A Kindled Mind

Hammers, Hacksaws, and Lots of Sugar

2008-11-19T06:09:00.001-08:00

On Friday morning, Amanda and I packed my car full of cake-decorating supplies, shortening, cream cheese, butter, powdered sugar, aprons, rolling pins, fondant, airbrush equipment, and 14 separate frozen cakes, and drove to New Albany, Indiana to make 2 huge cakes for our friend Monica’s wedding. Amanda and I started work on the groom’s cake as soon as we reached the church. Adam wanted the cake to resemble a dirt racetrack, so we had to hack apart an extra cake to make the hills and jumps, and make an obscene amount of whipped frosting. During the summers, Amanda works at a local cake and coffee place, and sweet-talked her old boss into letting her borrow the pastry airbrush for this cake. The flower girls, waiting for the rehearsal to start, crowded around as we sprayed the cake in green and brown, and stared in amazement as Amanda used a pastry bag and specialty tip to create tufts of grass all around the painted track. I ran to the nearest superstore for a faux pine wreath and wire cutters, and made little pine trees to go with the toy car garnish.

Everything went smoothly for the groom’s cake; the bridal cake, on the other hand, was a struggle from the first. The huge layers of spice and pumpkin spice crumbled at the lightest touch, and we had to lighten the cream cheese frosting recipe to keep from tearing the cakes as we crumb-coated them. This being a very large and tall cake, we needed to cut wooden dowels to support each layer – Amanda had brought Lee’s pocketknife to cut the dowels, and after 1 hour, I had cut 4 of the 25 necessary supports. We retreated to Monica’s parents’ house, hoping to find something more powerful than a pocketknife, and were so happy to find a radial saw in their basement, which took care of the rest of our dowels in less than 10 minutes.

Natch, we discovered the next morning that I had measured the dowels incorrectly. I was sent back to the superstore to buy more dowels, a small hacksaw, and a sifter (I had broken Mrs. Adkins’ sifter the night before – the poor old thing just came apart in my hands).

We frosted and swirled the cakes a second time, and after removing our heels and any objects higher than 2 millimeters off the floor to ensure no tripping between the kitchen and the fellowship hall, we carried each layer out to the table. After all the layers were stacked, we had to hammer a sharpened dowel through the center of the stack to make sure they wouldn’t slide during the cutting process. This time, Amanda failed to measure the dowel, and we spent a breathless couple of minutes with her holding the mostly-submerged dowel steady and me gently working away with the hacksaw an inch or so above the cake. All through the ceremony, Amanda and I fought the impulse to run out of the sanctuary to make sure the cake hadn’t toppled.

We were also given the task of cutting and serving the cake, which was much more complex and sticky than I could have imagined. The cake, due to its moist deliciousness, proved difficult to slice cleanly. We also battled the customary nuisance at any wedding – an adorable yet annoyingly precocious 5-year-old boy, who was constantly underfoot, insisting on “helping”, and dropping plates of cake onto the carpet. By the end of the reception, the cake table looked like the battleground at Agincourt, smothered by the fallen chunks of cake.

The Willing Hostage of Adolescent Culture

2008-11-12T12:14:00.000-08:00

The Time: Today. 11:15 am

The Place: Fandango.com

The News: Tickets already sold out for 12:01 am showing of the Twilight movie

The Reaction: Text Amanda, brace myself for onslaught of panic from numerous female friends, plan to buy ticket for 12:05 am showing.

Grad-school snobbery aside, the Twilight series has been a great guilty pleasure for me over the past year, and I’m looking forward to the late-night premier event filled with squealing teenagers and hunky vampires. How can anyone who truly loves literature be dismayed about this much frenzy over a book? It may not be Shakespeare, but it may also be paving the way to a lifetime of literary exploration for thousands of students. Every time I’ve stepped into my local Barnes & Noble in the past year, I’ve witnessed the exact same scene and couldn’t help smiling: a person or group of persons walking away from the massive red and black Twilight display is stopped by a person or group of persons walking towards the Twilight display.

“Is that the latest Twilight book?”

“Yeah, it’s awesome! I already read my school library’s copy (or a friend’s copy, or the local library’s copy), but I wanted one for myself. You’re going to love it!”

“I still think the first book was the best.”

“Wait till you try this one. It’s even better!”

“Oh, sweet!”

So, when I’m standing in line next week, surrounded by teens dressed as vampires and clutching their black and red tomes, I’ll remember that this is a display of the power of the English language, and keep the sarcasm to a minimum.

Amanda has taken great pride in passing the books along to all her neighbors, friends, and relatives, and started planning this evening several months ago. We’re getting together tonight to buy our tickets online, and to plan some pre-movie activities. I’m not sure what the others have in mind; I just hope it doesn’t involve costumes.

Professional Maturation

2008-11-08T07:47:00.000-08:00

I'm freshly back from my first business trip, and somehow I feel much more grown up - the mystery is gone from a few of the multitude dark corners of human experience.

My company has service branches scattered throughout the world, and manufacturing plants in Illinois, South Carolina, Spain, and Germany. Since knowledge of the machine is fairly important when it comes to writing its manual, my position has a built-in excuse for travel, but this was the first time that I dared to take advantage of it. Fortunately, my job still retains a great deal of mystery within the engineering department, and I can make most of my own decisions without even consulting my superiors; my immediate boss suffers from a lack of manegerial motivation and a fear of women as a species, which explains why he hasn't asked for an update on my work since January.

I flew down to South Carolina on Monday, after stopping by my office for a few hours to do some last minute work and leave the boys a plate of peanut butter cookies. Anton's secretary had arranged all my transportation for the trip; I must have done something recently to make Anton happy, because I stepped out of my apartment to find a white limo standing ready to take me to the airport. I sat in the back seat, wrapped in my Indian shawl, reading Gaskell's North and South, and feeling very grown-up and professional.

For those of you who have never visited Chicago's O'Hare airport, the place is a labyrinth. It has four separate terminals, connected by a monorail system, and covers enough ground to merit its own zip code. The first time I went there to pick someone up, it took me nearly an hour just to find her. Fortunately, O'Hare is a little easier to navigate when you're the tourist. I checked my bag, and wandered half a mile to the end of one of the terminals to encounter the first of my "firsts": an itty bitty airplane. Apart from brief rides in a helicopter and a hot air balloon, all of my aerial travels were taken in big Boeing aircrafts; it was so exciting to be able to walk out onto the tarmac and smell the jet fuel and hear the roar of planes all around me. I was half tempted to turn around and give the peace sign when I reached the plane door, but I managed to restrain myself.

After reaching Charleston, my second "first" involved renting a car. Yes, you heard right, I've never rented a car before. The man at the counter tried to sweet talk me into signing up for all the insurance and fuel packages, but I was forewarned at Peddinghaus that I was already covered by the compnay's insurance, and so I was able to refuse them all with confidence. I got in my little silver Chevy Cobalt, and struck out for Georgetown in the rapidly approaching darkness. Once there, I had the last of my "firsts": checking into a hotel by myself. By the end of the day, I felt so grown-up and experienced (feel free to snicker if you know me at all).

My work in Andrews went well; I had little to do, since the computers were not set up correctly, and I could not do half the work I had originally planned on. Andrews gives the feeling that it's in its death throes; driving along the main street, you can see nothing but gutted commercial and residential buildings, mouldering trailer homes, torn-up streets, and men and dogs wandering the roads with empty eyes. I called my mom at lunch to tell her that I had wandered into a Stephen King novel - it's that creepy.

Fortunately, I was able to find a dose of civilization every night, in the form of an Asian bistro and sushi bar called Emi. After work, I would go to the hotel, change, drive to Pawleys Island, and spend at least an hour lingering over delicious sushi. Trav, you'll be proud of me - I tried salmon skin for the first time, and loved it!

And so, here I am, back at home, and feeling well-traveled. Next stop: Vittoria, Spain! (That is, after over six months, and only after I have come up with an airtight reason to go.)

Because I'm Too Lazy to Write an Actual Post...

2008-10-10T10:36:00.000-07:00

Please enjoy the first comic strip character created for devotees of Sherlock Holmes, comedies of manners, and snarkiness: The Victorian-Era Superhero!

Busy

2008-09-25T06:21:00.001-07:00

I'm going subsurface this week. We're in the throes of Oktoberfest over here - I'm surrounded by men in leather overalls and funny hats, screaming machinery, and a boatload of onions and beets. CEO Anton is having a blast - the picture seared into my mind from yesterday is him during lunch, holding full pitchers of dark ale, having the time of his life filling the cups of customers and telling jokes.

The tour guides I'm in charge of are a sweet, funny bunch of absolutely beautiful women (one of them got an offer yesterday to be on the show "America's Next Top Model"). They're doing well with the tours, and seem to be managing themselves just fine, which gives me a few extra minutes to sit at my computer and tackle my ever-growing mound of paperwork.

And write a quick blog post, of course. I'll resurface sometime next week. Wish me luck! Tally ho!

The Best Peanut Butter Cookies Ever

2008-09-14T15:40:00.000-07:00

This recipe comes from my mom, who in turn got it from her cousin Teresa, who only allowed her to copy the recipe if she promised that she would only use Jif-brand chunky peanut butter. She and I have both kept to that promise, and have never had reason to regret it.

These cookies are phenomenal - soft, pillowy, and a little crumbly. I've had a number of peanut butter cookies in my short years on this planet, but these take the cake.

Peanut Butter Cookies
Makes: 3 dozen-ish

1 cup brown sugar
1 cup granulated sugar
1 cup butter, softened
2 eggs
1 tsp vanilla
2 cups chunky peanut butter (must be Jif!)
3 cups flour
1 tsp salt
1 tsp baking soda

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.
2. In a large bowl, cream the brown sugar, granulated sugar, and butter until soft. Gradually beat in eggs, vanilla, and peanut butter.
3. In a smaller bowl, combine flour, salt, and baking soda. Gradually add the flour mixture to the peanut butter mixture.
4. Roll dough into small balls, and place on a greased cookie sheet (or a sheet lined with parchment paper). Press balls flat with a dinner fork in a crisscross pattern.
5. Bake cookies for 10-11 minutes; remove from oven. Allow cookies to sit on the cookie sheet for another 2 minutes (cookies will appear slightly under-done). Transfer cookies to a cooling rack until they have reached room temperature.

You Gotta Love Wikipedia...

2008-09-12T14:00:00.000-07:00

British Tea Ritual

Even very slightly formal events can be a cause for cups and saucers to be used instead of mugs. A typical semi-formal British tea ritual might run as follows:

1. The kettle is boiled and water poured into a tea pot.
2. Water is swirled around the pot to warm it and then poured out.
3. Loose tea leaves are then added to the pot while the kettle is reboiled.
4. Water is added to the pot and allowed to brew for several minutes while a tea cosy is placed on the pot to keep the tea warm.
5. A tea strainer, like a miniature sieve, is placed over the top of the cup and the tea poured in.
6. The straight black tea is then given to guests and they are allowed to add milk and sugar to their taste.
7. The pot will normally hold enough tea so as not to be empty after filling the cups of all the guests. If this is the case, the tea cosy is replaced after everyone has been served.

Whether to put milk into the cup before or after the tea has been a matter of some debate and has traditionally been seen as a class divide. Working classes who could not afford good quality crockery would add milk first to ensure that the sudden increase in heat would not crack the cups, whereas middle and upper classes who did not need to worry about this would add milk afterwards so that guests would be able to take the tea as they personally preferred it. This latter tradition has been considered the correct one according to etiquette. However, some hold that adding milk second tends to scald the milk.

There is also a proper manner in which to drink tea when using a cup and saucer. If one is seated at a table, the proper manner to drink tea is to raise the teacup only, placing it back into the saucer in between sips. When standing or sitting in a chair without a table, one holds the tea saucer with the left hand and the tea cup in the right hand. When not in use, the tea cup is placed back in the tea saucer and held in one's lap or at waist height. In either event, the tea cup should never be held or waved in the air.

Drinking tea from the saucer (poured from the cup in order to cool it) was not uncommon at one time but is now almost universally considered a breach of etiquette.

* - Vintage Gold teacup painting courtesy of Jennifer Bellinger Studio.

My First Grown-up Race

2008-09-08T07:15:00.000-07:00

I may have jog-walked the vast majority of the time, but dog gone it, it was still a race!

Amanda signed up first for the Nike Plus Human Race, and then begged and pleaded and cajoled until Melissa, Traci, and I signed up as well. Amanda and Traci are both experienced marathoners, the kind of people who run 4 to 6 miles daily, and so they teamed up as the running half of the party. Melissa and I formed the “Let’s-be-logical-about-this-There’s-no real-need-to-run-like-madwomen” walking half.

The week before, we went to NikeTown and picked up our nifty race packet, complete with shirt, tracking chip, PowerBars, and granola. For those of you who have never visited a NikeTown before, the experience can be a little daunting – floors and floors devoted solely to workout gear. I mean, is it necessary to offer over 100 colors and sizes and styles of workout tank tops? It all seemed a bit much, but then again, I’m not an athlete.

The race day itself was much more fun than I expected. As soon as we arrived at Soldier Field, we joined a mass of more than 14,000 runners sporting little red t-shirts, wrap-around sunglasses, and iPods, all of them stretching, warming up, and standing in long (and I mean long) lines for the porto-potties. Jumbotrons everywhere flashed ads and race records from the twenty-some cities who had already hosted races, and the announcers shouted directions over the din of the crowd. Melissa and I, who had placed ourselves in the 12-minute mile starting bracket, had to wait 15 minutes to start running as all of the race participants were funneled through fenced-in chutes at the starting line (very similar to the chutes used during calf-roping competitions, except slightly wider).

The race route flanked Lakeshore Drive, so that we were able to run right next to Lake Michigan during the second half, and it was dark enough that we were treated to a beautiful view of Navy Pier and the big lighted Ferris wheel as we worked our way north. I love Chicago in all if its forms, but I especially love it at night. It is truly a beautiful city.

Melissa and I ran during the first half-mile, and for a stretch in the middle, and for the quarter-mile home stretch at the very end. At that point, it didn’t matter whether I walked or ran – my body was fairly numb from my bellybutton down. We eventually found Amanda and Traci, consumed a good amount of complimentary bottled water and granola with yogurt, and made our way to the interior of Soldier Field, stopping every two minutes or so to stretch our unforgiving muscles. In fact, my hips refused to forgive me until two days had passed, and then only grudgingly.

The Fallout Boy concert was great, if very short. We didn’t get to Soldier Field until the concert was already underway, so I have no idea how much we missed. We got to hear three or four songs, including Dance Dance (my favorite), and stood close enough to the stage to have our DNA recombined by the thumping bass. Rock concerts may not be my cup of tea, but even I could not deny that Fallout Boy does a great live concert.

Fun times, great music, free food, and a complimentary t-shirt. Maybe I’ll participate in another race, but only if the race participants wear the same shirts. It’s easier to not feel self-conscious about jog-walking like a senior citizen if you can blend in with the crowd.

The Funnies

2008-09-03T11:30:00.000-07:00

Who doesn’t love the newspaper funnies? Every morning from childhood to high school, Dad would bring the paper in from the mailbox, and I would pounce upon section C as soon as he reached the kitchen table. Not that I found them all funny – on the contrary, most of them could barely muster enough substance to be called distracting – but they still seemed to strike a chord within me. Perhaps it was that desire to make fun of their labored humor, an urge that has followed me all my life, and heralded my love of Joel, Mike, and the Bots.

Now that I’m an adult, my tastes have changed a bit. I actually read other portions of the newspaper, for one. But I still turn to the comics at the very end, saving them for dessert. The Chicago Tribune offers a wider variety of comics than the Idaho Press-Tribune, though the greater amount of comics does not change the fact that the large amount of comic strips out there simply aren’t funny (at least, not in the way they intend).

Fortunately, as always, the sprawling internet enables people with greater wits than my own to address these flaws on today’s funny pages. I have recently discovered several blogs and websites that I would mildly or highly recommend to those who have grown up reading, loving, and scoffing at the funnies:

The Comics Curmudgeon: Witty man (and technical writer!) Josh takes on a wide array of the funnies daily, selecting the most ridiculous of the day and ripping them to shreds. Recommended. Warning: Regular profanity.

Mary Worth and Me: A more family-friendly, yet still cynical, exploration into one of the longest-running soap-opera comics of newspaper history. Recommended.

Mary Worth, Style Maven: Tina, grad student and seamstress, comments on the visual oddities of Mary Worth, and occasionally recreates the strip's fashion faux pas using her sewing machine skills. Mildly recommended.

The Amazing Spider-Blog: Takes on the legendary Amazing Spider-Man strip, and peels back the veneer of coolness to reveal that Peter Parker does little else besides watch TV and whine. The writer makes his posts a little more upbeat by having a daily “Things I Like” (TIL) side note. Mildly recommended.

The Luck of Dennis St. Michel, Viscount Stokington: I’ve saved the best for last. This brilliant piece of work takes the characters from the funny pages and plunges them into a Victorian novel of manners and intrigue. You need to be well up on most of the comic strips out there (Apartment 3-G, Popeye, Marmaduke, Slylock Fox, and many others), as well as Jane Austen, Romantic (with a capital “R”) and Victorian novels, and British history and fashion to get all of the jokes, but those without all the inside knowledge can still find it hilarious. Enjoy as Sir Dennis turns mercenary to woo the Lady Margaret (Dennis the Menace), help Kit Walker (The Phantom) exact revenge on Sir Julius Dithers (Blondie), rip the bodice from Madame Morgan (Rex Morgan, MD), and evade his demented enemy Calvin Hobbes (rather obvious, no?). Highly recommended. Make sure to start reading at the very beginning!

Devon Goes to Chicago! (Part II)

2008-08-30T14:36:00.000-07:00

Warning: You might want to make yourself a snack and bring it to your computer before you start reading this post. Oh, and if you think you might need to use the restroom in the next hour or so, you might want to take care of that too.

Wednesday: Wrock Chicago

Those of you unfamiliar with the Harry Potter phenomenon may not realize that the fandom is not limited to people who read and talk about the books. No, no, HP fans find many ways to express their love for the books, and the most interesting mode of expression is what they call Wizard Wrock. The requirements for becoming a Wizard Wrocker are very simple: using any number of fans and instruments, you simply write and perform songs that include references to the plots, characters, and culture of the HP canon, and perform them before crowds of Rowling fans in backyards, libraries, and other venues.

Devon and I arrived at the Chicago Hilton in the early afternoon, just in time to hear The Butterbeer Experience, a pixie-like girl with a great voice and unlimited energy. Each of the non-headliners had half an hour on two stages in the hotel, and both rooms were lined with the bands’ “merch” (it’s amazing how much terminology I learned during this week). The other afternoon bands we saw included Celestial Warmbottom, The Moaning Myrtles, The Parselmouths, and The Gringots Grrls.

Before the headliners took the stage that evening, I whisked Dev away to the very touristy Navy Pier to check out the Stained Glass Museum – an impressive collection for a free open-to-the-public exhibit. Many of the pieces were from old sites throughout Chicago, and they covered a variety of themes, styles, and eras. If you are ever in Chicago and have a free hour, this is a definite must-see. We also explored the arboretum, and took a ride on the giant Ferris wheel, and blue-skied plots and characters for our own best-selling young adult book series during dinner.

The big names of Wizard Wrock claimed the stage for the evening performances, and the grand ballroom at the Hilton was packed to bursting with fanboys and girls in various states of costume, with all of their parents and chaperones lining the back walls (trying in vain to distance themselves from the noise, no doubt). Instead of lighters, the crowd held wooden carved wands aloft for the rock anthem-style songs, and groupies rushed the stage and screamed every time a new band came on. Having never attended a concert outside of the classical genre before, this was quite an experience for me.

The events planners at the Hilton evidently did not know what they were getting into when they granted these bands permission to play. Heading up the escalator to the ballroom, Devon and I noticed a crowd of well-dressed people from the American Gospel Singers and Choirs Conference entering the ballroom directly below that of the crazed Wizard Wrockers. Judging by the thumping already emanating from the floor above, we wondered how disturbed the AGSCC would be when the Wrock really got underway. The Whomping Willows took the stage at 8:00, and the madness began.

The base thumped so loud as to thoroughly vibrate my bone marrow, the fans screamed, and everyone started to dance. The floor started to shake so much that I was sure it was going to collapse – I gave Devon one fear-stricken look, and then instinctively dashed to the wall farthest from the crowd. I could see it in my mind: the center of the room suddenly collapsing; the fans, stage, and bands falling through and crushing the nice-looking, be-hatted ladies of the AGSCC; the Earthquake-style scenes of carnage and chaos that would follow. Evidently, I am destined to forever be intimidated by this genre of music. (Nota bene: this theory was confirmed this past Sunday at the Fall Out Boy concert I attended after the Nike Human Race 10K – the race itself was tons of fun, by the way.)

The management arrived at about 8:30 to inform the crowd that their jumping about had completely disrupted the AGSCC conference and caused the chandeliers to sway dangerously, and that we would all be escorted out of the building if we continued. The concert was a little calmer after that (another testimony to the reputation of our Chicago PD), and I mustered the strength to stay until Draco and the Malfoys took the stage. Dev and I retreated temporarily for chocolate cake, and then she plunged back in to watch Harry and the Potters while I sought some necessary quiet in the lobby. We left the Hilton around midnight, rushing home to get some sleep before the real Terminus experience began the next morning.

Thursday: Terminus Registration and Tea

Dressed for a nice day on the town, Dev and I drove back to Chicago the next morning to get in line for Terminus registration and packet pick-up, which started promptly at noon. Although we had already bought our conference tickets online, we hoped to get there in time to buy tickets to a brunch featuring Tamora Pierce, a best-selling young adults’ author who has been writing impressive fiction for the past twenty years or so. Fortunately, Devon “found” a place in the first part of the line, and let me cut in with her. We got to the ticket desk to get two of the last five tickets available for the brunch, fortunately.

We passed the early afternoon in Grant Park, sipping Starbucks and reading over the massive amount of literature describing all of the activities taking place during the conference. We had a hard time sifting through all the information and deciding which events to attend – there were lectures and discussions on the books themselves, as well as how they were connected to education, publishing, young adult fiction, psychology, the world and ethics of fan fiction, fan communities, and politics.

That afternoon, I gave Dev her birthday present – afternoon tea at the Drake. The Drake serves its tea in a dark wood-paneled room, filled with exotic flowers, with a large fountain and harpist in the center. The food was excellent – the scones served with plenty of Devonshire cream, just like I want them – and the desserts were petite, exotic little delights. Devon and I enjoyed ourselves immensely there; we spent the entire afternoon talking about food, books, birthdays, and life.

Friday, Saturday, and Sunday: Terminus

The next three days were a whirl of lectures, discussions, live podcasts, impromptu concerts, merchandise, and great food. The talks and discussions were interesting, if a little overwhelming (I have only read the series once, and I didn’t recognize most of the names and events mentioned during the sessions). The attendees appeared to become more and more comfortable as the conference went on, and by the end, it seemed as though Dev and I were two of only a few without costumes. I have to say that I suffered from several moments of cognitive dissonance, as we sat discussing serious literary theory with middle-aged and teenage women dressed in cloaks and pointy hats. Devon tried on some witches’ hats at the vendor pavilion, and looked rather fetching in this one (although my photographic ineptitude caused me to frame the picture using the birthday-at-a-Mexican-restaurant technique).

We roamed Chicago during our breaks. Dev introduced me to the world of comic books one afternoon, a shadowy realm of quiet people and the intense smell of ink. I was handed a Serenity comic book, and I'm afraid I embarrassed Dev in the middle of Giordano's when I yelled out "Gaa! Comic porn!!" in horror at several points through the book. We even took the Red Line clear to Loyola North Campus to get more Monk's Blend tea at Metropolis. Yes, we take our tea very seriously.

We went shopping one day, and Devon found some great new teaching outfits at H&M. Most of our evenings were free, and we indulged with two nights of North & South (the Elizabeth Gaskell tale, not the Patrick Swayze, Civil War, big-haired mini-series) as only two bibliophiles and Victorian romance lovers can. Dev gave me both the DVDs and the book for my birthday – a perfect gift, in my mind.

As a rather ambitious hostess, I have a reputation for thoroughly exhausting my guests, and this visit was no exception. Dev was so tired by Sunday afternoon that, after the last talk on Sunday afternoon, we went straight to Grant Park so that she could take a rest in the sunshine.

Thanks for all the fun, Dev!

Film Crew Now Online!

2008-08-30T13:34:00.000-07:00

Three of my favorite commedians are now on Hulu! Say hello the the Film Crew, a one-year project between Michael J Nelson, Kevin Murphy (also known as Tom Servo), and Bill Corbett (the Crow from MST3K, seasons 8-10). Their purpose here is much the same as MST - taking bad movies and making them freakin' hilarious.

Hollywood After Dark:
Rue MacLanahan of Golden Girls fame bares is all for this 1950s ode to depression and sleaze. Warning: this movie contains actual stripping - not for the young, faint of heart, or weak of stomach.

Giants of Marathon:
"Mr. Hercules" himself, Steve Reeves, flaunts his craft and his pecs in this sword-and-sandal epic. Athens is threatened by invasion from the Persians, and only the well-muscled Phillipedes can flex, pose, and bench-press all the way to victory.

Wild Women of Wongo:
A Neanderthal sex-comedy filmed on location at Cypress Gardens, Florida. The beautiful females of the Wongo tribe think themselves doomed to mate with their ugly tribe-mates, until a well-groomed (and waxed) male from the Goona tribe visits and presents an alternative.

By the way, you can go to Hulu.com to view all of these shows in full-screen. You know, in case you don't want to spend an hour and a half with your nose half an inch from your computer screen.

Update: Okay, it looks like the posted screens throw my text-box parameters completely out of whack. So, instead of watching the little screens on this blog, just go to Hulu, search for "Film Crew", and you'll be able to find the three movies with ease. Please, please check them out sometime if you are in need of a laugh.

Overheard

2008-08-26T07:41:00.000-07:00

At this moment, my coworkers in the neighboring cubicle are discussing which of the Disney princesses is the sexiest. Currently, Belle is in the lead (she has the best face and most proportionate body) with Ariel in second thanks to the seashell bikini. Snow White gets an honorable mention.

What am I doing here?!

Gourmet Sunday

2008-08-25T07:26:00.001-07:00

I was bitten by the cooking bug yesterday. Adventurous cooking has always been a kind of therapy for me – it’s easy to lose oneself in a pile of garlic and spices, I find. And for the past week, I’ve been waiting for a chance to get lost. Work has been crazed of late as we prepare for our first hosted trade show since 1999. This year’s Oktoberfest will feature four new machine prototypes: one drill, two torches, and a plate machine with two torches and an eight-spindle tool changer, and all of them impressive. There will be beer, bratwurst and sauerkraut, Bavarian bands, Lou Holtz, software vendors, sparks, steel, more testosterone than you can shake a stick at, and Barenaked Ladies.

So you can see why I took Sunday to separate myself from all of this for a while and get into some fabulous food. It all turned out better than I could have anticipated – the Chaamp Masala was creamy, rich, and spicy, and the Paratha crispy and perfect for scooping up the spare sauce (this is a great, quick alternative to the more substantial Na’an served with Middle Eastern dishes). And with the Galette, I finally achieved the flaky crust that every good pastry deserves. All in all, a highly successful day.

Chaamp Masala

Serves 6-8

1 3-inch piece of fresh ginger, peeled and coarsely chopped
3 tablespoons peeled and coarsely chopped garlic
6-8 lamb chops, well trimmed of fat
1 medium-large tomato, grated or finely diced
2 medium onions, minced
1/2 tablespoon cayenne
12 oz. Greek yogurt, beaten
1 1/2 teaspoons salt
1 teaspoon roasted cumin seeds
2 teaspoons garam masala
3 tablespoons lemon juice
2-3 tablespoons chopped fresh green coriander (optional)

1. Place the ginger and garlic in a blender with 2-3 tablespoons of water. Blend to a smooth paste.
2. In a large skillet, combine the chops, tomato, onions, cayenne, yogurt, salt, and ginger-garlic paste, and bring to a boil, stirring constantly. Turn the heat to low; cover the skillet and let the contents simmer for 50 minutes or until the chops are almost cooked.
3. Add the cumin seeds and simmer for 10-15 minutes more, until the meat is tender and the sauce is thick. Add the garam masala and lemon juice, and stir thoroughly.
4. Sprinkle with fresh coriander, and serve with rotis, paratha, or rice.

Plain Paratha

Makes 8 pieces

3 1/2 cups Atta (or whole-grain wheat flour)
1 teaspoon salt
2 tablespoons chilled Ghee (or vegetable shortening)
1 1/4 cup water
Melted Ghee (or butter) for frying

1. Sift Atta and salt in a large bowl. Thoroughly cut in the ghee until the dough is crumbly. Gradually add the water and knead the dough until it is fully combined. Gather the dough into a ball, and cover it with a damp kitchen towel or plastic wrap. Let the dough rest for 1 hour at room temperature.
2. Divide the dough into 8 parts, and roll each part into a ball. Roll out each dough ball on a floured surface to make a 6” round disc about 1/8” thick.
3. Bring the Tawa (non-stick griddle) to medium heat. Pull a small piece of dough from one of the discs, and place it on the griddle. If the griddle is at the correct temperature, the sample should develop brown spots on the underside in about 30 seconds.
4. Place a paratha on the griddle for 45 – 60 seconds. Lift a corner of the paratha with a spatula – the underside should have a few brown spots. Flip the paratha and cook another 45 – 60 seconds. Baste the top cooked surface with melted ghee. Flip the paratha again, and cook the newly basted surface for another 45 – 60 seconds, and baste the top surface with melted ghee. Flip the paratha one more time, and cook for another 45 – 60 seconds.
5. Keep the cooked paratha in a warm oven until you have cooked all the paratha. Serve warm and fresh.

Peach Blueberry Galette

Serves 6

1 1/2 cups unbleached all-purpose flour
3 tsp sugar
2/3 tsp salt
6 tbsp unsalted butter, chilled, cut into small pieces
6 tbsp vegetable shortening, chilled
3 tbsp ice water
3 peaches, cut in 1/4" wedges
1/2 pint blueberries
1 egg yolk
2 tsp heavy cream
Sliced almonds

1. In a large bowl, combine the flour, sugar, and salt. Cut in the chilled butter, and then the chilled shortening, until well-combined but still crumbly. Gradually add the ice-cold water, tossing the dough with a fork to moisten. Briefly and gently knead the dough to form a ball. Set aside in the refrigerator.
2. Place sliced peaches in a bowl, add 2 tbsp of sugar, and toss. In a separate bowl, combine blueberries and 1 tbsp of sugar. Add or subtract from the amount of sugar at your discretion.
3. Preheat the oven to 425 F. On a lightly floured surface, roll out the dough to a 12” circle, about 1/8” thick. Gently lift and place the dough onto a cookie sheet lined with parchment.
4. Starting about 1 1/2” from the edge, place peach slices in two layered circles. Add the blueberries to the center and scatter a few decoratively over the peaches.
5. Fold over the dough edge so that it covers the outer edge of the fruit. Sprinkle a small handful of sliced almonds over the fruit. Whisk the egg yolk and cream together, and brush this mixture over the exposed crust. Sprinkle the galette and crust with sugar.
6. Bake the galette until browned, about 20 – 30 minutes. Remove from the oven and let cool for about 10 minutes. Loosen the edges and center of the galette from the parchment with a spatula. Lift the galette and parchment with support from a wide spatula or cake lifter, and carefully slide the galette onto a cooling rack or platter. Serve warm with a dollop of crème fraiche or whipped cream.

Devon Goes to Chicago! (Part I)

2008-08-21T13:55:00.000-07:00

In the fine tradition of Franky Goes to Hollywood, Herbie Goes to Monte Carlo, Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, Tarzan Goes to India, Juan Tamad Goes to Malacañang, and I could go on if this joke didn’t seem to be dying in mid-sentence...

Devon’s flight to Chicago went well, though it was marred by lack of sleep and a lost journal. She left the journal on her plane, and realized the loss only after she had reached the baggage carousel. A severe storm the night before had grounded and delayed many flights, and so lines were long, tempers were high, and airport employees were exhausted. After several hours, she filled out a lost-and-found form and made her way to downtown via the Blue Line. I tried to be kind and consoled her as best as I could - any English major can sympathize with the deep loss attached to a misplaced journal. We stowed her baggage in my car, and I immediately fed her (she had comforting tomato soup at Cosí) and led her to a sunny park where she could sit and relax.

Devon’s wit and conversation skills never cease to amaze me. Even on two and a half hours of sleep, she out-thought me through all of our chats. It makes me wonder. She has always been more clever than me, but it seems that my wits have dulled since my last time with her. Has my close association with engineers, or my blatantly corporate job, blunted my skills? I feel as though something vital inside of me is fading.

Throughout the afternoon, we spotted little groups of girls with black shirts and red ribbons tied in their hair, clutching sizable hardback books and emitting regular squeals as they walked along Michigan Avenue. It appeared that we were not the only ones haunting the immediate area of the Harris Theater, waiting for the doors to open. Dev and I immediately started our low, cynical chuckling, and did not stop until the entire night was over. For several hours, we were surrounded by dewy-eyed fan-girls (and a few guys) who had been won over by the writing skills of Stephenie Meyer, and we just couldn’t help ourselves.

The Breaking Dawn concert followed an interesting format, something between a coffee shop open-mic night and a radio interview. Adolescent girls, with "Team Jacob" and "Team Edward" emblazoned across their t-shirts (and, in a few cases, their buttocks), screamed with delight as each book series title lit up to signal the beginning of the concert, and cooed during the moody, tortured songs of Blue October’s Justin Furstenfeld. (Devon and I concluded that if the Twilight series spawned its own music sub-genre, "vampire rock" – in the fine tradition of wizard wrock – would not be in keeping with the lovey-dovey, tortured romance theme. "Vampire crooning", however, would seem to fit the bill perfectly.)

Meyer herself appeared midway through the show, answering questions submitted by the audience before the show. She seemed pretty comfortable on stage, and gave detailed answers whenever possible, to the delight of the audience. As you have probably gathered if you’ve read any of Meyer’s books, or read Devon’s blog in the past year, Meyer’s a big fan of happy endings all around. My favorite moment of the night: Meyer was asked (via notecard) how Nessie (vampire) and Jacob (werewolf) would live happily ever after, since Jacob was not immortal. She replied that since Nessie was a vampire, Jacob would always be stimulated to turn into a werewolf, thus rejuvenating his life force, and as long as they were together, they would live forever (to explain fully would require pages of pseudo-lore). Meyer seemed so pleased with herself at thinking up such a tidy solution that I couldn’t help turning to Dev and making a bow-tying gesture with my hands, causing Dev to nearly choke on her bottled water. Still, it was interesting to hear an author discuss her own work.

And, I must admit, I’ve read all of her books and enjoyed the hours of escape they provided.

We laughed as we drove to Bourbonnais, and I remember thinking that I had never encountered such a rabid group of fans before, and wagering that I never would again.

Little did I know what would be coming the next day...

Part II coming soon, with pictures!

Best Quick Salsa... Ever!

2008-08-18T16:54:00.000-07:00

This recipe is courtesy of Tammi Gismondi and Devon, who spent a memorable 7 days with me last week (details and photos coming soon!) It's super easy, tasty, and creates enough salsa to last for quite a while. Enjoy!

Tammi’s Salsa
Rating: 5/5

1 28 oz. can whole tomatoes
2 bunches green onions, trimmed
1 bunch cilantro
2 small fresh jalapeños
Juice from 1 lime
2 cloves garlic
1 tsp fresh oregano
1/2 tsp cumin
Salt & pepper

1. Chop 1 bunch green onions and half the cilantro bunch. Set aside
2. Stem both jalapeños, and seed one. Combine the juice from the can of tomatoes, the jalapeños, cumin, lime juice, oregano, and garlic; puree until smooth.
3. Add tomatoes, the other bunch of green onions, and the other half bunch of cilantro. Pulse until contents are mostly blended.
4. Pour blended mix into a large, non-reactive bowl. Mix in chopped green onion and cilantro. Season with salt and pepper.

Note: this salsa is best when fresh. It will last for two or three days in the refrigerator.

Scraping Away

2008-07-30T07:11:00.000-07:00

It has been almost two months now, and I’m still practicing my viola with a good deal of fidelity. My bow still scrapes and squeaks and makes ungodly noises that I’m sure make my neighbors cringe, but the flubs are becoming more infrequent.

Returning to the beginning of musical training has been an enlightening experience for me. All of my piano experience can only take me so far when it comes to the nuances of this instrument, and I have had to force my brain to revert to beginner mode. Plodding away on my viola, the effort summons memories from my early childhood, when I struggled with controlling the volume, phrasing, and fingering of the piano. I remember practicing right hand exercises on the old upright piano in Mrs. Sample’s basement, clacking away with the rhythm sticks, and using red plastic disks to play a sort of musical bingo on the treble and base clefs. I also remember the proudest moment of my second year of lessons, when I mastered the two-hand version of Scarborough Fair (I still love that song).

Thanks to these memories, I am able to control my impatience and frustration during practice. As I slowly go through Frere Jacques for the umpteenth time, traces of Mrs. Sample’s patience and wisdom float up from my slightly unreliable mass of memory, and remind me that mastering any instrument takes years and years of dedication, no matter what your background may be.

So, in addition to my list of unattainable dream jobs, I can now add:
- Violist at the Teatro alla Scala in Milan

(By the way, my list also includes:
- Writer for Encyclopedia Britannica in Chicago
- Etiquette consultant in Washington DC
- Medieval manuscript specialist at the University of Leicester
- Assistant to the United States Ambassador to Brazil
- Marine biology journal editor for CSIRO publishing in Victoria, Australia
- Agent for a luxury goods exporter in Istanbul)

A New Favorite

2008-07-27T17:55:00.000-07:00

At the farmer's market yesterday, I bought a heaping pint of fresh Michigan blueberrues, and was inspired to create a new sorbet. It turned out to be a delicious summer dessert, and the deep plum color is remarkably vivid.

Lemon Blueberry Sorbet

2 cups water
2 cups superfine sugar
4 lemons
1/3 cup chardonnay
2/3 cup blueberries
Zest from 1 lemon

1. Remove peel, pith, and outer membrane from the lemons. Remove the flesh from the lemon segments, discarding the seeds. Place the lemon fruit, chardonnay, blueberries, and zest in a blender or food processor, and puree until completely smooth.
2. In a medium-sized pot, bring the water close to a boil, and then add the sugar, stirring until the sugar is completely dissolved. Bring the syrup to a slight boil. Add the lemon blueberry mixture to the pot and stir thoroughly.
3. Immediately transfer the liquid to a large, non-reactive, freezer-safe bowl and place in the freezer. Whisk the liquid thoroughly every 30 minutes, breaking up any ice crystals that may form. Continue this procedure until the mixture obtains the smooth texture and appearance of sorbet. Allow the sorbet to freeze completely overnight.

Home Decor: The Final Frontier

2008-07-20T18:32:00.000-07:00

The all-pervasive power of the Star Trek franchise has permeated nearly every facet of American culture. The futuristic gadgetry inspired the development of pagers, cell phones, and Blackberry. The 1960s original show even contributed slightly to the fashion scene (although the black wideleg clam-diggers/Italian boot combination was never too popular, for obvious reasons).

But now, with the franchise's latest movie due out in a few months, the true hold that Star Trek has on our society has been realized. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the Tribble throw pillow.

This is no joke; I saw a whole herd of them at a store this very afternoon. Available at fine retailers across the nation, you can fill your sofa, bed, kitchen, bathtub, and holodeck with those adorable creatures that so nearly took over the USS Enterprise. Warning: Tribbles should not, under any circumstance, be fed in excess. Side effects may include fanfic cravings, staccato voice patterns, and hammy acting.

Makes me laugh every time...

2008-07-19T14:17:00.000-07:00

Excerpt from PopInk's Happy Kitty Bunny Pony, with text by Michael J. Nelson:

What's fuzzy, chubby, chirpy, and cute? No, not Elton John. Chicks! Newly hatched chicks are simply one of the cutest things in the entire world. For about 2 days. Then it's just eating and pooping and growing and breeding. In fact, there are more chickens in the world than there are people. 650 million chickens in America alone... watching, waiting, plotting. Unless you think all the chirping is just chirping. But go ahead, ignore the obvious signs. When you're buried in an avalanche of yellow puffballs, each one pecking and pecking viciously at your eyes and vitals with murderous intent, don't come crying to me.

Morrocan Lentil Soup

2008-07-19T12:13:00.001-07:00

This is a fabulous new recipe I just discovered online. Hearty, spicy, and completely vegetarian. Highly recommended.

2 onions, chopped
2 garlic cloves, minced
1 teaspoon fresh ginger, minced
6 cups water
1 cup red lentils
1 15 oz. can garbanzo beans, drained
1 19 oz. can cannellini beans
1 14.5 oz. can diced tomatoes
1 cup diced carrots
1 teaspoon garam masala
1 1/2 teaspoons ground cardamom
1/2 teaspoon ground cayenne pepper
1/2 teaspoon ground cumin
1 tablespoon olive oil

1. In a large pot, sauté the onions, garlic, and ginger in the olive oil for about 5 minutes.
2. Add the water, lentils, garbanzos, cannellinis, diced tomatoes, carrots, garam masala, cardamom, cayenne pepper, and cumin to the pot. Bring soup to a boil; boil for 2 minutes, and then simmer for 1 to 1 1/2 hours or longer, until the lentils are soft.
3. Puree up to half the soup in a food processor or blender. Return the pureed portion to the pot and stir. Serve; garnish portions with chopped fresh parsley and salt.

From the mouths of 19th century authors...

2008-07-16T13:13:00.001-07:00

...comes stunning prophesies about hydrogen fuel cells, currently being used to great effect in the Honda Clarity and other vehicles.

From Jules Verne's The Mysterious Island:

“But now, my dear Cyrus, all this industrial and commercial movement to which you predict a continual advance, does it not run the danger of being sooner or later completely stopped?”

“Stopped! And by what?”

“By the want of coal, which may justly be called the most precious of minerals… You do not deny that some day the coal will be entirely consumed?”…

“After the European mines, which will be soon worked more thoroughly with new machines, the American and Australian mines will for a long time yet provide for the consumption in trade.”

“For how long a time?” asked the reporter.

“For at least two hundred and fifty or three hundred years.”

“That is reassuring for us, but a bad look-out for our great- grandchildren!” observed Pencroft.

“They will discover something else,” said Herbert…

“But what will they find?” asked Pencroft. “Can you guess, captain?”

“Nearly, my friend.”

“And what will they burn instead of coal?”

“Water,” replied Harding.

“Water!” cried Pencroft, “water as fuel for steamers and engines! water to heat water!”

“Yes, but water decomposed into its primitive elements,” replied Cyrus Harding, “and decomposed doubtless, by electricity, which will then have become a powerful and manageable force, for all great discoveries, by some inexplicable laws, appear to agree and become complete at the same time. Yes, my friends, I believe that water will one day be employed as fuel, that hydrogen and oxygen which constitute it, used singly or together, will furnish an inexhaustible source of heat and light, of an intensity of which coal is not capable. Some day the coalrooms of steamers and the tenders of locomotives will, instead of coal, be stored with these two condensed gases, which will burn in the furnaces with enormous calorific power. There is, therefore, nothing to fear. As long as the earth is inhabited it will supply the wants of its inhabitants, and there will be no want of either light or heat as long as the productions of the vegetable, mineral or animal kingdoms do not fail us. I believe, then, that when the deposits of coal are exhausted we shall heat and warm ourselves with water. Water will be the coal of the future.”

My Operatic Life

2008-07-13T07:09:00.000-07:00

O Bozhe! O Bozhe, shto podumal on,
Shto skazhet on? Akh, dlya chevo,
Stenanyu vnyav dushi bolnoi,
Ne sovladav sama s soboi,
Yemu pismo ya napisala!
Da! syerdtse mnye tepyer skazalo,
Shto nasmeyotsa nado mnoi
Moi soblaznitel rokovoi!
O, Bozhe moi! kak ya neschastna,
Kak ya zhalka!

- Eugene Onegin, Act I, Scene 3

Cute Fuzz

2008-07-09T10:37:00.001-07:00

What criminal couldn't help but surrender to the overwhelming adorability of the Kawagana Province's new fleet of electric Mitsubishi i MiEVs? Electric cars packing heat - it's an EV lover's dream come true.

Click here for more details.

The Eternal Struggle

2008-07-08T11:38:00.001-07:00

I am a technical writer. I can prove it, too – it says so on my business card. Now, if only I can make my coworkers believe it.

Is it so impossible for a working woman to perform some secretarial duties and still maintain her professionalism? PHC employees outside of my department seem to see me clearly – they only call on me when they need something proofread, translated, or edited. But within the engineering department, I’m the girl who orders office supplies, keeps the plastic spoons in stock by the coffee machine, and enters data at their convenience; they are staunch troglodytes when it comes to women in the workplace. My actual work is ignored or written off as unimportant.

The whole arrangement wouldn’t bug me so much if it weren’t for the fact that I depend on the engineers to help me complete my projects. If they can’t view my work as necessary, they won’t put much effort towards helping me finish it. Case in point – I’m still waiting for data on a manual that I gave one of the engineers four months ago, and I haven’t the hierarchical authority to ask that he step it up a bit. Grrr.

There. My ranting is done for a while. Thanks for letting me get this off my chest. Back to happy mode we go!

Deep Thoughts

2008-07-03T20:02:00.001-07:00

Did platonic relationships exist before Plato?

Appropos

2008-06-13T06:08:00.000-07:00

The viola has always appealed to me. It's not the showiest string (that distinction goes to the violin), and it has a such a nice mellow sound to it. It's the support line of the string section.

With my summer Spanish class cancelled, and a bit more free time on my hands, I've decided to give the viola a three-month try. My neighbor Melissa, an orchestra teacher, has offered to give me lessons and loan me a few books. I begin next week!

While at the music store yesterday, the salesman measured my arm length to see which size of viola would suit me best. Most adults play a 15", but since my arms more resemble those of a spider monkey than a human, I thought that I might need something larger. As the salesman looked at the measurement, his eyes widened: "Wow, you could easily play a 16 1/2!" Alas, 16 1/2" violas are few and far between, and hardly ever for rent, so I'll have to be content to learn on a 15", until I decide to give up on the project or buy my own instrument.

An interesting note: most musicians who play a 16" or 16 1/2" viola are virtuosos and soloists who want a bit more volume and depth of sound from their instruments. Does this mean that I am destined to become a sensational musician, or that I have freakishly long arms? You make the call. (My bet's on the latter.)

We're Famous!

2008-06-10T10:42:00.000-07:00

Guess what little town in Idaho was mentioned on this CNN.com online article?

Cool Things

2008-06-07T12:12:00.000-07:00

Today's Cool Thing:

The EVCast podcast. Started just a week or two ago, this is a weekday-daily podcast designed to bring laymen and laywomen (such as myself) up to speed on the different technologies, companies, and politics surrounding the development and release of electric vehicles. The multiple technologies used in this race to create commercially-viable EVs are really fascinating, even to someone who doesn't understand them much. Give it a try!

And just to give you some visuals concerning the podcast's contents, here are some of my favorite up and coming EVs:

The Fisker Karma. Showy and pricey, but you can't deny the waves of sex appeal wafting from this car.

The Imperia GP by Miysis. My current favorite EV - it's may not be as flashy as the Karma, but it's classic roadster design shows a respect for automotive history that true car lovers can appreciate. If I could buy any EV for myself, this would be it.

And, of course, the Tesla Roadster, featured several times on this blog. Man, I hope that Tesla can establish themselves as a permanent presence on the automotive scene. They're preparing to open their second store in New York sometime this summer. Keep an eye out for the unveiling of the Tesla Whitestar sedan concept later this year.

Change is Difficult

2008-06-04T07:59:00.000-07:00

Don’t get me wrong. I adore my new office space. Currently, I am inhaling through my nose and still enjoying that new carpet smell. The taller cubicle walls offer more privacy – I can finally play The Barber of Seville over my computer’s tiny, built-in speaker without seriously disturbing my coworkers. The rooms themselves have a lot of character to them, with exposed brick, and rough-hewn rafters and support beams, and exposed piping and tubing running criss-cross along the ceiling.

Being the only female on the second floor of our renovated building, I realized several weeks ago, I get a bathroom all to myself. Considering that I’ve worked in emergency rooms, in which I was regularly dirtied with various fluids not my own and maintained my professionalism, one would think that I wouldn’t have any qualms about sharing a few square inches of porcelain and plastic with my fellow humans. But one would be very, very, very wrong in assuming that. We had a unisex bathroom in our old department, but considering that my male employees outnumber me twenty to one, and are not known for their stringent position on hygiene, I was happy to walk to another department to use the ladies’ room. And only once, during a dire emergency, have I entered a men’s room for business purposes. (Okay, it was on a dare during high school to see if I could actually use a urinal. It’s harder than it looks, believe me.)

So you can imagine my joy when I discovered that a women’s bathroom was marked and set aside for the sole representative of my sex in this department. I walked in for the first time, enjoying the pristine sinks, the sparkling chrome in the place.

But then, the horror began.

You see, due to the artsy exposed rafters, the newly-erected walls cannot go all the way up to the ceiling. And because of this, and the hardwood floors and bare walls of the restrooms, the slightest noise in one restroom can be heard audibly both in the other restroom and the hallway outside, where the engineers often linger to have a private conversation or phone call. I realized this just as one of the engineers entered the next room and began to do his business.

It was all there. I tried to control my mind, but really, how could I block it out? I stayed in the restroom until long after he was gone (I had no intention of allowing myself to discover who I had just heard – that could haunt me for years), then quickly sneaked out and headed downstairs to a ladies’ room that I know has four solid walls and more privacy than a porto-potty.

Change may be wonderful, but it’s not always easy.

- Addendum this afternoon -
And now I've just spotted the second man come out of the ladies' room. Ick. I guess I'll throw in with the small number of females downstairs, adding my strength to their restroom defenses. Perhaps, with my help, we'll be able to keep one restroom exclusive.

Birdwatching

2008-05-29T05:28:00.001-07:00

Birds spotted lately during my afternoon walks:

American Goldfinch

House Finch

Female Northern Cardinal

Bluejay

Osprey

Yellow Warbler

Male Northern Cardinal

and my absolute favorite of the year...

Indigo Bunting

I'm so glad Mom and Dad got me that Birds of North America guide for Christmas.

The things you find...

2008-05-25T13:17:00.000-07:00

when throwing out your old class notes from college: killer quotes made by your favorite profs.

To wit: "When you find yourself with people who think the world is simple, it's time to run... especially if they have guns." - Darrin Grinder

Demographics

2008-05-22T11:04:00.000-07:00

The world of advertising-by-mail presents a complex mystery capable of stumping the most brilliant minds of our generation. Those crafty lords of adverts have created an invisible panopticon within and around America, and they see every website we visit, every store we frequent, and every piece of media we enjoy. (Deny this if you will, skeptics, but don’t come crying to me when you’re inundated with commercial propaganda so specifically tailored to your tastes that you start duct-taping black visquine over your windows in a vain attempt to regain your privacy.)

Sometimes, however, this vast, incalculably powerful system makes a misjudgment. Maybe there was a typo in the data they received about me recently, or perhaps they confused my identity with that of a snow-bird in Mesa, Arizona, but I now have definitive proof that this invisible yet tyrannical power is not flawless: Behold, The Vermont Country Store catalog.

I have received two in the mail thus far, and to save my life I cannot tell you how the publishers ever got my name. The Vermont Country Store proudly offers customers a range of age-specific products that have no relevance to me whatsoever: circulation hosiery, shingles ointment, varicose vein concealer, golfing visors, orthopedic shoes, and more muumuus than you can shake a stick at. If the products alone don’t make one feel young, the product descriptions blatantly trying to evoke sentimental feelings about the early 1960s will.

Between bouts of laughter, there were a few educational moments during my perusal. The greatest revelation occurred when I discovered that there existed in the 70s a shampoo called “Gee Your Hair Smells Terrific”. About 10 Mystery Science Theater jokes now make sense to me, thanks to this catalog (refer to the bus stop scene in episode 1001 – Soultaker, for an illustration).

While there was plenty of humorous material within the catalog itself, the very presence of the catalog buoyed my spirits. This proved to me that the iron grip of advertising is flawed, that they cannot see and know all. And if this is the case, my friends, then we can fight back! We can strike back at those who daily assault us with extreme color contrasts, commercially-driven sex appeal, and a disgusting overabundance of exclamation points!

Wait… wait a moment. Something has just occurred to me. I once used my credit card to pay for a meal at the Cracker Barrel (I only went there under duress, I tell you). Could it be? Could it be that there is some unholy alliance between this quaint, Southern, geriatrics-attractive restaurant chain and the equally quaint, Southern, geriatrics-attractive The Vermont Country Store? Could it be that the evil god of advertising really has no flaw, and we are rendered helpless before it? We’re too late! There is no escape!

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!

Dreams

2008-05-14T06:39:00.000-07:00

From the night before last:

I was in a large grocery store/warehouse; it was spartan and didn’t have nearly as many shelves and aisles as it could have, considering its size. I was a distance from the entrance when I and the other patrons were caught in a barrage of gunfire. A large group of men had perpetrated a crime of some kind in the city, and were taking refuge from the close-pursuing police by taking over the building and holding the surviving people hostage. I was in a group of three women, one of whom was killed in the first attack. I dropped to the floor and played dead, as did the woman next to me. We were both covered in the blood of the dead woman, and we hoped we would not be noticed.

We escaped detection while the men secured the building, but after a time they went around testing the bodies and rounding up the people still alive. One of the leaders approached me, and tested me by shooting off my fifth toe to make me respond. Despite the pain, I only groaned slightly to give the impression that I was barely alive. The leader walked to the other end of the store to meet with a large group of men gathered in a manager’s office, and left two henchmen to find the other live woman, dispense of the corpse, and drag the two of us to the group of hostages. I waited until the leader entered the office, and then pulled what looked like two Walther P99s out from under my coat and shot the two henchmen. The other woman took the guns off the henchmen, and we charged the office, placing ourselves between the office and the hostages. We began firing as the group of men spilled out of the office in reaction to the gunshots, and I shouted at the hostages to run for the front door. During the gunfight, we discovered that the henchmen had blanks in their magazines – I and the three leaders of the group were the only ones truly armed. They had put blanks in everyone else’s guns so that henchmen could be easily picked off later when the caper was complete, leaving the three leaders with all of the take.

The woman next to me, never realizing she was shooting with blanks, was killed, and I managed to take out eight of the men before they retreated into the office and the SWAT team, who had just broken through the defenses in the back of the building, made it to the front and pinned down the remainder of the criminals.

From last night:

I dreamt that I was working in the new Peddinghaus assembly building, when someone called me aside and told me that I needed to go to church and teach Sunday school. My church appeared next door to the building, so I went without clocking out. I taught three first grade girls, with Marilyn from work assisting me, and after the class we all walked to the main service. The pastor had been replaced by a young Colin Firth, who was laying out two knee socks filled with clay on the sacrament table. A group of women huddled outside of the sanctuary, overawed by Firth’s appearance. I didn’t want to look intimidated by his presence, so I walked in to the sanctuary, found a seat, and took off my pants. I laid my pants, a grocery bag, and my Bible on the seat, and then walked out again.

I wandered through the church for some time before I realized that I was walking around half naked, and that my sheer blouse was not helping me at all. I hurried to the information desk, where a safety meeting was being held. The ladies in the meeting were quite annoyed at my interruption, and didn’t seem to think my pantless state was that big of a deal. “Just pull your shirt down lower,” I remember one of them saying.

Suddenly, I was flanked by two beautiful, dim-witted women who promised to guide me around the church building, which at this time had grown to Merchandise Mart-proportions. The two women said that we had to find some mystical golden apples that would help all of us get to heaven. We wandered for a while, searching aimlessly, until we were accosted by Satan, looking young, vampiric, and beautiful.

He told us that we could find the golden apples in the women’s restroom. The two women believed him completely. I gave Satan an incredulous look, and he smiled at me as though we were in on some joke, just the two of us. I didn’t bother to dissuade the women from following Satan to their doom – they didn’t seem worth the effort, and their voices were very annoying. I watched them go into the restroom together, and then turned to go, when a large golden apple appeared in midair before me. I grabbed it and took a bite, and then woke up with a start.

I need to stop eating spicy foods right before bed.

Writers’ Recent Favorite Words on CNN.com

2008-05-06T09:18:00.000-07:00

Bellwether – an indicator of future developments. Origin: English term for a sheep that leads the rest of the flock, usually wearing a bell around its neck.

Tony – having an aristocratic, expensive, or stylish presentation. Origin: from the term tone. An Americanism from 1875-80.

Mike Nelson Ruminates on Love

2008-04-14T19:02:00.000-07:00

from the introduction to Love Sick: A Smoldering Look at Love, Lust, and Marriage.

Love. As the chief motivator of human behavior, it is the undisputed king of emotion. It towers over lesser feelings, such as pity, or that sad-ass little emotion we call joy. In fact, if Love and Joy were in a wrestling tournament, it wouldn't even be close. Love would execute a perfect one-leg takedown followed by a step-over double arm bar for a quick pin inside of twenty seconds. Sure, Joy would shake hands afterward and maybe even force a little, "Nice match," but it would be clear that he was completely shamed and would have to drive home alone in disgraced silence. As for Pity, or Stunned Surprise? Please, they're not even fit to scrub Love's toilet.

Throughout history, the epheremal power of love has inspired the world's greatest artists: Alessandro Boticelli, William Shakespeare, Emily Dickinson, Edgar Allen Poe, and of course, Prince, who wrote, "Ever since I met you baby, I been wantin' to lay you down. But it's so hard, baby, when you're a river... Falling, falling, falling in love." He went on to eloquently express erotic longing in his immortal "Soft and Wet," saying, "Hey, lover, I got a sugarcane that I want to lose in you." These epic depictions of man's deepest desires are remarkable, especially coming from one who stands only three feet, eight inches in his high-heeled leopard-skin boots. Yet as this pan-like leprechaun of a man humps the stage with such authentic fervor, we are drawn into his expressions of love, and we, too, yearn for a quiet place to hump our own stage. Such is his genius.

As grand and glorious as love is, it is not without its perils. Anyone who has ever felt the cruel pangs of rejection knows that love is best approached cautiously, as one would approach an angry, cornered brush-tailed possum. Yes, before throwing yourself into a relationship, it's wise to buy a sturdy pair of leather gloves and to be extra careful of love's front claws and rows of needle-sharp teeth. If possible, use a partner to distract love and very quickly in behind it, grasp its prehensile tail (carefully!), pop it into a canvas bag, and, quick as you can, yank closed the drawstring - metaphorically speaking.

Perhaps worse than the pain of rejection is the emotional death one suffers when good love goes bad. Sometimes, despite their best efforts, a couple simply grows apart. One may suddenly discover an enthusiastic awakening of the faith of his childhood, while the other will satisfy a long-suppressed urge to visit an old boyfriend, Tom, at the Sunset Motel on East 3rd Street from four to six every Tuesday when she is supposed to be at her knitting class. And because he simply can't share this interest, no matter how hard he tries, the two must part.

Rather than risk the hurt, many choose to avoid the cornered brush-tailed possum of love altogether, and remain single for the entirety of their lives. We call these people "bachelors," "bachelorettes," "spinsters," or "cat owners." Though they never experience the giddy highs of love, they also never face its cruel lows. When they find, for the hundreth time, a dry, brown, half-eaten can of tuna on the counter, they feel little of the helpess rage and betrayal that their married neighbors feel, for there is a better than average chance that it was they who left it there.

Motherhood

2008-04-13T19:28:00.000-07:00

Please welcome the first pets in my adult life, Nut and Meg. They're spice finches - very flighty, very nervous, but so darn cute. They chirp to each other in little bursts of enthusiasm, they feed together, they groom each other, and they huddle next to one another when they sleep at night. Adorable.

It has been so nice to add something living and breathing to my apartment. Not nearly as nice as another person, but the room feels so much more alive when I hear them peeping and interacting. Marcie persuaded me to buy them when she visited me last weekend, and I'm so glad that she did.

And if any of you want to see them first hand, I will willingly provide free room and board, along with some Chicago entertainment as well.

15-Minute Meals

2008-03-28T13:51:00.000-07:00

If you’re hungry and don’t have a whole lot of time on your hands, this makes a great mini-meal that is ready in 15 minutes. However, this recipe will only work if you have decent paprika with real flavor to it.

Paprika Chicken
Serves 1

1 clove garlic
3/4 tablespoon Hungarian paprika
1 1/4 tablespoons olive oil
1/3 skinless boneless chicken breast (1 chicken tender cut)

Rub chicken with a small amount of paprika; set aside. Heat olive oil in a small skillet to medium heat. Slice the garlic clove into thin (1/8 inch or thinner) slices. Add garlic and paprika to oil; cook, stirring constantly, for 30 seconds. Add chicken and cook for 7-8 minutes (or until chicken is cooked through), rotating the meat midway through. If the garlic begins to overcook, place garlic slices on top of chicken to cool.

Serve chicken and sauce with a side of fresh spinach.

A Russian Mood

2008-03-24T16:34:00.000-07:00

You know, a double dose of Tchaikovsky in two weeks easily puts me in the mood for borscht. I found this delicious recipe only a few months ago, and already I've made it three times. This soup is perfect with some hearty dark bread.

Beet and Cabbage Borscht

Save the beet tops for a quick side dish: just sauté them with garlic and olive oil, sprinkle with lemon, salt and pepper, and serve.
Makes 4-6 servings

3 tablespoons olive oil
3/4 pound russet potatoes, peeled, chopped
2 1/2 cups chopped green cabbage (about 1/4 of small head)
1 large onion, chopped
8 cups (or more) canned vegetable broth
6 2-inch-diameter beets, peeled, chopped
1 cup drained canned chopped tomatoes
1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
8 ounces sour cream
Chopped fresh dill
Lemon wedges

Heat oil in heavy large pot over medium-high heat. Add potatoes, cabbage and onion and sauté until cabbage softens, about 5 minutes. Add 8 cups broth, beets and tomatoes. Bring soup to boil. Reduce heat and simmer until vegetables are tender, about 30 minutes.

Working in small batches, puree 4 cups of soup in blender; return to remaining soup in pot. If desired, add more broth by 1/2 cupfuls to thin soup. Add lemon juice; season with salt and pepper.

Ladle soup into bowls. Stir dill into sour cream; garnish soup with sour cream mixture. Serve, passing lemon wedges separately.

The Demigods of Opera

2008-03-16T15:47:00.000-07:00

This season at the Lyric Opera of Chicago has taught me many things, one of which is that leading men need not be portly, hairy primos. Friday's performance at the Lyric featured the dreamy, talented Dmitri Hvorostovsky in the main role of Tchaikovsky's Eugene Onegin, a role that he has rightly claimed as his own for the time being.

My goodness, what a way to end the 2007-2008 season. Every role was spectacular, an opulent feast of rich music and tones. Dina Kuznetsova put in a spectacular performance as Tatyana, and ably displayed the emotional evolution of the character. But Hvorostovsky stole the show with his glacial portrayal of Onegin. It was heartwrenching to see this character, so controlled and haughty for two acts, to suddenly find himself in the grips of a sincere passion for the one woman that he cannot have. HIs voice was so expressive that little acting was necessary, though his skills there were excellent. He has such a luxurious baritone voice - it was so tempting to close my eyes during his arias, which seemed to translate the Russian lyrics through tone alone. Though I did not have much sympathy for the character, I was deeply moved to see Hvorostovsky, previously poised and chillingly calm, throw himself at the feet of Tatyana, grasp her hands, beg her to love him again. It was beautiful beyond description.

Oh, to think that I have to wait until September for the next season to begin!

Peep Decision '08

2008-03-14T13:47:00.000-07:00

The entries are in, and the Chicago Tribune now calls upon the masses to determine the winner of the Peeps Diorama Contest. The top 10 are pretty impressive. Cast your votes now!

Dev, you need to check out the first few of the non-placing entries; there's one there that only you could appreciate.

Meatballs

2008-03-14T08:06:00.000-07:00

If you’re like me, and I know I am, mixed-up, indistinguishable foods always inspire suspicion when made by hands other than your own. Casseroles, goulashes, any manner of loaf – you never can tell what has been ground into tiny pieces and added to those things. Hence my natural aversion to meatballs, which always look suspicious when served at restaurants.

A couple years ago, back when I was still living at home and getting three free squares a day (man, those were the days), Mom made spaghetti and meatballs for dinner. I absolutely loved them, and the memory lingered so strongly in my mind that during my last Murder Mystery Party, it struck me that Mom’s delicious meatballs would be just the thing to serve to people pretending to be gun-wielding Italian mobsters from the 1920s.

I’ve now made this recipe three times in the past few months. They’re easy to make, easy to serve, and, best of all, they’re baked on a broiling sheet to they don’t come out cooked in their own grease. I highly recommend them for a nice, comforting meal with the ones you love (and with murdering gangsters in pinstriped suits).

Beef Meatballs
Source: Cooking Light
Yields: 30 meatballs (6 servings)

1 1/2 pounds ground round
1/4 cup (1 ounce) finely shredded fresh Parmesan cheese
1/2 cup dry breadcrumbs
1/3 cup chopped fresh parsley
1/4 cup tomato sauce
1 teaspoon dry mustard
3/4 teaspoon dried Italian seasoning
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon crushed red pepper
2 garlic cloves, crushed
Cooking spray

1. Preheat oven to 400 degrees.
2. Combine all ingredients except cooking spray in a bowl; stir well. Shape mixture into 30 (1 1/2-inch) meatballs. Place on a broiler pan coated with cooking spray. Bake at 400 degrees for 15 minutes or until done.

My New Best Friend

2008-03-12T12:03:00.000-07:00

Both yesterday and today, the Advertising department here at PHC (check out our new website) has been roaming the hallways with video cameras, microphones, and greenscreens, creating our big promotional video for the NASCC show in Nashville. The NASCC is the biggest show in our industry, and we’re throwing a grand dinner for over 300 of our best clients at the end of the show (which will, rumor has it, include a surprise concert appearance by a well-known personality). The video will be shown at the dinner as a “thank you” to our clients for keeping us in business.

A few days ago, the head of Advertising approached me about appearing in the video. While my academic credentials may not seem like much to my engineering counterparts, they seem to imbue me with a variety of talents to be exploited by the other departments. Lately, it appears that my Masters degree gives me the power to speak any Western language, alive or dead, and thus I was asked to prepare a small paragraph thanking our customers, translate it into French, and speak it in front of a greenscreen. I begged to shorten the message, and then began to work on it.

During the weekend, I cast about for assistance, but found none. I did my best to translate the words, but since I’ve never spoken more than about ten words in French up until this point in my life, I couldn’t be sure of their accuracy and my pronunciation. Thankfully, about 15 minutes before I had to perform for the camera today, I stumbled across this site, which seemed to translate my words more accurately than I could myself. And the best part about this site is the translator’s link to another site that produces life-like audio readings of your translation. A very cool website pairing, in my mind, and one that I will probably be using frequently in the future. Click here to hear what I finally said on the video (although I actually pronounced the company name correctly).

Peeps Show

2008-03-02T16:57:00.000-08:00

Ahh, Peeps. Sugar-coated, mushy, fluffy Peeps. Nothing so truly conveys the feelings of Easter like a misshapen colored blob of marshmallow.

In the spirit of Easter, the Chicago Tribune is holding a Peeps Show contest, in which readers can send in photos of a homemade Peeps diorama. The diorama can be from a favorite book, movie, historical event, or slice of popular culture, but it must contain at least one Peep. The winner receives $101 (and a few boxes of Peeps, I'm guessing).

The CT got the idea from the Washington Post, which held its own Peeps Show last Easter. Please, please check out the top 22 dioramas - sacchrine-sweet hilarity.

Test

2008-02-29T07:33:00.001-08:00

This is a test of my blog’s functionality.

This is only a test. Had this been a real blog post, it would have been followed with detailed anecdotes from my life and witty observations on the nature of humanity.

Again, this is only a test.

Ever since Christmas, I have struggled with the blogging concept. I have nothing against blogs themselves, but I have always felt that a blog should have some skill or special attribute to justify its existence. Yes, every life is unique and precious, but who wants to read about it unless there is some kind of appeal beyond the facts. Take my dear Dev’s blog, for example. Her verbal skill renders her entries entertaining and insightful. That skill has always eluded me. Let’s face it – a technical writer is rarely pressured to make her words interesting.

I want to make sure that my entries do more than just record events from my life – I want them to have some sort of purpose. I hope that you all will bear with me as I struggle with this goal.

Here’s something interesting: I tried a new recipe last night, and I found it absolutely decadent. I highly recommend it.

Salmon Chowder
Serves 6

Source: Epicurious.com

1/2 pound red potatoes
1/2 pound sliced bacon, cut crosswise into 1/4-inch-wide strips
2 cups chopped scallions (from 2 bunches)
1 cup fresh or frozen corn
1 tablespoon finely chopped garlic (3 cloves)
1 teaspoon finely chopped fresh thyme
1 Turkish or 1/2 California bay leaf
1/8 teaspoon dried hot red pepper flakes
3 cups whole milk
2/3 cup heavy cream
1 (1 1/2 pound) piece salmon filet, skin discarded and fish cut into 1-inch pieces
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
2 teaspoons fresh lemon juice
Garnish: chopped fresh chives

Cut potatoes into 1/2-inch cubes, then cook in a 1- to 1 1/2-quart heavy saucepan of boiling salted water until just tender, 8 to 10 minutes. Drain in a colander and set aside.

Cook bacon in a 5-quart heavy pot over moderate heat, stirring occasionally, until crisp, about 8 minutes. Transfer with a slotted spoon to paper towels to drain. Pour off all but 2 tablespoons fat from pot, then cook scallions, corn, garlic, thyme, bay leaf, and red pepper flakes in fat in pot over moderately low heat, stirring occasionally, until scallions are tender, about 5 minutes. Add milk and cream and bring just to a boil. Reduce heat to moderately low, then add potatoes, salmon, bacon, salt, and pepper, and cook, gently stirring occasionally, until salmon is just cooked through and begins to break up as you stir, 5 to 8 minutes. Stir in lemon juice, and salt and pepper to taste. Discard bay leaf before serving.

Stay tuned: this weekend I’ll be experimenting with a grapefruit-white zinfandel sorbet.

Whodunit?

2007-12-04T12:42:00.000-08:00

We’re supposed to get between two and six inches of snow today! Thank goodness I wore boots to work.

While driving to work this morning, I found myself listening to the news on one of our local radio stations. They announced a few global and US headlines, and then got down to the business of reporting the local stories. I have always found this part of the news interesting, at least when it is done on this station. They have a list of all the local arrests made the previous day, and they give the names and offenses of each one. So, most of the news broadcast follows this format:

An attempted burglary occurred on the 2400 block of Maple Street in Kankakee last night. 28 year old John Doe of Bradley was caught attempting to remove items from an empty basement by police who reported to the homeowner’s reports of hearing movements and breaking glass. Mr. Doe was found with four baggies of marijuana and a syringe on his person. Bail is set at $40,000.

Seems like a bit of an information overload, especially considering how small this community is. One day, you could be driving along, and hear that an acquaintance of yours had been in a bar fight or domestic dispute or was caught stealing quarters from the Elks hall donation box (that one occurred about two months ago). I feel like I’m listening to the frontier town grapevine more than the news report.

TV in the Time of the Plague

2007-11-15T06:33:00.000-08:00

Geoffrey Chaucer is at it again, this time offering his services as a writer to television companies to help them survive the writer’s strike. Check out his latest entry for a whole host of “new” show ideas. I just had to post this one in its entirety:

The Privy Seel Offyce: Thys offyce of clerkes and scrybes produceth manye documentz and eek muchel laughter. An hilarious ensemble cast of quirkie folk shewe the dailye japeries and jolitee of roial bureaucracie. The privy seel offyce is run by Michael Scot, who doth gret deedes of magique and yet kan nat conjure good fortune for hymself. Yonge clerk Tristram Canterbury soore loveth the receptioniste Ysolde Beesley, but sche ys to be marryed to an oothir man. Yet Tristrames loue sickenesse preventeth hym not from makinge an ape of the haughtie clerke Gareth de Schrute, who oftymes findeth hys quill and ink put ynto a jello mold. Both Tristram and Ysolde mocke Gareth, callinge hym “Beaumains.” (Ywrit in collaboracioun wyth Mayster Thomas Occleve.

Some Enchanted Evening

2007-11-02T11:54:00.000-07:00

Last Friday, I went to see the Joffrey Ballet’s performance of Giselle. The Joffrey has been using the Auditorium Theatre on the Roosevelt University campus on the corner of Michigan and Congress Parkway of late, as they wait for their new concert house to be built. (It’s going to be on the corner of Washington and State, and if you come and visit me, I’ll be happy to show you). Auditorium Theatre is unique for several reasons, one of which is its profusion of box seats. Because of this surplus, I was able to sit in a box seat for the first time ever, and it was every bit as wonderful as I had imagined.
The performance was excellent. The characters of Giselle and Loys were by far the most outstanding in the entire company, and Loys’ entire body was so expressive during the beginning of the second act that I nearly cried. Few things make me realize the potential of beautiful physical prowess in the human body like the ballet (and football, too, though that’s on a different level altogether). From my seat in the box, I was able to marvel at the precise control that these dancers exercised over each quivering muscle. It was glorious.
After the ballet, I struck out along Michigan to head back to the train station. It had been raining all afternoon and evening, and luckily I had remembered to bring my umbrella with me when I left my apartment. The rain had slowed to a slow drizzle as I walked along, high on ballet and drinking in the sight of my favorite city. After a few blocks, I noticed that a handsome man in a well-cut suit was walking in the same direction as me along the sidewalk. He had no raincoat or umbrella, and was walking rather quickly, but our timing with the streetlights kept us more or less parallel. We had stopped for traffic when our eyes met, and after a few moments he asked me if I too had been to the ballet. We began to discuss Giselle, and I invited him to share my umbrella; he accepted with thanks, and we moved north together, he holding the umbrella (since he was the taller of the two of us) and I walking so close beside that our coat sleeves brushed against each other. Looking back on it, I can’t believe my daring. If you know anything about me, you know that I’m the last person one would expect to voluntarily speak to a strange man I meet at night on the streets of Chicago, but something about him put me at ease, and I found myself perfectly comfortable as we made our way down the street.
After the introductions, I asked the ever popular so-what-do-you-do-for-a-living question. Imagine my surprise and delight when he said that he was a financial manager for the Lyric Opera! The rest of our walk was devoted to nothing but opera. Apparently, he divided his work time between Chicago and another office in St. Louis, and he was in town for a long weekend to sit in on auditions for some of the operas coming next season (Porgy and Bess is being seriously considered). It was a magical moment – walking down Michigan Avenue, sharing an umbrella with a handsome stranger, and discussing the business side of opera.
He had just asked me about myself when we reached Millennium Station. Now, had I been thinking at all, I would have recognized that this was a serendipitous romantic moment, and that I should take advantage of it in some way. Unfortunately, I was so distracted by our conversation that I didn’t think of anything else; I made a polite and hasty farewell, and disappeared down the stairs into the station before I even remembered to ask for his name (which I had forgotten in all the excitement).
And now, a week later, here I sit – still kicking myself for being so blind. Why didn’t I just keep walking, or suggest a hot chocolate at Moonstruck, or at least ask for his name again before parting? I can’t believe how thick I can be at times.

Ancora Imparo

2007-10-24T13:04:00.000-07:00

Things I learned today:

(German translations)
Baustähle = Structural Steel
Hitzebeständige Stähle = Heatproof Steel
Gußeisen = Cast Iron
Messing = Brass

And the fact that antimagnetic submarine steel must be sawed with blades composed of 8% cobalt and 10% molybdenum.

It’s amazing what you can learn in this business.

Bunny Drama

2007-10-11T09:05:00.000-07:00

Love. Murder. Mayhem. Adventure. Sharks with bunny ears and buck teeth.

Usually reserved for dream sequences brought on after eating a whole bag of baby carrots right before bedtime, these elements combine harmoniously and hilariously at the curiously named Angry Alien Productions website. While there are very few aliens on the site, you will find many bunnies. Many, I tell you. Many.
And while these bunnies are adorable (as all bunnies are), their most striking feature is their great talent for acting. Angry Alien provides 30-second streaming videos of some of our favorite movies – condensed, parodied, and acted out entirely by bunnies. Don’t be fooled into thinking that the parodies have been tamed by their fluffy auteurs, though. All of the lines are lifted directly from the original movies, so things can get a bit racy. The Reservoir Dogs video manages to cram over 20 f**ks into 30 seconds of film. So pay attention to the “Viewer Discretion Advised” labels if you’re not quite ready to see long-eared leporidae spewing profanities and spraying bullets.
Some of my favorites: Jaws (look for the bunny ears tied to the shark’s head), Titanic, Casablanca, and the James Bond medley. I suggest that you stick with films that you’ve already seen, so that you can appreciate each fleeting second of cottontailed conviviality.

Dazzled

2007-09-28T15:10:00.000-07:00

Monday mornings are usually not the most cheerful times of the week for any person, but for me, this past Monday was near dreadful. I’ll not go into details; I’ll only say that it involved roses, harsh words, and disciplinary actions. It was a miracle that I got any work done at all that day.
Luckily, I had something to look forward to that kept me somewhat functional through work. As soon as I got off, I ran home to change and grab my opera glasses, and then drove to Chicago for the Lyric Opera’s Season Preview reception and concert. I arrived forty minutes early, and so had to stand outside in the wind until the doors were unlocked. Luckily, Chicago is one of the best people-watching cities in the US, and so there was much to divert my attention as I waited.
As soon as the doors opened, I made my way to the reception hall, which was lined with tables holding trays of tea sandwiches, cookies, and wine. I took a chicken salad sandwich and small glass of Chardonnay, and spent a couple of awkward minutes trying to eat quickly, all the while standing, holding my purse, and watching a flood of people enter the hall. Every moment counted, since the event had open seating, and I wanted to get the best seat possible. I finished my wine and made a dash for the main floor of the auditorium. Imagine my happiness when, after just a few moments of searching, I found a seat on the eighth row!
The next two hours were nothing short of divine. There was no orchestra, just a piano on stage, and the arias were sung by incredibly talented members of the Lyric’s Opera academy. All of the performers were rather young (mid-twenties) and just stunning. Elizabeth De Shong, a petite mezzo-soprano, sang the part of Caesar (which Handel originally wrote to be performed by a castrato) with smoky intensity, and then amazed the crowd by giving a bright, sparkling performance as the mischievous Rosalina from Rossini’s Barber of Seville.
Phillip Dothard, a brassy baritone, played the part of Figaro with all the exaggerated confidence that the character demands. The rapid notes were all hit with impressive strength and sound, and I couldn’t help thinking how handsome he looked on stage. My heart wasn’t truly stolen, though, until the last solo aria, when Jordan Shanahan gave a smooth, clarion performance of “Kogda bi zhizn domashnim krugom”. That man simply was Eugene Onegin – the character of the Russian playboy finding breathing substance between the kindness of the words and the jaded, patronizing tone. I couldn’t blame poor naïve Tatyana for falling for him, since I was actively falling in love with him myself.
I was dazzled by the end of the evening, filled to the brim with opera-induced euphoria. I can’t wait for the season to begin.

Tomatillo Salsa

2007-09-28T11:19:00.000-07:00

I was inspired to recreate a salsa verde that they make at Cucina Barro in Chicago, and I absolutely love the way this turned out. Try it warm with grilled chicken, queso fresco, and warm tortillas, or cold as a dipping salsa.

10 medium tomatillos, husked, stemmed, and washed
2 poblano chiles, washed, stemmed, seeded, and cut in half vertically
3 large garlic cloves, peeled
Juice from one lime
1 small bunch green onions, trimmed and cut into 1” sections
1/2 – 1 cup fresh cilantro (depending on how much you like in your salsa)

Fire up your grill and bring to medium-high heat. Spray tomatillos, chiles, and garlic cloves with cooking spray to keep them from sticking to the grill. If your grill slats are placed far apart, place the garlic cloves on a small piece of aluminum foil. Place tomatillos, chiles, and garlic on the grill and let cook for 12-15 minutes, rotating everything once midway through. (Don’t panic if the tomatillos get scorched. Only a small amount of the flesh actually burns, and it adds more delicious smoky flavor to the salsa.)
Place the tomatillos, chiles, and garlic cloves in a blender. Puree for five seconds. Add the lime juice, green onions, and cilantro, and blend entire mixture together to the desired consistency. Serve warm or chilled.

Peach Champagne Sorbet

2007-09-28T10:40:00.000-07:00

I tried this recipe for the first time yesterday, and although I made a few mistakes, it turned out so nicely that I had to post the recipe for anyone else who may be interested.

A few words of warning:

1. Bite the bullet and spend more than ten dollars on the Champagne. It can make quite a bit of difference.
2. You can get much more juice out of a ripe peach, so make sure you select a slightly squishy one at the store.
3. Start this recipe when you know you'll be home and awake for a four hour stretch, since you need to stir the freezing sorbet periodically.

2 cups water
2 cups superfine sugar
1 fresh ripe peach, pitted and skinned
1 1/2 cups cold Champagne
Peach slices, for garnish (optional)

Mash peach pieces in a bowl until completely crushed or puree in a blender. Run the peach juice through a fine mesh strainer and reserve the liquid.
In a medium-sized pot, bring the water close to a boil, and then add the sugar, stirring until the sugar is completely dissolved. Bring the syrup to a slight boil. Add the peach juice, and then the Champagne (Warning: the Champagne will foam excessively when added to the pot, so pour slowly).
Immediately transfer the liquid to a large, non-reactive, freezer-safe bowl and place in the freezer. Freeze until ice crystals begin to form on the edges of the liquid. Using a whisk, thoroughly whip the mixture to break up all the ice crystals. Place back in the freezer. Whisk the sorbet every 30 minutes until it obtains the smooth texture and appearance of sorbet.
Serve in sorbet glasses with fresh peach slices.

Benedicite!

2007-09-20T05:37:00.000-07:00

Rejoise, myn frends, fore the delit hight Geoffrey Chaucer hath returned! Ich devyse the treuthe – he is returned with muchel wit and parodee, to myn parfit. Task thynselves to hys blog, fore ywis ye shal lauf til hastow wetten thyne pants, pardee.

Message from the Afterlife

2007-09-14T14:08:00.000-07:00

from Devon, left on my cell phone answering maching a day after I made her promise to drive safely...

"Hey Kandice, this is Devon. So, I actually didn’t make it to Cascade Lochs. I’m afraid that I got in a horrible car accident, and actually died! So, I’m calling you now from the underworld. The good news is that I have great reception – I mean, I’m in freakin’ Hades, and it’s clear as a bell. Verizon is really branching out. And you know that three headed dog that they talk about? It’s really not that bad. Well, okay, one of the heads is, but the other two are quite cuddly. I was impressed.

Other than that, it’s a little dark and gloomy, but they have a great library, surprisingly enough. Unfortunately, L.M. Montgomery is not featured, and they have like a million copies of Dante’s Inferno, which is just kind of ironic. But I’ve never read it, so that’s good; I can catch up on my reading.

I’ll probably be able to give you a few more calls before they cut off my cell phone service entirely. Have fun in the land of the living. Bye!"

The Unexpected

2007-09-12T11:54:00.000-07:00

Today, I was kissed by a Columbian film director. Random.

Today on Oprah: Good Directors, Bad Title Choices

2007-09-10T16:30:00.000-07:00

Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull. Are you freakin' kidding me?

Of course, as my wise brother pointed out to me, Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark doesn't exactly roll off the tongue either, and I love that movie. I should probably withhold judgement until I actually see the movie.

An International Moment

2007-08-27T10:17:00.001-07:00

Today at work, I am...

- signing up for Spanish classes
- listening to Italian and French operas
- and translating a Dutch document into English.

What fun!

Greased Lightning

2007-08-21T11:33:00.000-07:00

The newest contender on the auto manufacturing scene promises much for the future, and if all the cars they make are as sexy as their first model, then the future bodes well for them.

Tesla Motors, headed by the big guys from PayPal, Google, and eBay, and featuring the latest in battery technology, has pre-sold over 550 of their first model, the Tesla Roadster. A lovely looking beast with a body designed by Lotus, this car goes far beyond any reasonable hopes for the electric car.
• 0 to 60 mph acceleration in 3.9 seconds (faster than the Porsche 911).
• Top speed of 130 mph.
• Only 3 hours for a full battery charge.
• Capable of traveling 250 EPA highway miles on a single charge.
• Recyclable battery pack weighing half as much as all previous auto Li-ion battery designs.
The Roadster, previously codenamed “BlackStar”, is hoped to make a fashion and status impact during its primary release. At $100,000, the car will be driven by the rich and famous, and thus will first garner the attention of the masses from a distance and identify Tesla as a legitimate and reliable car company (as opposed to other electric car promotion strategies, when the cars were made immediately available to a wide range before their reputations were established).
The sales of the Roadster will help to finance Tesla’s next project, codenamed “WhiteStar”, a more affordable sports sedan comparable to the BMW 5 series, which will sell at around $60,000, and which will be unveiled in 2009 and released in 2010. Still further in the future Tesla plans to release “BlueStar”, the model I am desperately hoping will come to the market - a smaller model with a cost of $30,000 and more improvements than its older siblings. If only my little Honda can hold out until 2012!
Check out Tesla's website and the Wikipedia entry for more pictures and data.

Do You Hear a Ringing?

2007-08-21T10:09:00.001-07:00

Sweet, sweet silence. There’s nothing like it, especially when you’ve spent your entire weekend being unjustly punished with a shrill, piercing alarm.
When I got home from work on Friday, the building was filled with a cicada-like ringing emanating from the service closet. I shed my purse and grocery bags and went back to the closet, where I was assaulted by a rapid beeping emanating from our building’s alarm system. I’m still not sure what happened, but apparently the phone lines connecting our fire alarm to our alarm management company were disconnected, and the alarm box was panicking (quite unnecessarily, in my mind). I tried multiple ways of reconnecting the line, including inspecting and jiggling the phone lines and resetting the breaker, but nothing doing. I called my landlady, reported the problem to her answering machine, and hoped that the noise would soon stop.
Unfortunately, my landlady must have been on vacation, because the alarm continued to sound all through the weekend. While most of the residents could probably block out the noise in their apartments, I was not so lucky, since the alarm box hangs on the opposite side of a wall in my apartment. I actually became edgy – the ringing began to penetrate my subconscious, and by Monday morning I was starting to hear the ringing when I was miles away from my apartment.
After work on Monday, I entered my building and stood still for a few seconds. Something was missing. It was noise. Our maintenance man had been there, and had somehow placated the beeping box. As I stood there, I felt as though a boulder that had been sitting on my shoulders had suddenly rolled off. Oh, lovely silence.

Baking Temperatures and Theology

2007-08-14T13:04:00.000-07:00

I’ve been downloading various manuals while at work, looking at different formats and gleaning some good (and bad) ideas from all of them. For a portion of the day today, I read manuals on ovens, cameras, and vacuums. Occasionally, when reading instruction manuals, you come across something that strikes you – something odd or out of place. This afternoon, while perusing the last few pages of the GE Trivection Oven manual, I found one of those unexpected statements in the warranty section:

What GE will not cover:
• Damage to the product caused by accident, fire, floods, or acts of God.

I found this fascinating. I’ve never heard of God smiting household appliances before, but apparently this has come up at some point, or it would not be in the manual. But then, by making this assertion, does GE open itself up to theological debates? I mean, what if some customer’s oven is possessed by demons? Should GE be required to exorcize the spirits, since such occurrences are not acts of God?

I can see it now – two Jesuit priests standing in a dark kitchen lit only by candles, facing a dual-door convection oven with menacing red light and smoke pouring from its hellish maw, chucking holy water at it, and shouting “The power of Christ compels you! The power of Christ compels you!” And all the while, there’s a GE business rep crouching in the corner, simultaneously documenting the service costs and wetting himself in terror.

I feel like writing GE and asking what prompted the inclusion of this exception.

Godiva, by Alfred, Lord Tennyson

2007-08-13T17:57:00.000-07:00

I waited for the train at Coventry;
I hung with grooms and porters on the bridge,
To watch the three tall spires; and there I shaped
The city's ancient legend into this:

Not only we, the latest seed of Time,
New men, that in the flying of a wheel
Cry down the past, not only we, that prate
Of rights and wrongs, have loved the people well,
And loathed to see them overtax'd; but she
Did more, and underwent, and overcame,
The woman of a thousand summers back,
Godiva, wife to that grim Earl, who ruled
In Coventry: for when he laid a tax
Upon his town, and all the mothers brought
Their children, clamoring, "If we pay, we starve!"
She sought her lord, and found him, where he strode
About the hall, among his dogs, alone,
His beard a foot before him and his hair
A yard behind. She told him of their tears,
And pray'd him, "If they pay this tax, they starve."
Whereat he stared, replying, half-amazed,
"You would not let your little finger ache
For such as these?" -- "But I would die," said she.
He laugh'd, and swore by Peter and by Paul;
Then fillip'd at the diamond in her ear;
"Oh ay, ay, ay, you talk!" -- "Alas!" she said,
"But prove me what I would not do."
And from a heart as rough as Esau's hand,
He answer'd, "Ride you naked thro' the town,
And I repeal it;" and nodding, as in scorn,
He parted, with great strides among his dogs.

So left alone, the passions of her mind,
As winds from all the compass shift and blow,
Made war upon each other for an hour,
Till pity won. She sent a herald forth,
And bade him cry, with sound of trumpet, all
The hard condition; but that she would loose
The people: therefore, as they loved her well,
From then till noon no foot should pace the street,
No eye look down, she passing; but that all
Should keep within, door shut, and window barr'd.

Then fled she to her inmost bower, and there
Unclasp'd the wedded eagles of her belt,
The grim Earl's gift; but ever at a breath
She linger'd, looking like a summer moon
Half-dipt in cloud: anon she shook her head,
And shower'd the rippled ringlets to her knee;
Unclad herself in haste; adown the stair
Stole on; and, like a creeping sunbeam, slid
From pillar unto pillar, until she reach'd
The Gateway, there she found her palfrey trapt
In purple blazon'd with armorial gold.

Then she rode forth, clothed on with chastity:
The deep air listen'd round her as she rode,
And all the low wind hardly breathed for fear.
The little wide-mouth'd heads upon the spout
Had cunning eyes to see: the barking cur
Made her cheek flame; her palfrey's foot-fall shot
Light horrors thro' her pulses; the blind walls
Were full of chinks and holes; and overhead
Fantastic gables, crowding, stared: but she
Not less thro' all bore up, till, last, she saw
The white-flower'd elder-thicket from the field,
Gleam thro' the Gothic archway in the wall.

Then she rode back, clothed on with chastity;
And one low churl, compact of thankless earth,
The fatal byword of all years to come,
Boring a little auger-hole in fear,
Peep'd -- but his eyes, before they had their will,
Were shrivel'd into darkness in his head,
And dropt before him. So the Powers, who wait
On noble deeds, cancell'd a sense misused;
And she, that knew not, pass'd: and all at once,
With twelve great shocks of sound, the shameless noon
Was clash'd and hammer'd from a hundred towers,
One after one: but even then she gain'd
Her bower; whence reissuing, robed and crown'd,
To meet her lord, she took the tax away
And built herself an everlasting name.

By the way, Lady Godiva's husband was one of the powerful earls that made life difficult for Edward the Confessor during his reign in England.

Longing

2007-08-09T05:33:00.000-07:00

Autumn. I love autumn. I miss autumn. I wish it was here. It’s that time of year when humanity comes to its senses. Summer is the season for frivolity, skin overexposure, and all-around unthinking hedonism. You walk down the road in the height of summer and see people in swimsuits spooning on the front lawn, setting fire to explosive incendiaries, guzzling cheap beer, and making a mess of themselves in undignified ways. These are not the activities of sane people. Summer does this to a person – it wrests your senses from you, and before you know it you’re standing by a pool with a margarita the size of a bowling ball in your hand and your arm wrapped around a scantily clad person who is not your spouse. Summer is not a healthy or sane time of year.

But autumn… Autumn is the time when everybody collectively puts on the brakes, thinks to themselves “Dear heavens, what have I been doing with myself?”, and settles down into calm, rational existence. It awakens primitive urges to go out and buy school supplies and sensible shoes. People slow down, become more aware of their surroundings in autumn.

It is the season of maturity, the harvest, when the cycle of Nature finally gets down to business. Golden wheat, plump members of the gourd family, cornstalks, ripening cheese, and apples so sweet that you get lightheaded when you smell them – that’s what autumn is. Autumn is when the wine is made, when nighttime fires begin to glow, when the earth feels ripe, round, and full.

Gosh, I wish autumn was here.

Sigh...

2007-07-24T10:34:00.000-07:00

Doesn't this just sound heavenly?

Getting a Fix

2007-07-18T13:06:00.000-07:00

One afternoon a few weekends ago, I went a little nuts and purchased three sets of Plácido Domingo CDs. Don’t ask me why; maybe I was so disappointed that his concert at Ravinia sold out before I could get a ticket that my mind compensated in the only way it knew how. At any rate, I am now the proud owner of some slightly used albums - Verdi’s Otello, Puccini’s La Bohème, and Bizet’s Carmen – all featuring my favorite tenor.

So I will be riding on a Domingo-induced high for the next little while. If you call me on the phone and I sound a bit languorous, it’s probably because I’m draped over my futon, soaking in the tremolos and sighing.

Ancora Imparo

2007-07-11T06:37:00.000-07:00

Several weeks ago, Travis and I went to see the latest Pirates of the Caribbean installment. Overblown, overwritten, overacted, and overrated as it was, one interesting moment stuck out to me: the green flash signaling that a soul had returned to the world of the living. The inclusion of this unusual occurrence seemed so out of sync with the other creative licenses the writers took that I began to wonder if this phenomenon was part of some nautical legend.

It turns out that the green flash is a natural phenomenon! Check out the pictures provided with the link. It's an amazing sight.

2007-07-06T09:26:00.000-07:00

I may have mentioned this during an earlier online rant, but Wuthering Heights’ Heathcliff gives me the willies like no other fictional character. (Well, except maybe for Valmont in Laclos’ Les Liasons Dangereuses, but he creeps me out for an entirely different reason.) Even more disturbing to me is the fact that many people consider this character a romantic hero. Ick! I watched a movie version of the novel last night (starring the gorgeous Ralph Fiennes), and was yet again reminded how much I hate Heathcliff.

To those of you who swoon over this character, I can only repeat what I have pointed out many times in both college and grad school discussions of the novel… *ahem* What’s wrong with you people?! You’re getting hot over a man who strangles puppies, seduces innocent women, and kidnaps and manipulates children! If that turns you on, you’ve got issues beyond the help I can give you! Come on, people, snap out of it! Please! Okay, I’m done now. My rant is over. Although I must say that casting Fiennes as Heathcliff did help to redeem the character ever so slightly in my eyes.

This morning, still ruffled by the heavy dose of tormented love I got last night, I didn’t pay much attention to what clothes I selected, and foolishly put on a sleeveless blouse. While my decision may seem wise considering that we are supposed to have 90° F weather today, it was, in fact, very foolish. At good old NNU, I must have skipped Vertebrate Anatomy class the day that they discussed the phenomenon of the engineer, and its ability to produce twice as much body heat as the standard human. As a direct result of this, our thermostat is permanently set at 64° F; not cold enough to prompt hypothermia, but darn close. So here I sit, every hair of my body on end and my fingers so numb that my typing accuracy has dramatically decreased. I’ll have to go lie on the hood of my car during my lunch break just to bring by core temperature back to normal.

Happy Sad

2007-06-29T06:49:00.000-07:00

Well, Travis has moved to Seattle, and suddenly Chicagoland feels much lonelier. I couldn’t be more excited for him: he’ll be working with (and living next door to) nice guys that he has known for years. His job is right up his alley, a management position in a young up-and-coming company. He’ll be surrounded by people much like himself, who appreciate good coffee, fresh sushi, outdoor exploration, progressive legislation, and Rainbow brand flip-flops.

But, oh, I miss him so much it hurts, and he’s only been gone a week! Luckily, I foresee a quick trip to Seattle in the near future, so I won’t have to be away from him for long.

I love you, Trav. I miss you. And I’m so proud of you. Enjoy the rain!

I'm still a Mac girl...

2007-06-21T06:13:00.000-07:00

... but you have to admit, this new Microsoft Surface (originally codenamed Microsoft Milan) looks really sweet. Check it out!

TrendWatch

2007-06-19T06:35:00.000-07:00

Fads, Crazes, and Other Things Wealthy Celebrities Do with Money They Don’t Need, by Film Crew Trends Editor Kevin Murphy

Welcome back to TrendWatch. As the Film Crew Trends Editor, it's my job to periodically slip the cuff on the upper arm of the celebrity corpus and take its trend pressure. Rest assured, the pacesetting behavior of people unnecessarily lauded for their desperate grasps at attention is as robust as ever. To wit:

Infants, those living, breathing stabs at immortality are trending toward an all-time craze. Portable and generally cute, infants hold the promise of an endless battery of accessories: nannies, baby stylists, infant caterers, in utero psychologists, and robotic wet-nurses are among the hottest sub-trends focused on privileged loin-fruit. But the highest high-profile sub-trend remains as always Stupid Baby Names, of the variety once foisted only on purebred dogs and race horses. The ever popular last-name-as-first (Sutton, Maddox, Ripley, Truman, Zola) and more recent place name trend (Brooklyn, Madison, Shiloh) have been eclipsed by the far stupider Abstract Naming Craze (Apple, Pirate, Blanket, Willow, Banjo, Dixie Dot) Not yet taken: Hammer, Lefty, Barrage, Chin-stripe, Throttle, Arugula, Lush-Red Lychee, Fornication, and Pomegranate.

Cabbage is back with a vengeance! The cruciferous leafy cousin of mustard is the basis for the diets of dozens of those who want to be known. Award season always finds emaciated gown-hangers at local delicatessens slurping bowl after bowl of the famous watery soup, and on Thursdays (“banana day") one can delight in observing Andersonville-thin starlets forcing banana after banana down their throats.

Adjunct to the cabbage diet is the burgeoning trend of Flatulence. Stars are ripping them with rapidly growing frequency, and the particular tang of sulfurous bowel-breath produced by the dicotyledonous diet flower is known to burn the eyes of guests at the best of parties. Cabbage-gas redolence has become such a sign of status that many Tony party-throwers have taken to hiring emaciated models to come in and pre-fart the house before an important soirée.

The dependable alternative to any diet, Starvation, is trending up for the autumn and Important Film Premiere Season, causing more than one well-heeled luminary to find herself treated at the emergency room for injury caused by bones breaking through papery, overbuffed skin.

Of course these high-profile waifs wouldn't be caught dead in anything less than the latest in health care, the Designer Hospitals. The posh emergency room at Karl Lagerfeld / St. Jude is bedecked with original Warhols, and the beds sport pima cotton sheets and vomit towels. The waiting room boasts WiFi and a Dean & Deluca snack bar. In Miami Beach at Ian Schrager's exclusive hospital and club sic/well, the rooms are appointed with Barcelona chairs, iPod docks, and tanning beds, and offer round-the-clock nurse, concierge, and laundry, while downstairs at Club Morgue guests can dance or linger over organic vodka martinis while keeping their IV meds connected through convenient tableside drip stations. Club Morgue is fast becoming the town's hottest club, but you have to be admitted to be admitted.

The Short List: Among the trends currently trending up are vintage Australian bowling shirts, tooth shortening, wearable skin-toned latex phones, and Egyptian pork, which is smoked, seasoned, mummified and packed in a sarcophagus for a year before serving. Personal hovercrafts are bouncing back, as are individual made-to order tequilas, blended by the bottle, which include a drop of the client's sweat. On the bleeding edge you'll find RAID-configured redundant hearts, fuel flavorings for the biodiesel set, and talking credit cards.

Those are all the trends we can fit in the space allowed, but watch this spot as we keep a keen eye on the things idle people do to ward off despair. Salud!

More Twist!

2007-06-14T09:59:00.000-07:00

I am pleased to announce that after some more designing (and much public outcry), Santiago Calatrava has redesigned the look of the Chicago Spire (2010), completing the spiral and giving it a much more natural look:
From this (primary design B)

to this (final design).

Check out the building's official website for some nifty concept pictures of the building and the surrounding park. Sophie and Dev - I'll have to take you by the building site when you're here to visit.

A Good Five Minutes

2007-06-11T14:36:00.000-07:00

... of pure hilarity. Mike Nelson always cracks me up.

Adventures of the Mildly Dim

2007-06-07T11:30:00.000-07:00

When I first started working here at PHC, I had to go through the customary (and much dreaded) safety orientation session, headed by Bob the Safety Manager. As I left my desk that morning, Marilyn wisely advised me to take a pad of paper and a pen, knowing the delight I take in writing down stories about the ridiculous events in my life. I was not disappointed – I found a stockpile of derisive cannon fodder during those three hours.

I will not bore you with some of the more minor amusements, but the greatest source of hilarity was, without a doubt, the safety video we were forced to watch. Filmed in 1983, this video tape assaulted our senses with synth music rejected from Miami Vice, pixilated visual effects, and an overdose of fluorescent color schemes. The cast was your traditional 1980’s staple of actors -

- Tony Danza-boy – Not quite as handsome, but passable
- Prince-woman – The resemblance is uncanny, with only the breasts creating any telltale difference between the two
- Frito Bandito with a gland problem (or an unhealthy addiction to bacon)
- Boss-man – Typical white man; comes complete with his own power tie!

Although no backstory was provided, I can easily imagine one – the Gambino family, using a chemical storehouse as a front for drug operations, realizes that the FBI has caught on to them, and they need to destroy the place in a hurry. But they need to do it in a legal fashion, so what do they do but hire the above listed individuals (already known for their blatant disregard of OSHA regulations) as workers in the storehouse, hoping that they will destroy the building and themselves in a single day.

As for the video itself, we the viewers were shown a variety of dangerous situations, and repeatedly told how these situations could have been averted if people only would read MSDS books. The actors committed acts of folly that you would think atypical of anyone with an IQ over 5: playing with broken bottles, spilling 50-gallon drums of corrosives, and (my personal favorite) deliberately inhaling poisonous vapors. The vapors scene also wins the award for the goofiest CPR scene ever – the ur-Frito Bandito laying on the floor, Prince-woman doing speed push-ups on his chest, and Boss-man calling paramedics on a cell phone the size of a bread loaf.

After an hour of the characters coming close to killing themselves and demolishing the building with acid, fire, flooding, and runaway forklifts, the movie mercifully ended. I assume that the characters survived, though given their track record, they probably didn’t last long afterwards.

Somnambulist

2007-06-01T06:33:00.000-07:00

My family and old roommates can all testify that I am what is called an “active sleeper”. I frequently talk, kick, and walk (and occasionally clean) in my sleep. Sometimes I can remember my sleepwalking experiences – like when my parents woke to find me emptying my mother’s makeup drawer searching for a part of my ear, or when I started shouting gibberish at Marcie when we were rooming together freshman year. During these moments, I was conscious of what I was doing, but unable to do anything about it. Other times, I am completely oblivious to my actions. Travis will happily tell you about the night in the Oregon coast hotel when he saw me give CPR to my pillow, and Marcie will admit to locking me out of the dorm room when I went on a sleepwalking search for my tennis shoes; the morning after both of these events, I didn’t remember a thing.

Although it is inconvenient for everyone else, there is something comforting about having someone witness these events. That way, I could always be sure that someone would stop me should I wander into traffic or near the edge of a cliff.

Last night, I’m sure that I had one of those semi-conscious sleepwalks. I “saw” a spider the size of a rubber ball lowering itself from the ceiling directly onto my bed. I leapt up, stripped my bed of all the covers, tossed the pillows around the room, and dug under my bed looking for the spider. After a few minutes, it occurred to me that I was behaving irrationally but that I couldn’t stop myself (a sure indicator that I was sleepwalking). After some more searching, I reassembled the bed and went back to sleep.

As usual during these remembered sleepwalks, it felt like an out-of-body experience. My mind recognized what was going on, realized that it was irregular, but was unable to control my body’s actions. It’s a strange sensation to feel relief in your mind when your body stops acting independently. I wish that I had a roommate to make my body behave during these episodes.

More Creations from SolidWorks Class

2007-05-24T12:35:00.001-07:00

Wednesday: We're still creating single parts, though they're getting more complicated.

This pulley is made of solid gold, by the way.

Thursday: We've finally started making assemblies (things that move). My favorite creation - the Nerf gun.

Look What I Can Do!

2007-05-22T19:03:00.000-07:00

The wonderful world of engineering has just become a little less mysterious. I still think I'll stick to writing, though.

The Old Man's Poem

2007-05-17T05:22:00.000-07:00

from Tennessee Williams' Night of the Iguana

How calmly does the olive branch
Observe the sky begin to blanch
Without a cry, without a prayer
With no betrayal of despair

Some time while light obscures the tree
The zenith of its life will be
Gone past forever
And from thence
A second history will commence

A chronicle no longer gold
A bargaining with mist and mold
And finally the broken stem
The plummeting to earth, and then

And intercourse not well designed
For beings of a golden kind
Whose native green must arch above
The earth's obscene corrupting love

And still the ripe fruit and the branch
Observe the sky begin to blanch
Without a cry, without a prayer
With no betrayal of despair

Oh courage! Could you not as well
Select a second place to dwell
Not only in that golden tree
But in the frightened heart of me

Oh Happy Day!

2007-05-10T05:32:00.000-07:00

August 14, 2007...

A day I have waited for since sophomore year in high school...

Click here to find the source of my excitement!

I'm Still Sweating...

2007-04-24T10:44:00.000-07:00

I just did something this afternoon that I've been wanting to do for months but never worked up the courage to do it. I finally did it! I got season tickets for next year's Lyric Opera!! Yay!!

So now I get to see Renee Fleming in La Traviata and Juan Diego Florez in The Barber of Seville. Oh, goodness, I'm so excited!

A New Development

2007-04-20T11:34:00.000-07:00

Today the Chicago Plan Commission gave the final OK for the most ambitious architectural development in the history of the city. The Chicago Spire (formerly to be named the Fordham Spire, and then the Calatrava Spire, after the architect Santiago Calatrava) will stretch 2,000 feet (150 stories) high. The architect and developers are planning for enough private apartments in the Spire to house 1,200 people. If the Zoning Board okays the plan on May 9th, then construction would begin almost immediately, with a tentative completion date of 2009.

Pretty interesting, isn't it? The first time I saw the picture, I thought it looked a little like something out of George Lucas' late (and lame) additions to the Star Wars saga. Marcie, do you remember those nice pink apartments with the light green trim on the riverside, right before we went out on Lake Michigan during the architectural tour? The spire is to be built right next to those apartments.

Oh, I Love Books!

2007-04-18T11:47:00.000-07:00

Hardback or trade paperback or mass market paperback?
Usually hardback (they seem to last longer), although for train rides to and from Chicago, nothing beats a little trade paperback that I can stow in my book-sized purse. The flexibility of a paperback is also a mark in its favor.

Amazon or brick and mortar?
Both, with Half.com leading the pack. You can find such wonderful deals there, though it is very sparse on info. I usually find the book on Amazon, and then buy it on Half.

Barnes & Noble or Borders?
Borders seems to have a bit more character to it (more titles and editions) but Barnes and Noble wins the day because I have one not five minutes from my apartment and everyone keeps giving me B&N gift certificates.

Bookmark or dogear?
I use bookmarks until my supply runs out. Then I turn to more unconventional tools to keep my place: grocery lists, coasters, twigs, barrettes, or anything that will fit.

Alphabetize by author or alphabetize by title or random?
Since I have so much British stuff, I organize most of my books by era. Everything else is lumped by country of origin and genre.

Keep, throw away or sell?
Most definitely sell. When I sell unwanted or disappointing books, it gives me such a satisfied feeling, like I’m taking revenge on them for making me waste my time and money on them. Speaking of which, if any of the people who read this blog are in need of 1980s feminist criticism, I’ve got a whole stack that has been up for sale since August and that I’m desperate to be rid of. At this point, I’d be willing to pay someone (in cookies or tea or something) to take them off my hands.

Keep dustjacket or toss it?
Keep it, but take it off when I’m actually reading the book.

Novel or short story?
Usually novels. They have more meat on them.

Short story collection (short stories by the same author) or anthology (short stories by a different author)?
Difficult to say. When I find an interesting author, I kind of go nuts and read everything by them (I’m in a J.S. LeFanu and Arthur Conan Doyle rut right now). But I also crave variety. I guess it would depend on the author(s) involved.

Harry Potter or Lemony Snicket?
Since I’ve only read a few pages of Lemony Snicket, I’ll have to go with Harry, though I have to say that my enthusiasm for the series has faded quite a bit over the past couple years. Don’t hate me, Dev!

Stop reading when tired or at chapter breaks?
Chapter breaks. That way, should the teaspoon marking my place get knocked out of the book, I know right where to turn to.

"It was a dark and stormy night" or "Once upon a time"?
Dark and stormy. No question about it! Nothing cranks up my Victorian gothic thing like a line that immediately makes one think of thunder, lightning, and a sublime scene with at least one dilapidated castle on the horizon.

Buy or Borrow?
Buy. If I read a book, I want to keep it. I have conquered it. I’m a bit like the hunter that must stuff every animal that he kills. I don’t have a library – I have a trophy room.

New or used?
New, for the most part. I get the willies if my book has food or liquid stains on it. The last thing I want on my book is an orange fingerprint created with Cheeto residue and saliva.

Buying choice: book reviews, recommendation or browse?
All three equally (with a sprinkle of impulse buying added to the mix).

Tidy ending or cliffhanger?
Tidy endings. Obvious cliffhangers have always struck me as cravenly mercantile. But let’s not confuse cliffhangers with surprise endings: the end of Henry James’ Turn of the Screw is one of the best endings I have yet encountered.

Morning reading, afternoon reading or nighttime reading?
I love ‘em all, but I do more nighttime reading, if only because that’s the only time I’m free to read uninterrupted.

Standalone or series?
80% standalone. 20% series.

Favorite series?
The Sherlock Holmes cannon or Raymond Chandler’s collection of Philip Marlowe mysteries.

Favorite books read last year?
Carmilla and Uncle Silas, by J.S. LeFanu.
Book, by Robert Grudin.
The Life of Elizabeth I, The Wars of the Roses, and The Princes in the Tower, all by Alison Weir.

Favorite books of all time?
For a complete list of my favorite books, you’ll need to provide several things:
- You, my friend, here in Bourbonnais
- A big pot of tea and something to snack on
- Internet access
- Six hours worth of lazy summer afternoon
- And two comfortable chairs.

Blood Orange-Chocolate Mousse

2007-04-18T10:09:00.000-07:00

I made this from a recipe I modified a few nights ago, and was quite pleased with the results.

4 tablespoons unsalted butter
4 oz. bittersweet baking chocolate
1/4 cup blood orange juice plus 1/4 teaspoon grated orange rind
4 large eggs, yolks and whites separated
Pinch of Cream of Tartar
1/2 cup heavy whipping cream

Melt the butter and chocolate together in a double boiler over medium heat, stirring often. When the chocolate mixture is fully melted, add the blood orange juice and rind; stir until fully mixed and very warm. In a large bowl, combine the chocolate mixture and the egg yolks, whisking until completely mixed. Set bowl aside and allow it to reach room temperature.

In a medium bowl, whisk the egg whites and the cream of tartar until stiff peaks form. Whisk 1/3 of the egg whites into the chocolate mixture, and then fold in the rest. In a medium bowl, whip the cream until thick and stiff, and then fold it in with the chocolate mixture. Cover the mousse with plastic wrap and chill for 1 hour or until the mousse is set.

Enjoy!

Test Day

2007-04-17T06:14:00.000-07:00

Today was the day of the final test in my class (as a matter of fact, my students are taking the test right now). They're such good kids, and I hope that they feel that I've been a somewhat competent teacher. I didn't get to devote nearly as much time to my teaching as I did last semester, and I feel like I've cheated them a bit for not spending more time planning my lessons and doing more with them outside of class. Luckily, they've got quite a bit of talent, and they will no doubt be successful despite my stuttering and absent-minded performances.

Goodness, I will miss teaching. I get such a thrill out of showing my students the intricacies of our complex (and oftentimes goofy) language. The best part is teaching them what they already instinctively know, but then showing them the reason and the history behind it. It's like taking the faith of your parents and achieving your own personal understanding of it, the "Why" of it. As I pound into my students daily, the best question to ask at every moment is "Why?". I think, as the semester comes to a close, that I have finally begun to see my students ask "Why?" voluntarily. What a feeling!

Puppy Love

2007-04-06T06:12:00.000-07:00

As many of you have heard me say, I have been yearning to own a dog. All the apartments where I have lived so far do not allow pets, so I’ve been waiting for the proper time to find an apartment or house that will let me keep a dog. And I’ll probably be waiting for some time.

But this weekend, I can at least pretend that I have a puppy. The chair of the English Department asked me if I could doggy-sit for her while she visits relatives for Easter. Apparently the dog, a white shih tzu-poodle mix named Holly, has abandonment issues and when left alone will gnaw and piddle on every object within reach. Because of this case of canine psychological trauma, I have to stay overnight at the house every night, play with her, and walk her at least three times a day.

Last night, I was enchanted with her. We cuddled on the couch and watched a movie, and we had a wonderful walk through the neighborhood. All throughout the walk, Holly was trying to get free from me to chase some of the many (and I mean many) rabbits in this little subdivision. By the end of the evening, I vowed that I would be getting a dog as soon as possible.

This morning, my happy dreams of spending time with a perfect pet were crushed by some rather naughty behavior. While I was in the shower, Holly piddled all over my bed (though luckily avoiding the bedspread and pillows) and then just sat on the bed to wait for me to discover her crime. I had no idea that a dog that small could have such a large bladder. As if that weren’t bad enough, we had a close encounter with a rabbit during the 5:45 am walk. Holly took off like a light particle after the rabbit, and I chased after them both, shouting at one or both of them to stop and basically shattering the early-morning tranquility.

I have been thoroughly disillusioned. I now know (or “remember”, I should say) that owning a dog is a messy, noisy, smelly, hair-covered experience. I still want one, though.

Spring has Sprung!

2007-03-22T09:32:00.001-07:00

Today it was so warm out that I didn’t need to wear my jacket as I walked to my car this morning. Hooray! I feel that Illinois has finally come to its senses and decided to give us a bit of the warmth that the rest of the nation has been reveling in.
Spring in Illinois usually brings storms of one kind or another, which I am more than prepared for. The benefit of living in northern Illinois is that you get the violent storms of Tornado Alley, but without the F4 and F5 tornadoes. I’ve always loved storms, and now I get to live in an area famous for them. This very morning, at five o’clock, I woke to booming thunder and lightning illuminating the whole cloud-layered sky. Ahh Spring!

Work Woes

2007-03-15T06:56:00.000-07:00

You'd think that a company pulling in billions of dollars each year would at least have a token class on sexual harassment...

You'd think that men with college educations and few years of experience under their belts would take a hint...

You'd think that married men who are devoted to their wives and children would not even think of asking girls out...

But no.

I thought the professional world was more civilized than this.

2007-03-04T13:10:00.000-08:00

"A writer who is afraid to overreach himself is as useless as a general who is afraid to be wrong." - Raymond Chandler

A Trip to Town

2007-02-22T18:06:00.000-08:00

Saturday found me at one of the most thrilling venues in all Chicago. I got a free ticket to the 2007 Chicago Auto Show, a massive event where car makers from all over the world come to show off their models for the new year. The McCormick Center was filled to the brim with 30-foot-tall displays, cars hanging from the ceiling, long-haired femme fatales showcasing the cars, and packs of roving spectators intoxicated by the smell of tires and leather upholstery. And yes, I was ogling each car along with the rest of them.

The two most fun displays had to be those of Jeep and Dodge. Both companies had built massive obstacle courses, complete with ice sheets, ponds, and steep hills. If one was willing to wait, one could get a chauferred ride through the course while getting a detailed sales pitch by the driver. The Jeep course had an earthy, pine-scented feel to it (naturally), while the Dodge course lacked mini-mountains and had a more urban look. The neatest part of the Dodge course was the ice section; they hired a professional ice skater to do a little routine in front of each car to prove that the ice was truly slick. It was so much fun to watch.

The American makers' section was loud and flashy, with each display trying to outdo the next with subwoofers and funky lighting. Chevrolet had an impressive array of vehicles, sporting several concept cars (including the sexy new Camaro pictured in the topmost slide show) and the latest Corvette body style. Ford's exhibit was a bit lackluster, Toyota spent most of its square footage promoting the new Tundra, and the Honda exhibit held me for a good long while as I compared the MPGs of the latest Accords and Civics.

The Euro side, in contrast, was quieter, with more subtle lighting and thicker carpeting. While there, I was introduced to the Maybach, a little car company with a very interesting history. Look it up some time! There were so many gorgeous cars there that my already slow ramble turned into a crawl as I moved from display to display. It's really a wonder that I wasn't drooling the entire time. Gosh, Dad, I wish you could have been there. You really have to come visit me next year so that we can go together.

But my favorite of the whole show was, surprisingly, back on the American side. It won me by the overall coolness of the idea. The Chevrolet Volt concept is an amazing bit of machinery due out in five or six years. Since the Auto Show pamphlet says it much better than I could, I'll let it take over for a moment: "Volt can go up to 40 miles using only its lithium-ion batteries. For daily driving less than 40 miles, consumers would eliminate the need for gasoline, saving 500 gallons of gas and eliminating 4.4 metric tons of carbon dioxide emissions from the tailpipe a year. For daily driving over 40 miles, consumers would average 150 miles per gallon. For vehicles with E-85 capability, drivers get more than 500 miles per equivalent petroleum gallon!"
How fantasic is that?! Just imagine what wonderful environmentally-friendly cars we could all be driving in a few short years. Definitely my favorite.
Ah, it was a beautiful day!

Soufflé and Snow

2007-02-14T07:29:00.000-08:00

I had my first taste of an Illinois blizzard yesterday. It started snowing when I arrived at work, and by 9:30 there were 9-inch drifts forming between the cars in the parking lot. It was beautiful, at least when I was looking out of a window at it all. Little did I know that I was about to get the best workout I’ve had in a long time.

After work, I managed to get my car out the parking lot without incident, but got slightly stuck when I stopped to help an older female employee remove a four-foot (no exaggeration) pyramid of snow off the top of her car. Upon arriving at my apartment, I found deep drifts covering the parking lot entrance; I had to dig my car out three times just to get to a parking spot. My apartment has never felt so delightfully warm and cozy as it did then.

Alas, it was not meant to last. I was called away by a very lonely (and hungry) Inga. I’ll tell you more about her in my next post. So I packed up some cooking supplies, put on my black marshmallow parka (which makes me look like the Michelin Man’s evil twin), and wrested my car from the snow once more. Arriving at Inga’s, I planted my car in a snowdrift in front of her apartment and waded to her door. One dinner and four shoveling sessions later, I was able to make it home.

Good gracious, I haven’t seen this much snow since my family and I were snowed in at a lodge in Yellowstone Park. It is beautiful and all that, but extremely inconvenient. I can only hope that my poor car will forgive me for all of the strain it has experienced in the past 24 hours.

In other news: I made my first soufflé (Roquefort and parmesan) on Sunday, and it was nothing short of sublime. I was so nervous about whether or not it would rise that I spent a good portion of the time crouching in front of the oven and staring at it through the little window. I’ve never had a soufflé before, so I wasn’t entirely sure what it would look like, but it all turned out perfectly. I’ll have to try a chocolate one sometime this week.

Fabulous Bird of Prey?

2007-02-01T11:32:00.000-08:00

A clip from ONU's weekly student newsletter...

This Sunday, celebrate the match-up between the Chicago Bears and the Indianapolis Colts at the SUPERB OWL BASH in LUDWIG CENTER from 4:30-10 p.m.

The editor is either blind or has a great sense of humor.

The First Week

2007-01-13T17:36:00.000-08:00

(Sorry, Dev. I was too tired to type last night...)

Happy New Year to all my readers, with sincere apologies for the month-long delay in writing. I'll do my darndest to make it up to you, by treating you to an inside look at my new job at PHC.

PHC, as I very quickly learned, is a man's company; the place is awash with testosterone (in varying degrees). In the multiple buildings that PHC occupies in the three-block area, there is only one women's bathroom, and that one, I have been warned, breaks down frequently. When the toilets go on strike, all the women (I have counted 15 of us thus far, in a company of over 300) have to walk across the street, through a warehouse, and up some rickety stairs to a unisex bathroom in the electronic assembly department.

The men in the engineering department are slowly adjusting to the new female in their midst. A few times a day, they will start having what can only be termed as "a guy's conversation": loud, sometimes crude, and sprinkled with profanity. Then they will suddenly stop and look over their shoulders to my desk, where I sit typing away and pretending not to listen; automatically, the volume goes down and the swearing disappears. I don't think they mind my presence too much; I'd like to think that I am having a civilizing influence on them, however temporary it may be.

I have been taken under wing by Marilyn, the only other woman in the engineering department, and unfortunately destined to transfer to another department in a few short weeks. She has been such a blessing, an Auntie Mame-type mentor who is teaching me all about how to survive in this environment. I dread losing her, when I'll be on my own with a crowd of twenty-odd men surrounding me. An awkward situation, especially for one who has worked under and with women since she was eighteen.

Despite the weirdness of the whole thing, I think I will like working as a technical writer. I have always preferred writing on concrete subjects; abstract topics such as theory have always eluded me and always will. And the delightful thing about being a writer in a group of engineers is the aura of mystique that surrounds my duties. All of the engineers are brilliant beyond any level I could ever attain, but many of them have little experience in English language studies. I imagine that they regard my tasks as I regard theirs: a series of unintelligible movements and reasonings and scribbles on paper that come together magically to create something tangible and functioning.

My supervisor has been kind, if a little gruff and distant; his pet project, years in the making, is approaching its final test run. Despite all his distractions, he has made time to sit down with me and look over the changes I have made to the first instruction manual on my list. He seemed thrilled with my work; in fact, he became more excited with every error I pointed out. I wasn't aware of how much of an impression my work had made until Wednesday, when I discovered that Jim had given me a 15% raise in pay before my first paycheck had even been printed. Yay!

All in all, I am excited about this new job. I think that I can really make a difference in the quality of their products in my own small way. Already, I have become emotionally invested in the success of PHC; their products, and their worldwide influence in commercial construction, are really quite inspiring. Marcie and Anna, when you come to visit me in March, I will have to take you on a tour of the production floor. Make sure to pack your sturdy shoes and safety goggles.

Ingredient Confusion

2006-12-12T12:12:00.000-08:00

Here's something odd:

A few days ago I went grocery shopping, and bought a beautiful set of New York strip steaks that were on sale for a rediculously low price. Unable to show an ounce of patience, I broiled one for dinner that night. (For those of you who don't know me well, patience and red meat cannot coexist in my world, which perhaps explains my penchant for steak tartare.)

As I was getting ready to eat, I found myself glancing over the ingredient list of my bottle of A-1. My eye settled on the second ingredient, which confused me more and more as I continued to stare:

Crushed orange puree

Now, this could have two interpretations: one, the puree of crushed oranges or two, orange puree that has been crushed. Both of these seem pretty pointless, though. If you go with the first interpretation, then the puree is still going to consist of oranges, no matter whether they are crushed or not; the texture will be the same since the definition of a puree is "a paste or thick liquid suspension usually made from cooked food ground finely" (Merriam-Webster Dictionary).

If, however, you go with the second definition, it makes even less sense. How can you crush puree? Wouldn't the pestle or grider or whatever just go right through the puree? There's nothing to crush!

Hmmm... What could it mean?

Recent Favorite Websites

2006-12-03T13:28:00.000-08:00

Check these out. You might even find some perfect Christmas gifts on these sites...

Baudelaire Fine Imported Soaps and Body Care - American importers of fabulous luxury bath items from all over the world. My favorite: Provence Sante Lavender soaps.

The Classical Mandolin Society of America - If you were ever curious about pre-bluegrass mandolin music, this is a great site to check out. I just started playing the classical mandolin last week. Yay for Vivaldi!

La Redoute - Paris - Afforadable Parisian fashions for women. Take a particular look at the blouses - tres chic!

Finally...

2006-11-30T10:08:00.000-08:00

After weeks of balmy afternoons with temperatures in the mid-60s, we at last reached proper winter temperatures today: A high of 34 with a chance of 2-3 inches of snow overnight.

Winter is really here! Yipee!

Ancora Imparo

2006-11-19T13:06:00.000-08:00

1. Potatoes will desintegrate if cooked in soup for too long and then frozen.

2. A capon is a cockrel that is castrated before it develops into a rooster. Capons are prized for having tender and flavorful meat, more white meat than a standard chicken, and greater fat deposits. The practice of caponizing roosters began in Italy, and from there spread west. Today, Wapsie Produce Company alone supplies capons commercially in the United States. (I plan on roasting one with lemon and thyme next week)

3. It is difficult to write a play.

A New Direction

2006-11-17T08:47:00.000-08:00

Coming in January 2007... My first foray into the 9 to 5 work force!

Yes, dear readers, I have learned that a girl with student loans can't survive solely on an adjunct professor's paycheck, and so have taken action. Though my body and sanity may suffer for it, I have decided to take on a full-time position at a certain corporation in the neighboring town as a technical writer.

The way I came across the job was really fantastic, and seemed to me to be a sign that I was meant to accept it. The head engineer of PHC called Dr. Williams (our department chair) asking if she knew of any recently graduated students who needed a full time job writing instruction manuals for their products. She gave him a couple names, but after a couple hours remembered that I would be looking for a job next sememster, since I am only slotted to teach one class. She called him back and gave him my name, but wasn't even sure if he would be interested since he already had his names.

Just a few days later, I got a call inviting me to come over to see the factory and determine whether I would like the job. After a brief meeting with the head engineer in his office, we headed out onto the production floor. I had dressed up in my interview suit and heels that day, hoping to look impressive and professional. Imagine the image: I stepped out into the assembly room, wearing massive safety glasses and jotting notes on a steno pad, picking my way around puddles of coolant water and whirring machines. The air in there was filled with flying curled metal shavings, plasma sparks, and noise.

It was all fascinating, but one machine in particular caught my eye: a prototype for a plasma cutter mounted on a gyro-arm, able to cut a steel beam at any angle from any direction. The head engineer himself had designed it, and it will be the first machine that I will write a manual for. It was so impressive to see in action, with the huge plasma laser whirling and twisting within its surrounding frame, cutting the precise pattern entered into its computer. I'll have to take some pictures, because my words could never do it justice.

At any rate, I have a job! From 7 in the morning to 3 in the afternoon, I'll be working with engineers, taking pictures of machines, and writing, writing, writing. Each manual is over 100 pages long, and besides the four or five new machines that are designed each year, there is a two-year backlog of old manuals that need to be rewritten. Talk about job security.

My Latest Culinary Masterpiece

2006-11-04T20:24:00.000-08:00

Pumpkin Spice Cake with Orange-Cream Cheese Frosting, garnished with Mandarin Oranges and Pomegranate Seeds. Yum.

Lick and a Promise

2006-10-31T10:24:00.000-08:00

A legitimate entry will be coming soon, I promise! It will be a good one, too, with hilarious stories, gripping drama, and pictures to boot. Stay tuned.

While you wait, I have another student compliment to share: I was talking with one of my students before class, and she asked me if this was my first semester teaching. I told her that it was, and she responded with "Well, you're doing a great job!" It was sweet of her, I thought.

A Musical Opportunity

2006-10-12T10:13:00.000-07:00

Guess who is going to see the pre-Broadway release of The Pirate Queen in two weeks! Yay!

Janian Trauma

2006-09-26T10:23:00.000-07:00

Oh, I will never be the same! I had the weirdest nightmare last night, and it will forever change the way I read one of my all-time favorite books.

I dreamed that I was trapped in the world of Sense & Sensibility, and that I was playing the role of Margaret, the youngest of the Dashwood daughters. In my dream, Mr. Willoughby actually did propose marriage to Marrianne (instead of running off to make a more advantageous marriage). On the day of the wedding, Willoughby rode up to the house and was as cheerful and charming as ever. I ran up to meet him, laughing, but he suddenly turned savage and grabbed at me. Right then I realized (isn't it amazing how you can automatically acquire new knowledge in dreams?) that Willoughby was actually a serial killer, and that he left the women of his past mutilated, rather than merely pregnant and destitute.

I grabbed Marianne, and we ran through the cottage and out the door. Marianne cried and fell all over the place and seemed remarkably uncoordinated, but I continued to drag her along until we reached the main road. And there, we met Col. Brandon on a horse, leading a SWAT unit towards the house. Yes, you heard me. A SWAT team descending on Barton Park cottage.

My dream ended there; but I am sure that, had my dream lasted longer, I would have seen Brandon crash through the door and dispense some fierce Tarantino-esque vengeance on Willoughby for all his wickedness.

Now, I will never be able to read S&S without envisioning men in uniform descending on the Dashwood residence, wielding automatic firearms and shouting in brutish tones. Ms. Austen, have mercy on me! Purge these thoughts so that your work will once again be pure and delightful!

What It's All About

2006-09-13T12:32:00.000-07:00

A note from a student sent to me today:

"Thank you for all you do! I am very excited to learn how to become a better writer!!"

Can anything be more pleasing to a teacher's ear?