Cheese me.

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

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

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!

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

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

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.

(© Robert Pinksy 1990)

IN THE EVENT OF A ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE

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.