Stealing the Sunlight

I’m reading a novel by John Connolly called The Book of Lost Things. This is not a post about the book–or not exactly. It’s not a review (although I may write one when I’m done reading it). But there was a paragraph in the first chapter that struck an immediate chord with me. (You can find this excerpt on page 9 of the first Washington Square Press trade paperback edition, October 2007.)

“The stories in books hate the stories contained in newspapers, David’s mother would say. Newspaper stories were like newly caught fish, worthy of attention only for as long as they remained fresh,  which was not very long at all….They did not take root but were instead like weeds that crawled along the ground, stealing the sunlight from more deserving tales. David’s father’s mind was always occupied by shrill, competing voices, each one silenced as soon as he gave it his attention, only for its clamor to be instantly replaced by another.”

This is how I feel. And I notice that the more I read articles (whether it’s news or blogs or whatever), the less I read novels. Now, partly that is a matter of time. But the truth is, that’s only a small part it. When I’m deep in a novel, I always find time to read, even if it’s just snatches, because I don’t want to leave the world within its pages. I carry the book around work and around town and around the house. I’ve been known to read at stoplights.

But if I fragment my attention, then I don’t seem to have the energy to support a story, to let it come to life in me, no matter how good it is. Probably that sounds dramatic. And not every book is like that even when it’s the only thing I’m reading. But the good ones are. This one is.

Gossip Girls

Not the show. My book club.

I think we should just turn it into a supper club and get the book part out of the way. Don’t get me wrong. I love to read. A lot. But I hardly ever like the books the other women in book club want to read. They want to read The Other Boleyn Girl, and I want to read Sharp Teeth. They want Reading Lolita in Tehran, and I keep thinking that if I have to read one more book about the fucked up lives and relationships of Southern women or Middle Eastern women, I’m going to slit my wrists.

I don’t have enough reading time to bother with things that I don’t enjoy. Occasionally I’ll get one of my books added to the list. Usually I’m the only one who likes it. And then I feel bad for recommending it.

Besides, conversation about the book–whatever it is–usually lasts all of 10-15 minutes. And it is pretty typical that at least half the people who show up haven’t even read it. The rest of the time we spend eating good food and drinking mediocre wine (well, I don’t really drink any wine because they like whites and that’s not usually my thing). And we talk. About work, partners, family. My guess is that this is what most book clubs are like, but I have no desire to find out. Because, in the end, it is the talk, the friendship, that is why I want to be there. I mean, if I truly wanted to have intense literary discussions, I’d break down and go to grad school.

Chocolate Mint Pie

I made zeppole (like an Italian doughnut) for J this morning and ended up with a ton of extra chocolate glaze. So, what to do with all that glaze? I thought about brownies, but didn’t have enough eggs. I thought about cake, but definitely didn’t have enough eggs. In fact, I didn’t have enough eggs for anything.

And then a friend IM’d me. She wanted to borrow a couple of books (Sookie Stackhouse books–yes, I am a pusher). Sure, I type…do you happen to have an egg I could have? Indeed she did. Yippee! There was a chocolate pie I thought I could do with my egg, plus one.

Crust

It’s Girl Scout Cookie Season (damn them!) and, if you are like any normal, rational person, you’ve purchased at least one box of Thin Mints–but probably more like three (you really need the one in the freezer). So I decided to use them for my pie crust.

• One sleeve of Thin Mints
• 1 T all purpose flour
• 2 T butter, melted

This amount makes crust for the bottom only. If you want crust up the sides, double the recipe. I personally couldn’t bear to part with two sleeves of Thin Mints. You could also use a traditional pie crust here, or a regular chocolate cookie crumb crust.

In a heavy plastic baggie, with a meat tenderizer, pulverize the cookies. You could use your food processor if you really wanted to clean it, but I prefer to just beat the shit out of some cookies. Put crumbs in a nine-inch glass pie pan. Use a fork to break up any larger pieces, then toss with flour. Pour on the melted butter, tossing with fork until crumbs are wet. Pat down into solid crust with fingers (use a latex glove or a baggie on your hand to keep from getting cookie crumbs under your fingernails). Place in refrigerator.

Chocolate Glaze (optional)

There’s no need to make this just for this pie; I used it since I had the leftovers. If you decide you want to include it, you can halve it. I did a modified version of Alton Brown’s recipe.

• 1/2 cup unsalted butter
• 1/4 cup milk (I used 2%)
• 3 tablespoons sugar
• 1 tablespoon water
• 2 teaspoons vanilla extract
• 4 ounces bittersweet chocolate, chopped
• 2 cups confectioners’ sugar, sifted

In a medium saucepan over medium heat, combine butter, milk, sugar, water, and vanilla, heating until butter is melted. (NOTE: I think you could leave out the sugar and water. AB’s recipe called for 1 T corn syrup but I didn’t have any.) Lower the heat, add the chocolate, whisking until melted. Remove from heat and whisk in powdered sugar, whisking until smooth. Pour over crust, smoothing with a spatula to form a smooth layer 1/8-1/4 inch thick. Return to the refrigerator.

Pie Filling

• 4 tablespoons of cocoa
• 3/4 cups of sugar
• 5 tablespoons of flour
• 1/4 teaspoon of salt
• 1 1/2 cups of milk (I didn’t have whole milk, so I used  1 1/2 cups 2% minus 2 T, plus 2 T heavy cream)
• 2 egg yolks, beaten slightly
• 1/8 teaspoon peppermint extract
• 2 teaspoons of vanilla
• 1 tablespoon of butter

In a medium saucepan over medium heat whisk together sugar, flour, salt, cocoa, eggs yolks and milk. Stir constantly until mixture bubbles and thickens, about five minutes. If it becomes lumpy, continue stirring and the lumps will dissolve. When thickened, remove from heat and whisk in mint, vanilla, and butter, stirring until smooth and glossy. Pour into pie plate. Cover with plastic wrap and chill. Serve with homemade whipped cream.

Whipped Cream

The ratio is as follows. You can make as much as you need.

• 1/2 cup heavy whipping cream
• 1 teaspoon vanilla
• 1 tablespoon sugar

With whisk attachment, whip cold ingredients until thickened and peaks formed.

The Locals: Gifts, Books, Bakeries, etc.

Just a little list of some of my favorite places in Austin to pick up a book, new music,  gifts–for myself and for others–or sweet treats for any occasion. I’m sure I’ve forgotten some places. What should I add?

Shops — Gifts, Books, Toys, Etc.

• Monkey See Monkey Do – fun gifts; great for co-workers or anyone with a sense if humor
• Emeralds – baby, bath, home decor, clothes, jewelry and shoes
• Zinger Hardware – hardware store, gift store, kitchenwares, furniture; get your VOC-free paint and your gourmet preserves in one place
• Breed & Co. – get your screws, your luxury china, and a lot of things you didn’t even know you wanted
• Sparks – a card for every occasion plus t-shirts and fun gifts
• Toy Joy – toys for girls and boys of all ages
• Terra Toys – wood blocks from Germany, tin toys, amazing books, and even awesome kiddo fashions
• Book People – books, books, books, readings from authors, and wonderful gifts
• Waterloo Records – music, and really there’s nothing else to say
• Domy Books – books, with a focus on graphic design and the graphic arts
• Authenticity – unique, handmade pieces in glass and wood and other materials
• Eliza Page – great jewelry, with something for most any budget

Bakeries

• Sugar Mama’s Bakeshop (they’re all good, but I love the Elvis, the Odd Couple, and the Mud Pie–plus they have a large vegan selection)
• Delish (strawberry Z, s’more, and banana chocolate are my favorites and a very convenient location dowtown)
• hey cupcake! (24 Carrot, or the Double Dose Whipper Snapper, not as gourmet as some of the others but more like homemade)
• Upper Crust (cinnamon roll, apple danish, and the Texas croissant–and don’t miss the cheese soup at lunch)
• Sweetish Hill (their carrot cake is perfect, but everything here is wonderful)
• Russell’s (coconut cake)
• Sentelli’s (best chocolate croissant ever)

On the Table: A First Take on Franklin’s BBQ

Why is BBQ always south and east of where we live? Whether it’s 40 miles to Lockhart or 3 miles to Ruby’s, we follow the smoke south and east. Today, the smoke was coming from Franklin’s BBQ which occupies a small trailer in a parking lot on the east side of IH 35 at 34th Street. The pits occupy another, even smaller trailer right beside the service trailer.

You always want to give a BBQ place two or three tries before rendering a final verdict because smoking meats is a fickle enterprise. Variations in weather and wood–and the human element–can produce vastly different results. So, this is only my initial impressions.

Aaron (the owner) was very friendly, young (under 50), and slightly more hipsterish than you might expect of someone who sells BBQ out of trailer. The woman who was the cashier was also cheerful and nice. Although lunching out at the picnic tables today was a little chillier than I–and my rapidly cooled food–would have liked, I saw they had strung some lights and can imagine some balmy spring nights out at the tables with some beer and beef. (Note: you’d have to bring your own beer.) They have sodas, teas, and water. The tea is bottled (Sweet Leaf varieties), and they have Topo Chico.

My meat of choice is ribs (pork, I don’t even understand the purpose of beef ribs). And I will forgive a lot of things if the ribs are are well done. Unfortunately, we got there at 1:00 and missed the ribs. So, I had the pulled pork sandwich instead and the BBQ beans. J had brisket and sausage.

Beans first, so I can end on the important stuff, the meat. The beans were simple: pintos, cooked just right, in a fairly thin but tasty sauce, a little peppery and maybe just slightly oversalted. I thought the sauce was a good consistency, not thick and sticky but not bean water. And I appreciated that they weren’t sweet and didn’t taste strongly of BBQ sauce. Good beans are harder to achieve than many people realize, and these get a thumbs up. They have potato salad and cole slaw, but we didn’t bother with either of those. Maybe next time.

Sausage. It comes in links (about the size of a Chicago hot dog), not rings. The texture was too mealy/grainy for my taste; I prefer a more kielbasa style sausage. And there wasn’t a lot of flavor to it.

Pulled pork. You can get your pulled pork sandwich with slaw, if you’re going for the full-on Carolina experience, but I didn’t want to distract from the meat this first time. He did give me a little squirt of a new brew of pork sauce. Texture and tenderness were right on. Not fatty, but still moist. But I was disappointed when it came to taste. Not that it tasted bad; it didn’t. It was just…pork. There was very little smokey flavor, as if it had been roasted, not smoked. I had a couple of bites that had a bit of the rub, and those had a little more flavor. Maybe a heavier hand with the pork sauce would also help.

Brisket. Same story as with the pork. The brisket was tender and moist, the ends just a little crunchy/chewy as they should be. But you could tell from the lack of a good pink smoke ring that the smokey flavor would be missing here, too. It tasted more like a (admittedly good) roast than it did a smoked brisket.

It could be that the cold weather is affecting the smoking process. They’ve got a lot of things going for them, but the smoke that I want in my BBQ just wasn’t there. But there’s potential in those pits, I can tell, so I’ll definitely give Franklin’s another try. Going southeast hasn’t failed us yet.

The Garden of Your Dreams

Someone I know said recently, “When I win the lottery one day, I am going to have my very own Olive Garden in my house.”

I know, right? WTF? She’s a relative–sort of–so I can’t even smack some sense into her, at least not if I want to go home for Thanksgiving this year. (Oh, wait…)

That’s what you would want if you were a millionaire? An Olive Garden? I’m just saying. You could have a professional chef to make you whatever fabulous meals you desire with fresh and exotic ingredients. You could eat out at (or order in from) the best restaurants.

Why does this upset me so much? It’s not just that she thinks that Olive Garden has good Italian food, but that this is the level of her aspiration: endless salad and bread sticks.

Stop Clowning Around

Since I’m just now recovering from an icky bout with the flu, this is just a short post so I can warn you about one of the most serious threats out there. If Stephen Colbert weren’t so unwisely concerned with bears, clowns would definitely be #1 on the Threat Down.

I hate clowns. And let me tell you why: they are evil. Not just a little evil, either, but more like ninth circle of hell evil. And they’re just as impossible to escape. They’re everywhere. You think you’ve avoided them, and then they pop up, suddenly, where you least expect it…like in a U.S. Postal Service flat rate shipping commercial.

The family in the commercial knows; they understand the horror of the clown. It takes the mailman a little while to catch on, but even he eventually realizes that the clown has to go.

The eyes. They’re supposed to look happy; they’re supposed to be laughing. But they’re dead, empty. They remind me of birds’ eyes, and you know how I feel about birds. (Well, you might not, but you can find out.) The nose? Leave round and bulbous to W. C. Fields. The hair–why is that supposed to be funny? It’s fucked up is what it is. Only a madman would have hair like that. And the mouth? Why does it have to be so big? What kind of awful teeth is it hiding? All huge and red, like it’s been smeared with blood while gnawing hungrily at somebody’s side…nomnomnomnom.

Watch out for the clowns people. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

[I've just realized I have to hurry up and write another post so I can get this scary freaking image off the top of this page. Ack!]

On the Table: Outrageous Chocolate Chocolate Chunk Cookies

If you read my post The Great Mustard Caper of 2009, you might have noticed the part about the wonderful cookies my younger sister made for J, the ones that I had to hide from him because he couldn’t stop eating them and was making himself sick.

Well, here’s the recipe she used.

The Ingredients

Substitute bittersweet chocolate in part or whole to make less sweet and more dark chocolaty.

Use at least a decent quality chocolate such as Ghirardelli.

• 8 oz semisweet chocolate, rough chop (for melting)
• 4 T unsalted butter
• 2/3 c all purpose flour
• 1/2 t baking powder
• 1/2 t salt
• 2 lg eggs
• 3/4 c packed light brown sugar
• 1 t vanilla
• 12 oz semisweet chocolate chunks (you could use chips or make your own chunks from a bar; chunks should be at least 1/2 inch square)

The (super easy) Instructions

• Preheat oven to 350
• Melt 8oz of rough chopped chocolate with the 4T butter. You could use a double boiler, but why would you? Put butter and chocolate in a small microwave dish and heat in 20-30 second increments, stirring in between.
• Combine flour, baking powder & salt in small bowl, stirring just to combine
• Beat eggs, brown sugar, vanilla at medium speed until light and fluffy
• Drizzle in chocolate. Chocolate should be melted but not hot.
• Lower mixing speed and slowly add flour mixture to egg and chocolate mixture, beating until just combined
• Stir in chocolate chunks
• Form into even-sized balls. This is very important. The balls should be the same size. I’m not saying you have to weigh them out on your kitchen scale, but you should weigh them out on your kitchen scale. Also, it’s important to form the balls before you chill the dough.
• Butter a cookie sheet and place cookies 2 inches apart
• Chill at least 30 minutes. You can chill longer than that, but please cover tightly with plastic wrap.
• Bake 12-15 minutes (rotating 1/2 way through).
• Allow to cool 10 minutes.

A couple of options:

You can add nuts if you like. Almonds, pistachios, pecans.

Serve them warm out of the oven with vanilla or coffee ice cream.

Cookies are best out of the oven of course, but are also fabulous if put in the microwave for 10-12 seconds (no longer!).

After allowing the dough to chill 30 minutes, you can move cookies to an air-tight container. Make sure to place plastic wrap between the layers and over the top layer. Then freeze. Then remove and bake as needed (will take 15 minutes).

Movie Madness

So, the other night, J and I were at a party talking to some friends. You know the kind: movie know-it-alls, only slightly better than music-know-it-alls. (I say this with love–and some envy.) Now, these aren’t the same as movie snobs whose pretension and refusal to admit that movies can be entertaining makes you want to punch them in the face. Like it would be a sin–a coolness faux pas–to enjoy yourself or something.

Your know-it-all friends just know it all. They’ve seen everything, from Transformers (even the second one, on cable) to the 2007 Romanian film 4 Months, 3 Weeks And 2 Days about the awful experience of two women trying to get an illegal abortion. And they memorize the lines from everything. They know the perfect movie quote for every situation. Bastards.

So we’re at this party, at first trying to talk intelligently as the inevitable “best movies of the decade and upcoming award winners” conversation begins. Pretty quickly we’re just trying not to look like complete morons, nodding in agreement with knowing looks when really we’re like what the fuck are they talking about? Was that actually a movie?

And the best movie of the decade is…

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind

At least according to The Onion’s A.V. Club’s best films of the ’00s, which, as we all know is the final word in movie and music reviews! Actually, I’m not really kidding. They’re really good. For example, they refer to the action of Kill Bill as “much badass motherfuckery.”

So I was looking at this list of the top 50 movies, and I really and truly realized I don’t know shit about movies. I’ve seen maybe 12 of the 50. Maybe. And I haven’t even heard of most of the others.

And I hated some of those I did see. For instance, There Will Be Blood (#3 on the list). Hated it. It was so fucking boring. I know, I know. Daniel Day-Lewis is incredible. It’s criticism of capitalism without conscience is exceptionally relevant to this decade. But it’s boring. And annoying. And excruciatingly long. The Squid and the Whale (#20) is another one that, while I didn’t passionately hate it, and I can admit that it was well-acted, was boring and the characters annoying. Its one saving grace was that it was short. Thankfully.

Of course, as I’ve already said, I don’t know jack about movies, so probably my opinion isn’t worth the screen time. But I know what I like. So my list of my favorite movies looks more like the one below. And how does a movie get on my list? They are, with a few exceptions(*), the movies that I end up watching over and over again. They are movies that I enjoy.

not necessarily in order

• The Hangover (not on their list)
• *American Psycho (#34)
• 40-Year-Old Virgin
• Old School
• The Incredibles (#26)
• Love Actually
• Forgetting Sarah Marshall (“…it kind of reminded me of a dark, gothic Neil Diamond.” Hah!)
• The Dark Knight (#41)
• *Donnie Darko
• Star Trek
• Casino Royale
• The Bourne Ultimatum
• Pirates of the Caribbean (Black Pearl)
• Little Miss Sunshine
• Shaun of the Dead

What do you think? What have I forgotten?

The Decider

Even if nobody else does, I can always depend on J to read my blog posts. It’s really very sweet, although I think probably he’s just making sure I’m not blogging about anything he might find embarrassing. Usually he likes the posts, or at least says he does, which, in this instance, is really just as important as actually liking them.

But he didn’t like my most recent post (Talkin’ ‘Bout a Resolution). In that piece I discuss the fact that I hate resolutions. While he said a lot of stuff that I didn’t pay too much attention to, it’s fair to say that his central argument boiled down to something approximating: “I think it’s good for people to have goals, to have something to work toward.”

Indeed. Goals are wonderful. I have a few myself: eat fruit/vegetables with every meal, blog more consistently, remember to water the plants, throw out old pairs of socks when new pairs have been purchased, etc. It is good to have something to work toward and to know, at least in part, where you want to go.

And my post wasn’t arguing for people to do away with their goals. Go ahead and keep them. Make more. I’d argue for you to set reasonable, realistic goals, but other than that, have at it. Because goals are not resolutions.

goal: an object or end that one strives to attain

resolution: a decision to do something or to behave in a certain manner

The difference might seem subtle, but in that gap is the chasm where most of us plummet to our deaths. Goals are all about the outcomes, the end results. Whereas resolutions are all about the decision–not even the actual achieving of something, but just the deciding to do something–usually something unpleasant or difficult. If it weren’t unpleasant and/or difficult you would already be doing it. Deciding to do something is easy–even “W” could decide shit. Doing shit is a much trickier proposition.

Plus, resolutions, as I pointed out previously, tend to focus on immediate and sweeping changes in behavior that are, for most of us, impossible to achieve or maintain. And they tend to be grand, sounding something like this: I’m going to run every day for an hour. I know I don’t run at all right now, or really spend an entire hour doing anything other than watching TV, but starting January 1, I will be running every day. Yesterday and today I am/do A, but starting tomorrow I’ll be/do B.

And there’s hardly ever just one. When it comes right down to it, we all want to be completely different people than who we are.

Don’t You Know, Talkin’ ‘Bout a Resolution

resolution: a decision to do something or to behave in a certain manner

———

I’ve been thinking about the idea of resolutions, and I’ve come to realize that I hate the idea of resolutions. I hate the idea of deciding that for the next year…or forever…I will or will not do some particular thing. Because just the act of deciding, of resolving, say, to not eat ice cream means that of course you will immediately want ice cream. Two scoops of real ice cream, creamy and rich–not that crappy mostly air or slightly icy stuff–maybe with caramel or fudge on top. Or maybe you resolved to get organized and finally clean out that closet in your spare bedroom that’s absolutely packed full of crap. That makes it almost one hundred percent likely that you will never ever clean out that closet, and even if you move, you’ll simply pack all the crap up and transport it to the closet in the spare bedroom of your new house.

I understand the appeal of the idea of a fresh start, starting the new year off right by doing everything right from the beginning. But, come on. Most of us have a resolutions list the length of our arm. And that much change is never good. It’s certainly never good when we have to do the changing.

So, I’ve decided that my resolutions for this year will include only those things that I already do and want to continue doing next year. Why set myself up for failure?

I henceforth resolve in 2010 to:

1. sleep in at every opportunity;
2. get a massage at least twice a month;
3. eat nice lunches with friends at least three times a week;
4. spend time cuddling on the couch with my dog Toast;
5. spend time cuddling with J;
6. buy fabulous pairs of shoes and incredible handbags on a fairly regular basis;
7. read only books I’m actually interested in;
8. indulge my obsession with SVM/True Blood (new book in May; new season in June);
9. make happy hour a consistent practice; and
10. spend as little time in the kitchen as possible.

Because I don’t want to stress myself unduly, I’ve limited this to 10. Now, I know what you’re thinking. Ten is still a lot to commit to. But I already have a proven track record in each and every one of these areas. I know I can make each of these happen again in 2010.

Now That’s What I Call Devotion

Every year my stepdad, who doesn’t actually celebrate Christmas (he says), buys 20 copies of the same thing (usually some sort of inspirational book or a CD with horrendous religious music or some kind of crazy as seen on TV kitchen tool that never does the things it was advertised to do). Each one of his ten kids, plus the older grandchildren and the odd friend of the family, receive their copy. And that’s the gift from him. My mom may sign both their names to the other tags, but everyone knows that he had nothing to do with those.

Now, my mom’s gifts usually leave a lot to be desired. And she shows a definite tendency to purchase gifts she might like, which often means that my siblings and I receive gifts more appropriate for a 60 year old woman. Last year, it was these awful large-wale corduroy oversized boxy shirts. Mine in a rusty red like dried blood. And my sister’s in blue (I think, though it hardly matters). Also, she tends to think that my sister and I (and now our new sister-in-law, poor thing, someone should have warned her) should be given exactly the same gifts, only with slight changes. So we all get purses or pajamas or earrings in the same patterns but different colors. She says it’s in the name of equity, but I really believe it’s more in the name of laziness. I can see wanting to spend the same amount, but buying essentially the same gifts? Well, that’s just not even trying.

But even with all that, her gifts are still better than the ones from him. This year, when I received my (not even wrapped) copy of “eXtreme devotion: daily devotional stories of ancient to modern day believers who sacrifice everything for Jesus,” I tried not to roll my eyes. I swear, I did try. But…really? “eXtreme”? Spelled exactly like that, like extreme sports. All the kids are doing it. It’s totally cool.

Now, I don’t want this to turn into a rant on the evils of religion or my views on God. But, needless to say, there has never been a time in my life when I would have appreciated such a book. As he knows very well. But I graciously accepted it and set it aside. A few days later, when I hadn’t taken it back to our guestroom with the rest of the gifts, he reminded me of it. I know it’s there, I said, placing it back down on the table.

When we left Dallas for Austin today, it was sitting on the buffet by the door, strategically hidden by the cute little hat my sister had let me borrow. Which, of course, my mom picked up, saying, “Wait! Don’t forget your hat!” And me, sort of mumbling and shouting and rushing through the door with the last of my baggage, saying, “NO! Leave that where it is!” (Yes, I did sound a little frantic.) “It’s Natalie’s. I left it for her.” I was eXtremely anxious to get out of there sans gift. “eXtreme devotion”? Pass it on.

My New Best Friend: Lists

Not to-do lists or grocery lists. Or checklists. Those things are hardly ever useful. In fact, I actually know someone that spends so much of their time making such lists that they have very little time for actually accomplishing the things on the list. But perhaps they find a well-made list to be fulfilling and satisfying. Who am I to judge? I’m sure I’ve forgotten some much-needed nutmeg or something at the grocery store because I refused to make a list.

The lists I’m referring to started with managing my Twitter account. If I wasn’t able to check it on a regular basis it was getting completely out of control, almost always because of just a few voracious users. And, while I’m sure I wouldn’t have missed anything life-altering if I had not read a post, you never know! So, I’ve been using the Twitter Lists function, which lets me divide up the people I’m following into groups and then view them by those groups. Very useful! Maybe it’s already possible (let me know if you know something I don’t), but I wish they’d add the ability to group your followers and tweet to them selectively.

Sweet freedom! The Facebook lists have set me free of my family. I haven’t been able to share my new blog posts (admitting that no one but me may mind that) because I have several family members that are my Facebook friends and my blogs are often about my family or on topics that might upset my already delicate relationship with my family (more on this in my post My Mom is Not My Friend). Now, I have added all of my family into a Facebook list called Family. And I can control the security of my posts so that they do not appear to the people on the Family list. Or, I could post family-related items to only my Family list, thus not boring my friends with updates on the planned trip to Great Aunt Pitty-Pat’s. No, no, you can thank me later, Friends.

Thank you, lists. BFF.

The Great Mustard Caper of 2009

Also known as Christmas Eve…

How many ugly Xmas sweaters?

It’s been one day at the parents’, and so far, so good. Only one or two moderately offensive comments about Democrats (hello, I’m sitting right here) and Muslims. Mostly it’s my stepdad telling us how much he doesn’t like Christmas and he doesn’t want any presents. And then saying how we should open all the presents right now and asking my mom if she’s remembered to wrap the powerstrip (yes, you read that right) that they bought for my little brother. He’s got seasonal schizophrenia obviously.

J has made himself sick devouring the super-rich, extra chocolaty cookies my pastry chef sister made for him. Finally, somewhat sympathetic (though a little sick of hearing about how his tummy doesn’t feel well) I told him to get out of the kitchen while I hid the cookie tin. No more cookies for him.

mmmmm...chocolaty

UPDATE: I continue to find new places to hide the cookies and regulate his cookie consumption to two at a time. I am the Cookie Nazi. No cookies for you!

UPDATE: How many ugly Christmas sweaters were under the tree? None! At least, none for me. My sister got one.  We call it a Christmas sweater because she got it for Christmas. Even my mom doesn’t buy sweaters with Christmas decorations. Still the one she got was red and it was hideous. So it definitely counts.

After the storm: Christmas morning.

My sister, J, and I made a last minute trip during a surprise snowstorm (yes, I have pics of the inside of  a cookie but not of the snow) to Whole Foods to pick up some beer and champagne for gifts for my brother-in-law and pies for Christmas dinner. When we left my parents’ house, the plan was to pick up something for lunch after we were done at Whole Foods because, if there’s one thing you can bet on at my mom’s, it’s that–despite vast quantities of food–there’s nothing that you’d actually want to eat. But it was snowing like mad when we left, and it was cold and very blustery, so we decided to skip the extra stop and try to scrounge something up.

At home, I made J a sandwich. Fresh ciabatta roll, turkey, muenster cheese, pickles. Then I went to put some mustard on it. There were five open mustards in the fridge: two yellow, two a horseradish whole grain mustard, and a Gulden’s spicy brown. Horseradish and turkey don’t really go together–and yellow mustard is really only for hot dogs and hamburgers–so I grabbed the Gulden’s. It was a squeeze bottle, and those are tricky, always shooting out that gross little bit of mustard water before the actual mustard comes out. So I took it to the sink and gave it a squeeze. A disgusting stream of brown-colored liquid came from the bottle. Not your normal mustard water, that’s for sure. I looked at the bottle. There was this giant brown spot in it. I’m not sure what it was, and I didn’t look too closely. I checked the date. It had expired back in late summer.

Fine. Horseradish isn’t ideal for turkey, but whatever. If J was going to be picky, he should have made his own sandwich. I grabbed a bottle. But fool me once…blah blah blah…so I checked the label first thing. May. 2007. Seriously. I got the second one…March. 2007. Well, obviously, I did the only thing I could do: I used the yellow mustard (which had a 2010 date) and put the other two back in the fridge. Hey, it’s not my fridge. Later my sister, with whom I had been sharing the details of this little mustard misadventure, spotted them lurking from their spot in the door. She threw them away, the better to protect future sandwich makers from dodgy condiments.

Clearing away the lunch mess and breaking out the cookie cutters, we began to make cookies. The dough was well-chilled, though, as usual, the room was stifling, so we had to work fast before they dissolved into a gooey mess.	cookie cutters
And still, somehow several of them puffed up to nearly unrecognizable shapes. This year, instead of the royal icing we normally use for cookie decorating, we went with meringue. It was interesting to work with.  We had white, green, and yellow meringue; a bag of Skittles, and some red crystal sugar.	Yes, those are Skittles.
And we had to pipe with homemade wax paper cones. There’s only so much you can do. The meringue does make for fabulous beards, I do have to say.	...Everybody's waiting for the man with the bag

We finished the cookies, and gathered around to play a little MarioKart. I suck at games, I admit it. I make wild hand gestures causing my character to plummet to her death, run into walls, or get bogged down in quicksand. Then I swear a lot at the television. My family understands this about me and tease me but not mercilessly. I talk smack but take the teasing with fairly good grace.

In the middle of a race, from the kitchen we hear my stepdad, who’s making a sandwich. Pastrami, rye bread, cheese, mustard….mustard? Where’s the mustard? There were two open mustards in the fridge. I just used them on Wednesday….

UPDATE: We went to Target on Dec. 26 and purchased two new bottles of mustard–one horseradish and one spicy brown. Just to emphasize how long overdue that was: French’s had changed the packaging! We hardly recognized what we needed to get. Also, on a similar note, J went to take some Advil and discovered it had expired back in 2008. Now, normally I’m not a rabid date-checker, but by now I’m feeling pretty paranoid. So if I didn’t buy it while I’m at their house, I will be checking the label.

Egg, Potato, and Karma

I went to work on Monday. I was in an even worse mood than usual for a Monday morning on my way into the office. I was supposed to have had the day off. I was supposed to be in the too-warm kitchen at my mom’s, making Christmas cookies with my sister that we would top with gobs of gorgeous icing that would render them inedible. I was supposed to be wrapping presents and chiding my mom about how terrible that hideous cheap garland looks on her tree and why doesn’t she invest in some decent fucking decorations. Plus, weighing on my mind was the fact that later that afternoon J and I would be taking our dog Bagel to the vet–and we wouldn’t be bringing her home (see earlier post RIP Bagel).

These things made me crankier than normal. And I don’t like being cranky during the holidays. During the holidays I get my Martha Stewart on. I host parties for 80 of our nearest and dearest. I decorate like a madwoman. I shop til I drop. But here I was, definitely not feeling the Martha holiday spirit; I was more “My cellmate is who?” than “It’s a good thing.” So, I pulled my mood up by its bootstraps and decided the morning called for breakfast tacos for everyone! Besides, we hadn’t had any food in the house so I was ready for breakfast.

I placed a call to my office mates and took their orders meticulously. I pulled into Taco Shack, a local place with fairly good breakfast tacos and, more importantly, they’re on my way to work and they have a drive-thru. I’m in the line, which is always long, inching towards that first milestone: placing your order. You really feel like things are in process once you place your order, even though you are still sitting in your car in line. But once you place your order, you imagine, they begin cooking, so then you’re really just waiting so as to give them enough time to prepare your food. But first you have to place the order.

So, the car in front of me finishes their order and begins to roll forward. Aha! Finally. Progress. I roll forward. Almost to the speaker. Almost there. Just 18 inches or so and I’ll be in loud talking range. And then she stops. But there’s nothing immediately in front of her, no car, no person, no bicycle in the drive-thru. The only thing that could possibly explain the halt were some arbitrarily–and certainly not officially–painted “crosswalk” lines that, if she moved forward, she might stick out over slightly, very slightly. But there would still be plenty of room for anyone trying to enter or leave the building. And plainly, from the line of cars, no one was interested in entering the building. We wanted to drive in circles and receive our food in a bag at our car window. And the woman–the idiot–in front of me, would not scoot up the extra 18 inches needed to let me place my order.

Seething with admittedly unreasonable anger, I beat my fists against my steering wheel and gave her the universal questioning WTF gesture (no, that’s the go fuck yourself gesture, but I thought about that one, too). Pulling my iPhone from my purse, I twittered the following: “Behind stupid ass GMC Envoy (you know who you are) at Taco Shack. No I dont have Xmas spirit today.”

Eventually, of course, the car distantly in front of her moved even further away, so she thought it was safe to go ahead and move forward. I placed my order. It was official. I was getting tacos. I paid, and finished my drive into work, the smell coming from the bag gradually lightening my mood from black to it’s previously grey level. There’s little traffic on the road. Lucky bastards all have the day off. The parking garage is pretty empty so I get a good spot. The bag is still warm, and that’s good, because there’s nothing worse than cold breakfast tacos unless it’s microwaved breakfast tacos.

Through the tunnel (yes, I go through a tunnel that runs under Colorado Street) and up the stairs to my office in the basement. I put down my purse and take off my jacket, hurrying, because those tacos aren’t getting any warmer. My colleagues are praising my thoughtfulness and generosity. Why, yes, yes, I am fabulous. Thank you all for noticing. So, let’s get these doled out.

What’s this? I didn’t order this. Oh, well, it’s not too bad, I’ll be okay with that. This one is…well, crap, that’s not right. And on it continued. Of six tacos, not one was correct. In fact, there weren’t even six tacos in the bag. But there was an extra side of karma.