Easy, no? Oh--a serving size, of course, varies. I average it out to one piece of fruit or one cup of cooked vegetables; half a piece if the fruit is big, like a melon or grapefruit. Raw veg portions are "as much as you like", although I'm sure that someone somewhere could injure themselves with this. Not anyone I know, as long as they stick to a variety and don't, say, live on carrots for two months straight.

Feast on what is perhaps the last article I will write for the Weekly. It's not entirely the way I wrote it, but mostly close enough. I'm sort of happy.

1.17.03 Boom

When I raised up the blinds this morning, I noticed how remarkably pretty our view still is on days like this--winter sun, and no leaves in the way of the lovely Olympics. And then I sat down at my computer and read this, and was filled with hatred.

The soundtrack in my head was, "la la la la la la la la la la la BOOM". Like most people, I prefer "la la la la la", with this sort of "BOOM" falling somewhere between momentarily unwelcome and disappointing. When you're alone, do you think you have an interior soundtrack? Not so much of music, but of sound.

Last night's cooking class was roast chicken with potatoes and garlic, and two kinds of mayonnaise--plain, made by hand, and aioli, made in a blender. Blender mayo is so easy I may never buy Hellman's again. I have begun printing up a short class overview, including a formulaic version of whatever recipe or technique we're using. My instructions included "Have a puppet show with the dead, rinsed Miss Bird". Without looking at the sheet, they did just that, after naming the birds Susie and Jessica. Both were free-roaming birds in life; Jessica was raised on organic feed. There was no taste difference, not even to my conscience.

1.15.03 Cookie! Diva!

Yes, my hungry little tummies, it's that time of year again--Girl Scout Cookie Time! Want to order cookies? I'll connect you with my favorite little Cookie Diva for--mmmMMM- thin mints, samoas, tagalongs, peanut butter patties, trefoil shortbreads, and whatever other two flavors they have this year. Granted, this deprives you of the joys of one-on-one purchasing when you're at the store, or happen to be downtown, but think of the overwhelming happiness of one small girl when, for the second year in a row, she gets her Cookie Diva" patch--or a "thin mint beanbag".

I was a terrible cookie salesgirl. My troop staged The Great Cookie Rebellion--my mom (and troop leader) didn't think selling cookies should be a scouting requirement, and it was, at the time. Maybe still is. The girls I knew who sold cookies sold them because their parents would force coworkers to purchase them, and Madam Leader couldn't figure out what, exactly, the girls learned from this experience. I think I sold a total of two boxes, perhaps a third if I include the one I bought. (Dad refused to bring them to work, and since he was a boss, it might today be labeled "hostile work environment".) When I think of all the crap I and my classmates sold over the years in school--candles, candy, calendars, jewelry, caps, greeting cards and advertising, I sort of wonder why the school budgets aren't in better shape today. Perhaps we were all terrible salespeople and it is therefore Right and Proper that we pay lots of taxes to make up for this?

1.14.03 Ignorance. Bliss.

Last week, I convinced Dr. Marvelous to postpone an MRI she wants me to have, as my arms don't seem to work properly any longer. This, she thinks, might be a sign that Bad Things are happening in my mid/upper back, rather than just my lower back. She rattled off a long word that I didn't write down (and thus don't remember). I just did a little reading and saw that basically, any further problems allow me to bypass all other spots on the board and go directly to spinal fusion. Do not collect $200 unless your name starts with "Doctor".

The reason I did this reading? Because in the last week, after doubling my intake of anti-inflammatories, my arm troubles have gotten worse. I'm pretty sure the pain would go away if Frodo would finish up disposing of that damn ring (clearly this pain is the work of Sauron), but I don't know if I can wait that long. The hearts of men are indeed weak.

And a fun little realization: Of the pitiable amount of money I made last year, just over 10 percent went to medical bills. This doesn't include the $1320 of insurance premiums, just co-pays, deductible, and prescriptions.

So, how was your morning?

1.10.03 Candy Wars

What, you ask breathlessly, is the difference between butterscotch and caramel? I put on my SmartyPants hat and answer, "Butterscotch is the blending of brown sugar and butter; caramel is what you get when you cook any sort of sugar until it caramelizes." Among other things, this explains why you can "carmelize" vegetables and fruits (all that fructose) but you can't "butterscotchize" anything. "Dulce de Leche" is another caramel; this one comes from cooking the lactose (milk sugar) in evaporated milk. "Soft caramels" and "caramel sauce" happen when milk and/or cream and/or corn syrup are added to cooked sugar; butterscotch hard candy often has vinegar added to it, to cut the sweetness and give it that inimitable tang.

Presumably, products like this liqueur and Mrs. Richardson's Butterscotch Caramel Fudge Sauce are made by making a caramel from brown sugar, and then adding butter to the cooked brown sugar.

Oh sorry, did I make you hungry? I wish my little blog had smell-o-vision, as I will soon be working on my own recipe for caramel sauce. I'm also going to experiment with making my own dulce de leche. Miss Fancy's FancyPants Chocolate Sauce that Makes Things Taste All Fancy (first-cousin of Miss Biscuit's Biscuity Biscuits with Butter) was basically perfected on Round One, so I am feeling Terribly Overconfident. I'll have to throw an ice cream social soon. (Wonder if I could procure a gallon or two of that amazing first-run vanilla from Snoqualmie Gourmet--the frozen custard that made me cry.)

1.8.03 Little Metal Shapes That Make Things Go

I just dropped my keys on to the metal rails that our car's driver seat rides on. They sort of wrapped themselves around the railing, so it took many minutes of fishing and moving the chair around to finally be able to both reach the keys and detach the keys from around the bars and bolts. My hand is scratched and puffy, and my back hurts tremendously. It's the little moments in life that remind me I'm a gimp.

I was on the way back from a visit with my lovely doctor. She is concerned about exciting new symptoms, but I've persuaded her to hold off on more tests for a month or so and see if I can just sort of make them go away now that I won't be work-working so much. (More "working" than working. Freelancers understand.)In the meantime, I'm now maxxed out on the anti-inflammatories and holding steady at 20 MG for the methadone. Here's to the joys of little Powdery Shapes That Make Jill Go.

1.7.03 Books

Rightio. Off with the bad ones first. In no particular order:

That's just nine, but that's enough. Last year, I noticed that many of my "worst" books had colons in the title; this year so do the good ones. So much for my little theory. Good 'Uns follow. Sign off the Internet and get to reading.

1.6.03 Mrs. Beeton

I'm really enjoying Mrs. Beeton's Guide to Household Management (see link under the book section)and think that future etiquette tips will arise from it, rather than whatever thing happens to be on my mind that day. She's already said that people should never bring their dogs to visit, and kids only if you've got your carriage and they stay in the carriage the whole time. Fine, sensible woman, Mrs. Beeton. Dead at age 28.

Yesterday was nicely productive; outline seems complete and first draft of intro (must lighten it up a bit) done. Proper email for prospective agent found. Today will include rewrites of intro and pre-recipe paragraphs for the Mother Sauces.

And about those Mother Sauces--most of my continually favorite/most disturbing surprises in learning a language came from that French determination to gender-ize everything. I couldn't finish Mr. Doughnut, so I threw Mrs. Crumbs into Mrs. Wastebasket. I have put down Mr. Pen in favor of Mr. Computer. Mr. Cat is sleeping on Mrs. Desk, and I fear he will break her as he is so very fat.

1.3.03 Word to Your Strip Mall "Representing the 2-5-3". I like that they find making money "awkward".

1.1.03 So Much for 2002

I meant to update, honest. December sort of got away form me, what with actual work, plus freelance work, plus 10 zillion birthdays (Sweetie is 35! Damn!), catching up with long-distance friends from Boston and [temporarily] the Netherlands, and an awful lot of narcoleps-esque naps thanks to a grand total of 30 MG of methadone per day--twice what it was at the beginning of the month, for those of you keeping track. A few highlights: