Anyway, it's all in what you do with it. And with a zucchini this massive, there are lots of possibilities.
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Fellas, try not to be too jealous...
But the fact of the matter is that I have a large, um, zucchini. I mean I'm not trying to brag or anything. I didn't do anything to deserve such a big zucchini. Just nature and luck, I guess.
Anyway, it's all in what you do with it. And with a zucchini this massive, there are lots of possibilities.
Anyway, it's all in what you do with it. And with a zucchini this massive, there are lots of possibilities.
Saturday, June 4, 2011
Happy Caturday!
If I were you, I would...
Eat some breakfast:
Watch a baseball game:
Take a nap:
Do a little shopping:
Maybe some laundry:
Take a nap:
A little yoga:
... And a couple more naps:
Eat some breakfast:
Watch a baseball game:
Take a nap:
Do a little shopping:
Maybe some laundry:
Take a nap:
A little yoga:
... And a couple more naps:
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Eating like Aaaaahnold
Did you know that pregnant ladies need a hundred gillion trillion grams of protein a day? It's true. That is the actual number.
So, I could eat turkey-egg-lentil-stuffed meatloaf sprinkled with almonds and topped with a huge dollop of cottage cheese every day.
I don't know about you, but that sounds pretty disgusting to me. And besides, much to my husband's disappointment, I have yet to experience any pregnancy-related cravings to eat anything that used to have feelings.
I'd rather eat this. (And apparently Doug would too...)
Here's what I'm talking about:
Greek yogurt: 23 grams protein
1/2 scoop vanilla whey protein powder, either pre-mixed in the yogurt or sprinkled on each layer: 12 grams
1 serving of Kashi GoLean Toasted Berry Crumble: 9 grams (the normal Kashi GoLean is more proteiny, lower sugar, but less delicious & less crunchy)
= approximately 44 grams of protein. Effective, delicious, easy, light and perfect for summer... and so far has not resulted in any secret love child sex scandals!
So, I could eat turkey-egg-lentil-stuffed meatloaf sprinkled with almonds and topped with a huge dollop of cottage cheese every day.
I don't know about you, but that sounds pretty disgusting to me. And besides, much to my husband's disappointment, I have yet to experience any pregnancy-related cravings to eat anything that used to have feelings.
I'd rather eat this. (And apparently Doug would too...)
Here's what I'm talking about:
Greek yogurt: 23 grams protein
1/2 scoop vanilla whey protein powder, either pre-mixed in the yogurt or sprinkled on each layer: 12 grams
1 serving of Kashi GoLean Toasted Berry Crumble: 9 grams (the normal Kashi GoLean is more proteiny, lower sugar, but less delicious & less crunchy)
= approximately 44 grams of protein. Effective, delicious, easy, light and perfect for summer... and so far has not resulted in any secret love child sex scandals!
Sunday, May 22, 2011
24 days later
So there was a massive tornado where I live. The deadliest tornado in the country since 1925. You might have heard of it or seen one of the 2,610 Youtube videos of it like this or like this.
A bunch of people have written about it. There have been multiple calls to share storm stories via Alabama Public Radio and in print. The University of Alabama writing folks have already put out a book about it. They are excellent writers doing what they do best. Many excellent writers have written about the tornadoes. But I do not want to read any of it.
A bunch of people have taken pictures. Immediately after the tornado, cars drove down my street (in the "affected area," which means destruction zone) holding iphones out the windows, driving slowly as though in a parade. Families walked past our house pointing with their cameras at pines slicing living rooms in half. Photographers with their $2,000 zoom lenses seized on images of what, just an hour before, had been places called homes. Places where a couple would no longer snuggle in bed together, a dog would no longer gnaw a chew toy, a toddler would no longer beg her mother to read her just one more bedtime story. I do not want to look at pictures like this and I do not want to take them.
I took two pictures at the insistence of my mother. One is of the currently uninhabitable next-door-neighbor's place, in the middle stage of removing trees off of their roof and car. (My mother asked for a frame of reference for how close we were to destruction. Our place is miraculously, thankfully, fine.) The other picture is of the donation center set up on a destroyed Church of Christ foundation about 1/4 mile from our house. It's where we've been donating peanut butter, loaves of bread, water, diapers, tampons, cat litter... I wanted to remember that place, and I wanted to remember their kindness and gratitude and the fact that these Christians were doing and not saying. Not one of them tried to recruit us to their church or preach to us.
I took both these pictures about a week after the tornado. I felt a little like I was doing something wrong. Like I did not want to be seen taking them.
I understand that documentation is important, and I've been wondering why, especially as a writer, I've been so resistant to be a part of it at this moment. Something about it, perhaps how easily it can turn from Earnest and Necessary Documentation to Touring Someone's Devastation, is uncomfortable.
I've only drafted several poem scraps since the tornado. I can't escape the idea of tall trees being scooped up and thrown down through roofs and windows like massive and deadly pick up sticks all around me. And I can't escape hearing on talk radio that people were found wandering the streets in shock, with one or more limbs severed from their bodies. Images like these have shown up in my poems and will probably persist for a while. The poems are huge scribbly messes that, at least right now, I have no desire to clean up or send out for publication.
As far as writing about the tornado directly, I've wondered if I ever would, or how long it would take me. It's been 24 days today. I don't know why I'm writing this now... perhaps because I'm sick for a week and I'm bored. But I wouldn't say I necessarily felt a sense of urgency to write this. I wasn't compelled to write this.
I have felt compelled, though--every day--to tell my husband how much I love him. I have felt visceral solar plexus necessity in that. The sheer urgency in that. I have felt the urgency to tell my cats, who were scared of the LED camp lanterns we carried to light the way in our home, that things are going to be OK. And that I love them. To tell the post-tornado abandoned newborn kitten we found in our driveway that he's going to make it and that I love him. And most of all, to watch the ultrasound video of our 25 week old fetus over and over again, and to tell whoever's in there how much we love them.
This is what feels natural and comfortable to me. This is what I've been compelled to do.
A bunch of people have written about it. There have been multiple calls to share storm stories via Alabama Public Radio and in print. The University of Alabama writing folks have already put out a book about it. They are excellent writers doing what they do best. Many excellent writers have written about the tornadoes. But I do not want to read any of it.
A bunch of people have taken pictures. Immediately after the tornado, cars drove down my street (in the "affected area," which means destruction zone) holding iphones out the windows, driving slowly as though in a parade. Families walked past our house pointing with their cameras at pines slicing living rooms in half. Photographers with their $2,000 zoom lenses seized on images of what, just an hour before, had been places called homes. Places where a couple would no longer snuggle in bed together, a dog would no longer gnaw a chew toy, a toddler would no longer beg her mother to read her just one more bedtime story. I do not want to look at pictures like this and I do not want to take them.
I took two pictures at the insistence of my mother. One is of the currently uninhabitable next-door-neighbor's place, in the middle stage of removing trees off of their roof and car. (My mother asked for a frame of reference for how close we were to destruction. Our place is miraculously, thankfully, fine.) The other picture is of the donation center set up on a destroyed Church of Christ foundation about 1/4 mile from our house. It's where we've been donating peanut butter, loaves of bread, water, diapers, tampons, cat litter... I wanted to remember that place, and I wanted to remember their kindness and gratitude and the fact that these Christians were doing and not saying. Not one of them tried to recruit us to their church or preach to us.
I took both these pictures about a week after the tornado. I felt a little like I was doing something wrong. Like I did not want to be seen taking them.
I understand that documentation is important, and I've been wondering why, especially as a writer, I've been so resistant to be a part of it at this moment. Something about it, perhaps how easily it can turn from Earnest and Necessary Documentation to Touring Someone's Devastation, is uncomfortable.
I've only drafted several poem scraps since the tornado. I can't escape the idea of tall trees being scooped up and thrown down through roofs and windows like massive and deadly pick up sticks all around me. And I can't escape hearing on talk radio that people were found wandering the streets in shock, with one or more limbs severed from their bodies. Images like these have shown up in my poems and will probably persist for a while. The poems are huge scribbly messes that, at least right now, I have no desire to clean up or send out for publication.
As far as writing about the tornado directly, I've wondered if I ever would, or how long it would take me. It's been 24 days today. I don't know why I'm writing this now... perhaps because I'm sick for a week and I'm bored. But I wouldn't say I necessarily felt a sense of urgency to write this. I wasn't compelled to write this.
I have felt compelled, though--every day--to tell my husband how much I love him. I have felt visceral solar plexus necessity in that. The sheer urgency in that. I have felt the urgency to tell my cats, who were scared of the LED camp lanterns we carried to light the way in our home, that things are going to be OK. And that I love them. To tell the post-tornado abandoned newborn kitten we found in our driveway that he's going to make it and that I love him. And most of all, to watch the ultrasound video of our 25 week old fetus over and over again, and to tell whoever's in there how much we love them.
This is what feels natural and comfortable to me. This is what I've been compelled to do.
Sunday, April 17, 2011
"Pretend You're Rich" dessert
So, you know how pine warblers get to eat all the pine nuts they want FOR FREE? I have to admit I'm a little jealous.
Pine nuts are one of my favorite things, and since they're also crazy expensive, I only buy them on those rare occasions when I feel carefree about money and like to pretend I'm rich at the grocery store. Thankfully, a very kind-hearted friend recently gifted me a huge bag of Costco pine nuts (and pecans). I'm more thrilled than a girl with two huge nutsacks should be.
If you know what's good and like to pretend you're rich too (and/or that you own an adorable little trattoria in Italy), you might like this:
2 c. pine nuts (aka: Pine Diamonds; Pine Trust Funds)
1 c. confectioner's sugar
1/4 c. almond paste (aka: Sweet Daddy Warbucks Paste)
1 teasp. pure vanilla extract
1 lg. (golden) egg
1/2 c. all-purpose flour (If you wanna go slummin' to keep it real, try the Publix brand.)
1/4 teasp. baking powder
1/4 teasp. salt
+ zest of one large lemon. This is optional, but what kind of nut doesn't like lemon? (See what I did there?)
1/ Preheat to 350.
2/ Process 3/4 c. pine nuts, sugar, almond paste, and vanilla in food processor until fine crumbs form.
3/ Add egg & pulse to combine.
4/ Add flour, baking powder & salt; process just until dough comes together.
5/ Roll dough into 3/4 in. balls. Roll balls luxuriously in remaining pine nuts, gently pressing to coat. (Like this.)
6/ Space well apart, like the rows in fancy private school classrooms.
7/ Bake 10-13 mins. or until just golden brown.
You can go straight to gobbling up all this delicate chewy lemony nuttiness straight out the oven. But high rollin' bakers like me like to make it rain first...
Pine nuts are one of my favorite things, and since they're also crazy expensive, I only buy them on those rare occasions when I feel carefree about money and like to pretend I'm rich at the grocery store. Thankfully, a very kind-hearted friend recently gifted me a huge bag of Costco pine nuts (and pecans). I'm more thrilled than a girl with two huge nutsacks should be.
If you know what's good and like to pretend you're rich too (and/or that you own an adorable little trattoria in Italy), you might like this:
"Pretend You're Rich" Pine Nut Cookies
2 c. pine nuts (aka: Pine Diamonds; Pine Trust Funds)
1 c. confectioner's sugar
1/4 c. almond paste (aka: Sweet Daddy Warbucks Paste)
1 teasp. pure vanilla extract
1 lg. (golden) egg
1/2 c. all-purpose flour (If you wanna go slummin' to keep it real, try the Publix brand.)
1/4 teasp. baking powder
1/4 teasp. salt
+ zest of one large lemon. This is optional, but what kind of nut doesn't like lemon? (See what I did there?)
How to do it:
1/ Preheat to 350.
2/ Process 3/4 c. pine nuts, sugar, almond paste, and vanilla in food processor until fine crumbs form.
3/ Add egg & pulse to combine.
4/ Add flour, baking powder & salt; process just until dough comes together.
5/ Roll dough into 3/4 in. balls. Roll balls luxuriously in remaining pine nuts, gently pressing to coat. (Like this.)
6/ Space well apart, like the rows in fancy private school classrooms.
7/ Bake 10-13 mins. or until just golden brown.
You can go straight to gobbling up all this delicate chewy lemony nuttiness straight out the oven. But high rollin' bakers like me like to make it rain first...
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
I think they're running out of names
I just saw a commercial for an insulin injector pen thingie called NOVOLOG. Novolog, people. This is the best they could come up with. A bunch of very well-paid Brooks Brothers-wearing pharmaceutical and/or ad people (or whoever names these things) sat down, did some major thinking, or what passes for major thinking among those types, and walked out of the room with "novolog."
As in "new log." As in--for poop-minded/Big Lebowski-minded folks like me--"new poop." If I had to take this medicine there is no way I would not call it "new poop." "I feel a slight dip in blood sugar coming on. Would you please pass my new poop injector pen?"
I am so thankful I also do not suffer from gastroesophogeal reflux disease. Not only does that sound painful, but I'd also have to start buying ASS EFFECTS.
As in "new log." As in--for poop-minded/Big Lebowski-minded folks like me--"new poop." If I had to take this medicine there is no way I would not call it "new poop." "I feel a slight dip in blood sugar coming on. Would you please pass my new poop injector pen?"
I am so thankful I also do not suffer from gastroesophogeal reflux disease. Not only does that sound painful, but I'd also have to start buying ASS EFFECTS.
Friday, April 8, 2011
Nursery necessities
We're really excited about welcoming our delightful little bouncy baby grit into this ridiculous world. That won't happen until September, but as the awesome mom-to-be that I am, you know I've already gotten a jump start on nursery necessities.
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Aliens are real.
One of the reasons I love teaching is that it's different every day. Unfortunately, that typically means "different ways in which my mind is blown, and not in a good way, every day."
A good deal of my friends are teachers, so they might not find any of this all that surprising. If you don't typically interact with the next generation, allow me to shed some light on what they're like. You already know they think it's ok to walk into professor's offices barefoot. Here are a few additional notes from the field that, at least from my perspective as an instructor, seem highly representative--
1/ Yesterday in class someone's phone cheerily prompted the whole class to "Say a command!" I said, "please do not say a command. Please just put your phone away." This was after I had already asked them to stop texting in class. (This, or some version of this, pretty much happens every single day.)
2/ Last week a student asked me to download a word processing program to his computer for him. When I explained that I can't do that because I am his teacher and not his personal secretary, his face displayed utter befuddlement. (It had clearly not occurred to him that this was a totally inappropriate request, or that I would say no for any reason.)
This is the same student who does not have the book for the class because "he does not want to walk to the bookstore."
3/ Yesterday 4 students did not bring their books to class. These students had no idea how to solve the problem of me asking them to answer questions out of their books which they did not have. "What should I do?" I am not joking. I had to tell them to look on with a classmate.
Several minutes after, I saw another student who did not have the book just staring off into space. I guess he thought it would be a good idea to do that for 15 minutes straight. (Remember the Seinfeld episode where Puddy and Elaine are on a plane and he just stares into the seat in front of him? It was like that, except I did not yell "That's it! I cannot take this anymore!" But I really, really wanted to.)
4/ This morning a student emailed to ask whether she's still in danger of not passing the class. The withdraw date, which I reminded them of more than once, was two weeks ago.
5/ Also this morning I had to explain to someone why Nutcase Kent Hovind is not a viable source for a research essay. I think I wrote something like "A conspiracy theorist and convicted felon does not count as a reliable source." I actually had to tell someone that. It reminded me of the time I came across this Onion article treated with total seriousness in a student essay.
If I had more of a green thumb, I'd look for a career in gardening. Plants make a lot more sense to me than people...
On a positive note, I'm really looking forward to taking off next semester to clean up spit up and baby poop. At this point, compared to dealing with any of the aforementioned insanity, changing the ooziest, foulest, most pungent diaper known to man sounds like a truly delightful treat.
A good deal of my friends are teachers, so they might not find any of this all that surprising. If you don't typically interact with the next generation, allow me to shed some light on what they're like. You already know they think it's ok to walk into professor's offices barefoot. Here are a few additional notes from the field that, at least from my perspective as an instructor, seem highly representative--
1/ Yesterday in class someone's phone cheerily prompted the whole class to "Say a command!" I said, "please do not say a command. Please just put your phone away." This was after I had already asked them to stop texting in class. (This, or some version of this, pretty much happens every single day.)
2/ Last week a student asked me to download a word processing program to his computer for him. When I explained that I can't do that because I am his teacher and not his personal secretary, his face displayed utter befuddlement. (It had clearly not occurred to him that this was a totally inappropriate request, or that I would say no for any reason.)
This is the same student who does not have the book for the class because "he does not want to walk to the bookstore."
3/ Yesterday 4 students did not bring their books to class. These students had no idea how to solve the problem of me asking them to answer questions out of their books which they did not have. "What should I do?" I am not joking. I had to tell them to look on with a classmate.
Several minutes after, I saw another student who did not have the book just staring off into space. I guess he thought it would be a good idea to do that for 15 minutes straight. (Remember the Seinfeld episode where Puddy and Elaine are on a plane and he just stares into the seat in front of him? It was like that, except I did not yell "That's it! I cannot take this anymore!" But I really, really wanted to.)
4/ This morning a student emailed to ask whether she's still in danger of not passing the class. The withdraw date, which I reminded them of more than once, was two weeks ago.
5/ Also this morning I had to explain to someone why Nutcase Kent Hovind is not a viable source for a research essay. I think I wrote something like "A conspiracy theorist and convicted felon does not count as a reliable source." I actually had to tell someone that. It reminded me of the time I came across this Onion article treated with total seriousness in a student essay.
If I had more of a green thumb, I'd look for a career in gardening. Plants make a lot more sense to me than people...
On a positive note, I'm really looking forward to taking off next semester to clean up spit up and baby poop. At this point, compared to dealing with any of the aforementioned insanity, changing the ooziest, foulest, most pungent diaper known to man sounds like a truly delightful treat.
Monday, April 4, 2011
New food pt. 2
Ok so this type of food is not new to me. And if it were, I wouldn't admit it because what kind of wackadoo has never had lettuce? But self-made carrots and lettuce is new to me.
Remember early October? That's when I planted these. Mostly on a wing and a prayer. (I just can't use/hear that phrase without thinking "Whoooo could it be? Believe it or not it's just meee...")
I worried over them. Were my lettuces too close together? Did I do a sufficient tilling job to avoid corkscrewed carrots?
Apparently all they needed was about 5 months of neglect and coldness. That might qualify these for the most emo veggies I've ever grown.
Actually, this haphazard arrangement kind of looks like the "$100-but-specially-made-to-look-like-I-cut-it-myself" emo hairstyle of lettuce. I call it "The Jared Leto-ce" (Anybody? Jared Leto? Lettuce? ...Maybe it would help to imagine the pot's wearing eyeliner.)
Rest assured, though; Jared Leto-ce has plenty of friends...
One of which is the cutest, tiniest, adorable-ist, "awww"-inducing carrot of all time. Are you ready?
In addition to the "first" of growing these, this is certainly the first time I've referred to a carrot as "cute." I mean, it's just so darn cute--it's toy sized! If the five year old me encountered such a cute carrot, my Jem doll would be in for a real treat!
Remember early October? That's when I planted these. Mostly on a wing and a prayer. (I just can't use/hear that phrase without thinking "Whoooo could it be? Believe it or not it's just meee...")
I worried over them. Were my lettuces too close together? Did I do a sufficient tilling job to avoid corkscrewed carrots?
Apparently all they needed was about 5 months of neglect and coldness. That might qualify these for the most emo veggies I've ever grown.
Actually, this haphazard arrangement kind of looks like the "$100-but-specially-made-to-look-like-I-cut-it-myself" emo hairstyle of lettuce. I call it "The Jared Leto-ce" (Anybody? Jared Leto? Lettuce? ...Maybe it would help to imagine the pot's wearing eyeliner.)
Rest assured, though; Jared Leto-ce has plenty of friends...
One of which is the cutest, tiniest, adorable-ist, "awww"-inducing carrot of all time. Are you ready?
In addition to the "first" of growing these, this is certainly the first time I've referred to a carrot as "cute." I mean, it's just so darn cute--it's toy sized! If the five year old me encountered such a cute carrot, my Jem doll would be in for a real treat!
Sunday, April 3, 2011
A rare occasion on which I am not furious with squirrels
Lemme tell ya, it's a blast. In fact, I'm sure you're feeling a little bad about hanging out in your nice comfortable house denying yourself the pleasure of digging rows. So, you know, if you felt like you needed to come over and get in on the party, I'd let you join. Cause we're friends and I'm generous like that.
Anyway, normally squirrels and I don't get along. When they root up my garden or steal birdseed (which is ALL THEY DO IN LIFE), I curse the day their deceptively cute rodent mother birthed them into this world.
But a moment ago I found this, and I have to admit I kind of liked them a little bit for it. I can feel that like quickly fading... but it was there for a moment. And it was bizarre. Almost as bizarre as the fact that people are now willingly paying money to see Charlie Sheen rant at them live.
 |
| Pee-can. |
Saturday, April 2, 2011
New food pt. 1
I've always been an egg lover, and lately since I'm trying to get enough protein to successfully create another person, I've been eating eggs pretty much every day.
So when Rena, my egg lady, sent me an email that contained the phrase "I have a few turkey eggs" I was all like "I WILL BE THERE!"
While turkey eggs are not as large as the dinosaur eggs the Chopped contestants find in their baskets, they're still a fun adventure and plenty large. Here's what they look like:
The egg on the bottom is a regular chicken egg for scale. It's blue, even though you can't tell in this picture.
Turkey eggs, or at least the eggs from whatever particular type of turkey this is, are beautifully freckled, and with a really tough shell. To describe the yolk*, you might use words like bulbous, girthy, globular, or pudding-y. Really. Scrambling these was like scrambling pudding.
They did not taste like pudding, though. Turkey eggs that taste like pudding would blow my mind. They were a bit richer, almost fattier tasting than chicken eggs, and totally delicious with a little salt, pepper, butter and dill.
Added bonus to my egg adventure: Doug got to come closer than ever to smelling an actual turkey. He was utterly olfactorily enthralled.
*I took a pick of the cracked eggs, but then thought that might gross people out. I don't know why an egg yolk would gross anyone out, but some folks are precious and delicate and weird about food like that. (I'll never forget the time a person who eats cow body parts tried to convince me that tomato seeds are "gross.")
So when Rena, my egg lady, sent me an email that contained the phrase "I have a few turkey eggs" I was all like "I WILL BE THERE!"
While turkey eggs are not as large as the dinosaur eggs the Chopped contestants find in their baskets, they're still a fun adventure and plenty large. Here's what they look like:
The egg on the bottom is a regular chicken egg for scale. It's blue, even though you can't tell in this picture.
Turkey eggs, or at least the eggs from whatever particular type of turkey this is, are beautifully freckled, and with a really tough shell. To describe the yolk*, you might use words like bulbous, girthy, globular, or pudding-y. Really. Scrambling these was like scrambling pudding.
They did not taste like pudding, though. Turkey eggs that taste like pudding would blow my mind. They were a bit richer, almost fattier tasting than chicken eggs, and totally delicious with a little salt, pepper, butter and dill.
Added bonus to my egg adventure: Doug got to come closer than ever to smelling an actual turkey. He was utterly olfactorily enthralled.
*I took a pick of the cracked eggs, but then thought that might gross people out. I don't know why an egg yolk would gross anyone out, but some folks are precious and delicate and weird about food like that. (I'll never forget the time a person who eats cow body parts tried to convince me that tomato seeds are "gross.")
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Very important quiz, people! Answer correctly and you may win a mimosa! (And by that I mean you may win the opportunity to buy yourself a mimosa.)
It’s just 3 questions, but you will learn a lot about yourself from it. A lot.
1) True or false?
2) True or false?
Pickle pizza sounds delicious.
3) True or false?
The trailer for the Disney movie African Cats makes you weep like a sniveling idiot.
So, how’d you do?
If you answered “False” to most of these—
Congratulations! Your normal-ish! Buy yourself a mimosa! Multiple mimosas!
If you answered “So Effin’ True” to most of these—
Congratulations! You’re pregnant! LIKE ME!
*Bonus points: you’re extra pregnant like me if you live in a town in the deep south that only recently—finally—in 2011— voted to allow Sunday alcohol sales. That’s right. Just in time for you to never again know the joys of a Sunday brunch mimosa. (Congratulations! Eat five motherf*%&*n’ Cadbury eggs instead!)
Saturday, March 26, 2011
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Spring and all
Here's what I think about spring: when I lived in MA for a few years, that's when I realized that I had never really and truly appreciated spring. See, in MA you start seeing daffodils in the grocery store right around St. Patty's Day (even though there may be a blizzard on St. Patty's Day) and that means winter is almost over and soon it'll be snow-free and things are going to be slushy and muddy but generally gorgeous and awesome!
Having grown up in and now returned to the Southeast, I realize that daffodils say something entirely different to me than they did in MA. Here, they say something like: Hey guess what? It's kinda nice weather now even though your car's yellow from pollen, but soon we'll once again journey through 5 relentless months of the most unbearable, humid, make-you-want-to-rip-your-skin-off-because-it's-so-damn-hot summer known to man!
So, yeah, basically I now think of spring as the singing telegram dressed in bright happy colors who rings your doorbell only to serenade you with a dirge of the death-that-is-Summer.
But, still, there're a few nice things about spring, I guess--
By the way, if you are one of those Spring Lovers, The Art of Doing Stuff has some great porn for you.
Having grown up in and now returned to the Southeast, I realize that daffodils say something entirely different to me than they did in MA. Here, they say something like: Hey guess what? It's kinda nice weather now even though your car's yellow from pollen, but soon we'll once again journey through 5 relentless months of the most unbearable, humid, make-you-want-to-rip-your-skin-off-because-it's-so-damn-hot summer known to man!
So, yeah, basically I now think of spring as the singing telegram dressed in bright happy colors who rings your doorbell only to serenade you with a dirge of the death-that-is-Summer.
But, still, there're a few nice things about spring, I guess--
Baseball spring training & forthcoming actual baseball.
Vegetable garden planning.
Pine Warblers at the feeder.
(All my photography attempts at these guys thusfar have failed.)
Plus, a whole house that smells like this:
 |
| Thank you to whoever lived here before and planted hyacinth! |
By the way, if you are one of those Spring Lovers, The Art of Doing Stuff has some great porn for you.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
A few bones
I've been super busy lately doing things like grading shoeless students' quizzes and essays. Guess what? I'm still pretty busy doing that. But in the rare event that my 5 or so readers have missed me, I thought I'd toss some bones your way...
1/ Here is an online comic I love. It's a weird combination of adorable and sad. I think you'll like it too.
2/ I made a crab quiche the other day. I was pretty excited about it, because doesn't that sound so delicious?! ...But it wasn't. I mean, it was decent and we ate it all, but it was not, in fact--as I am embarrassed and amused at actually having said out loud--"da bomb." So I'm recommitted to my normal ole' veggie quiche. (Don't let the mayo scare you.)
3/ Speaking of food, somehow I found myself accidentally watching Cupcake Wars. Know what's really good to look at for an hour before you go to sleep? CUPCAKES. Also, I just wanna say that if I were a judge on this show these size 0 cupcake bitches would be the first to go. I mean, really. The phrase "90 lb pastry chef" should. not. even. exist.
4/ My cat does this to my husband every time he gets up from the couch. There's some controversy in my house over whether it's annoying or one of the cutest, most endearing things ever. (Hint: the correct answer is B.)
5/ I'm getting better at crocheting granny squares! I love the way they look like little square yarn pancake short stacks.
1/ Here is an online comic I love. It's a weird combination of adorable and sad. I think you'll like it too.
2/ I made a crab quiche the other day. I was pretty excited about it, because doesn't that sound so delicious?! ...But it wasn't. I mean, it was decent and we ate it all, but it was not, in fact--as I am embarrassed and amused at actually having said out loud--"da bomb." So I'm recommitted to my normal ole' veggie quiche. (Don't let the mayo scare you.)
3/ Speaking of food, somehow I found myself accidentally watching Cupcake Wars. Know what's really good to look at for an hour before you go to sleep? CUPCAKES. Also, I just wanna say that if I were a judge on this show these size 0 cupcake bitches would be the first to go. I mean, really. The phrase "90 lb pastry chef" should. not. even. exist.
4/ My cat does this to my husband every time he gets up from the couch. There's some controversy in my house over whether it's annoying or one of the cutest, most endearing things ever. (Hint: the correct answer is B.)
5/ I'm getting better at crocheting granny squares! I love the way they look like little square yarn pancake short stacks.
Friday, February 18, 2011
Poop is real. And gross.
So, everybody's stepped on a piece of gum, right? I mean, this has happened to every person at least once. It's gross and annoying and you track it into your car or house or sit on it or whatever. It's sticky, it spreads, and it's hard to clean off.
And, of course, the same thing happens with poop. Everybody has stepped in poop. It's gross. It stinks, and you're all like what in the world is that? Why do I keep smelling poop? And you look at the cat and you're like dude you stink. And by the time you've figure out that it's your poop-shoe that stinks, you've already sat cross-legged on your couch or put your feet up on your coffee table or lord knows what all.
So those things have all happened to you, right? Or someone you know. That stuff happens.
And if you catch it early enough, you don't have to take your shoes inside your house. You can just rinse them off with a hose and leave 'em on the porch.
But imagine that all happened to you while you were barefoot. You can't leave your feet on the doorstep. Think about it: somebody's chewed-up gum gooed all up on your heel. Or some stranger's discarded, possibly still smoking cigarette with their saliva all over it stuck to your foot. Or a filthy shard of glass from a beer bottle cutting into your foot. Or, worse, some dog's slimy, disease-ridden feces all up in the cracks between your toes.
I've been thinking about this a lot lately, because it is 65 degrees here in AL and apparently that means everybody walk to class barefoot. I don't mean walk to the park in flops and then take them off when you get there. I don't mean walk out to your own backyard garden barefoot, or walk along the shore barefoot. That barefoot behavior is normal and fine. I'm talking here about crazy people actually traveling around from one destination to another barefoot. On purpose. And usually in a hurry.
This is happening in the world. And it's gross.
Someone else's student came into my shared office the other day--barefoot. That's right. This kid walked into his professor's office with no shoes on.
It was hard for me not to say "what's wrong with you people?!" I went with something like, "are you sure that's what you want to do? I'm a little worried about you." The kid reassured me that he mostly sticks to sidewalks. Oh, great. Because everybody knows nobody ever spits or hocks loogies or throws their cigarettes or spits out their filthy chew or gum or leaves their stinking pile of dog feces on sidewalks!
I just said, "you know, poop is on the ground. And poop is gross." This is what it's come down to. There are kids out there who either don't know that poop is gross, or don't care.
Tactile and olfactory grossness. Disease-transmitting grossness. All around grossness. Grossness no person in their right mind wants on their feet.
Apparently this is a message we need to work on spreading. Poop is gross, people. And even if you don't mind putting your feet in poop, nobody else wants you to track poop into their office, or to see or smell your pooped up, gummed, up, gross bare feet. Put some shoes on.
And, of course, the same thing happens with poop. Everybody has stepped in poop. It's gross. It stinks, and you're all like what in the world is that? Why do I keep smelling poop? And you look at the cat and you're like dude you stink. And by the time you've figure out that it's your poop-shoe that stinks, you've already sat cross-legged on your couch or put your feet up on your coffee table or lord knows what all.
So those things have all happened to you, right? Or someone you know. That stuff happens.
And if you catch it early enough, you don't have to take your shoes inside your house. You can just rinse them off with a hose and leave 'em on the porch.
But imagine that all happened to you while you were barefoot. You can't leave your feet on the doorstep. Think about it: somebody's chewed-up gum gooed all up on your heel. Or some stranger's discarded, possibly still smoking cigarette with their saliva all over it stuck to your foot. Or a filthy shard of glass from a beer bottle cutting into your foot. Or, worse, some dog's slimy, disease-ridden feces all up in the cracks between your toes.
I've been thinking about this a lot lately, because it is 65 degrees here in AL and apparently that means everybody walk to class barefoot. I don't mean walk to the park in flops and then take them off when you get there. I don't mean walk out to your own backyard garden barefoot, or walk along the shore barefoot. That barefoot behavior is normal and fine. I'm talking here about crazy people actually traveling around from one destination to another barefoot. On purpose. And usually in a hurry. This is happening in the world. And it's gross.
Someone else's student came into my shared office the other day--barefoot. That's right. This kid walked into his professor's office with no shoes on.
It was hard for me not to say "what's wrong with you people?!" I went with something like, "are you sure that's what you want to do? I'm a little worried about you." The kid reassured me that he mostly sticks to sidewalks. Oh, great. Because everybody knows nobody ever spits or hocks loogies or throws their cigarettes or spits out their filthy chew or gum or leaves their stinking pile of dog feces on sidewalks!
I just said, "you know, poop is on the ground. And poop is gross." This is what it's come down to. There are kids out there who either don't know that poop is gross, or don't care.
Tactile and olfactory grossness. Disease-transmitting grossness. All around grossness. Grossness no person in their right mind wants on their feet.
Apparently this is a message we need to work on spreading. Poop is gross, people. And even if you don't mind putting your feet in poop, nobody else wants you to track poop into their office, or to see or smell your pooped up, gummed, up, gross bare feet. Put some shoes on.
Monday, February 14, 2011
Vintage vals
Looking at those little "50 pack for kids" valentines at Target the other day, I was struck by how commercial they all are. I'm sure they were like that when I was a kid, but as an adult it makes me sad--like, to tell someone you like them, you have to support Disney or the Hannah Montana Corporation or Justin Beiber, Inc? (are those the same?)
I've always been drawn to Vintage Whatevers, but in light of the above, I find the vintage valentine's lack of commercialism-media grossness so refreshing. I mean, I'm sure they had their status-symbol associations, but in general they just seem so much more earnest to me. Like, they're not about showing off what cartoon or hip pop star you like. They're about love, friendship, and kindness.
There are so many great vintage vals out there.* Here are some of my faves:
Valentines that would get your kid expelled from school today
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| A! naked! baby! Naked! Now that's a buttload of trouble. |
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| That's wholesome. |
Kitten valentines (duh)
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| This combines both categories--cuteness and expulsion! |
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| Seriously. I would not kit about true love. |
Valentines with food puns
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| I have kind of a gutter mind, so this one makes me giggle. I mean, his spoon's totally in her tea. |
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| I would love to get pickled with you, my darling onionhead! |
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| Three puns in this one! THREE! |
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| I would totally send you this one, since turnips are the only vegetables I can grow. |
Victorian amazingness
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| As much as I love the puns, these simple images are nice too. |
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| Here's a really cool reception/ At least you'll say there's no deception/ It says as plain as it can say/ Old fellow you'd best stay away Trans: You are not good enough for a classy girl like me. For starters, get new pants. |
Finally, if you have five minutes, you should go here and watch some victorian cards in action. The little surprises may be the adult equivalent of finding a conversation heart in your Miley Cyrus© card.
*Of course, I am not one of those folks who think that everything that's vintage is awesome. There are some amazingly racist vintage valentines that, rightly so, would also fall under the first category (except, sadly, maybe not in Alabama). There's also a baby cow valentine that reads, "I'd veal so happy if you'd be my valentine." Both of those make me want to cry my eyes out. That's why I didn't post them. I want to think about happy things instead, like the possibility of the roofers finally being done on the house, and eating sushi tonight with my honey. HVD!
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Food porn for southerners & other folks who like good stuff
My husband makes the best biscuits in the world. That is not a euphamism for anything.
If you want to make the best biscuits in the world, you can too. But I can't tell you how, because I don't want the Cooks Illustrated people to sue me. But if you go here, you can learn how.
Here's what the best biscuits in the world look like. Do you have a drool rag handy?
If you want to make the best biscuits in the world, you can too. But I can't tell you how, because I don't want the Cooks Illustrated people to sue me. But if you go here, you can learn how.
Here's what the best biscuits in the world look like. Do you have a drool rag handy?
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