I invented a new pie, and general consensus has it as damn tasty. Glenlivit Chess. Odd, to have single malt meet the south, but that's what happens when you send Sweetie to the Booze Store for bourbon. None of you will ever make it, but here is the recipe nonetheless.
Have Sweetie make a pie crust, or Be A Man and make your own. Do not under any circumstance buy a pie crust, unless it is from Sweetie. Stick it unbaked in the fridge while you stir together in the order given:
3/4 C brown sugar
3/4 C white sugar
2 eggs
1/2 C whole milk
1 tsp. vanilla
1.5 Tbls Glenlivit
1/2 stick (4 Tbls) melted unsalted butter
Pour it all in the crust and bake it at 350 for about 35 minutes-you want it nice and brown on the top and set all the way through. If it jiggles when you move the pan, leave it in the oven until it stops. Eat it all up and don't share, except for the person you conned into making the pie crust for you.
I am trying another new pill in an effort to stave off another surgery. This one is an antidepressant; the fourth I've ever tried. The other three made me crazy in short order and My Fabulous Doctor has told me if I experience any side effects at all I should stop taking it. One of the side effects possible is "lack of concern". Another is "fatigue". Another is "weight loss or gain". So it seems like I should just not bother taking it in the first place, right? Hopefully it will not have the chitter-squirrel effects of Wellbutrin or the horrific nightmares of Paxil.
Speaking of chittering squirrels, there is an adorable squirrel grave next to our apartment, with "Fred the Squirell" November 23, 2003" written on it in magic marker. I had a little fit of cuteness, but then wanted to spellcheck it with a sharpie. Sweetie thought editing a gravestone was in poor taste. I didn't remind him of the wedding band he found while snorkeling on Kaui that said "Lovig You Always".
11.25.03 Gluttonous Girl
Gourmet: Shops, rather than cooks. Somewhat prissy, and still has many food hangups. Tends to assume that expensive means better. Will evolve to either Foodie or Chowhound when they grow up. Reads food reviews and figures the writers must be experts.
Foodie: Never cooks, but has a $6,000 professional range. Treats food as porn, rather than erotica. Works out for three hours, then goes to the latest "it" place for two bits of an overpriced dinner. Reads food reviews the way non-readers read book reviews: as a substitute for an educated opinion.
Chowhound: Never cooks, but knows everything about every obscure cuisine in the world. Treats "authentic" as a synonym for "good". Will bypass excellent classic French dinner for just-ok Alsatian deli. Writes hate mail to all food writers, because he is so continually appalled by their ignorance.
If I had to define myself in terms of food, I would call myself a gourmand. I cook, I go out, I like to eat and don't care if it's "a lifetime on the hips", I will try anything except the tree nuts that will kill me--and even those I have this secret plan for, once I get my epi-pen next month. I do not care if it is deli or barbecue or $20/pound cheese or snack foods with cheese powder, chances are I will like it. I know a lot about food around the world, but care more about how to cook it than where in town to find the very best local version. In the 60s, "gourmand" basically meant "someone with lowbrow taste" (spam, jello salad); "gourmet" was someone who proudly ate "weird" things like garlic. Presumedly in another 20 years there will be new words to describe people who dwell on food too much.
Hopefully, those words won't be "starving masses" (damn them and their food-dwelling ways!) and "quadrillionaires" (keeping all the food away from everyone who hasn't already died from having a spongy brain!) Plus, a quadrille is a dance, not something that should mean "four hundred million". If you would like to go dance, first determine what "performance presentable" means. And then move to NYC.
11.24.04 Two More Things
The first thing is a silly pop music time waster test thing that I am sharing for a few reasons:
I am my own iPod. I scored 101.5. Which at least used to be the numbers of a bad pop music station in Seattle. See how everything makes sense after a while, as long as you don't die too soon for it to all come together?
The second thing is sort of a ramble and sort of a question. Brothermine is loaning me his digital camera and his CD burner tomorrow. I was thinking how nice it was of him and all, and then I realized that, other than that short period of time when he conned me into making his bed for him, I have been a freeloader my whole damn life. It started with x-men comics, continued up through horribly expensive games, and now continues with proportionately-horribly expensive electronics. Are all Younger Siblings freeloaders? Don't Fret, Brothermine: just figure out the total and I'll cut you a check. Out of our future inheritance.
11.24.03 46 Million Served
In an effort to sooth my conscience for my gluttonous participation in this culturally-sanctioned genocide, I have named thursday's dinner Mr. Turkey. Show some respect for the dead, won't you?
Speaking of respect for the dead, I just caught the first few episodes of Six Feet Under. I like everyone except Mr. Sensitive Older Brother, but don't feel exactly pulled in to the whole idea. Just seems like Soap, with dead people as a regular plot device. Somehow Soap with the Jersey mafia as a plot device got me hooked, but this may not cut it. I might still watch a second disk and see if it takes.
Have you ordered your toys for Christmas yet? Get to it!
11.18.03Festival of Jammies
One of the nicest things about freelancing is that I can stay warm in slippers-n-jammies all day if I want to. And if you live in Seattle right now, you will know that the last couple of days have been Jammie Days. The best things to eat while wearing pajamas are nursery foods: sweet milk tea, buttered toast and seedless oranges. Let me tell you about toast. I am a Toast Jedi.
It doesn't matter whether you like white, wheat or rye--what matters is that the bread is good. Thick enough so the outside is brown but there is still an inside part that is softer, and with a crust that doesn't dry out in the toaster. The toast equivalent to using the Force is this: if you burn it, Throw It Out! Toast is a stern mistress, and it must be watched carefully. I think the best is moderately brown on one side, and only lightly brown on the other. The lighter side is buttered, just enough to really taste the butter, but not so much it oozes. Until recently, I would tell you to use any good unsalted butter (the milk is fresher than with salted) but lately have fallen deeply in love with Plugra and can only find the salted version so far. (If you would like to purchase a gift for Brothermine, I suspect he would not be adverse to this fine art.)
Put your buttered toast on a napkin, not a plate: steam trapped between it and the plate will toughen it quickly. If you Planned Ahead, your tea (and even if you normally drink tea plain, try it with a little milk and sugar just for me)will be at perfect hot-but-drinkable temperature. Follow your toast with a satsuma, and you will be rewarded with a firm hand and a stout heart.
11.17.03 Movies and Things and Stuff with Glitter for Teens
The Matrix Thingy: Sets a bad precendent of desiring blue pills and retaining one's ignorance. I should've known that any movie staring Keanu wouldn't ultimately be to my liking.
The Tarantino Thingy: Would normally be looking forward to next two parts, but see above. [note to self: try not to laugh so loud the next time you hear "luckily he was a pedophile"]
If you happen to be up in your Kung Fu hizzouse, you could tell me what the name was of the movie I saw in '86 that had heads getting cut off original bodies, flying across the screen, and landing on different bodies. This was a major plot device, which I remember comparing to twins in Shakespeare, but I was like that then. Ok, am like that now. Anyway: a name would be helpful, and there can't be more than one head-switching Kung Fu movie...can there?
It's time for me to go have a cupcake. You should have one too. Three cheers for cupcakes, cupcakes, ho!
11.13.03 Phat Beets
If I liked beets, I would write a book with that title. Or perhaps Pumpin' Beets. Too bad for me; too bad for the world.
I cannot urge Seattle people enough: go this winter to Cafe Campagne and eat cassoulet, which is the reason we all have the genetic-memory-inspired feeling of comfort when we hear the words "warm stew for dinner". The cafe's version includes duck confit, which I would like to eat every day.
When you have had your fill of cassoulet, you should let me know. We'll go to mechoui. Their version is $30/person and is an entire animal instead of just one limb. We have to tell them ahead of time by several days, so don't just call on a whim and say, "Boom! I want to go eat 1/6 of a sheep!" because I will say "No!"
It's here. Finally. I have been so patient. Thanks in part to Animal Crossing, D & D Heroes, and Return of the King. The last, by the way, is difficult. And that, by the other way, is an understatement.
11.11.03 Geekity Geek
Kurt Vonnegut said at least twice in his books that a geek used to be someone who bit the buttons off of taxi seats. I would like to know how it became someone who will play video games until her arms hurt and her thumb is weirdly like a block of ice, but I don't care enough to google it up.
And I don't care if it starts raining frogs, I will not give God his stuff back. It's not my fault God moved out without packing all his crap up first. If God paid more attention to the details, things like this wouldn't happen in breakups. He said it was him, not me.
11.5.03 Giggle
According to this algorithm, I am "one butch chick"! I submitted four blog entries chosen from the archives at random; only one had one "female" word (which was "apparently", if you care, and no, I didn't look at the word list until after all this, so I don't think I unintentionally colored my choices). I then submitted four chunks of non-fiction, and while they had a few more "female" words, they were still solidly male. I --who in person would only be butch in comparison to a genuine fairy princess-- am oddly thrilled to be thought "butch". Less odd, still thrilling: messing up an 80% correct algorithm. Just odd: thinking that "algorithm" isn't a bad name for something out of the Monster Manual.
At first I thought I was All Boy thanks to confidence; so many women are verbally unsure that I thought it would carry over. But now looking at the word list...who knows? My similes? My use of semicolons instead of "but"?
And because I know you're wondering: Mikanbouya's life story. He's an awful lot friendlier than that smelly, drunk, chain smoking, disillusioned pal o' mine, Kogepan. Please, if anyone ever finds the book "How to Be A Delicious Bread, send it to me.
11.4.03 I Vote No!
No on being cold! No on having my back continue to hurt! No on having a city council of any sort in my fair city! No! No! No!
Yes on wearing shoes! Yes on red hair! Yes on xBox!
On second thought, perhaps I should abstain on voting in regards to the xBox. I have hit a new low: playing the story mode of...Tetris. Remember when I discovered Tetris last year and was wondering how anyone got anything done in the 80s? Now I know: it was cocaine! That's the only way possible to keep up with all those darn falling blocks.
No one seems to be taking me up on my begging for dinner invitations. I am very disappointed in you. Don't say you're sorry, just don't do it again.
I have a new friend (hunt down the Mikan Cube under "plush" if the link still ain't fixed), thanks to Putative and my birthday. In case you are thinking, my goodnes, how could I ever top that marvelous gift, here are some ideas:
