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Don't add milk to scrambled eggs--it toughens them. Cook over low heat, with butter, in a non-stick pan, stirring gently.
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And this is why I need sympathy: First, el Gato Gordo went insane on Friday night, when PhD Lass was here and I had a house full of folk reliving Pep Club by making signs and cookies for our bake sale. I picked up El GG so Lass could actually get into her bedroom, and the 22 lb monster went all terrorist on me. I have bite marks surrounded by puffy bruises all over my right upper arm. A note to those, myself included, who have a tendency to mess (ahem, tail poking, ahem, poking, ahem wheelbarrow races) with him when he's all upset: Stop. It. He's losing his tiny retarded mind. Then yesterday morning I was lying on the couch trying to stay awake in the aftermath of a late night and a large breakfast, and managed to get two giant (spider?) bites on my neck. Very vampire-y attack style. Very pretty. Very puffy and itchy. In fact, one is named "Itchy' and the other one is named "Swellie". Cortisone doesn't help. Scratching, of course, makes it all worse. Sweetie and I decided I need some more scar-worthy bruisings and blisters on my left side, as right now I am fairly uneven and if one is going to be this gross looking, one might as well take it over the edge. He suggested a large hot oil burn on my left shoulder. I was thinking more along the lines of track marks. As always.
Look for the start of my new non-profit foundation/reality television show, Crazy For You, where the medicated employed will be paired with the otherwise for a chance at True Love...and A Million Dollars!
It's lame to think that the weather pays any attention to mood, but still, with so many appreciated people kicking that spiritual bucket, I'm glad it doesn't feel like Girls Gone Wild: Spring Break. Thank you, Mrs. Child, for your loopy wisdom in so many areas(Seattle's local Scarecrow Video has Federal Follies, in which Mrs. Child makes primordial soup). Thank you, M. Cartier-Bresson, for all the glorious moments. Thank you, Mr. James, for a generation of superfreaks (the kind you won't take home to muth-ahhhh). I was thinking about all of these people as I was lying in bed this morning--two warm cats and an open window make it very difficult to get out of bed--and mulling over Mr. Reagan's state funeral. Apparently, people had 10 years to plan the event, and of the three paid directors over that 10 years, two of them had already died. In the coverage of the funeral (rather than the funeral itself, if that makes sense), I keep reading about how everyone liked Reagan, even though they didn't like his politics. When you have a country full of fools, that's what democracy becomes: likability. Poor Mondale, poor Dukakis--when they kick their respective buckets, no one will say how much they liked them. What about Carter? It's interesting, too, how Mrs. Reagan is becoming so admired, after being so loathed in the 80s. Remember all the money she spent on china and remodeling? For that matter, remember the 10K Mrs. Kennedy spent on clothes during her first year as first lady; She said to the press, "I couldn't have spent that much unless I wore sable underwear". In light of all these histocial tidbits, Mrs. Heinz Kerry is likely to be remembered as an icon, if she only does something a little more shellac-related with her hair. Not that she wears sable underwear (although I hope someone does, someplace)or that she'll make inane remarks about formal White House china being more appropriate for lunch than dinner and arrange John's schedule according to her astrologer. But all the lasting ones (Senator Clinton? Mrs. Roosevelt?) start out being hated.
2. While we were in Winthrop, we watched cable TV rather more than we likely should have. One 30-minute segment was a Q&A garden show. The question was "What are native plants?" Assuming for a moment the question was a real one, I truly fear for the world. I had another moment of this before the labradoodle dream, when watching Amazing Race at Cheesepants' place. AR is my favorite new absurdist theater. In this episode, everyone digs madly in a large square of sand to find a wooden scarab without any of the knowing what a scarab looks like. One guy is sure it's a sword. Yes, please, dig around in the sand looking for something with a long, sharp blade. At any rate, welcome to the lowest common denominator. 3. I recently took a break from the Aubrey/Maturin books (only because the holds haven't come in at the liberry) and read a book by Ms. Ehrenreich, about the last Reagan term and the first Bush term. Although the quotes from Poppie Bush are frequently as boggling as Sonny's, the neatest thing was discussion about the idea that Democrats are a bastion of liberal elitism. As she says, if that's really true than women, poor people and black folk are pretty darn elite. I decided that really, much of the idea of elitism is because young urban Dems are used to being the smart kids, thus used to being elite. It also made me realize that the word liberal has become much like the word feminist: it connotates crazed bra-burning hairy-legged dreadlocked white PhDs who want to turn out economy over to gay people and let prisoners from death row raise our children. Since I certainly agree with all those things, I am once again claiming the label of liberal.
One that will be allowed to stay in Seattle is the glorious Chocolati, which has a fairly new cafe on Greenwood Ave and 83rd. There are about eight types of hot chocolate--none of them just cocoa--and a whole array of truffles and bonbons and cakes. Plus Internet and lovely hipness. I almost miss living in Greenwood. Winthrop offered its usual delights: deer (a buck, a doe, two babies), innertubing, thunderstorms, disappointing hikes that are both longer and dirtier than they should be, high school students trying to work their sexy mojo on the tourist girls, a whole lot of old-school bikers, millions of yellowjackets and the glories of cable television. I learned that Sweetie is a bit of chicken when it comes to interesting weather, unless he's in a car, and that two nights of cable is enough for a year: after that, it makes me want to stab my eyes out. I also learned that the Winthrop Brewing Company makes absolutely outstanding beer, and I never say that about any brewing company. On the way there, Sweetie and I listened to much of the book-on-tape Zero, which I found historically interesting and mathematically annoying. When will math people start admitting that the "rules of math" are "rules" because people say they're rules; much like Aristotle insisting the number zero didn't exist. (If I could've started with physics and calculus skipped elementary math drills, I might actually appreciate math more). On the return trip, we listened to Resident Alien. Of that, the part that sticks with me is a fairly simple contrast of statements between Mr. Burroughs and Mr. Crisp. B says, "If something's worth having, it's worth fighting for". C says in response, "If something must be maintained by force, perhaps it is something we must learn to do without". Isn't that a nice combination, if a little sophmoric on both sides? Right now, I am so anxious about Mr. Bush that I think someone could say, "Republicans are bad" and I'd think it was terribly profound. It wasn't a Republican who thought of the brilliant Baker Relocation Program; they're obviously too busy looking for the end of the world instead of a nice breakfast.
Recently I purchased 20 different tillandsias. None of them are glued to shells or bark. I'll try and get a digital camera at some point so I can post my own pictures of their coolio blooms instead of someone else's, but in the meantime, please do admire these mysterious little creatures. Mystserious, are they not? I just learned about a group called 1000 Friends of Washington, which is supporting a curious new "property rights" ruling that says rural folks can't touch 65% of their property, and can only actually build on 10%. Here's a pro statement, and here's an anti statement. Right now, the only statement I could make is one of confusion. On one hand, I would be fairly unhappy if I was told that I could remodel my bathroom because the mildewed sheetrock made it a wetland, and I would be even unhappier if I wasn't allowed to remodel 65% of our condo because someone said so. On the other hand, I think population growth needs to be managed and that single-family households are generally not such a hot idea these days, even in West Seattle. I mostly think I need to go eat a big Southern dinner and stop with the disjointed ramblings.
I would like to lodge an official complaint about our .Why must it swoop so continually from too hot/too sunny to too cold/too overcast? What is wrong with a little happy medium, of a few puffy clouds, a light breeze and 72 degrees? OK: August is wrong, I know. This is not the Yukon, and it's a damn shame.
Sweetie and I are going to Winthrop once again, where we'll be innertubing and playing mini golf and eating excellent French dips (freedom dips?) and, most likely, drinking some beer. Don't be jealous: join us. |
