DC at all. I can basically live without most of the stuff in the States that I don't have here, except the Mexican food and the people I miss. And my sharp kitchen knives. I really miss my sharp kitchen knives. And I basically never want to hear another word about American politics ever again. Just vote, people.

Most of all, winter in DC sucks. SUCKS, I tell you. I was super-miserable the first month here in Uruguay but now that I've adjusted I soooo don't want to leave yet. Just give me another month or two, ok? And maybe mail me some tacos and enchiladas.

Time Travel for Amateurs

2011-11-14T13:47:00.001-04:00

I'm reeeeeally supposed to be getting caught up on my novel after spending three days sitting on the beach and eating steaks, but I had to share this because it's too incredible. Look at these two pictures and then take a look at this article that Tim sent me today from Montevideo's newspaper, El Pais.

In case you don't speak Spanish (welcome to the sad, pathetic club) the general gist is that 40 years ago today, about 100 yards from my house, there was a terrible helicopter accident that killed 8 people and injured 40 others while a crowd of thousands watched. This morning in Pocitos (we are right on the edge of the neighborhoods of Pocitos and Buceo) there was a memorial for the victims of the event--both those who died and those who were traumatized by it.

This from the illustrious Google Translate: "That day, as part of the 154 anniversary of the Navy, test on the capabilities of helicopters in rescue work was scheduled. The event generated great expectations. About 20,000 people attended."

First, I just think this old photograph is amazing. That's where I live. From where I'm sitting right now, I can see where the photographer who took this picture was standing!

Photo credit: El Pais

Second, I'm totally one of those people who walks around freaked out by the idea that there are skeletons inside of all of our bodies. So along the same note, I'm totally, insanely fascinated thinking about what took place on the ground we walk all over every day. In Uruguay it's an especially fascinating exercise. For better or worse, even the mall sits on the site of the prison where thousands of political prisoners were held and tortured during Uruguay's military dictatorship. You have to walk through the prison gates in order to get in. And, "The former prison administration building now houses a McDonald’s and a Don Pepperone restaurant with patio seating." There is an admitted element of the grotesque to all of this, but it is impossibe not to find it interesting, and important--I think--not to forget.

I was admittedly a little bored by Uruguay when we first got here and it's my own fault for being that way. This is not a place that flashes its history around on its sleeve and makes a tourist attraction out of everything. However, once you begin to learn the history of the place, you understand why and you can't help but appreciate how much people here value their day to day lives. It's kind of nice that Uruguay doesn't pretend to be reducible to just one souvenir image: the Eiffel tower, the White House, the Hollywood sign.

Uruguay is a small country. It's incredible to think how an event like the one in the photo above would have affected people and what they might have thought, especially taking place as it did during a time when Uruguayans were "disappearing"because of their political beliefs.

This is why I love to travel. I love to see the beautiful and absurd and sometimes horribly sad things that happen in the world and how other people deal with them. Seeing a picture like this makes me wonder how many people who were there that day--standing on the beach I look at every day--I've passed in the street, and if they look at my building and think about how it wasn't here once. It's like traveling in time as well as space.

Idle Hands

2011-11-07T12:25:00.002-04:00

Humble beginnings, on the floor of the sunroom in the first apartment.

When I first arrived in Uruguay it was still late winter here (in August! Inconceivable!). It was cold and gray and dreary and I realized about three days in that it was stupid of me not to have brought some sort of knitting project. The whole point of knitting, as far as I'm concerned, is to keep you warm while you space out and watch TV. And I'm totally incapable of watching TV without doing something else at the same time.

Within about two weeks I couldn't stand it anymore and I started to look for Uruguayan yarn stores. It turns out there was one only a couple of blocks from our first apartment.

My grand ambition was to obtain some some of Uruguay's incredible locally-produced yarn and make some sort of gorgeous, luxurious... thing. But what they prefer to do in the yarn stores here is produce the gorgeous things themselves, and sell them--already knitted. Then they sell expensive bamboo yarn and cheap acrylic yarn on the side. Please note the bright, insane, synthetic colors of this blanket.

"Cathedral" edging

For a while now I've wanted a granny square blanket, because they're so deliciously silly and fun. This turned out to be the perfect project on one hand because crocheting a granny square allowed me to keep my brain busy with lots of different colors, and only required me to buy one needle instead of two (This is the worst. logic. ever. As knitting needles come in pairs). It was not so perfect because crocheting a granny square blanket means that you essentially make a hundred million little coasters, which you then combine together at the end. I started this project because I was cold and wanted a blanket. The only way to be warmed by it during the long process would be to put them all in a big pile and then burrow under them.

Anyway, the pattern I used was this Summer Garden Granny Square, which is not a normal, plain jane granny. It was also sort of interesting because, did I mention, I haven't crocheted a damn thing since I was 8 years old? Even then I'm not sure what I did could be properly called "crochet."

However, through the patient tutelage of the internet (hurrah internet!!) and a decent amount of frogging and re-crocheting, the thing is finally done!

It is now spring in Uruguay and essentially too warm for a blanket, but it's sort of pretty. I'm trying to decide what to do with it now. It's not really the granny square blanket I always dreamed of... any takers? Should I donate it? Is anyone pregnant?

Donezo.

10 Kilometers of.. Well ok.

2011-11-06T10:38:00.000-04:00

Somewhere in the last couple of weeks Tim convinced me to run a 10K with him.

This is something people in Montevideo do all the time. Tim ran in the Reebok 10K two days before we left for Peru, giving me nightmares about sprained ankles and shredded tendons; but he came back from it all sweaty and proud of himself (and wearing the ugliest neon yellow shirt I have ever seen). I'm not really sure why I said yes to doing running in the "We Run Montevideo" Nike 10K, since it's something I want to do never, but Tim paid my entrance fee for me and I couldn't back out.

So. What is there to say about it? In that snobby, obnoxious way that I have, I sort of feel like these are the kind of activities yuppies participate in (I'm not talking about you, Elsa!). I can't help it. I don't really understand why you would pay to exercise when you could just go out in the country and hike around for free.

Then again, after having participated--with 9,000 other runners--I can also see that having a common goal with a lot of other people is (even if the goal is sort of ephemeral) kind of incredible. I would never want to hike with 9,000 people. This is just a whole different animal.

Uruguayos are way into this. There were people of all different sizes, ages and abilities running (and rolling, and propelling themselves forward on crutches!). And along the route, which took us along the Rambla, which hugs the rio, and then through the city, where people were lined up, cheering and drinking their yerba mate, banging pots and pans, and generally being very encouraging. "Vamos! Vamos! Mas rapido!"

At one point along the route there was even a group of Uruguayan Candombe drummers, which is the first time I've had the chance to see them since I've been in the country. So insanely cool.

Anyway, because I am remarkably lazy, I/we hadn't trained much for the race. Once again we made it as far as day one, week two of Couch to 5K (where's my medal for that?). But it really didn't matter all that much; we did fine. My official time was something like an hour and 25 minutes, which you can check out here (and Tim's too) if you're so inclined. Not surprisingly, there weren't a lot of other "Smiths" or "Carpenters"in the race.

I'm not sure I'll ever do that again, but I'm not sure I won't. It was definitely satisfying and fulfilling to cross the finish line, and for an hour and half worth of activity, that's not something you can say about watching television or wandering around Best Buy. (But you can say about naps and drinking margaritas: two more things for which I have neither received, but for which I deserve, a medal.)

NaNoWriMo

2011-11-03T20:42:00.000-04:00

Did you know that November is National Novel Writing Month? Well, until two days ago, neither did I. At least not in any way that had any affect on my life. Then I read someone's facebook status and found out that NaNoWriMo (as it's less formally called) is celebrated by pushing yourself to write an entire novel in one month.

And for some reason I decided to participate.

The rules are pretty simple (hot from the NaNoWriMo website):

Write a 50,000-word (or longer!) novel, between November 1 and November 30.
Start from scratch. None of your own previously written prose can be included in your NaNoWriMo draft (though outlines, character sketches, and research are all fine, as are citations from other people’s works).
Write a novel. We define a novel as a lengthy work of fiction. If you consider the book you’re writing a novel, we consider it a novel too!
Be the sole author of your novel. Apart from those citations mentioned two bullet-points up.
Write more than one word repeated 50,000 times.
Upload your novel for word-count validation to our site between November 25 and November 30.

However, nowhere in the rules does it say that the novel has to be any good. The point is output rather than quality.

So. That's that. I'm on day three. I'll be posting my progress on the blog, here, or on the link at the top of this blog. I make no claims that it's any good at all. But since I have to write something like 1,667 words a day, I'm going to pretend that this will keep me accountable.

Please do not ask why I picked "literary fiction" as my genre of choice. I really, really, should have gone with "zombie apocalypse averted by magical Amazons on unicorns."

Next year.

Pictures of People in Front of Real Things That Look Like Backdrops

2011-11-01T21:01:00.001-04:00

I've spent an unacceptable amount of time thinking about what to write about our trip to Peru.

We've been back over two weeks and I've sort of just been holding it and chewing on it in my brain like a piece of gum. There's no way on earth I could ever fit all of our Peru trip into one blog post, and even though I wish I could have posted about it every day that we were gone, the fact that I couldn't access the internet easily was one of the best things about the whole trip.

The fact of the matter is that the trip to Peru, even with all of the hiccups and bad parts, was the best trip I've ever taken in my life.

Before we left I was pretty much not very happy about life in general. I'm pretty good at being unemployed because I'm the kind of person who never gets bored. But I'm also the kind of person who needs a comfortable home to not-be-bored-in and for our first month in Uruguay I hated our apartment with a violent screaming passion. It started to wreak havoc on my self-esteem. I felt like I wasn't accomplishing much, I felt stagnant, and I felt penned-in.

We've been planning for, thinking about, worrying over, getting in turns excited by and then disappointed by this Peru trip for so fucking goddamn long that finally putting our feet down in Cusco was like walking on the moon. And that wasn't even the most important part of the trip.

Our first day in Cusco both Tim and I slept pretty much the whole day. This isn't really how you would think we'd react to something we'd been anticipating for so long, but we'd been traveling for over 24 hours, we hadn't eaten well, and we went from sea level to over 11,000 ft in altitude. I had a migraine, of course.

However, as soon as we recovered, and within about twenty minutes of walking into the city, Tim and I both felt not only like we wanted to live there, but like we already lived there. I've never felt anything like that about a place in my life. Cusco has all kinds of faults and uncomfortable truths about it, but it also just felt like home. We both wondered, immediately, if there was a consulate, or any way Tim could get a job there (there's not).

Anyway, we spent the first four days or so walking all over the city, eating and getting lost, taking pictures and running out of breath. We took a bunch of tours and politely declined our travel company's suggestion that we go white water rafting since it was freezing cold and, well, we can do that anywhere.

On the 9th (I think), we started up the Inka Trail. Our guides came and picked us up at 6:30 in the morning and we drove for about an hour to pick up the rest of our group and have breakfast, and then drove for another 30 minutes or so to KM82 to start the trail.

Day 1: The easiest day of hiking, except for the rain and the fact that we didn't have enough porters, so we all had to carry more gear. Because of the missing porters we didn't end up eating lunch until probably 2:30 in the afternoon, which is difficult to manage when you haven't eaten since 7:30 and you're hiking with a big pack. Still, I was sort of relieved by the spontaneity of it because it meant that not every group has the same cookie-cutter experience. And we were too awed by everything to worry about pain or hunger.

At the top of Dead Woman's Pass

Day 2: The hardest day of hiking. Tim got really sick the night before and we had to hire a porter to carry his bag (and I got lucky that he took some of my gear too). The hike on this day is nothing but straight up for about five hours, up to almost 14,000 ft, with no stopping for lunch or to look at ruins. Then when you reach "Dead Woman's Pass" you hike down steep stone stairs for about two hours down to camp at about 11,500 ft. Tim looked like a ghost all day he was so sick.

Some of the ruins on Day 3

Day 3: This is the longest day of hiking: ten hours, but you stop and look at a number of ruins, and have a nice leisurely lunch break. You have to cross two passes this day, but end up lower than you started, at about 9,000 ft. On this day you hike on the most incredible Inka road, where the stones are lined up perfectly like teeth, and the mountains are unspeakably gorgeous. It doesn't even matter that you've hiked for ten hours.

Day 4: Machu Picchu. We got up at 3:45 in the morning for breakfast and to gather up our things. There are no porters on this day so you have to carry everything yourself (which we had been expecting to do all along, but was a big surprise for those who had hired porters expecting them for the full four days). It's about a 2-hour hike from camp into Machu Picchu. This was by far my favorite part of the hike. It was too misty to really see the sun rise, but it was incredible to watch the mist lift off of Machu Picchu. There really aren't words to describe the feeling of accomplishment, or to describe the feeling of resentment you feel for the people who take the train, who have energy and smell nice and slept in beds and take up too much space after you worked so damn hard to get there.

For about 45 glorious minutes you get to look at Machu Picchu with hardly any people in it. And it's just breathtaking. And then the trains start rolling in, and with them come literally 2000 people and it's almost impossible to walk from one place to the next and you kind of start feeling a little greedy and hating humanity a little bit.

But here's the thing, even with no Machu Picchu, I needed that hike SO BAD. I needed so badly to do something hard, and painful, and dirty, and occasionally a little bit awful (the toilets y'all, OMG) and because of that awfulness actually pretty funny, and to meet some great new people, and to really just scoop my whole brain clean. Every single minute of the trail, even the bad ones, was fun. It sounds terrible and hard, and none of us got to shower for four days and the entire time, at every single meal, someone talked about diarrhea, and Tim told me afterwards that on the morning of the second day he woke up and his feet were swollen so badly he almost couldn't get his shoes on and neither of us knows why...

BUT: I also saw some of the most beautiful, mysterious and impressive things I've ever seen in my entire life, we played Uno every night with the tiniest deck of Uno cards I've ever seen, I ate the best trout I've ever had, I slept soundly and woke up refreshed even though we were getting up at 5:45 every morning (if you know me, you know this is insanity), Tim drank tea!

The day before we got on the plane to fly to Peru we had a moment where we were both so convinced something would go wrong, and almost convinced that we wouldn't even be able to enjoy ourselves, that we wished that it was already over. This should indicate the fever pitch of insanity we'd both reached before we even left. But this sense of anxiety completely dissolved up on the trail, never to return.

The number one question people in Cusco ask when they hear that you hiked the trail is, "would you tell someone else to do the trail, or take the train?" or, "are you glad you did it, or do you wish you'd taken the train?" The answer is that I would absolutely do it again and I don't even want to talk about the train. I know that a couple of hundred people do it every day and I'm supposed to be jaded and think it's touristy and somehow not "genuine," but all that muscle pain was certainly real and that was the best, coolest thing I've ever done. Period.

Pachamama

2011-10-22T09:32:00.002-04:00

You may be wondering why no information on Machu Picchu has been forthcoming.

On our return flight from Peru, Tim and I had a layover in Chilé. What began as a seven-hour layover turned into a 32-hour layover when a cloud of volcanic ash passed over the Andes and shut down both the Montevideo and Buenos Aires airports. We got a free night's stay in the Santiago Crowne Plaza hotel, but we arrived in Montevideo a day late, or, at approximately the same time that Tim's parents arrived here from Buenos Aires. This set off a whole chain reaction of behind-ness.

We (Tim and his parents and I) have all been gallivanting around Montevideo all week and today we're leaving for "the Riviera of South America," i.e., Punta del Este. This is my way of saying that our trip to Peru DID happen and there ARE pictures to prove it (see?), but we're doing all kinds of things right now that make it a little hard to fully sit down and properly address it. I can only really write about something when I'm not doing anything. Earnest Hemingway would be ashamed.

Don't worry, be happy.

2011-10-05T15:24:00.001-04:00

I know it's very premature for an update about our trip but we have had a less-than-auspicious beginning and I can only hope this means everything will be flawless from here on out.

As we were getting ready to call our cab to go to the airport I got on line to check in for the flight and discovered that, in fact, for the past year, there's been no record of Tim's flight. I've only been receiving updates about MY flight, but I hadn't noticed. So twenty minutes before we're supposed to go out the door it appears that Tim has no flight. Long story short, in the midst of our major panic attack we finally got in touch with Orbitz, who we will NEVER use again and discovered it was "no problem." There was some glitch in their system that made Tim's ticket invisible to human eyes or something.

Then in security I forgot I stuffed the pocket knife my dad and stepmom gave me for Christmas into my hiking boot and it was confiscated... But it was in Tim's bag so HE got stopped and HE had no idea why. Poor Tim, let us heap our burdens on him, shall we? Jesus.

Anyway, we're set to board. And we have determined and decreed that nothing else can go wrong. Peru!! Trip of a lifetime!!

PERU

2011-10-05T10:36:00.002-04:00

Tim and I are leaving for Peru today. I'm all keyed up from planning for years and years and OMG our flight is at 6:00. I feel like my arms are about to fall off my body. Why is THAT the way I'm reacting to this? I have no idea. But I'm so excited and freaked out.

WHOA HORSEY.

Upper Crust Problems

2011-10-04T12:07:00.000-04:00

Last week I learned something about myself that I couldn't have known, but that Tim predicted: I do not like having a cleaning woman. One of those weaselly little details I left out when I talked about this huge, ridiculous apartment is that--included in the price of the rent--are two days per week of maid service. On Wednesdays and Fridays for three hours, a very nice woman comes and cleans the entire apartment.

As someone who proudly grew up in a single-wide trailer, I'm going to go ahead and say definitively that this is more of a culture shock than anything else I have experienced in Uruguay.

On one level, what the maid (cleaning lady?) does while she's here is really no big deal. She takes out the trash, vacuums and mops all the floors, she washes all the towels and changes the sheets, she cleans the counter-tops in the kitchen and bathrooms. But there's another level of cleaning that drives me absolutely batshit insane.

I will acknowledge that being poor, an only child, and a child of divorce has made me neurotically and un-Buddhist-ly particular about my stuff, but I also think our maid may be crossing some sort of line. For instance, the maid not only straightens the items on the bathroom countertop when she cleans it (understandable), she straightens the items in the bathroom drawers (DON'T TOUCH THEM, LADY). She not only makes the bed (ok fine), she reorganizes all of the shit on Tim's and my bedside tables, (again, paws OFF). Same with the kitchen counters and the kitchen cupboards.

If I'm eating lunch when she shows up, she'll pick up my dirty lunch dishes as soon as I'm not looking. I'm not broken! I can pick them up myself! (My mother is probably scoffing at this. However, there is simply a huge difference between the way a stranger picks up your lunch dishes and the way you lovingly leave them laying around until your mom does it so she still feels needed [just kidding, Mother]. This lady is not my mom. And I'm not paying her to be.)

On a far weirder note, on her first visit she moved our handsoap into the shower and locked the closet where the towels are kept, taking the key with her, meaning that we ran out of towels and couldn't get to the clean ones. So I moved the soap back to the sink (thinking that was a subtle way to indicate that that was where we wanted it) and asked her not to lock the towel closet. On her second visit, she took all but one of the handsoaps in the entire apartment--we have FOUR bathrooms--and she still locked the towel closet. In short, having a maid (at least, having this maid) feels more like having a very invasive old aunt impose her will on you because she knows what's best. It feels, mostly, like you have attempted the experiment of adulthood and failed, and now need someone to pick up everything after you.

The truth is, I have very few responsibilities here. No one really holds me accountable for anything. I have no job, no school, just a few credit card bills. I mostly just have to bathe myself, take care of the apartment, and try to remain socially acceptable. In Panama, mopping the floor was actually sort of fun for me because it was the hardest thing I had to do. All play and no work also makes Jack a dull boy. And having a maid has removed my last actual responsibility. Not only that, but the few things I do clean, she re-cleans, and re-arranges. I'm sure she feels that it's her job and she's helping, but mostly I feel like she's repeatedly slapping me with a ruler.

It's a shithead thing to complain about. And there's no WAY we're going to fire her because she needs the work and I need an attitude adjustment, I'm sure. But it's weird how much I dread having her come and clean and how totally uncomfortable she makes me. It's like how birds will reject their chicks if someone handles them and then puts them back in the nest. My toothpaste and my cornflakes are my chicks and this lady keeps getting all handsy with them. She can't help it because, well, that's what we're paying her to do. But sweet jesus, it drives me crazy.

Dry

2011-09-28T13:31:00.000-04:00

I'm not sure why I haven't chosen to write about this before. It's a sob story I find myself having to rehash and revisit with surprising frequency, but never in full. It only ever comes up in the kind of situations when you find you would never want to explain the whole situation.

I frequently write about things that I do, but I very rarely write about things that I am. What I am is someone who has a monster sitting on my shoulders. My migraines are not just something that show up every once in a while, they are a disease. Every disease has a unique personality, like beasts in a menagerie. Migraine is a creature, a black, hairy, hulking golem that sits, literally, on your shoulder and waits for any misstep.

There are all kinds of ways to make all kinds of diseases rancorous and spiteful against you. Arthritis hates the common movement of your joints. Epilepsy sometimes hates the flickering lights of movies and clubs. Heartburn and diabetes hate to see you let down your guard about what and when you eat.

Migraine is incredibly touchy, and almost completely unpredictable. It's triggers change and keep snowballing over time. And it's unbiased in its hatred. It becomes angry if you get too much or not enough sleep, if you are dehydrated, if the air is too humid or too dry, too hot or too cold, if the light is too bright or the sound too loud. It lashes out if you have too much caffeine, MSG, or aspartame. If you have been on an airplane. If you're stressed out. If it's been too long since you've eaten or if you eat too much. If your hormones are off balance. If you sit in one position for too long. If you exercise too hard. If you stand up too fast. If you smell natural gas. If you cry.

And perhaps predictably, the evil little bastard becomes completely enraged when I drink.

I, and many, many other people like me, spend thousands of dollars a year trying to soothe and tame this disease. Once every couple of months I commute about an hour out to my neurologist's office to tell her how things are going and see what's working and what we can try, and to get refills on the five or six prescriptions I have to keep things in line. Though I am fortunate to live near one of the only clinics specializing in migraines in the entire United States, I'm not always happy with how my visit goes, because basically, there's still not a lot that people know about migraines. It's a disease of the nervous system and most of the available drugs were actually designed for other uses. The usual advice is, in general, be vigilant. Watch everything your body does vigilantly.

And the thing I find it most difficult to be vigilant about is not drinking.

The problem is, I love drinking. I love it passionately.

As I said, the things that set the creature snapping and snarling change and evolve over time. I've never been able to drink red wine. Many people can't. And it's no sacrifice. It's not the sacrifice. But I would, if given the chance, be the sort of person who had a couple of gin and tonics every other night with dinner. I had been waiting to get a big enough apartment to start brewing my own cider. Mimosas and good bloody marys make brunch brunch. Tequila is... there aren't even words for what tequila is. It's beautiful.

But beyond the fact that a rum and coke without rum is just... coke: alcohol is social. And to not drink on principle is fine and noble, but to not drink out of physical coercion, because of this alien presence in my brain, is utter and complete misery. I don't always want to drink. But when I do want to drink, I am left not just sober in the physical sense, but sobered in that I'm constantly reminded that my body is somehow broken.

I don't want to tell people, "I don't drink." Because it's not true. But I also don't want to tell people, "I can't drink," because it begs the inevitable question, why? I have had people ask if I'm pregnant, and been tempted to tell them "yes," because it's much more pleasant than explaining: "I have a demon in my brain."

Worse are the times when I say, "I can't drink," but the temptation to do so is overwhelming.

About a year and a half ago I began to notice that beer, which has always made me sniffle after two or three, had begun to give me violent allergic reactions. Now, when I drink beer, my sinuses shut down and I become incredibly dehydrated, which leads to, of course, a migraine. Allergy pills have no effect, but the fact that I can't breath is very convincing for other people who weren't sure what I meant when I said, "I'm allergic to beer."

It's true that I can drink clear liquor occasionally, if it's mixed, and if it's proceeded and followed by copious amounts of water and food. Anything else but the smallest glass of white wine is out of the question. It's like playing roulette: if I chose to play and land on black, that's all she wrote. For anyone who has ever experienced the pain of a migraine, you know that you would do almost anything to avoid it.

I feel like an orchid. I always thought of myself as rather hale and hardy, but instead it turns out that my body is much more capricious than I imagined.

There are far worse diseases that I could have, with far worse side effects, and I have no desire for sympathy. In general, I try to live my life as though it were only me that occupies my body, and not myself and also this foreign usurper. But I find myself making a lot of excuses for it, needing to explain some aspect of my behavior, most days, because of its presence. More than anything, I am simply tired of explaining and asking to be excused from life.

Some days I imagine going on a glorious and dramatic raging bender: sitting in a sauna, getting piss drunk, staying up for 48 hours, eating all the chow mein I can, crying, screaming, and bungee jumping, drinking nothing but diet Mountain Dew--doing all of the things my migraine hates and bringing on the worst headache in the history of the world, causing an epic battle, until one of us comes out dead. It would be the ultimate struggle, with either victory--a life free from headaches and this constant vigilance, or defeat--pain and darkness forever.

Most days I don't know if it would be worth it, but every time someone offers me a drink I am tempted to find out.

Fishbowl

2011-09-26T14:05:00.000-04:00

Right now there's a dude doing some sort of crazy Tai Bo outside in the park. I can see him.

I can see lots of things.

Because we moved into our new apartment.

And my camera doesn't have a wide enough lens to encapsulate how enormous the windows are. Among the other things I can see through my enormous fish bubble are:

The Ocean
The Naval Museum across the street
A skate park
The stupid ugly building where I used to live, way, waayyyy off in the distance
The yacht club
A swimming pool (I don't know how to get access to it yet)
The bus depot
This amazing hamburger stand: Hamburgueseria el Condor.

Hamburgueseria el Condor makes nothing but hamburgers, hotdogs and chorizo sandwiches. They don't even serve fries. And their hamburgers, as if trying to solve the age-old question, "why is it called a hamburger?" are made with a beef patty, a slice of cheese, and a big ol' slice of ham. Of course. (Because everything here has ham on it.)

In addition, you can put mushrooms, olives, chimichurri, spicy peppers, garlic sauce or just about anything else on it. You can! You really can!

I digress. What's important is that we finally moved. We really only spent a little over a month in the other place, but living somewhere you don't like can change your whole outlook on life. This new apartment, however, is mega overkill. One might say it is extreme.

In addition to our amazing, excessive, insane view of the Montevideo skyline, and our white furniture and our flatscreen TV (recall that the last TV was shaped like a dishwasher and bolted to our bedroom ceiling), this place also has three bedrooms and four bathrooms. Once again I ask, what is one supposed to do with four bathrooms (and four bidets)?

Saturday, our first day in the new place, we did five loads of laundry. The lavendaria we'd had to take our clothes to before--where you drop off your clothes and then they return them to you washed and folded--had taken to losing our socks. I have a very limited supply of socks here. We boycotted them and hadn't done laundry in weeks. (The glamorous life of a diplomat!) So while the washer here only hold about 8 shirts, it is still a gift straight from the gods. THE GODS I TELL YOU.

Kitchen! Real kitchen! With. a. dishwasher.

Some things still take a little getting used to. All the controls on the appliances are foreign and take a little trial and error. For instance I think the dryer might be asking me how many hundreds of times I want it to spin my clothes around. But I don't know.

And the refrigerator has a space-age control panel we haven't figured out yet. It beeps angrily if you keep the door open very long. And there's a button with a palm tree and a button that says "I Care." Please let me know if you have any idea what they mean. I do care. A little.

Also, it is very easy to get lost. I'm convinced that one of us is going to try to walk into the back bedroom and end up in the labyrinth from House of Leaves. Or at least discover a fifth bathroom or another kitchen. And how awesome would THAT be?

Parilla (grill) on the back patio, washer and dryer to the right.

Anyway, I supposed it seems a little weird that I'm happier now having the flu and being in a nice apartment than I was being perfectly healthy and living in a crappy one. I'm a nester. I nest. I need my living space to be bright and sunny and not smell like sewage

I'm probably going to miss the sound of our neighbor vomitting in the middle of night.

Or probably not.

Our bedroom... has California closets.

Buenos Buenos

2011-09-21T14:59:00.002-04:00

El Ateneo Bookstore

Q: Which South American country is a pirate's favorite place to make port?

A: Arrrrrrgentina.

Ohhhhhmahgah, I'm so funny.

But seriously. So we went to Buenos Aires this weekend and it was definitely the most fun thing that we've done since coming down here. In part because getting to Buenos Aires means taking a ferry boat called a Buque Bus which is both like and unlike every form of transportation I've ever taken before.

The ferries I've taken in the states (between Anacortes and the San Juan islands in Washington state, for instance) are always a little gusty and fairly soggy. The Buque bus is a legit way to travel... not just to get somewhere, but to travel. It's a three hour trip (a three hour tour?) and it goes between two countries, so you pass through customs on your way in and the boarding areas have duty-free shops and plush leather couches. The boat itself is divided into tourist class and first class, and really only differ a little. Both have large cushy seats, a full cafe, big windows overlooking the ocean, TVs that play a combination of American TV and ads for Argentinian fashion shows, and one or two noisy children. Neither has assigned seating so it's first come first served. First class has hostesses (Waitresses? Stewardesses?) in first class will bring you you order and pick up your tray, and there are slightly larger, but slightly less comfortable seats.

I've basically decided that I want to travel everywhere by boat from now on. It's way more laid back an comfortable than air travel and you never have to turn your iPod off or remove your shoes involuntarily.

The stage of El Ateneo Bookstore.

Now, frankly, we had no idea what we were going to do in Argentina until we got there. When we finally arrived, lightening struck my brain, as Smee says, and I remembered that one of the coolest bookstores in the world is located in Buenos Aires. This is why is pays to troll around on a lot of nerdy blogs. A quick google search revealed that said bookstore was not only, yes, in BA, but also a mere four blocks away from our hotel. (By the way, if you're ever going to Argentina, this hotel was great--amazing location, good free breakfast and a canopy bed!)

I have three favorite bookstores: The Boulder Bookstore, which I love fiercely and maniacally and literally spend hours in--like a crazy hobo--every time I go home; Books Plus, inside The MLK Memorial Library in DC, where everything is $1-$2; and Capitol Hill Books, which is like a hobbit hole full of books and the owner, a former Naval Officer, puts ironic signs on the books and will yell at you if you say something stupid.

Now... El Ateneo, which occupies a former theater, could easily be added to this list... IF... oh if, I spoke Spanish.

Still and all, as you can see from these pictures, it's basically one of the most amazing places you could possibly put a bookstore. We went back three times. And we ate lunch at the café on the stage. Their selection of English books is sad, sad, sad (J.D. Robb much?). But I bought copies of The Hotel New Hampshire by John Irving and The Periodic Table by Primo Levi. (NB, I'm not saying that foreign bookstores should be required to carry English-language books, only that, if they choose to do so, they should pick a few books that don't have the author's name in raised neon letters on the cover.)

Recoleta Cemetery.

Our hotel and El Ateneo are in a neighborhood called Recoleta, an area that's somewhat similar to St. Germain in Paris, only with aristocrats and artists rather than students and artists. The area is a hotbed of museums, cafes and street fairs, with a huge, incredible cemetery at its heart.

Recoleta cemetery is like the cemeteries of New Orleans turned up to 11. In addition to the above-ground crypts, it's not unusual to peek through the glass door of the huge tombs and see underground vaults with old wooden coffins stacked up on shelves beneath the floor.

Yes, that's a child-size coffin.

Some of the tombs are perfectly maintained, full of flowers and potted plants, free of dust; their coffins are covered with clean lace cloths and the glass doors are locked with heavy padlocks. But others are disheveled; the coffins are stacked and broken, everything is covered with cobwebs, the glass and the stones are broken. It just serves to reinforce what an odd species we are. How we care about bones, which, really are just bones, enough to build these elaborate houses for them... but we also don't care that much.

This is the cemetery where Evita Peron is buried, by the way. Just another box of famous bones.

My Laurels

2011-09-20T16:52:00.000-04:00

Anyone want to hear a funny story? Remember how I graduated back in August?

Well actually I didn't.

Or I did. But I didn't until a week ago. If you can wrap your brain around that.

Here's what I know about what happened: On July 9, I submitted my application to graduate on August 31. Word on the street was that I had all my ducks in a row and all I had to do was rest on my figurative academic laurels.

Then round about September 3 I got an email from the head of the English Department that said, "Oh hey hi. Just keep in touch." And since I still hadn't received an email or a letter saying "YOU, GRADUATE, ARE A WINNER," I asked him what was up with my graduation and he said, "well actually, Idk. We can't find your folder."

Uh. wha?

My wha?

Can't wha?

So apparently someone in the office went on leave and like, hid my file under a bushel or something and even though only ONE step needed to be completed in my graduation application (i.e., it needed to be approved by the English Department) and someone could have just asked me what was up, or, you know, looked online, no one contacted me or let me know what was happening (which was nothing).

So all I needed to do was tell the department head, "Yes, I'm done," and he approved my application and it got pushed through to the Grad School to be finalized. That's it. Why didn't anyone call or email me, oh, I don't know, in JULY or AUGUST? There are only like 13 people in our program. We can't be that difficult to keep track of.

But since I was eventually contacted and they worked out and were nice about it, that part's not really so bad. The person who usually handles these things is on leave. That's understandable.

What really bothers me is the way the school, Georgetown itself, communicates with its students. When I contacted the Grad School if they had gotten my graduation application, I got back an anonymous reply that said "check your online account in a week." Since my online account has about 75 things in it and none of them say "graduation status," I asked where to look and was told, "check your transcript."

Now.... Georgetown is a very expensive school with lots of famous alumni and large endowments. Are you telling me that they can't afford an email, as a courtesy, to let you know that you've graduated? Or, on a related note, letting you know something has gone wrong with your graduation? We have no faculty advisers so it would be great if just one person on the staff paid some attention to whether people were actually graduating or not. And to whether the school was behaving courteously towards its students, who are, after all, also paying customers.

Anyway. After two months of wondering, since there's no clear place to check, and no one on the staff with whom to communicate, I am pleased to be able to say that my online transcript now has a retroactive graduation date of August 31: I magically graduated 3 days before I found out I had not actually graduated.

Congratulations to me.

El Moo.

2011-09-12T16:49:00.000-04:00

Yesterday was a strange and interesting day.

Of course, I've blasphemed Uruguay by calling it boring, which I still mostly think it is, but yesterday we found something fun to do. This month they're having something called "Expo Prado" in what is basically their version of Central Park. It's like a giant stock show that lasts for an entire month.

When we got there we were starving, which was good because there was a restaurant right inside the gates and bad because it was an utterly bizarre eating experience.

1. About five minutes after bringing our bread, before I could eat any, the waiter took it away from us and dumped it into the basket of the table next to us without saying a word.
2. The waiter seemed deeply offended when he asked what we wanted and we didn't know because no one had ever given us menus.
3. No one would bring me a fork. Which was kind of ok because,

4. The food was completely inedible. The smoked animal carcases cooking outside looked and smelled like a good sign, but what we got was bones and fat that smelled and tasted, somehow, like fish. Bad. Bad. Bad. Bad.

After the dining hiccup the rest of the day was a lot of fun. I'm not sure I've mentioned that the two things Uruguay is most famous for and most proud of are their dulce de leche and their beef. All of the beef here is grass-fed, which is not hard to imagine since most of the population lives in the capitol and the rest of the country seems to be wide open grassland. Dulce de Leche, caramel, on the same note, is made from milk or cream and sugar--so it makes sense that they're very excited about their cows.

I've been to the stock show in Denver enough times that I had some preconceived notions about what to expect, and I was mostly wrong. All of the same pieces were there: livestock, ranch and farm equipment (they had some really nice chutes, which Tim referred to as "hug machines"--this is how I know he belongs in my family), cowboys/Gauchos, horse sports, and fair food. All of the pieces, however, were distinctly South American.

The cattle--Bovinos-- were calmer than any cattle I have ever seen in my life. They were all bulls and they were all sleepy eyed and docile--in fact half of them were napping. They were in large open--OPEN--pens that held about ten bulls each and the
Gauchos were sitting with them, smoking and chatting with people who came up and petted them (petted the bulls, not petted the gauchos).

And there were so. many. people. It was like being in the pit at a concert, not being in a large building full of sleepy bovinos. The entire fair ground was shoulder-to-shoulder packed with people, which, if I was a bull, being patted on the face all day by all those people, I might find a little upsetting. Maybe they were sedated? Maybe Uruguayan cattle are just way less stressed than the Denver stock show cattle because all they do is eat grass and hang out with their Gauchos all day?

Anyway after petting all the bovinos we discovered that there was also a steeplechase going on that day, so we stood and watch horses jump over walls that were taller than I am and it was insane and terrifying. Any sort of activity where horses jump or run always terrifies me because I worry about their tiny horsey ankles. Please don't ask me why.

Before going in to visit the Ovinos (sheep) we bought and devoured some amazing churros. You can also get them relleno with dulce de leche, but we just got them plain. They tasted like they'd been deep-fried in salted butter and then sprinkled in both salt and sugar. It. was. amazing.

The sheep were less interesting than the cows, but sheep always are. Except the baby sheep or the ones that are close enough to pet.

Afterwards, and after being nearly crushed to death by the throng of people in the "Brazil" booth who were trying to the get to the chocolate fountain, we headed home and decided to take the bus. Public transit in other countries (even just in other cities) is always an adventure. Like everywhere else in Uruguay there was classic rock playing the whole time and the bus itself was actually nicer than many of the buses in DC. Can't beat that.

War, Freak Shows, and other First Date Ideas.

2011-09-08T15:30:00.000-04:00

It's nice being in a foreign country and having nothing to do. I'm almost caught up on my book reviews. Or actually, not really at all. Because I also keep reading. But whatever. I'm probably not going to review the book I'm currently reading because it's written by my Grandmother and it's not yet published, but when it hits the shelves I'll tell you allll about it (it's freaking amazing). Still while I read that I've been listening to audio books (not simultaneously), which is something I've never liked but am working on. Anyway... moving on.

Geek Love
By Katherine Dunn

Oh the mysterious pleasures of the freak show! I know about Katherine Dunn because she wrote a non-fiction collection of essays about boxing that I used in my oral exam. That book and this book could not be more different in every way except to say that they are both supremely well written and they never flinch or shy away from the nitty gritty.

This book is not about gamers or computer nerds who fall in love and experience ennui because they can only really interact through their much more attractive avatars. I'm sure that book is out there somewhere; maybe it's "Nerd Love." This book is about a carnival worker/owner and his wife who experiment with all kinds of drugs and chemicals in order to breed their own traveling freak show. If that doesn't sound at least a little bit interesting to you, we have nothing further to talk about. The story is then mostly about the family and their crazy bodies and minds and their interactions with the "norms" around them, including the cult that follows Binewski's Carnival Fabulon all over the country.

A great deal of the power and appeal of this book is in its dreamy and fantastical language. For instance Chapter 8, "Educating the Chick," begins,

"A carnival in daylight is an unfinished beast, anyway. Rain makes it a ghost. The wheezing music from the empty motionless rides in a soggy, rained-out afternoon midway almost hits my chest with a sweet ache. The colored dance of the lights in the seeping air flashed the puddles in the sawdust with an oily glamor."

I love a book with a saucy dash of magical realism and with interesting characters who can be unusual and mundane at the same time.

I would recommend this book to: Kacie, Jessica R. and Jessica D. I'm sure my mom would like it too.

Matterhorn: A Novel of the Vietnam War
By Karl Marlantes

I cannot say for sure, but I imagine that this book is a fairly accurate representation of the Vietnam war. At least the sensation of reading it, or the first half of it, is. You sort of slog around in it doing nothing for a while, and then things are hectic and violent and scary and gory and then they're kind of boring again for awhile until things start blowing up again, when it's both exhilarating and frustrating. Like war itself there's not really a plot and it goes on for a very, very long time.

That doesn't sound very good does it? In truth, it was actually a pretty good book and I generally can't focus on books or shows about war for more than ten minutes at a stretch.

The book follows a portion of Sgt. Waino Melas' first tour of duty in Vietnam and is taken in part from the real-life experiences of the author, a decorated veteran. The book takes the time to explore in-depth the issues that plagued the marines in Vietnam: politics, bureaucracy, racial tension, grotesque health problems, fear, insecurity, hunger, lonliness, and on and on and on and on. Marlantes does a great job putting a human face on these issues and explaining to hippies like me why someone--lots of someones--would persist in such a seemingly godawful job.

I would recommend this book to: Tim and other people who like history, war, and books that have no female characters.

The Daughter of Time
By Josephine Tey

Ok, actually, I don't have a lot to say about this book. It's a historical murder mystery. An injured man looking for something to do stumbles on the idea that Richard III did not actually murder his two nephews in the tower of London and sets out (metaphorically speaking, because he's immobilized in a hospital bed) to find the truth. It looks as though Tey has written a history book with a plot wrapped around it, but the editors haven't taken the time to include an afterword that explains if this is so. And the book wasn't heart-racing enough to inspire me to go to Google and look it up and find out. For all the times this book has been recommended to me it's mostly Meh.

I would recommend this book to: people who like historical fiction? And mysteries? Those are the kind of people who recommended it to me.

Required Reading

2011-09-05T22:16:00.000-04:00

The Pogo Party
by Walt Kelly

If you've already heard of Pogo, you get a gold star for the day. If not, you should go read the Wikipedia article immediately. The short version: Pogo is a wily and satirical comic strip by Walt Kelly that ran from the 40's-70's in papers and books. It's about Pogo the possum and the many animal inhabitants of a swamp and their crazy lives. My favorite characters are Bun Rab and Grundoon, a baby groundhog who only says things like "xlg!" and "bzfgt?" His sister's name is Li'l Honey Bunny Ducky Downy Sweetie Chicken Pie Li'l Everlovin' Jelly Bean (yes, I had to look that one up.).

Pogo is famous for having said, "We have seen the enemy and he is us."

Pogo is appealing as a series for a number of reasons but the main three are as follows.

Kelly was a genius with words. The voice and dialect he created for the swamp characters was brilliant. It's rhetorically complex, but it's also funny and satirical and sometimes just wicked. You can tell he knew all of the rules because he breaks them so well.
Kelly was an astute observer of human nature. When the characters talk about politics, love, and other human foibles you can't help but see yourself and the people around you.
The characters unbelievably insanely cute. I want to put them in my mouth.

In this particular volume, the critters in the swamp aim to get Pogo elected president (this happens a lot in the swamp). All sorts of hysteria ensues. This is a great book to see some of Kelly's political commentary at it's finest. Though you could always go straight to Pogo's Poop Book (which has a KKK robed figure looming on the front) and "find out the latest poop on" the Jack Acid Society, Kluck Klams, and whose God IS dead? Kelly definitely wasn't one to sit on his laurels when people needed stirred up, but he snuck it in there with adorable, bumbling little swamp creatures which is a genius tactic if you ask me.

I would recommend this book to: People who like graphic novels, cute animals and politics. Who is that?

Carrie
By Stephen King

This book should be mandatory reading for all high school-age people.

Cons: it's got sex and drugs and religious fanaticism in it. But so does high school.

Pros: Practical reasons: it's short and it's gory so kids will actually read it. It's not The Old Man and the Sea, which is short and boring as hell or The Good Earth by Pearl S. Buck, which was neither short nor gory and ended up lodged between my wall and my bed only to be found six months after I graduated.

Also, it's about what happens when you bully someone and treat them like a subhuman. It's science fiction/horror so one could make the argument that it's not really about that, that someone who is bullied could never actually do the things that happen in this book, but psychologically speaking, feelings of rage and alienation are the same. And so are their awful consequences. What is fiction but lies that help us understand the truth? (BAM!)

Any book that is both un-put-down-able and makes you feel empathy for a character you know is batshit crazy is totally worth the time and money. Plus it's Stephen King's first book.

I would recommend this book to: Amber D. because she works with high-schoolers, and my cousins because they are high-schoolers, but I think a lot of my friends would enjoy it just for the sake of its awesomeness.

Men at Work

2011-09-05T14:44:00.000-04:00

The sun porch--the nicest place in our apartment.

I'm failing as the reporter at large for what-life-is-like-in-Uruguay. The one request that everyone had was "take lots of pictures" and so far the only thing I've photographed is my trashcans. I have a good excuse for this.

Uruguay so far is kind of boring.

It's nice enough. And I suppose I could be taking normal, "look it's a new city," exploration kinds of pictures, but here is an example of why I haven't really taken any pictures: Before coming down here Tim and I wanted to buy a guidebook, but we had trouble finding one. We ended up having to buy one on Argentina in which Uruguay only takes up about 30 pages. This weekend, being a long weekend, we wanted to go out and explore so we rented a car and then started trying to plan... but we couldn't find anywhere to go. Then upon discovering that our rental car was a standard, which Tim can't drive, and lacking any real desire to try, we gave up and stayed home for the weekend--utterly uncharacteristic, but indicative of how unmotivating the prospects were.

The view from the porch to the right: Rio de la Plata

There are really only about four destinations in Uruguay that we've heard of so far: Montevideo, which we live in; Punta del Este, which is a beach resort and therefor not much fun in winter; some thermal baths, which are six hours away; and Buenos Aires, which is actually in Argentina and shouldn't be included on this list. There's a famous place called "Casapueblo" that's we're waiting to go to until Tim's parents get here so I'll get back to you about that in two months.

It isn't really a fair representation to say that Uruguay is totally devoid of anything interesting. The city of Montevideo is known for being very cultured. There really is a bookstore on almost every block. There are numerous independent theater companies both large and small. And there are museums all over the city. Apparently, the city also has two zoos. We just haven't done any of these things yet (except the bookstores of course).

Mostly we've just been to the mall. Oh have we been to the mall. We've been to Punta Carretas mall plenty of times. It's a very exciting place because without it, we wouldn't be able to recharge (i.e. buy more time/GBs) for the USB-style modems that we have to use to connect to the internet, and which connect to the internet about as effectively as a piece of ham connects to the internet.

The view from the porch to the left.

Still... we are bound and determined to find interesting things to do that don't depend on the weather being nice or drinking lots of alcohol. There's always learning the delicate art of self-tattooing or busking for money by performing Abbott and Costello routines on the street, but I think we're going to try to find something with a more local flavor first.

Like enjoying milk in bags.

I thought that Canada was that only country that drank milk out of bags, but I was terribly wrong. A simple Google search probably would have told me that, but I just assumed... Lazy. Anyway now were here and this is how it's sold and I'm only assuming this this pitcher, one of the five pitchers we found in the apartment, is the correct vessel for bagged milk storage (even though the pitcher has oranges all over it?). Who decided that a bag was a good container for a liquid? Don't these pop, get punctured and explode with enough frequency to be of some concern? I always wondered about the logistics of this and now I know: they're a little shady. These are the kinds of amusements that I haven't been telling you about Uruguay.

A tasty treat.

Heros and Villains and Rats

2011-09-02T12:32:00.000-04:00

I reeeeeeeally want to get to a point where I review one book at a time, but I'm so lazy and I keep getting distracted by things like naptime and lunchtime and second naptime. I'm bright-eyed and focused at the moment, and I actually read some great books last month so I'm going to straighten up and fly right and tell you about all of them, for what it's worth. But I'm only going to do a couple at a time because they're so long.

The Help
By Kathryn Stockett

I will admit right now that the main reason I did not read this book earlier is because the cover (you've seen it, the yellow and purple one with the little birds on it) is awful. I thought it was another Elizabeth Gilbert-style book about some middle-aged lady finding herself in a middle eastern country, and by "the help" she meant, "poetically" (read: ungrammatically) "self help."

Now, seeing the alternative cover to the left, I sort of understand why they changed it. Because people judge books by their covers (and are squeemish about being seen holding books with bad ones) not very many people would have bought this book. This cover more accurately describes what the book it about--black women raising white women's children in the fifties and sixties--but we've gotten to a point where even just the image of that is sort of offensive. The truth hurts.

The reader in me loved this book. I cried and cried. It's got lots of subplots and various lovable characters and more than anything it has a completely wicked villain. The character of Hilly Holbrook is perfectly outrageous. With her "Home Health Sanitation Initiative," which is aimed at requiring all homes to have outdoor bathroom facilities for the African American "help," she gives the other characters--and the reader--somewhere to focus all of the rage and confusion brought on by living in a racist society.

The scholar in me is suspicious of how easy it is to pin the entire racist superstructure on Hilly's narrow, Southern shoulders. I don't want to give anything away for all of the dudes and the three white ladies left on earth who haven't read it, but although I loved the book, I often felt that it was too easy and too un(self)critical. The characters fall too easily and too comfortably into rolls we as "post-civil rights" (such a thing does not exist) Americans want them to fall into. They are "sassy" or "independent" or "old-fashioned." The characters challenged each other but they didn't challenge me. Which makes me wonder if I actually read the cover correctly: the story is a kind of lozenge or self-help for many of the middle-aged white ladies reading and sitting in the theaters, making them feel better about racism and women's relationships and now being so much better than then.

I don't mean that to sound critical of the demographic. Middle-aged white women seem to be the strongest reading demographic out there and more power to them. I'll be one sooner than I can imagine. I mean that an already good book could have done more to bust us out of our comfort zones and been really great.

I would recommend this book to: a lot of people, actually, despite my griping. But I think most of them have read it.

Rats: Observations on the History and Habitat of the City's Most Unwanted Inhabitants
By Robert Sullivan

This is a very strange little book. It's part science, part field journal, part history. I'm mildly obsessed with science/history books that cover just one bizarre topic (See: Salt, Stiff, Spook, and New Guinea Tapeworms and Jewish Grandmothers: Tales of Parasites and People). In this book, one man chooses an alley in New York City and observes the rats every night for one year. During that time he learns about the history of New York's rats, the relationship between rats and people, the history of that particular alley (which is much more interesting than you might imagine) and the past and present story of exterminators in New York. Sullivan has a poetic soul, so the book is filled with philosophy and literary quotations and he's also not abashed about what a strange person he is. He's obsessed and repulsed by rats in a way that is so completely opposite of my experience that I appreciate his candor.

Part of the book are really, really interesting. This, unfortunately, is dragged down by the fact that parts of it are really, really boring. If you have a grotesque fascination with rats or a looking for this kind of armchair history/science book, I would recommend checking it out and reading the chapters that grab your fancy. The chapters on Plague, food and garbage are sort of mind boggling, particularly the chapter on plague in America. America! For anyone who dwells in a large city, it will certainly make you look at the streets and buildings around you with a different eye.

I would recommend this book to: my Auntie Tanya because of her interest in critters, and all my friends who live in large cities.

Oscar el Grouch

2011-08-31T20:54:00.000-04:00

Believe it or not, there are a few interesting things about Uruguay that don’t involve how sad my apartment is.

I mentioned the “trash-mules” without explaining them. Here is something you may know but may not think about: Americans produce an astronomical amount of trash. Most people I know have very large trashcans in their kitchen and in their garages (if they have them), and then smaller, bucket sized trashcans in almost every other room of the house. If there’s not one in in the living- and bedrooms then at very least they have a trashcan in the bathroom. Everything collected in these into large bins, which go to the curb, or down chutes into dumpsters or wherever. If sanitation workers went on strike like Sara Cynthia Silvia Stout in that Shel Silverstein poem, we’d all be swimming in filth.

Well. I don’t think I’ve ever travelled to a country with enough trashcans for my huge American consumption-level. In Panama we had to buy trashcans, in France I horded plastic bags so I had somewhere to throw things away, in India people just throw things on the ground so I suppose that’s just one enormous trashcan, but I will never get past the voice in my head that screams, “OH MY GOD, SAVE THE LITTLE ANIMALS!! PICK THAT UP!” I came home with trash in my pockets.

(Apparently--I consume everything on a ridiculous American Supersize Me level. Our apartment came with "one month" of internet. I used it up in three days.)

Here in Uruguay our “furnished” apartment has two trashcans: one in the kitchen the size of a very small bucket, and one in the bathroom the size of a measuring cup. As you can see from our giant trash pile, this arrangement is inadequate.

I think this must mean that people take their trash out every morning and are not ok with living surrounded by buckets of their own filth like Americans are. But I also know this isn’t true because, like the French, Uruguayans allow their dogs to shit everywhere, and leave it there. I think, maybe, somehow, they truly just produce less trash.

Montevideo is a city filled with enormous apartment buildings. That seems to be almost all it is. Every couple of blocks sits a small green dumpster. The contents of these dumpsters are collected by wooden carts with large canvas sacks on the back, which drawn by mules. I do not understand how all of the trash from four 12-story buildings can fit in one dumpster, and then be carted away by one sleepy, bored-looking mule.

I’m not all that surprised by the presence of the mules—the streets are narrow and the traffic is only loosely governed by any discernible laws (people seem to instinctually know who has the right of way where and when—there are very few street signs and lights) so the mule carts are more compact and easy to navigate than a big truck. Mules or no mules, it was not my personal agenda to produce more garbage than the entire population of the city, but somehow it looks like we’re on track to set the record. America: go big or go home.

Being Here.

2011-08-30T16:00:00.000-04:00

What is there to say about Uruguay so far?

Surprisingly not much. The shocks of getting accustomed to a new country are sometimes far more mundane than you might expect. For example, everyone's soap and detergent smells different. And people here love mayonnaise more than most people in the states would consider reasonable, and hence, mayonnaise-based sauces are more popular than any other sauces. If you've been to Europe, that's not all that shocking, but if you hate mayonnaise as much as Tim does, it requires some patience. (I on the other hand will eat mayo on just about anything and am glad about it.)

The biggest adjustment, by far, has been our living situation. I don't like to complain but I also don't want to sugar-coat things. When we went to Panama, we raved and raved about it because we lived in a beautiful apartment in a great location, in a park, with a view of the Panama Canal. We very literally had nothing to complain about. This time we haven't been so lucky.

Montevideo's economy is, apparently, booming, and the housing market is, apparently, slim. When Tim arrived he was temporarily placed in a hotel until better accommodations could be found. I would agree that what we've got are "accommodations" though I'm not sure about the word "better." Our apartment does have a nice little sun porch that, for a good part of the day is sunny and warm and has a view of the beach on the Rio de la Plata--the wide river that separates Uruguay and Argentina and eventually runs into the ocean.

Otherwise... the apartment has just enough quirks and inconveniences to drive a person quickly and dramatically insane. But I don't really want to talk about it because a.) Tim had an adventure even trying to get us into this ridiculous place and b.) I'll admit it, it makes me homesick.

Although going on rotation with Tim means that I will eventually travel and have adventures (like seeing the Uruguayan trash-mules) it also mostly means that I sit around in the apartment a lot, planning the wedding, etc, which was the plan, but which is a lot more depressing as a prospect when the apartment is not a very homey place.

So. Uruguay so far has been two interesting meals: a three-hour one at a very expensive and fancy restaurant with iPad menus and no other customers (but delicious duck, oh yes), and one (unintentionally) in a restaurant where Anthony Bourdain ate. This is a few blocks from our apartment and we were hungry and wandered in. Another American was there and helped us order and told us what we were in for, which was this:

Beyond that it's just trying to deal with our not-so-great living arrangements and the shock of jumping from summer to winter all at once. Deep breaths. Cowboy up.

The new math.

2011-08-20T22:57:00.000-04:00

I mentioned on Facebook a while back that my goal for this year was to read 52 books this year. According to Shelfari, this week I met my goal. Since lists are always fun, it's below. However, I've crossed out the ones that I don't think really count, leaving me with a total of 46 books so far this year--which is still ridiculous by anyone's count.

Note how the three main subjects are the obviously related... boxing, African-American women, and hard-boiled crime. Yay, Grad School!

Also as you can see, a book review is forthcoming.

1: How to Live Safely in a Science Fictional Universe
2: China Boy
3: Passing
4: Pound for Pound: A Novel
5: The Want Bone (American Poetry Series)
6: The Original Johnson Volume 1
7: ~~Film/Genre~~ (A stupid theory book)
8: Their Eyes Were Watching God
9: The Contender
10: The Game
11: ~~The Street~~ (I read this, but I didn't really... uh... pay attention)
12: A Raisin in the Sun
13: West of Everything: The Inner Life of Westerns
14: Sugartown
15: Meridian
16: ~~Sparkle~~ (A kindle single)
17: Zami
18: The Hunger Games
19: Catching Fire
20: For Colored Girls who have Considered Suicide When The Rainbow is Enuf
21: Dessa Rose: A Novel
22: Jazz
23: Mockingjay
24: Mama Day
25: ~~The Cambridge Companion to African American Women's Literature~~ (Another theory book)
26: ~~The Norton Anthology of Modern and Contemporary Poetry, Third Edition~~ (Oh poetry anthologies)
27: 1984
28: Shane : The Critical Edition
29: Packing for Mars
30: Bossypants
31: The Loved One
32: The Hobbit
33: The Hound of the Baskervilles
34: The Invention of Hugo Cabret
35: ~~Jesus Is My Gardener~~ (A kindle single)
36: The Dead Man: Face of Evil (Volume 1)
37: The Great Gatsby
38: The Murder of Roger Ackroyd
39: The Maltese Falcon
40: The Big Sleep
41: Black Money
42: Cotton Comes to Harlem
43: Early Autumn
44: "A" Is for Alibi
45: Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children
46: Zombie Spaceship Wasteland
47: The Help
48: The Pogo party
49: Rats
50: Carrie
51: The Daughter of Time
52: Matterhorn

Over the rails...

2011-08-19T17:17:00.000-04:00

Colorado has lots of roads with sheer drop offs into total oblivion on one side.

About three weeks ago I had this very vivid dream that we were driving along at night (I don't remember who the other person in the car was) and we suddenly plunged over the edge. The car plowed right through the guard rail and over the side. I remember the feeling of being suspended in the air, of being completely aware of that liminal moment: the moment between being firmly on the ground and the impact. I felt my stomach drop and I also felt suspended. I grabbed the hand of whoever it was that was in the car, and I woke up panting and incredibly freaked out.

And also not dead.

Is this an elaborate metaphor for being done with school and plunging head-long into the next year with no job, traveling to a foreign country and planning a wedding and answering the question, "what do you do?" with, "read?"

Nooooo.
Well, maybe.

I just got back from my trip to Colorado, where I attended my super-fun and totally non-stereotypical ten-year high school reunion. My primary objective was to see people that I missed and my secondary objective was to prove to Tim that my high school actually WAS fun and I'm really not making that up. Both objectives were accomplished and I'm so proud of those class members who showed up. Those who didn't missed out. More than anything they missed out on the pleasure of my company and of seeing me and Trina run around in swim suits and make fun of each other.

They also missed the opportunity to ride in Tim's rented Ford Mustang convertible while we blasted 90's music at full volume. Not that we actually gave anybody rides, but we would have if they'd asked.

I'm really not sure if our generation is at all interested in reunions because Facebook makes us think we're in touch, but it's a lie. Seeing people face-to-face, sitting around a bonfire or even at the crappy local bar, is worth the effort.

I also got to be a timer, with my mom, at the Demolition Derby at the Delta County Fair, and Tim I decided 100% for sure and for true that we're going to have the wedding in the orchard at my grandparents' ranch on June 16, 2012. Those two things are entirely unrelated, but I wanted to make that sentence as exciting as possible.

In Boulder I got my Ukulele. Ukulele! It was just as much a graduation present to myself as an excuse to go to the music store with my dad, who is the same way with guitars as he is with old cars: "I had one of these that I sold to Arnold Gibson in 1973, and this is just like one of mine but mine is more white colored, and I had one of these but mine was..." Trying to record him is like trying to record the illusive bigfoot because he'll play 15 second of a song and then walk off to a different instrument and start playing another song and he knows about 100,000 songs by heart. Anyway, I recommend it sometime.

That's all. I just finished a 600-page book and I leave for Uruguay on Wednesday. I have to figure out what books to take. Annnd, if you have an e-reader and you're bored, Harper Perennial is offering 20 e-books for 99 cents apiece, including Celebrity Chekhov, which Kacie sent me and I'm excited to read. (If you can't follow the link or don't have facebook, just search Amazon Kindle or Google Books for Celebrity Chekhov and look at "related titles" to find the rest.)

Zombie Spaceship Wasteland Ballet Cupcakes

2011-07-15T16:45:00.002-04:00

I'm stuck at home for the second day in a row with a migraine. Yesterday it was so bad that I spent a large part of the day just laying on the floor. There should be a second clause in that sentence, like, "laying on the floor... reading a book" or "laying on the floor... thinking of recipes." But what no one tells you is that above all, maybe even more than being wretchedly painful, migraines are unbelievably boring. The pain keeps you from doing anything: reading (no concentration), watching TV (too bright and loud), eating (too nauseated), even sleeping, SLEEPING! all of those things are out of the question.

Today is a little bit better--obviously, I'm blogging--but there are still a lot of other things I'd rather be doing. I would actually rather be at work right now than spending another minute laying on the floor with a pillow over my head. Oh, there it is, I found my other clause! "...With a pillow over my head."

Anyway: I got on here to write a couple of book reviews, and I think, for the first time ever, a movie review! I can't promise that the products of my fever-adled brain will be worth reading, but I have to do something besides stare at the insides of my eyelids.

Zombie Spaceship Wasteland

By Patton Oswalt

It makes me sad that most people only know Patton Oswalt as the voice of Remy from Ratatouille or that second-string character from King of Queens (yeah, that). He deserves more recognition if not just because he's disgustingly, crushingly funny, and might be the only person in L.A. who is a genuinely nice person, then because he also speaks to the inner core of my nerd soul. I don't want to say that this book is for book-nerds and sci-fi dorks and people who are still teenagers inside--but I have no real proof that it's not. Its best chapters are the ones that firmly grip this demographic and don't let go. He mentions Richard Brautigan on the first page. He has a transcendent experience while reading The Man in the High Castle and listening to R.E.M. He asks, which are you? A Zombie, a Spaceship, or a Wasteland? If you don't already have some tiny idea or are not the least bit curious this is probably not the book for you.

In case you wondered, I'm a wasteland. I chose to live in a town with 300 people (can I go back?) and my favorite types of books and movies are ones like The Stand and Mad Max: Beyond Thunderdome where there are no people and we just start over.

I would recommend this book to: Kacie, and fans of Harlan Ellison.

Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children

By Ransom Riggs

By all means, judge this book by its cover. If ever a book made a case for the existence of a physical book as an artifact, this one does. The hard cover edition of this book is beautiful, and it is filled with beautiful black and white photos that are an essential part of the story.

Many contemporary novels are carried away by detailed descriptions of characters without a lot of plot--which has its time and place but can be tiring. It seems like you've got to go to the YA section to find a novel that has both. Harry Potter, The Hunger Games... if an "adult" novel has a plot, it gets filed under "genre fiction." But that is neither here nor there. This book has both interesting--though maybe not the deepest--characters and a swift-moving plot. The writing style won't necessarily win any awards, but what it lacks in poetry, it makes up in being entertaining and full-bodied. The author creates a rich and believable alternate world that you just fall into. It's a satisfying book.

I would recommend this book to: Jessica R. and definitely, definitely Amber, and you'll know why once you read it.

The Red Shoes (1948)

Dir. Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger

I hadn't heard of this film until about three weeks ago, when it just started popping up everywhere. It was mentioned in two books I read, on a film app I have and on a website I'm into. Fate.

Have you ever been to a real ballet? I haven't been since I saw The Nutcracker when I was about ten. Did you see Black Swan? Of course you did, that shit was crazy.

This film is an obvious precursor to Black Swan--not just because of the ballet but because of its strange psychological tension--but unlike Black Swan it does a better job of balancing darkness and light. It clearly influenced other films like Singin' in the Rain as well, and whereas the long dance scene in Singin' in the Rain is tedious and awful (I said it), the long ballet sequence in this film is exquisite. I'm not particularly into old films--my attention span is short and I think they laugh at stupid things--but I can understand why this film has been called the best dance movie of all time. I'm not sure I'm prepared to call it that (Flashdance? Anyone? Crickets? Just kidding.), but I'm definitely prepared to recommend this.

WHAT NOW.

2011-07-09T15:03:00.001-04:00


Yes, this is the only photo I managed to take all wedding weekend.

Thursday I took what you may have heard me refer to as my "Defense Against the Dark Arts" final, AKA my American Detective Fiction final. Though if we're being honest here, the final wasn't just a test on Thursday, it was a week-long marathon that included turning in a 15-page paper the Thursday prior, reading two novels, giving a presentation Wednesday, and then taking the final. And it was more of a stamina test than anything else.

But I digress. I submitted my application to graduate today.

So the question is what now? My highly technical, spur of the moment answer is "who cares?" I'm done! It's summer! Go outside and eat a popsicle! A dreamsicle even! Though of course this is America and everyone wants to know everyone else's dreams and ambitions. (If this were France, I'm sure someone would just hand me a bottle of wine and a goose and then we'd all go take naps.)

Well, what's next is I'm going to go see Harry Potter Part VII.2. Then I have only four weeks left of my internship at the GU Press before my ten-year high school reunion and Uruguay! Astonishing! My boss keeps saying things like, "but you don't have to worry about that because you won't even be here then!" And then she laughs, and then I realize that where I'll be when said event to which she's referring occurs is in Machu Picchu.

Sometimes I sit agape and have conversations with my ten-year-old self, who was plum convinced that she would never fly on a plane or go anywhere and see anything interesting in the world. When I tell her all the things we've done so far (she and I) she's usually a little dumbfounded. Which is only appropriate, because I'm a little nonplussed myself.

People keep asking me WHAT I'M GOING TO DO WITH MY DEGREE. In the same way that people ask you what you're going to do with your new speedboat, or your new box of water colors, or the dining room set you won on The Price is Right. This is a very aggravating question for me because, while I understand that having an advanced degree helps you to get a better job, etc., I don't believe that that is necessarily it's purpose under all circumstances. What I'm going to do with my degree is HAVE IT. And appreciate the experience of having gotten it and maybe, privately, pretend I'm a little smarter because of it. (And, yes, try to pay off the loans I accrued because of it.) Like a speedboat, a degree has a practical application, but I believe that practical application is advanced critical thinking in everyday life, not just resume dressing.

Also, I may take my degree out on the lake an try to do some sweet jumps.

And then I'm going to plan my wedding.

When things get out of hand...

2011-06-16T23:26:00.000-04:00

I'm just awful. A month ago I sat down to write ONE quick book review because I was so excited and I just couldn't contain myself, but then I tripped and accidentally read ten books in the meantime. That isn't bragging, that's me being a ridiculous book pervert. So instead of vomiting all those book reviews here and now, I'm going to try to write a couple over the next few days starting with the beginning...

Packing for Mars: The Curious Science of Life in the Void
By Mary Roach

This is the fourth Mary Roach book I've read, which speaks highly for any author, let alone a non-fiction one. You may recall that I had the enlightening experience of reading her previous book, Bonk!, out loud to Tim on a road trip and embarrassing myself in ways I didn't think was possible. This book achieves the almost unimaginable feat of being un-put-down-able and taking embarrassment to a new level. Consider for a moment these chapter titles: "Throwing Up and Down: The Astronaut's Secret Misery," "Houston, We Have a Fungus: Space Hygiene and the Men Who Stopped Bathing for Science," and "Separation Anxiety: The Continuing Saga of Zero-Gravity Elimination." Topics covered also include cadavers, sex, space-food, and the psychological effects of space. There were more than a few moments when my combined squirming and horrified shrieking were enough that Tim begged to know what I was reading about... but it shall remain unspoken. Simply put... I could never, ever, ever, ever, ever be an astronaut. It's a ridiculous, disgusting job. No one describes these kinds of things better or with more candor than Mary Roach.

I would recommend this book to: my dad and anyone who needs a good laugh.

Bossypants
By Tina Fey

Oh Tina. Tina, Tina, Tina. This is the first book I actually spent real American dollars for on my Kindle because I simply could not wait to get it in my hot little hands. It was totally worth it too. And, bonus, the Kindle edition is also a good choice for those who are horrified by the cover of the book.

Anyone expecting this to be a solid memoir about her time running 30 Rock (because it's titled, well, Bossypants) it's totally in for a surprise. Anyone who would gladly listen to anything Tina Fey had to say for hours on end is in for a treat. Pretend for a moment that Tina Fey called your house and said, "Oh, I have this great story I want to tell you..." and then just launched into it. Any interruption that occurred during this story would be like the apocalypse. Someone else calls? You have to pee? It's dinner time? The FedEx guy shows up with a box full of kittens? NOT NOW!!! TINA FEY IS TALKING TO ME.

That's what reading this book is like. I defy you to put it down. I also defy you to read it in public without being stared at as you cackle madly.

I would recommend this book. (Tim read half of it in one sitting and was laughing so hard I thought his face would break.) Period.

The Loved One
By Evelyn Waugh

One of these things is not like the others.

Ok, admittedly, it's not really fair to group poor Evelyn with these two books. However, let us judge it one its own merits. The Loved One's humor is much more subtle and very dark. It is, after all, about funeral homes in Hollywood. This short novel (subtitled "An Anglo-American Tragedy"--how great is that?!) begins with a warning that states, among other things, "this is a nightmare and in parts, perhaps, somewhat gruesome. The squeamish should return their copies to the library or the bookstore unread." If that's not a dare, then I don't know what is.

Some people take pleasure in watching the British make fun of the Americans and make themselves look foolish in the meantime. I happen to be one of those people. I also like books where people who are absurd think that they're complete normal. I wouldn't give this book my highest recommendation because it's a weeeence snooty, but if you're in the mood for some snooty intellectual gruesomeness you couldn't get a better read.

I would recommend this book to Jessica R., but only because she put Evelyn Waugh on my radar first.

Bonus material: Because of Bossypants, I got excited and decided that we had to hike Old Rag Mountain (yes, that's a thing) because it's something Tina Fey does in the book. We thought it would take like three hours, plus the two-hour drive to get there and the two-hours back. We didn't factor in "Virginia" and Tim's fondness for "taking back roads" and Google Maps' distaste for "rural areas." Hence, we got lost. When we finally found the trail-head, the park ranger smirked at our suggestion that the hike would take three hours. It took five (that sounds like a bfd unless your the one on the mountain). I'm quite sure Tina Fey downplays the amount of physical danger they encountered hiking Old Rag at night without water or a flashlight because there are a number of what I would like to call "death opportunities" on the trail. Still and all, it was an amazing hike aaaaaaand probably the closest I'll ever get to Tina Fey unless Sarah Palin's crazy-bus ever drives over Capital Hill again.

Mike, in a death crag.

Thanks, Einstein.

2011-06-07T09:54:00.003-04:00

You might notice a trend. I like to broil things on top of other things.

This morning I made an open face turkey and tomato sandwich that I copied from Einstein Bros. I have no idea where the nearest Einstein Bros. is so this will have to do, and anyway I kind of like mine better because I can control all the variables (except that no one sells salt bagels in DC, which is a detriment to the entire region).

This is a pretty glorious breakfast if you remember three important things I learned the hard way:

1. Buffer. There MUST be a solid buffer in between the tomato and the bread! If you don't like turkey, fine (why?) but find something else (smoked salmon? More cheese?) or this is reduced to a soggy mess.

2. Burning. Watch anything you put in the broiler. I left my first attempt unattended the other day and had to eat a soggy... and yet also burned, somewhat smokey open-faced mess in the dark on the floor the other day. I guess I didn't have to eat it in the dark on the floor, but I was late for work and that was the kind of morning I was having.

3. Seasoned salt. Don't leave this out. The people at Einstein Bros. sometimes forget this and it's just a travesty.

Here's the low down:

1 Bagel or English Muffin (per person)
Mayonnaise (optional)
2 slices of deli turkey
Thinly sliced tomato
Cheddar Cheese
Seasoned Salt in whatever variety you like (Cavender's Greek would be good on this)

Preheat the Broiler and make sure your oven is in the second or third from the top position (close-but-not-too-close)

Slice open your bagel or English muffin. The proper way to open an English muffin is to pierce the sides with a fork, inserted horizontally all the way around the edges. It will just fall open. Did you know that? Anyway.

Spread mayo on your bread-product if that floats your boat.

Layer the meat (buffer), tomato, and cheese in that order on to the bread on a baking sheet and insert it into the oven. Keep an eye on it! In about 3-4 minutes it will be melty and bubbly. Remove from oven and sprinkle generously with seasoned salt.

This is so delicious. Watch for falling tomato goo.

This tomato is currently growing on my patio, in the same box with my oregano and lavender. I can't wait to eviscerate it and turn it into a delicious open face sandwich.

Love.

2011-06-02T14:56:00.004-04:00

I was going to write a book review, but I have a migraine so instead I'm going to post a list of the top five celebrities-I'm-currently-moderately-obsessed-with-to-the-point-that-maybe-Tim-should-be-a-little-worried.

1. Duh.

2. Ray Stevenson, AKA "Titus Pullo" from HBO's Rome. Aka, Athos, or Porthos... I can never tell the three legit musketeers apart.

3. Dude, in addition to his beard, he's friends with Fiona Apple.

4. I don't care.

5. I would see any movie Mark Twain was in.

Sum-sum-summertime

2011-05-31T09:11:00.003-04:00

According to Wikipedia the meteorological beginning of Summer is June 1. However, it's been summer in DC for a couple of weeks already. How do I know? There are a couple of glaring indicators.

1. Actual Meteorological Evidence (deal, Wikipedia): DC has two seasons only--Rainy-suck and Hot-suck. There are short transition periods of about two weeks between these in October and May known as "Spring" and "Fall." Those collective four weeks are the most amazing weeks in DC. Everything is breezy, mild and pleasant. If you blink, you will miss them. The May transition period ("Spring") ended about five days ago ((*blink*)). We have now entered Hot-suck--if you walk outside, expect to sweat immediately and forever.

2. All sort of awesome (if sweaty) summer events have started: Screen on the Green (movies on the national mall on a giant inflatable screen!), Jazz in the Sculpture Garden (exactly what it sounds like), pools are opening, everyone on earth is having a yard sale (no, I don't want your shower curtain!)!

3. The Capital Hillbillies showed up in Lincoln park yesterday. That means a man was playing a piano under a tree. 'Nuff said. (Sorry this is an awful picture.)

4. We saw Eleanor Holmes Norton shopping in our CVS. That in itself is not really an indicator of summer, but she was wearing a pink sundress. The woman is nothing if not an important barometer of the state of affairs (and seasonal changes) in DC.

5. As I said on Facebook, I've had "One Week" by the Barenaked Ladies stuck in my head for days. This really has nothing to do with summer in DC in particular, but it happens every year when summer comes. Everything about BNL makes me think of summer. Sue me.

6. Tourists. Not the regular small, family groups of tourists that are always present, but tourists with matching t-shirts, have started to arrive and stand in the doorways of things: museums, metros, coffee shops, chain restaurants. Any doorway they can find, they will happily congregate in it--loosely enough to take up space, but tightly enough that you cannot penetrate their force-field of confusion. This weekend there were thousands and thousands of bikers in black leather on the Mall. Sweating. In their leather. Looking around for doorways to congregate in.

7. Slugs have started squeezing under our back door so that they can infiltrate our trashcan. This experience is unique to DC. Luckily/Blessedly they don't seem to have figured out that the trashcan is in a kitchen full of all sorts of other amazing non-garbage things to eat. They pretty much just go for the trashcan. If that horrifies you and makes you not want to come to my house... I have to ask, were you planning on eating out of my trashcan? I put down a barrier of salt so don't worry about it. They should stay outside. And so should vampires. Or witches. Or something, I can't remember what salt barriers are supposed to keep out.

Anyway, there are all sorts of other indicators. Like the air on capital hill smells like grilled meat, it's almost my birthday, H&M is selling nothing but sundresses, I want to eat every meal outside, the sun doesn't go down until 9:00, I'm taking a summerclass, and we can hear the fireworks from the ballpark at our house. SUMMER.

Fail Waffles

2011-05-24T22:39:00.000-04:00

I normally don't do this, but I was reading through some of my old posts and came across this one: Failure is Imminent. I have no idea what the result might have been because Google doesn't use this feature anymore (I'm guessing it had something to do with George Bush), but this is what you get when you search "failure" now (click for larger image).

For the record, according to the googles, "Fail Waffles" are not a thing. But they should be.

Update: Wikipedia is incredibly helpful. Still you've got to love how very non sequitur and... Belgian this is.

Macaroni and Cheese 4-Ever

2011-05-20T10:38:00.004-04:00

Some darling friends come over the other day to play through the entire Beatles Rockband catalog with me, and in order to build up our strength for that herculean task we ate (besides a heaping bowl of guacamole*) a ridiculous amount of homemade macaroni and cheese. I love homemade macaroni and cheese and it's easy to make, so I thought I'd share the recipe. I modified Pioneer Woman's recipe, which is unique in that she uses and egg to bind the sauce. I totally understand if you just go over there and read hers... I mean, she has pictures. However...

...Mine differs from hers mainly in the seasonings, the addition of cream, and the strange mixture of cheeses, which is a result of my cheese whims. Cheese whims: it's a real thing. Let your cheese whims be your guide. You can use whatever you want but be mindful of texture. I wouldn't use a pound of brie or a pound of goat cheese for this.

I'm not trying to compete (Never!). Just stating the facts, ma'am.

Macaroni and Cheese!

Here are my ingredients:

4 cups dry pasta shells
1 egg, beaten
1/4 cup butter
1/4 cup flour
2 1/4 cup milk
1/4 cup cream
1/2 tsp dry mustard
1 tsp paprika
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 tsp ground black pepper
1/2 tsp garlic powder

(These are all approximate--I always go nuts at the end and decide I need more. More! MORE!)
1/2 pound New York Cheddar, grated
1/4 pound Muenster, grated
1/4 pound Parmesan, grated

My instructions owe everything to P-dubs:

You will need two large pots and a large baking dish for this recipe. If you only have one large pot, begin by boiling the pasta until it is firm, about 5-6 minutes. Drain the pasta and set it aside while you prepare the sauce. If you have two, can can boil the pasta while you are preparing the sauce.

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Butter or grease a large baking dish.

Beat the egg in a separate, heat-proof bowl.

In a large pot, melt the butter over medium-low heat. Whisk in the flour and continue cooking for about 5 minutes, whisking constantly.

Add the milk and cream and continue to cook until the sauce thickens, about 8-10 minutes.

To temper the egg, slowly pour about 1/2 cup of the sauce into the beaten egg while whisking it. (This raises the temperature of the egg without cooking it and forming clots.) Whisk until smooth, then stir the egg/sauce mixture into the pot.

Reserving 1/2 cup cheese for topping, add your grated cheeses to the pot. Over low heat, stir until cheeses are melted and smooth. Add mustard, paprika, salt, pepper, and garlic. Taste the sauce! Adjust seasoning accordingly.

Remove from heat and fold drained pasta into sauce. Pour into baking dish and top with remaining cheese. You can eat it this way or bake it, 20-25 minutes, until bubbly. Eat, eat, eat.

*I changed my Guacamole recipe! Not earth shattering news for you, probably, but a big deal for me. No more jalapeno, cayenne, or paprika, more tomato, and... cilantro. It's better now. The whole world is better.

What a day can be like...

2011-05-17T13:25:00.003-04:00

This saturday was my first saturday without homework in oh... say... the same approximate amount of time that it takes a human to make a baby. Put that in your pipe and smoke it.

I could be overly dramatic and say that newly-found freedom was a great burden and a huge responsibility, but it really wasn't. Mostly it was really, really amazing to rediscover what 24 hours without the pressing crush of nagging obligation feels like. It. was. Incredible.

First, we slept in and upon waking up, my first thought was not "where's my book? What do I have to read?" but instead, "would it be out of line for me to eat everything in the house?" I made blueberry scones with lemon glaze for breakfast (don't be too impressed, they were frozen--and the glaze is just lemon juice and powdered sugar) and drank a big glass of milk and pondered the novelty of not having to write a poetry review or a film response. Not once! All day!

Then Tim decided he wanted to go for a walk to a nearby yard sale, which turned out to be rescheduled... fine. Fine because instead I discovered a new PO BOY STAND at Eastern Market. I discovered this because I could smell it from a block away. Po boys! The woman fried the shrimp in front of my face! And dowsed the bread in garlic butter before grilling it on an open grill! Lordamercy! Dressed with slaw and spicy mayo (alas, no cheese). Is this what I was missing while I was "educating" myself?

Then Tim and I loaded ourselves down with flowers from the farmers market and carried them home. He read about the Panama Canal while I got up to my elbows in dirt, which is really the only way I want to be. I neeeed a garden and now I feel so much better.

After all the planting and the Po Boy action we took a nap, because no Saturday is complete without one. We woke up, brushed our hair (that may not be true), walked to Tortilla Coast, and had a margarita drinking contest. It wasn't supposed to be a contest, but everything inevitably turns into a contest when Tim and I are near each other, and I won. Although, in all fairness, any time someone puts a pitcher of mango margaritas on your table, you win. Everyone wins.

Then (no! It's not even over! It keeps going!) we went to Chinatown and saw Bridesmaids. We had to sit in the second row, which is normally a misery-inducing torture-fest, but Kristin Wiig is so hilariously insane I might consider actually laying on the screen the next time I see the movie. Maybe.

The we rode the metro home and Tim found a million dollar bill, but it was just a "ticket to heaven" and who needs that when it can't buy you any real Po Boys here on earth? Walking through Lincoln Park it looked like a UFO had touched down in RFK stadium and lit up the whole sky. Lincoln looked very noble and it was easy to pretend that the statue is not as awful as it really is. I'm going to pretend he was, for the day, the great homework emancipator.

Post-Apocalyptic Reading List

2011-05-13T12:53:00.006-04:00

I’m usually very strict about not reading anything “fun” while in school because the road to hell is paved with paperbacks I purchased in airport bookstores (no really). This semester, however, I took a film class and a poetry class with scary amounts of required writing but little enough required reading that I tricked myself into thinking I had “spare time.” So I actually read some books and can write a review on my first day out of the grad school grind! (Which sounds a mite dirty, no?)

The Hunger Games trilogy
By Suzanne Collins

Admittedly, this is the trilogy that broke the camel’s back. I couldn’t stand listening to Kacie and Jessica R. talk about it anymore so I broke my own rule about not having fun just so I wouldn’t feel left out. There, I said it.

This is a young adult trilogy, and because it’s three books, I should talk about all three separately. But because it’s YA, you can read all three in the time it takes to read one normal human book, so I’m not going to. That doesn’t make them any less amazing. I will say right out that I did not find the last book in the series as compelling as the first two, but again, that’s not a reason for you not to read them.

Here’s why you should read them: it’s the future and a war has occurred between the capitol (California-ish) and the rest of the country—now called “Panem.” Everyone in power looks and behaves like Lady Gaga (Why am I wearing a meat suit? BECAUSE I CAN.) and the rest of the country has been divided into districts according to their chief industry (fish, coal, glitter, etc.) [ok—I made the last one up.]. Each year, the capitol proves its supremacy by forcing the districts to send two children each into a massive Thunderdome-like arena where they fight to the death until only one remains:

“Two men enter, one man leaves”
x 12 districts
x The Triwizard Tournament
- Wands
+ Televised killing
_______________
The Hunger Games

The books are addictive for two reasons: Collins has created one of those alternate realities where you want to know all of the details. The rather gory, can’t-stop-looking, car crash premise where you want to know who dies next sucks you in, but the details keep you there. How do people live in this future? The second reason is Katniss, the protagonist, who is both a hot mess, and someone you admire. It’s good that she’s a hot mess, because A) she’s a teenager and B) who wouldn’t be under those circumstances? But she’s still pretty lovable. I admire Collins for giving Katniss flaws. I dare you not to root for her.

I would recommend this series to: Amber, Trina, Versha, and ugh, Tim. Okay?

1984
by George Orwell

I’m going to go ahead and pretend I’m the first person ever to have read this book and just say, holy crap! This book is insane! I mean, I guessed that it would be pretty good because it’s a “classic” but I mean… woah.

Ahem. Sorry. There are two things to say about 1984. First, I didn’t expect parts of it to be so beautiful and poetic. Sometimes it’s just so lyrical it could make you cry, for example:

All history was a palimpsest, scraped clean and reinscribed exactly as often as was necessary.

...

—a nation of warriors and fanatics, marching forward in perfect unity, all thinking the same thoughts and shouting the same slogans, perpetually working, fighting, triumphing, persecuting—three hundred million people all with the same face.

Second, it is still frightening. Maybe it will always be frightening because you’ll always be able to apply it to whatever frightens you the most in the world. It’s eerie how good this book is and this is coming from someone who doesn’t like capitalism or communism.

I would recommend this book to: Tim and people who don’t like Glenn Beck.

Mama Day
By Gloria Naylor

Ok, technically, I read this for class, but I would be cheating you if I didn’t recommend it to you, depriving you of air and sunshine and food and water and chocolate. Mama Day is a book that does not mess around. It is full of folklore and lightening, history and passion. The story is told from three perspectives, and after 50 pages I was talking to Tim about the characters as though they were real people I had been living with. This is probably the book’s greatest strength: you don’t read it, you crawl inside it and live in it. You wallow around in it and don’t want to come out and you cry and cry. Does it even matter what it’s about? It’s MAGIC. Go read it.

I would recommend this book to: literally everyone on earth, but my mom, and grandmother specifically.

Shane
By Jack Schaefer

Again, I read this because I was writing a paper about the film for class—but it wasn’t specifically assigned so it doesn’t count. I was shocked to find that nearly everyone in my class hated the film (oh, Alan Ladd!), which people in my family always seem to be quoting. I was so pleasantly surprised to find that the book is un-put-down-able. It’s short, about 160 pages, and very beautifully written from the point of view of the little boy. It’s about moral ambiguity and the meaning of “progress”—who has the right to land and at whose expense? What does it mean to be a good person under harsh conditions? All of these questions still apply despite our posturing about how advanced we are “these days.” The nice thing about this critical edition is that includes short articles you might want to read even if you weren’t writing a paper—I only say that because I sat and read them all even though I didn’t use most of them; they were just interesting.

Jack Schaefer said later in life that he could never have written Shane again; he’d lost his innocence and didn’t feel that people were capable of whatever it is that Shane does—sacrifice, I suppose. And people think Westerns are one-dimensional!

I would recommend this book to: again, my mom and grandmother, and maybe Emily? Idk, people are touchy about Westerns but should read them. And this is a good place to start.

Here, have a poem.

2011-05-03T12:01:00.005-04:00

Thank you.

when I die
            please
burn me up
            then
toss my ashes
over the hill
            I don’t need them
            & neither do you.
but, please
before you go
I would like to have
            candy-bright
balloons in every color
            drifting
up into the sky

©roxie smith 2011

Cheese me.

2011-04-22T12:43:00.003-04:00

Breakfast. Bane of my life.

No seriously.

There are two morning scenarios in my life.

A. Work Days: I wake up cranky and knowing I have like, responsibilities and stuff. I have just enough time to either eat real food or shower. For the good of humanity I shower, which means eating what I consider non-acceptable foods: cereal, granola bars, toast. I know lots and lots of people LOOOVE cereal, but I find it utterly disgusting unless it's midnight and the milk is ice, ice cold.

B. Home days: I'm responsible for my own behavior, usually getting a lot of "reading" and "writing" done. I fight an epic battle with my alarm clock. I want to eat a million of everything. I don't have time to make eggs benedict. I can either eat non-acceptable foods and move on to doing homework like I'm supposed to, or I can cook a huge, amazing breakfast-for-one that's not ready until noon and starts me on a downward spiral of distraction and procrastination that lasts all day. Those days are full of guilt, but they taste soooooo much better.

Today I'm somewhere in between and I made such a warm, savory, flavorful breakfast that I have to share it with you. None of my recipes ever fall into a logical category. Is this an open-faced sandwich? Is it some kind of weird, sauce-less pizza bagel? I have no idea. All I know is that I want to eat a hundred more of them. And I like when there's white wine in my breakfast.

This looks like a lot of time and steps, but it's really not.

Ingredients:
1 Bagel (I used poppy seed, 'cause I wanna)
2 tbsp butter
2 tbsp Parmesan cheese
1/2 cup grated mozzarella
garlic powder
dried parsley
basil
oregano

3-4 White mushrooms, cleaned and sliced
salt
black pepper
2 tbsp white wine

Destructions:
Preheat oven to 350 degrees and move the top rack up the second-highest position in the oven.

Butter both halves of your sliced bagel and place them (butter-side up, friend) on a cookie sheet. VERY lightly sprinkle with garlic salt. Sprinkle each half with 1 tablespoon of Parmesan cheese, followed by 1/4 cup each of the mozzarella. Now sprinkle lightly and evenly with your herbs: basil, oregano, and parsley. I like to grind them up in my hands a little bit so they're not so "intrusive." And it brings out the scent and flavor.

At this point you could proceed to the oven step but the mushrooms are the best part, so DON'T!

In a small pan (preferably a crepe pan, how fancy), melt the remaining butter (about 1 or 1 1/2 tbsp) over medium high heat. Add the mushrooms in a single layer and sprinkle with salt and pepper. When the mushrooms are starting to brown, give them a stir. After about 2 minutes on each side, hold the pan away from the heat and add your white wine (red wine is fine too), return to eat. Stir this around to deglaze the pan.

When most of the liquid has cooked away, turn off the heat and place the mushrooms evenly over the tops of your bagels.

Bake for 4-5 minutes. Then crank on the broiler and let it go until the cheese looks melty (not longer than a minute or two).

You don't want this in the oven very long! The bagel will dry out and everything will get hard and gross!

Take it out of the oven. Eat it in 4 bites.

So amazingly yummy. I wish that my homework was to find new ways to consume dairy products, because obviously I'm a pro.

Awefulmazing Georgetowntastic

2011-04-07T23:06:00.004-04:00

RARRRRRRR... bad blogger.

Over a month has passed! I went to New Orleans. I got the flu. I started using the word "awful." I went to New York and saw Chicago on Broadway. I wrote some poems. I read the first two books of The Hunger Games series and got too busy to read the last one and my head almost exploded.

Son of a bitch. Why haven't I been writing about all of these things?

I got an iPhone. That's why. It's awful.

There's no more effective time suck than a shiny gadget with lots of blinking lights and bright colors, where you can download an entire arcade worth of distractions for free (or close-to-it). Why would I look other human beings in the eyes when I could make a tiny waitress run around a tiny kitchen for fake money or fling all kinds of objects at all kinds of other objects? AWFUL.

But, somehow in the midst of this latest digital catastrophe (it was the Kindle before that and the Wii before that), I managed to silence the beep boop long enough to attend an AMAZING symposium on Immigrant Authors in America at Georgetown.

Sometimes I forget that Georgetown is a very fancy and expensive school because we souls in the English Masters program spend all of our time in one conference room (Holla room 311!) and the grad lounge which, though it has it's charm, looks a little bit like the set of All in the Family. However, when one is treated to lunch with Cristina Garcia and a wine reception with Junot Díaz, one is reminded why one is willing to spend the next thousand years repaying loans. (While Georgetown professors and acclaimed poets/authors Fanny Howe and Caroline Forche sit to my left and directly in front of me throughout... name dropping: I does it.)

But lunch and wine aside, the really amazing thing is sitting six feet away from these incredible authors while they speak and then getting to talk to them afterward--they're human! Like you and maybe me on a good day, when I behave normally! It's so wonderfully and gives so much hope to anyone who hopes to live creatively.

The visiting authors at this year's symposium were Junot Díaz, Edwidge Danticat, Charles Bowden, Héctor Tobar, Juan Fillipe Herrera, and Cristina Garcia. I had to physically restrain myself from bringing the EIGHT books I own by these authors for autographs (I reeled it in to just four).

If you have have the opportunity to hear Junot Díaz speak: GO. He's so intelligent and he gives me so much hope. And on top of it, he's simply hilarious. When I asked for his autograph, I told him that The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao was the book that made me decide to go to graduate school, because I knew I had to discuss it in an intellectual environment with other people who cared about it like I did, and he got this amazed, grateful look on his face and he leaned in and kissed me on the cheek! That was, (mark this down) the first time I've gotten an autograph from someone that I didn't say something stupid and horrible. I said exactly what I meant to say (the absolute gods honest truth) and was completely surprised by the result.

Edwidge Danticat is similarly amazing. Her grace just fills the room. I could listen to her talk for hours. Our society has such difficulty seeing human beings as human beings and I just wanted to take every word these authors said about Haiti and Mexico and Cuba and El Salvador and our own homes and plaster it all over the walls.

Finally, I have to mention that Héctor Tobar is an unsung hero in my book. Not only was his novel, The Tattooed Soldier, an amazing book, which I should have reviewed for you, but didn't because I wrote a 20-page paper about it instead, but he spends his days writing about the Latino community in Los Angeles for the L.A. Times which means he gets a lot of racist hate mail for looking at the real world. His new novel comes out in September and I can't wait.

In short, racism is awful. Literature is so empowering. Authors make me giddy. Georgetown can keep taking my money if they keep bringing these role models into my life.

Feel-Better Greek Soup

2011-02-22T14:59:00.002-04:00

Tim feels like crap today so I made this modified Greek soup which has a little bit of everything a sick person needs. And it's really satisfying and filling.

Greek Lemon and Orzo Soup with Spinach

1 boneless, skinless chicken breast
1/4 cup finely chopped onion
3 cloves chopped garlic
4 cups chicken stock
2 cups water
1/2 cup orzo
3/8 cups fresh lemon juice (1 and 1/2 lemons, juiced)
3 eggs
1/2 cup fresh spinach, cut into thin ribbons
parsley
black pepper
salt
olive oil

Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Coat chicken breast with olive oil and sprinkle with salt, pepper and ground or chopped parsley. Bake chicken for 25 minutes (this gets rid of some of the fat and gives it a better texture in the soup).

While chicken is baking, heat 2 tbsp olive oil over medium heat in a large soup pot. Add chopped onion and let cook for 2-3 minutes, then add chopped garlic and 1 tsp salt. Cook for another 2-3 minutes.

Add chicken stock and water to the soup pot and bring to a low boil over medium-high heat. Add 1 tsp ground parsley. Add the orzo when there is about 10 minutes left of cooking time on the chicken.

When the chicken is ready, remove it from the oven and cut it into bite size pieces. Add it to the pot.

In a bowl beat together the lemon juice and the three eggs. Take 3/4 cup of the hot broth out of the pot and slowly drizzle it into the lemon/egg mixture while beating it swiftly (this tempers the eggs). Then stir this mixture into the soup. Continue cooking and stirring until the soup has thickened slightly. Stir in fresh spinach.

Add salt and pepper to taste. Feel better soon!

Sex! Gambling! Gossip! Killing! Rabies! Hurricanes!

2011-02-18T13:16:00.008-04:00

Bonk: The Curious Coupling of Science and Sex
By Mary Roach

Wheeee! Fun! A book about sex! Yay! Oh wait, you know what's amazing? How scientists can ruin anything under the pretense of making it better. Now, I'm not saying that you shouldn't read this book, because it is fascinating. But it is a little bit like reading an exposé on the beef industry. Do you really want to know how that hamburger is made? No. You may not want to admit this, but much of the hamburger's deliciousness is actually predicated on mystery.

Good thing Mary Roach has a healthy sense of humor. Exhibit A: chapter seven is called "The Testicle Pushers: If Two is Good, Would Three Be Better?"

I would recommend: reading this book aloud on a long car trip, so that everyone is equally embarrassed. If you weren't close friends before. You will be now.

How to Live Safely in a Science Fictional Universe
By Charles Yu

I was so excited about this book. Let me repeat: SO EXCITED. How excited? I bought it in hard back, at full price. Which I NEVER do. I think I thought it was going to be like The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao only on Science Fiction. News flash: it was not.

This is a book about time travel, but before you get too excited (Amber D.), it's mostly a book about daddy issues. And not in an awesome, space battle, cyber sexy, defeat your father and take over the death star kind of way. In an Ezra Pound, generation X, lonely guy in a broken time machine with a holographic dog sort of way. It is a story where nothing happens except to repair the main character's wounded psyche, which I HATE.

This book does mega cool things with language and form. Ok. And... Yeah....

I would recommend: well, don't read this if you're really tired, is all I'm saying.

China Boy
By Gus Lee

Opposite end of the spectrum from the Charles Yu. China Boy is about a 6-7 year-old boy named Kai, whose family flees China during the Chinese civil war. They end up in San Francisco in the 1940's and 50's. At first, Kai is sheltered by his mother, but when she dies and his father marries Stepmother Edna, Kai is shoved out into the streets. Kai becomes the recipient of daily beatings and as a result, his father sends him to the YMCA to learn to box and defend himself.

If we're talking about Asian American literature here, personally, I found this book 750,000 times more enjoyable than the Joy Luck Club. Lee writes with humor but he's presents a really nuanced vision of the way African American, Latino, and Chinese people get along in San Francisco at this time. But don't get me wrong with all this race-y culture-y stuff, this isn't Grad School talking here, I chose this book independently (yes, it has boxing in it, sue me) and I couldn't put it down.

I would recommend this book to: anyone who thought the Joy Luck Club needed more Fight Club.

Their Eyes Were Watching God
By Zora Neale Hurston

"Oh to be a pear tree--any tree in bloom! With kissing bees singing of the beginning of the world!"

The first time I read this book (I know I'm singing a familiar song here) was freshman year at Centenary. I liked it ok, but pretty much only absorbed that it was about a sexually independent black lady who talked in dialect. I didn't learn very much, obviously.

All I'm going to say is that if you've already read it because you were forced to, it's so much better when you do it for fun. Holy smokes. This book is so much better when you're not a stupid freshman in college distracted by... being a freshman in college. It's got sex and gambling and gossip and killing and rabies and hurricanes!!!

So much better the second time. Period.

I would recommend this book to: Tim, who didn't make it past the first page when the book was assigned to him, and to all my female friends who need something in between a bodice ripper and god-forsaken Wuthering Heights.

Thunderdome

2011-02-16T00:24:00.003-04:00

I keep talking about my Oral Exam like that's a normal thing we do in America--at least not in the "dental technicians" and "insurance premiums" sort of way.

Before Georgetown, the only other place where I have ever encountered oral examinations as a regular sort of thing was France. And France was a silly place.

Well, as I have mentioned, in the English graduate program at Georgetown, we're required to pass an oral exam in order to graduate. It's sort of like defending your thesis before you write one, essentially proving that you can perform research independently. I took mine on Friday. I got a "high pass," which is above a "pass" and below a "pass with distinction."

Either way, I walked out thinking, "oh, I am TOTALLY done with graduate school for.ev.er."

I came home and immediately played video games for six hours and drank a six pack of Red Stripe (HOORAY BEER!). However, as Tim and my professors so rudely reminded me, I am actually currently enrolled in three classes, which I also have to complete in order to graduate.

Puh. uhShhuh.

So, yes, I don't have to think/read about boxing anymore except when I want to. But I do have to finish the semester alive, which just got harder because Tim somehow talked me into buying an iPhone, which is a life-sucking soul-terrorist because it is the epitome of all shiny objects.

Homework÷Shiny Objects=FAIL

The Want Bone

2011-02-02T14:09:00.002-04:00

The Want Bone

By Robert Pinsky

The tongue of the waves tolled in the earth's bell.
Blue rippled and soaked in the fire of blue.
The dried mouthbones of a shark in the hot swale
Gaped on nothing but sand on either side.

The bone tasted of nothing and smelled of nothing,
A scalded toothless harp, uncrushed, unstrung.
The joined arcs made the shape of birth and craving
And the welded‑open shape kept mouthing O.

Ossified cords held the corners together
In groined spirals pleated like a summer dress.
But where was the limber grin, the gash of pleasure?
Infinitesimal mouths bore it away,

The beach scrubbed and etched and pickled it clean.
But O I love you it sings, my little my country
My food my parent my child I want you my own
My flower my fin my life my lightness my O.

IN THE EVENT OF A ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE

2011-01-25T12:13:00.003-04:00

Just so you know, our apartment would be the perfect stronghold in the event of a zombie apocalypse.

I was thinking about this the other night and have decided that really, for the amount of rent we pay, you can't beat this level of zombie-security. Normally I wouldn't say that about a garden-level apartment, but in this case I think it's true.

Item: All of our doors and windows are barred, heavily. And our doors are made of that weird, shatter-proof Plexiglas which is impenetrable to the thumping of undead heads/loosely gripped fists.

Item: Despite being at garden level, I feel like we're fairly inconspicuous. When was the last time you saw a zombie get down on its knees and investigate something? Never. That's when. Most of our windows are behind shrubs which make it easy for us to see out, but difficult for the unobservant (read: the undead) to see in with their beady little eyes.

Item: In the event of a long stake out, we have a fireplace for heat and plenty of room to store supplies (maybe I should start stocking up?). Plenty of reading materials. But no shotgun--this is D.C. one of my neighbors is bound to have one.

Item: The apartment does have three entrances. The front is moderately conspicuous to the street, the other two are well-hidden. The side door leads to a small patio which is sunk into the ground and surrounded by a high railing and shrubs, good for getting out if needed, unlikely that any zombies would climb/fall over--and if they did they'd be trapped on the patio and easily dispensed of. The back door leads to a locked/enclosed courtyard which all of the apartments in the building share. Assuming that none of the neighbors have been taken by the desire to gnaw our flesh (which we obviously can't) this is a great way to get onto the roof via the fire escapes, get the lay of the land, throw Molotov cocktails, sharp-shoot (there's also a second-level terrace on the front of the building that would be good for this, assuming zombies don't excel at climbing), take out the trash, and smoke cigars (which there's no reason not to do in a Zombie Apocalypse).

Item: Our apartment is 4-6 blocks (don't quote me on that) from two different grocery stores, a hardware store, and a farmer's market (of limited use a few days after the electricity goes off). If one is brave and well-armed enough to go outside, these are useful sources of supplies and magazines.

Also, there are the Marine Barracks about 12 blocks away which probably have swords and maybe a hummer with the keys in it. If they doesn't have swords then the Marines need to change their advertising.

12 blocks in the other direction is the Library of Congress, which I would LOVE to run around in if it was totally uninhabited, but I would NOT love to be attacked and have my brain eaten by a congressional librarian in the darkened stacks because the irony is too much.

Conclusion: This is definitely the right apartment for the job. D.C. is probably one of the worst cities you could be in during a zombie apocalypse--a lot of people, a lot of traffic jamming the ways out, metros(!), already high panic quotient... ick. But I could totally have this apartment on lockdown and still make snacks.

High Noon at the OK Corral

2011-01-21T22:05:00.002-04:00

HOLY MARY MOTHER OF GOD.

So, in the last 48 hours my whole life plan has changed.

Nevermind, strike that... my whole degree plan changed. But when you're a graduate student, your degree plan IS your life plan, so it feels pretty much the same.

Georgetown offers two degree plans: the thesis plan and the non-thesis plan. Oh, so I have the option of not writing a thesis? Sounds great!

Caveat: in the non-thesis plan, one must take two extra courses (or one extra semester of work) which must be paid for somehow.

I talked to the director of the graduate program yesterday about switching to the non-thesis option and determined that, yes, funding was available to take one extra class this semester, meaning that I will have to take (and pay for) one course over the summer. All of this mostly sounds like business except that no one could decide if I was going to get funding or not and today was the last day for add/drop and this is my last semester and I'm supposed to take my oral exam in a week. So I've run back and forth from then English department to the graduate school to the registrar, talking to advisers and professors and carrying forms back and forth all over the place.

My main motivation for this ridiculous change is that, in addition to not wanting to write a thesis, there was another class I really wanted to take this semester. I'm not going on to get a PhD, so I won't need to have thesis under my belt, so I should take classes while I still can...

But I may have made a mess of my life in the process.

The class I added to my schedule? Had an 8-page paper due today. Which I will have to write over the weekend. That's funny, I didn't have an 8-page paper due before I changed my schedule.

I've got to take my oral exam and get it done as soon as possible. Oral exam. Three classes. One summer class. Done.

Let's Stay Up 'Til 2012

2011-01-08T03:59:00.004-04:00

I still have one more day in Colorado before I go back to D.C. but I think it's safe to go ahead and rule the holidays a success. Meat&CheeseOnly (I really think I need to open up voting on this, since he's stopped ordering food this way--probably because having that as your blog nickname is enough to give anyone a complex) came to Colorado with me this year and partook of the awesomeness.

One of the high points of said awesomeness was visiting Trina. Even though Trina is having her second baby (due right around McO's birthday) this is the first time I've ever seen her pregnant. My brain still can't conceptualize this. We don't "pregnant"; we "macaroni and cheese" and "student government" and "homecoming." Oh yar, that was ten years ago. Oopsie doo. Probably I also can't conceptualize this because even though she's 8 month pregnant she's still all ridiculously cute--just, you know, smuggling a volleyball. When I get pregnant I plan to grow so large I develop my own gravitation field so that food is actually, forcibly pulled into my immediate area. Actually, this is an off-and-on life goal of mine that has nothing to do with pregnancy. It's probably good to prepare for it now though, since not everyone can look like Jennifer Connelly when they're pregnant.

So, anyway, speaking of smuggling. What did I get for Christmas? This is infinitely more interesting than "what are my new year's resolutions?" since I don't make resolutions. I think the last time I did it was something like, "I resolve to not get hit by a Smart Car in France," which is (literally) setting the bar really low. So no more of that horsepucky.

I got lots and lots of great and amazing things from my friends and family, lots of great books and DVDs especially.

McO got me my red KitchenAid mixer! I can stop entering Pioneer Woman's contests (well, the mixer ones anyway)! I can't wait to go home and use it. I'm making that man a chocolate cake when I get home. And some cookies. And a pie!

Here is a terrible short story featuring my christmas gifts.

Once upon a time Benny and Joon packed their red travel bag and filled their antique thermos with tea in preparation for a journey to Super Mario Galaxy II. Those were Simple Times, and from the Inception of the trip they couldn't imagine they were in Jeopardy!. While Benny was checking his James McNair cookbook for directions (which is probably why they were lost), Joon was attacked by a vampire. WHAM! She struck him with her ebelskiver pan, and then again with her hefty John Steinbeck collection, while Benny quickly used the garlic press to form a poultice for her wounds. She was mostly healed, but they felt better after drinking a bottle of homemade wine and eating some chocolate.

Was that terrible? I'm sorry.

I also learned that I have to be careful what I ask for, because I facetiously told my grandfather I wanted deer brains, dirty socks, snails, and a dog fart for Christmas and he gave me a box that said "3 out of 4 ain't too bad" and had a tab on the top that said "pull gently on loop to view gift." He's a veterinarian, so I should really have known better than to ask for... well... any of those things, but the dog fart in particular.

Some people may think that this is a bad gift (dirty socks?), but I'm telling you, I'm honored to receive socks full of snails and dog farts (please do not question the logistics of this). Please tell me anyone you know whose grandfather goes to such lengths to find every item on their wish list? I know love when I see it. ♥ If I didn't think I'd be arrested by homeland security for carrying that on a plane, I might have brought it home.

Maybe.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

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

2010-12-24T15:09:00.003-04:00

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

2010-12-15T19:31:00.002-04:00

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

2010-12-14T15:19:00.004-04:00

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

2010-12-08T01:58:00.003-04:00

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

2010-11-30T13:14:00.003-04:00

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

2010-11-24T02:51:00.003-04:00

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

2010-11-04T13:37:00.004-04:00

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 ------->

2010-11-01T19:17:00.005-04:00

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

2010-10-25T13:08:00.005-04:00

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

2010-10-19T12:23:00.003-04:00

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!

2010-10-12T09:46:00.003-04:00

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?

2010-09-30T19:26:00.004-04:00

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

2010-09-23T10:56:00.004-04:00

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...

2010-09-20T14:01:00.005-04:00

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

2010-09-12T15:21:00.003-04:00

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

2010-09-03T11:49:00.003-04:00

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

2010-08-30T16:10:00.003-04:00

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.

Swimmers Among the Rocks

Fish Tacos and Pineapple Salsa

Clean: It Begins

The Mugi Saga

Raspberry Mint Chocolate Smoothie

Crazy Talk

Resolution Schmesolution

Delete, Delete, Delete

The Audio/Biblio Club

Win!

Orange Ginger Cranberry Sauce

Mexican Mail Fraud

Time Travel for Amateurs

Idle Hands

10 Kilometers of.. Well ok.

NaNoWriMo

Pictures of People in Front of Real Things That Look Like Backdrops

Pachamama

Don't worry, be happy.

PERU

Upper Crust Problems

Dry

Fishbowl

Popular Reading

Buenos Buenos

My Laurels

El Moo.

War, Freak Shows, and other First Date Ideas.

Required Reading

Men at Work

Heros and Villains and Rats

Oscar el Grouch

Being Here.

The new math.

Over the rails...

Zombie Spaceship Wasteland Ballet Cupcakes

WHAT NOW.

When things get out of hand...

Thanks, Einstein.

Love.

Sum-sum-summertime

Fail Waffles

Macaroni and Cheese 4-Ever

What a day can be like...

Post-Apocalyptic Reading List

Here, have a poem.

Cheese me.

Awefulmazing Georgetowntastic

Feel-Better Greek Soup

Sex! Gambling! Gossip! Killing! Rabies! Hurricanes!

Thunderdome

The Want Bone

The Want Bone

IN THE EVENT OF A ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE

High Noon at the OK Corral

Let's Stay Up 'Til 2012

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

Tolstoy Treats: UPDATE

Tolstoy Treats

When Harry Met Sally Met Chicken

Shreveport, Knife and Fork

The Brain Drain

Cucumbers Another Way

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

Smile for the birdy

Tuna P. Wiggle

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

Parly Voo?

Featured Content: Alsn is amazing

Oh bother...

So Delicious

Jack Gilbert

Knee Slappin' Good Chili