Token Bi Chick

Radnor Lake

2011-02-07T16:08:00.000-06:00

2011-02-06T03:34:00.000-06:00

I'll admit it, we seem to have reached an impasse at this blog. We being you and I. I want you to read me, you want me to provide you with something worth reading. This should be an ideal relationship. However, like all so-called "ideal" relationships, there's some complexity to the situation. Let's begin at the beginning, shall we?

I began this blog to vent and address my experience of coming to know myself re: my sexuality, specifically. I have much more of a handle on all that now. I know what I am, and I have a reasonable idea of what I want. This is good for me, but makes crappy storytelling. That is to say, there is no story to tell anymore.

As my original material dwindled, I began to see that the only way to keep this thing alive was to grow. I embarked this blog, this tryst with the internet, as innocently and as arrogantly as any Freshman stepping onto campus the first days of classes. I was going to reinvent the sexual world. Bisexuality was new, it was ridiculously avant-garde, and I was going to provide the backwards world with an undeniable shade of complexity it had heterofore ignored. Truly, I cringe at my own naivete. Cringe, I tell you.

So obviously that didn't go as planned. Well, actually, for a moment, it did. I was becoming a moderate size fish in a tiny pothole puddle when I got into an argument with a few key bigger fishes in said pothole puddle and that was that. Blam. My fifteen minutes of fame were here and gone and I was forgettably mediocre at best. Ouch. Hello, faceless defeat.

But what to do in the face of faceless defeat? The way I see it, there are always two basic options when faced with failure: give up (and ultimately that means kill yourself,) or re-examine. I'm not suicidal, though death makes a great litmus test, I will admit. If you ask yourself, "How bad is it? Bad enough to die?" and the answer is, "No," you can get this right. If it's bad enough to die, than do it. Just put yourself out of your misery already. And if you can't do that, than it's still not that bad. If you feel like you want to die but you're not willing to commit to it, than you're not willing to die, are you? Move on, already.

Obviously, I'm not dead yet, so you may reasonably surmise that I've been re-examining. ("Ah, now she comes to the point," you say. And you are right, you clever thing, you!) I've arrived at the conclusion that I should stop parsing and sub-dividing myself into various portions for various parties. This requires a certain amount of trust on my part, but at the same time a certain amount of distance. This means being open and honest about what and who I am to everyone, which honestly has been the goal of this whole project from the beginning, but it is more than a little intimidating.

"Yes, but what does that mean to me?" you ask. Ah, the eternal question. In short, this means you see my face, you see my tattoos, and you see my life as I see it. I don't talk a lot. I watch and I think. And I listen to music constantly. And I prowl.

So that's that. I'll be less reserved if you promise not to rape and murder me. Unless you should happen to be that perfect merger of Liv Tyler and Janet Joplin I saw in the bar the other night. Liv/Janet, you can rape me anytime.

Asheville

2010-11-13T16:35:00.003-06:00

Last weekend, I went on a minor road trip with my husband to North Carolina for my cousin's wedding. On the way back, we detoured into Asheville and stopped for a few hours to check it out. I've heard it's very cool, and having seen it, let me say, it is VERY cool. We were only there for two hours, but in those two hours I saw more lesbians, coffeeshops, and craft brews than I've seen in the last year here. And lesbians, coffeshops and craft brews are three things that I like VERY MUCH. And the graffiti! Check it out!

Beautiful isn't it? And unlike Hell, TN, Asheville is much more friendly to pedestrians and bicyclists. And bisexuals! For the first time in my life I didn't feel tolerated or ignored. For the first time in my life I didn't feel simply overwhelmed by the hatred. I should also mention that we stumbled across a LGBT group protesting the lack of insurance for same sex partners and I burst into tears. That sounds ridiculous, but you have to understand, that kind of gathering WOULD NEVER HAPPEN in Hell, TN. It is simply not acceptable. So I am wholly, unabashedly in love with this city. Art, coffee, beer, and women I have a chance with? Yes please!

"Because you gotta have goals..."

2010-08-16T09:55:00.000-05:00

I was thinking as I was riding my bike this morning, and a few things congealed in my mind. (You should probably understand that I am very, very slow to come to conclusions. I have to walk around an idea for a few weeks before I can determine my opinion on it solidly, so for me to say that something has congealed in my mind implies quite a bit of effort on my part. At my core, I HATE change.) I am at the cusp of a major shift in my life and I am embracing it with all the strength I have. Something has shifted and I don't want the same things I wanted so desperately so few years ago. My focus has shifted from house, white picket fence, rose garden, dog and working the next 45 years or so, to... traveling light, let's call it. I don't want to escape, and I don't want a vacation. I want to eliminate all the crap from which I could want to escape, and my life to be a vacation. I've realized that there are things like dishes, groceries, clogged sinks and broken furnaces that are unavoidable facts of life. And yes, those things don't usually intersect with a vacation, but isn't that the wonderful part about a vacation? More than being in a beautiful place and sleeping in late and doing whatever you want all day it's the fantasy that you could live without those unavoidable inconveniences that makes vacationing so wonderful. (And delusional, I might add.) So what do I want? Well a lot of things.

Before I'm 27 (about 9 months from now) I want:

a job I don't hate
the house sold
to be living somewhere new (California, New Hampshire, Korea, etc. I'm not too picky about this one.)
to be able to run 5 miles at a stretch
to be able to bike 25 miles a day
to rely on my bike more than my car
to be able to repair my own bike as necessary

Before I'm 30 I want:

to be completely out of debt (no house, no student loans, NOTHING)
a Vespa (I'm serious about this no car business.)
a dog
to run a marathon (I've always wanted to do it.)
to be brewing all grain beer and know what I'm doing
to only be drinking homebrew, or maybe wine
to be growing my own hops and maybe grapes? (The grapes depend on my green thumb. It is as yet largely untested.)

Before I'm 35 I want:

to retire (Maybe I'll have to push this back to 40, but we'll see.)
to be a black belt in some nasty variety of martial arts (Such as Jiu-Jitsu or something else with an emphasis on function, not form.)
to hike the AT in a season (my dog and I)

As you can see, at 35 I get fuzzy. I don't really know where I'll be or where my interests will turn. But that is the direction I'm moving my life. I've been working towards this for about two years now, but it's a slow progression. Most of the progress until now has been mental. Like I said, I'm slow to move and difficult to persuade. But I'm on the move now.

Check it out, MAN!!!

2010-08-04T08:52:00.015-05:00

My dear and darling husband has been hard at work fashioning this beautiful site you see rendered before you, and now he's made me laugh so hard I can't remember what I was saying. So sorry. Anyway, I'm ECS-FUCKING-STATIC about my new look and had a few glasses of wine and a cigar. Whoo! So I'll update you soon, but not immediately. Trust me, all you'd get out of me now would be along the lines of "It's so pretty!! Please sir, could I have some moar?"

And then, Music comes and smacks you upside the head!

2010-06-16T07:20:00.006-05:00

I would love to say that I found this, but Lexx, the true audiophile of my acquaintance deserves that credit. Though I am but a baby audiophile, Lexx is a fully-matured music-devouring monster. Even though when he comes to visit, he gets so drunk he vomits kimchi and sake all over my good sheets, I keep him around because he sends stuff like this my way. But I'll shut up now and let you watch.

Actually, I've been listening to the EP while I was typing this, and the other songs are equally awesome. Reminds me of Ratatat on crack, if you will.

More to the point...

2010-06-12T18:52:00.000-05:00

It's been a while since bisexuality came up here, and some notable things have been happening in that front of my life, so I'll fill you in. My friendship with hot chick at work has been progressing at an absolute crawl, which quite honestly suits me fine. I like feeling people out before I make any kind of friendly commitment. Relationships possessed with reason and all that. As we've slowly been becoming friends, and somehow completely separate from our relationship, the organized grab-ass has not stopped. I don't know how to describe it other than if in the course of our workday we haven't seen each other, "Where have you been?" is accompanied by a friendly smack on the ass instead of, perhaps, a handshake. I know she's bi, and she knows I'm bi. But we continue to dance around each other throwing fake jabs like boxers before the fight gets real. I'm thoroughly enjoying it, to be honest with you.

While this has been going on I've also been making serious steps toward shedding all my useless crap. All the baggage I've accumulated from the guilt and insecurity of not being straight has been classified as useless crap, and these last few weeks I've been just dumping it. It wasn't really a conscious thing. I just woke up one morning and didn't give a fuck. I think though, it started when I realized the geeky-cute chick at the coffee shop with the luscious lips and glasses was flirting with me. That day I started aggressively coming out. I've been honest about my sexuality for a long time, but I haven't been particularly open about it, particularly not at work. When I first realized I was bi, I thought that as soon as I saw it, everyone else would see it too. Something would change in my aura and a nearly visible tag would appear on my forehead: "BISEXUAL." But I have learned in the ensuing years that this is not the case. It is quite possible to be married, openly bisexual and for most people to not catch on. By virtue of being a woman, when I call another woman "hot," "sexy," "beautiful," etc., most people don't think a thing of it. I've learned that in most cases, I have to explicitly state that I like women. Even then, two out of three people will look at me very confusedly and say, "You're a lesbian?" And then I have to say, "No, I'm bi." And then they are visibly relieved for a second, as they realize that my marriage is not a sham, but then they get to really thinking. As they ask and I answer more questions about what it is to be bisexual, I can see their brains kind of break a little. Their eyes glaze over and they can't seem to close their mouths all the way and they stare at me like some alien creature as I smilingly explain to them that the world is not all black and white. This is exactly what I was trying to avoid all those years when I was quietly bisexual in my corner halfheartedly pretending to be straight. I don't like doing this to people, but I've lost my patience. I've waited and waited and waited for them to catch up, but I've had to admit that it isn't going to happen by magic. People need real physical examples to uproot a basic assumption or two. So I find myself having become the destroyer of axioms. I am truly becoming the token bi chick.

New look!

2010-06-12T17:26:00.000-05:00

Oooh! Aaaah! To be honest with you, I'm not so sure about the books, but I'll try it out for a week or so. Another major change is the addition of a Twitter widget down on the bottom left. Yes, dear readers, you may now follow me to the minutest detail! And I get to give vent to all the expostulations that pop into my head that aren't quite post-worthy. You may notice that I've also stripped down all the extra junk in the sidebars, so let me know if I've scrapped something you particularly liked. Is this easier to navigate? Easier to read? Ugly as hell? Let me know what you think!

If I make it to the waterside will I even find me a boat?

2010-06-10T18:06:00.000-05:00

Oh, I have needed some Cat Stevens. Something about him I find incredibly centering. Led Zeppelin is when I'm happy, sad, noisy, bored, soulful, etc, and Fiona Apple is when I feel like a girl, but Cat Stevens and Blackbird by The Beatles and Miles Davis are what I need when I find myself overwhelmed.

Tomorrow I sign the paperwork to sell my other house. By "other" I mean not the house I live in, but the house my parents bought in my name some seven years ago. I've never really been comfortable owning it since I have as little to do with it imaginable- I mean, I haven't seen the place in years. So tomorrow marks the completion of step 1.5, as I'm calling it, and the severance of my legal ties with my parents. The signatures on the paperwork tomorrow are the last of their cooperation I require for the completion of the escape plan. After this I'm on my own. And this is at once a wonderful and terrible thing. Well, actually, I don't know how it would be terrible, other than I feel scared. With every completed step closer to leaving I find myself vacillating between terror of the unknown, glee at progress toward the unknown and impatience that it's all taking so long. Despite my absurd feelings on the matter, I am not going to hole up with nothing but soothing music and chocolate nor am I going to drink myself stupid or smoke my throat raw. I'm going to do this. I'm scared of it, but I'm doing it anyway.

So yeah, if I make it to the waterside, I'll be sure to write you a note.

"Everything I have to look forward to...

2010-06-01T14:42:00.002-05:00

...has a pretty painful and very imposing before..."

I find myself at a threshold in my life. I could call it a crossroads, as some people do, but I see the path one takes through life less as a single track with a few forks and more as a constantly forking path with a few straight shots. So here I am on the cusp of doing something very different. I am standing on the precipice looking into the abyss and the abyss is looking into me and I... can't... breathe...

To be specific, my husband has finished classes for his MBA (congratulations are in order and duly given,) and is commencing looking for a new job in a new area. I really can't tell you how proud of him I am, and how unreal it is to be finished with the first step of the escape plan. That step was long, grueling and in all other ways really fracking hard, and I have no delusions about the subsequent steps being any easier. But seemingly endless though it was, it was not unendurable. I say this to steel myself against what's coming up ahead.

Next we have the job hunt, which for me is cake. I just need to shut up and stay out of the way. But the kicker is going to be selling the house. This involves some minor repairs and presumably a major slap in the face. I have heretofore skirted the issue of my parents on my blog and I'm not about to get into it now, so suffice it to say that my mother likes to be in control. She had therefore an interest in preventing me from getting married, and now has a similar interest in preventing me from leaving the state. I'm not going to go into details, but believe me when I say that she is capable of unbelievable selfishness and will attempt to drag the whole family into a war before she will accept a decision of mine with a little grace. But as I am more concerned about wasting my life in a warehouse in Hell, TN than I am about her good opinion, I am preparing for a fight.

As far as where we'll end up, I'm not really sure, and frankly I don't care too much. The important part to me is that I am on the edge of an adventure. Getting rid of all of the stuff that I don't use/don't want to move/don't want to store/don't need makes me feel like a toddler shedding my clothes and running into the ocean. If they don't catch me and make me get dressed again, I'll get sunburned, but this is a liberation and determination unlike any I've felt before.

I thought it was money...

2010-04-12T17:56:00.010-05:00

Found this in my jacket pocket the other day:

"10/28/09 - 10:16PMStanding around at work with nothing to do. There is probably nothing worse. Other than rebox. That is pretty bad. I don't even have anything on my mind. Pooh. Perhaps I should ask for something to do. Or perhaps not.

"I was thinking... Let's see, what was I thinking about? Now I can't remember. Well, I can remember, but I can't recover my interest in it. Pooh.

"If I were to drop dead right now, what would they find on me? One pair size six Nike shoes- grey/blue and very dirty. One pair blue socks with frogs and stripes, one pair khakis, one brown leather belt, one pair grey boy-cut underwear, one white sports bra, one grey wifebeater, one blue/white ΔΓ baseball shirt ("Carolyn" on back,) one Levi's Jean jacket, one pair G-Tek gloves.One Converese blue/white striped bag. Contents: tape gun, roll of tape, stapler, box of paperclips, badge, tampons, panty liners, pencils, pens, x-acto knife (right handed,) drop tickets, green cards, tin of pirate bandaids, Advil, server apron, pencil pouch thingie, piss-test papers. One Aquafina water.

"That's even more boring. I don't think I'll ever work in a morgue."

Refreshments in The Caf

2010-03-29T08:28:00.001-05:00

Yes, W. B. Yeats and T. S. Eliot attended a lecture and this photograph is my proof!

Okay, okay, so I have no reason to believe that they were ever in The Caf in person, but still... At a glance those stairs in the background could easily be the creaky, sandy Caf stairs. Yeats and Eliot certainly dressed like Morons, I must say. And that could be Dr. Connell talking to Hannibal Lector, or perhaps to a highly greased hamster. (Sorry, Eliot, that wasn't fair. I guess I'm still a little worked up about seeing bats with baby faces in my nightmares.)

This one's for my homies. If you're not a Moron, or at least a lit geek, allow me to sum up: that was fucking hilarious. Feel free to return to your regularly scheduled lives.

Photo Source

In the Category Of Things That Make Me Happy

2010-03-12T09:00:00.001-06:00

Yet drive the husband to put on his headphones...

Grocery Store Musical - Watch more Music Videos at Vodpod.

H/T to 3 Quarks Daily

Ah, Bisexuality...

2010-03-03T07:18:00.004-06:00

...and boobies. Why does it always have to come down to boobies? Probably because they're the one asset I don't have. Well, I have them, and they're quite shapely, but, here's the point: on a very small scale. And I'm old enough now to have been forced to abandon the hope I held all through the trials of puberty. I am forced to admit that no, I am not going to wake up one day and be a C. I am, always have been and always will be an A. End of story.

To be honest, my breasts are like balloons that never quite got blown all the way up. You know when you're blowing up a balloon, there's the very easy initial puff where you just fill the flaccid rubber? Immediately after that, if you actually want to blow up the balloon, you have to put a good amount of force behind your air to start stretching the rubber. And then, all of a sudden it's easy inflating again and you just have to be careful not to over-inflate. Yeah, my breasts never got over that initial hump. They got close- they're right on the threshold, I know it, but that's where they gave up. On the bright side, this means that they're firm, they'll probably never sag (or if they do, they don't have far to go) and they're generally not in my way. Oh, yes, I appreciate the function of small breasts in this man's world. But cleavage? Does not cleavage have its own function as well? Yes, it certainly does. Much like a pair of big brown eyes, it has the purely magical power to make men (and some unlucky women) stupid. And I'm sure big beautiful eyes as well as big beautiful breasts have their own inescapable drawbacks, but who doesn't want to have their finger on the Stupid Switch? That's power, man. Pure unadulterated superpower. (Because sexuality, if deftly wielded, is as devastational as an atom bomb.)

It is entirely the fault of hot bisexual chick at work that small breasts, cleavage and the term "boobies" are on my mind today. Today was a slow day, so I was sent for the entirety of the night to a corner of the warehouse that I usually only pass through. It should be mentioned that this corner is entirely populated by horney Asians with a penchant for feeling each other up. (I may have a shitty job, but the perks are just heavenly.) So we were all in this corner, working, goofing off and generally having a good time getting the job done, when somehow breasts came up in conversation. (I say somehow because I don't speak Lao fluently enough to translate but I can can generally get the gist.) The boobies comment was directed at hot chick, and she responded by grabbing the biggest, fullest set near her and giving them the old squeezey-squeezey all the while proclaiming her undying love of "boobies" loudly enough for anyone within twenty yards to hear. The owner of the assaulted breasts eventually extracted herself from hot chick's persistent fingers and asked hot chick why she didn't do that to Marleenken? "Ha!" said hot chick, "Marley doesn't have any boobies! I like big boobies!"

Ouch.

Now, after all that, you may find this hard to believe, but my small breasts have never really been a problem for me. Until now that is. I've never known a guy to say to me, "Honey, you're hot and all, but your boobs... well, they're a little lacking. Sorry sweetheart." Guys just don't work like that. Women however, are another story entirely. We're picky, exacting, and perfectly willing to wait until hell freezes over to get what we want. In short, we don't forgive small flaws and we don't settle. We're raised to believe that we are the chosen possessors of a rare commodity (i.e. pussy) and demand is never going to flag. Right or wrong, that's what we're told.

Fear not, I'm not about to wallow in the pit of despair until I get massive breast implants. I would never deface The Boys like that. They may be small, but they are mine. No, this stark difference between the conditioning of men and women just puts me in an interesting and very uncomfortable mental situation. I've grown very accustomed to being able to walk into a room, pick out my target and should I desire, possess it. Now I'm competing against myself. Or rather, I'm competing on a level playing field. Which is a bunch of crap if you ask me. I far prefer having the odds in my favor. Really, gentlemen, wouldn't you?

It's homebrew time!

2010-02-27T06:52:00.007-06:00

What you see here is the first opened bottle of the porter and one of the last few β1. As well it should be, the porter is the darker of the two. I could have been more patient and meticulous in the staging of this photograph, but I opted to highlight a flaw in β1: there's more head than beer. I'm not sure why, but some bottles of β1 are nearly impossible to pour or drink because of the absurd level of carbonation. The wild range of carbonation doesn't seem to affect the taste, but it certainly does impact the practicality of consuming the beer. All the same, I don't understand what would have caused inconsistent carbonation. Any thoughts from the peanut gallery?

As to the porter, on first sip, it's wonderful. Hmmm. Second sip: still wonderful. Hmmm-mmmm. Gulp. Wonderful!

More specifically, it has lovely body, all kinds of complexity of flavour (chocolate and chili pepper are dominant on my palate right now,) a nice hop/malt balance and a simply professional aroma. In short, it is everything a porter should be. It should also be noted that this is the first homebrew that both my husband and I have liked. That in itself is an accomplishment.

If I can ever get a day off, I'll be brewing my Peter Cotton Ale. (Hippity HOPitty, Easter's on it's way...) I'm already about a week behind where I wanted to be, but the weather is still ridiculously cold too. So I figure if I don't crank out the Easter brew by Easter, it's okay because the weather won't be acting like spring by then anyway. I have all the ingredients and it'll get done when it gets done. In the meantime, I have porter of the gods!

Sorry to be so brief, but...

2010-01-28T07:34:00.003-06:00

Internet and more probably my fritzy computer is spazzing out. I have been trying to post for two days now, and can't get anything to work long enough to add fine touches such as links and pictures. Not a complex thing I know, but my whiner of a computer is ragging right now, so in a few days we'll be good to go. In the meantime, I wanted to let you all know that I am alive and thinking of you. Not only that, but in light of current circumstances, I'm accepting names for this inconstant, temperamental, opinionated bitch that is my laptop. Don't all come at me at once, now. ;)

When I'm not drinking beer...

2010-01-28T06:46:00.003-06:00

Mmmm... Double St. Germain Cocktail... Ah, luxury of luxuries... If I ruled the world, everyone would have the opportunity to sip on one of these and recline in comfort and good company every day. (I say "have the opportunity" because I would hate to force St. Germain on any of my subjects who happen to be disinclined toward this nectar of the gods. More for me. In any event, they are still welcome to partake of the comfort and good company part of the law because every living being should have access to that regardless of a certain lack of taste.) Yes, I think I could compensate quite effectively for my lack of proficiency as a world leader with one simple decree: ST. GERMAIN FOR ALL. We're gonna need more bicycles.

Lest We Forget... (Or rather, Lest You Think I Have Forgotten...)

2010-01-26T15:07:00.007-06:00

Hello again! It's been a while! I hope you've all been well and made it safely though the holidays and such. (It doesn't feel like we just had Christmas just a month ago, does it? I just love how after all the hype and hysteria of the tail end of every year, all the "togetherness" and "reason for the season" garbage that has been spewed prolifically from seemingly everywhere is suddenly just forgotten. Well, maybe I don't love it, but it does amuse me.)

"Season" or no "season," forgotten or omnipresent, I personally have been incredibly busy. I am, however no philanthropist, and the reasons for my engagement have been entirely selfish. So, without further ado, I shall proceed to catch you up on my various works in progress that have been devouring all my time.

To begin at the beginning: the promised homebrew update! β1 was simply fantastic! It probably came out a little more intense than the recipe intended, but intense is always good. Checking back at my original notes, I wrote, "Light, crisp, fruity, beautiful golden-brown colour. Tastes of apples and grapes. Not at all skunky. Yum! Nicely carbonated, too. Fantastic as a summer beer. Definitely a make again in the proper season." Ah, but with regards to the carbonation, the first few six packs were highly carbonated, almost like a Belgian farmhouse ale, and the last few have been barely fizzy at all. At first I was thinking that I had over or under filled the bottles, but upon closer examination, I was too consistent in that regard for that to be the case. The best I can come up with, is that I didn't mix the bottling malt into the beer thoroughly enough. So, I'm thinking, if some of the bottles ended up with more sugar, they would also be more carbonated than their less-sugared brethren. Other than that, it was fantastic.

In fact, it was so fantastic, I'm currently fermenting a porter (β2.) Actually, it's not really fermenting anymore, I'm just procrastinating the bottling. (I don't know why, but I HATE bottling. There's no real rational reason, especially after the last very successful round. Oh well, maybe I'll get over it.) The recipe is called "Goat Scrotum Ale" (can you tell it was chosen by my darling husband?) and it has just about everything in it. By everything I mean malts, barley, chili peppers, juniper berries, grated ginger, and (here's the kicker) real whole hops! I had used the pellets before, but this time I went all the way, and I couldn't be more stoked. Just seeing those little green flowers in my pot on my stove was pretty exciting, nevermind the smell!

It's that smell that has me thinking my next brew will be a super super hoppy. I'm thinking a Victory Hop Wallop or maybe a Terrapin Hopsecutioner. In any case, it will be loaded with Cascade hops, which by the way are certainly my favorite hop of the moment and may yet transcend categories to become my new favorite flower.

Also in the category of long-promised updates is my Ren Fest costume. I have spent a large chunk of the last month working on the construction of my faire attire. The bodice of my dress is complete, and I'm nearly finished with the whole dress. I'm contemplating altering it, but if so I'll wait until I'm actually through with the dress first. In the boot department, I found that making them would be very difficult and cost me as much as buying a pair. That fact pooh-poohed my plan for a few days, but then I looked harder. I found a faux suede pair in the style (and my size!) I wanted for about half the cost of the least expensive pair of real leather boots I'd seen. So that was that. I abandoned the construction plan and forked over the $30. At this time, I'm taking a break from the sewing, but I'll post pics when the ensemble is complete, never you fear.

Alongside of my more productive hobbies, I have also picked up what I consider to be a purely useless waste of time. That said, I thoroughly enjoy it. I really do feel guilty about saying this, but thanks to Christmas, we now own a PSP and a PS3 and I love them both. I've been a fringe gamer-girlfriend/wife for a long time but I've really only played a few games, and those were mostly in a party-type setting. By that I mean I've sat on the couch and watched my boy kick ass and been just as into it as he was, but rarely have I been inclined to kill some sprites myself. But thanks to Patapon and Fairy Tale Fights, it is now a known fact that I like brutally maiming and slaughtering cute enemies. I know, I know, what a waste of time and money. And in truth, I don't play that much, due more to the fact that I suck than any kind of self-control or other higher motivation. Actually, the gaming phase began with a Samurai game on my husband's iPhone. I do not suck at slashing the life out of angry sword-wielding basket-wearing bad guys. I beat that game. (Yes, I am proud.) But that was the end of that. I beat the game (admittedly on easy) and I have no inclination to go back and play it again. This leads me to think that I lack some of the obsessive drive to qualify as a true budding gamer. We shall see.

As if that wasn't enough sitting around like a lump, my old passion has again rekindled in my tiny little lump of coal heart. That is to say, I have been and am again a devourer of books. My major holdup on this point has been a lack of supply. If one is a voracious reader, one needs a constant and consistent supply of new material. Books are unfortunately expensive, and a library card requires some amount of adherence to a schedule. (For some reason, the moment I introduce a schedule to my life, things that I have been chomping at the bit to do suddenly go unfinished. I think I like to pretend that I'm entirely lawless.) So I have been at an impasse. Enter PaperBackSwap. This simple little online book club has made it possible for me to give my read books to someone who actually wants them, and get books I want without time constraints or undue expense. It's a pretty nifty concept.

Whatever the reason, the sitting on the couch eating ramen, dried cranberries and chocolate, drinking beer does definitely make me feel like no less than Jabba the Hut. So despite the cold, Spoot and I have been geocaching and hiking frequently. If you've never heard of geocaching, I seriously recommend checking it out. The basic gist of the game is that someone hides something (a cache) and posts the GPS coordinates. Using those coordinates, you go find it. Every cache has a log book for the finders to sign, and some have space to trade small items. After you find the cache, sign the log, trade whatever you're going to trade, celebrate, etc, you re-hide the cache for the next seeker. The effect of playing this game is that I find myself poking around in holes in trees and the like because there really may be something in there. Actually, our first found cache was a complete accident. We were on the way back from the beach and stopped in a state park for a while to stretch our legs. While we were roaming about, Spoot the curious little monkey started poking in a very cool looking hole in a rock and found a camoed pill bottle. Huzzah! Our first cache. Every find after that has been deliberate, and out of four attempts we've found three caches. It really is absurdly fun.

Somewhere in the midst of all this wide and varied madness, I've also been working and sleeping. Phew! Reading back over it all, it sounds exhausting, but somehow doing what you love is never exhausting in the same way as just endlessly working. Sure, being busy is tiring, but being busy doing what you want to do? Now that's the life.

P.S. I did notice that bisexuality did not make an appearance in this post, and I am sorry but it is already quite lengthy. Really. One has to draw the line somewhere. Fear not, dear reader, I shall not let you down for long. I have the material, so stay tuned for more episodes of my bisexual hodge-podgey life.

Home Alone

2009-12-02T23:56:00.005-06:00

For some reason, being at home by myself always puts me in the mood to watch The Ninth Gate. To be honest, the simple majority of my mind is always in the mood for Johnny Depp and the more complex selections of my intellect have a permanent hard on for Roman Polanski(*). Perhaps its just my perpetual love for books, or maybe its the essential loneliness of Johnny Depp's character that makes me want to curl up in a blanket with a cat and a bottle of wine to watch The Ninth Gate. No, I think I misattributed the loneliness: it belongs more to Polanski than to Depp. Depp is mostly what the role calls for him to be, but every Polanski film I've seen has a solitary, ionized feel to it. No matter how many people he puts in the room, you still feel alone. I like this. I can relate to it. And that film noir feel is probably why I fracking love, love, LOVE Roman Polanski. That and he directed a movie about people who are fracking crazy about books. Granted, they are a little more crazy about books than I am, but if I didn't have a husband and cats and a finite amount of funds, then I could definitely swing in that direction.

Then again, it could just be that I'm embarking on my conversion to eBooks. (dramatic reverrrrb) Yes, I, the bibliophile pack-rat extrodinaire am converting my physical library to an electronic library. This has been coming on for about a year, I'd say. It first crossed my mind when I started considering the possibility of living in a smaller space or even a foreign country. When I started to acknowledge the impossibility of taking all of my crap with me anywhere, I had to further acknowledge the sheer volume of my crap. So, something had to go. By grace of their overwhelming numbers and comparative weight, the books offered themselves up as a target for reduction and potentially even elimination. I must admit, the availability of free eBooks was pretty much the deciding factor. However, until someone comes out with an affordable bi-screen color eBook reader, the comic books will be staying.

(*) Yeah, so I just ruined all illusions of eloquence with the "hard on" bit, but I just watched Full Metal Jacket last night, so cut me a break. And as we all know, even God gets a hard on for Marines.)

On the Radio

2009-11-28T08:07:00.004-06:00

One of the things I remember distinctly from my childhood is my dad's car. It was a maroon 1983 Mercury Zephyr. I remember so vividly the cracked maroon vinyl bench seats that scorched my bare legs in the summer and chilled me through my jeans in the Arkansas winters, the metal seatbelt buckles that burned my fingers many a time despite my best attempts to shield them from the direct sunlight while we were at the grocery store. I remember the weight and distinctive clunk of the metal door and the crank windows. The air conditioning I never remember working and the heat could barely be called heat. So it was in the Zephyr that I first let the summer wind tangle my straw blonde hair, soaking up the cool before a red light brought us to the inevitable dead stop in the dead heat. And it was in the Zephyr that I first encountered the likes of Led Zeppelin, AC/DC, Three Dog Night, Jimi Hendrix, The Doors and NPR. Oh how I hated NPR. Particularly, I hated "All Things Considered," and although it was my dad's reason for listening to NPR at that hour, I still think my hatred exceeded his enjoyment. On school days, I would stew in the passenger seat over the great injustice of my life: not only did I have to haul myself out of bed for a mind-numbing, compulsory so-called education, I had to sacrifice my final few moments of freedom to equally mind-numbing prattle. Almost more than gym class, or the lunch ladies or math homework did I loathe NPR. Yet despite my repeated objections, I was subjected to NPR for the duration of my father's chaufeuring me to school.

And now, some years later, I miss the Zephyr and its pinching, scalding vinyl, its sagging ceiling liner, its funny smell, its various broken amenities and complete lack of cup holders. I have adopted my father's love of classic rock, though I prefer Led Zeppelin to The Who and he can't stand AC/DC. But I still have yet to come around to NPR. (Actually, I still have issue with their whole "such and such minutes past the hour" routine when giving the time. You're looking at the clock! Can't you read which hour it is?) No, I don't listen to NPR. But if I'm provided a link to a science-ish lecture on a topic I find remotely interesting, be it relativity or consciousness or monogamy and evolution or genetic deformity, I am compelled to listen to the whole thing. Dad still listens to "All Things Considered" in his new spiffy hybrid Toyota Prius and Spoot complains to me about having to hear it on the way to school. I try not to snicker as I wonder if the inexorable exposure to a radio program will alter his tastes in interesting subject matter in the same way they have altered mine.

Beer, Beer, Beer

2009-11-22T08:08:00.005-06:00

Bottled β1 today. Actually, we finished about half an hour ago. I am able to write this solely because this round of bottling went so very much better than the first. It was organized and not nearly so messy... Hmm... not unlike sex or kissing or riding a bike, or really any first, though admittedly all of those took me more than one go to get right. I suppose I'm older now and have more experience. In any case, I was surprised at how well the bottling process went. We did change alter the MO, however. (Normally there I would say SOP, but I hate to call something "standard" when I've only done it once.) This time we employed the use of not only a towel upon which to put the filled bottles, but a large bowl to fill the bottles in. This little bit of prevention compensated for my lack of skill in the filling department. I'm not downright rotten at it, but malt is very sticky stuff and a little bit goes a long way on a kitchen floor. So, if my inexperienced conjecture is correct, I should be able to try β1 around Christmas.

Well, I suppose I would be dishonest if I didn't admit that I sampled a little of the flat, warm, nearly-finished β1 today as well. After the two cases were full and all the bottles I had washed were used, there was a little left in the bottom of the carboy... and it was pretty sediment-y and I probably wouldn't want to bottle it anyway... so... I just sucked it right out of the hose like a giant straw. And boy howdy was it good!! I can't even express my extreme joy and elation at how FANTASTIC my creation tasted! (Okay, not my "creation" exactly, but definitely the fruit of my labors.) I should mention that I was sipping on some Dogfish Head at the time, which is some pretty premier stuff, and I could still appreciate my own simple brew. This is not a testament to my palate, because, frankly, I don't think it deserves the praise. No, this is a testament to the sheer awesomeness of my beer. I'm not talking awesome hotdog here, I'm talking awesome beer. My awesome beer.

And while we're on the subject of awesome beer, Dogfish Head is officially my new favorite brewery. Samuel Smith's is moving up there, but it doesn't have the versatility and, let's face it, the flavor that I like. Every brewery has a distinct flavor to everything they brew- something like the relation of an actor to his movies- and if you like the actor, you'll like this movie, or at the very least, you'll like him in it. However, if you don't like Jack Nicholson, for example, you'll never like Tim Burton's Batman no matter how many times you watch it. Actors, like breweries vary in the level of distinctive style they bring to their product. Some absorb themselves in the character, some seek to infuse the character with their signature selves, and some always choose similar roles. In the case of Dogfish Head, I find the perfect blend of actor and character. I like the man playing the character, but he doesn't put so much of himself in his roles that the characters all blend together from movie to movie into a single composite persona. That is to say, I like the taste of Dogfish Head a good deal, but their Punkin Ale tastes vastly different from their 60 Minute IPA which also tastes different from their Indian Brown Ale. Furthermore, I can read the descriptions, which are included on every bottle I might add, and get an accurate idea of what this beer will taste like. Not only are they capable of doing many varied beers, they are also adept at describing themselves.

Dogfish Head is the brewer that I want to be when I grow up.

The Big Ha Ha

2009-11-21T08:06:00.003-06:00

You may recall, a long time ago I said I had found something really funny. This happens to me about once a year: I have the good luck to stumble across something really truly hilarious. So I guess this is my big ha ha for the year.

Basic Training

2009-11-17T07:48:00.009-06:00

I had started down the path of having a bad day today, then I remembered my Kubrick. So I chanted in my head as I marched up and down my turf "This is my rifle, this is my gun; this is for fighting, this is for fun." I did not however strip down to my underwear and grope myself, but I am happy to report the effect was much the same as if I had. So a bad day was averted quite cleanly and efficiently, I would say.

It is really incredible the coping mechanisms one develops when one quits smoking.

Oh, Jealousy

2009-11-17T06:49:00.008-06:00

I stumbled across this picture in my husband's iPhone last week and nearly fell out of my seat laughing. I did not crop this picture- this is the photo exactly as I found it. What you are seeing is me between two of my friends, Katy and Pitsana, at Walat's birthday party last summer. While I sat there laughing like a madman at the boob buffet, the husband explained that he was trying out the panoramic feature on a new app he had just acquired and hadn't figured out how the cropping worked exactly.

When I saw Pitsana, I told her I had found something hilarious and I had to show her. It was quite a few hours later and there was a whole group of us together when I finally had a chance to show her the picture. Among the group was her boyfriend, Walat, but I didn't think anything of his presence until everybody got all uncomfortable. And I didn't pick up on it at the time, but Walat was pissed. So I managed to single-handedly make my husband look like an ass, get my friend in trouble, and make an idiot of myself simply because I have no concept of jealousy. Walat's immediate anger and Pitsana's immediate acceptance of said anger I would have never anticipated in a million years.

So now I know I am not jealous, and my question is this: am I that much in the minority? Surely, distrust and jealousy are not the norm. I mean, people really do love and trust each other, right?

Homebrewing Again

2009-11-15T17:02:00.008-06:00

Lest you think all I do is post videos, I give you: a post of substance!!! Well, at least original content!

As previously mentioned, on Monday, I brewed batch number two. This time, I actually followed a recipe: "'The Sun Has Left Us On Time' Steam Beer" from Charlie Papazian's The Complete Joy of Homebrewing. The name is taken from a quote from Thomas Edison's diary. He wrote, " The sun has left us on time, am going to read from the Encyclopaedia Britannica to steady my nerves and go to bed early. I will shut my eyes and imagine a terraced abyss, each terrace occupied by a beautiful maiden. To the first I will deliver my mind and they will pass it down, down to the uttermost depths of silence and oblivion." I loved the quote when I read it (last May,) and so set to collecting the supplies to brew a batch. However,

between the natural disorder of my life, and fear of my own inexperience, I procrastinated the actual brewing until a week ago.

Surprisingly, the boiling of the wort went off without a hitch. I was most impressed. And because the husband was awake as well, I had a

photographer! As you can see, this time, I actually used real malts (not just extract,) and real hops (well, hop pellets, which I am led to believe are a good approximation.) I am aware that I could have bought my malts pre-crushed, but I wasn't sure how quickly I would be using them, so I opted to crush them myself, and be able to store them longer. At this stage, all I can really say is that the boiling wort certainly smelled more appetizing. It will be weeks yet before I taste it, but the smell

has me optimistic.

I should probably also mention that I used a yeast starter. That is to say, I started my yeast before pitching it properly. (I think that's how you say what I did. Being self-taught, and a little shy, I'm still getting a hang of the lingo.) It seemed like the right thing to do since I was using live yeast instead of the dehydrated packet like I used in α1. The yeast started beautifully, and though I thought I had enough room for the inevitable initial fermentation foam in my six-gallon bucket, it bubbled through the fermentation lock on the first day. I think it'll be okay though. The fermentation lock was sanitized (I take no chances,) and as soon as I saw the mess, I attached a hose.

At present, it is calmly bubbling in the laundry room, where it will sit for the next few weeks. I am anticipating it will be drinkable around Christmas, which is fantastic. The family will be out of town for the holidays, and I, for the first time in... well, ever, will be able to relax with a fresh homebrew over Christmas. Oh yeah. :)

Oh, and just for the sake of clarity, a note on the naming of beers. The first batch didn't have a proper name, and so was called α1. The most obvious thing to call this batch would be its proper name, but that is rather long, so I imagine I will be calling it β1. Not α2, as you might have expected, because I used a vastly different process from what I did to produce α1. So when I start throwing random Geek letters at you, you'll all immediately understand what I'm talking about, right?

This caught my attention

2009-11-15T16:18:00.002-06:00

3 Quarks Daily again... See what I mean about candy?

If like me, you aren't fluent in German, I found a translation here.

A few things before I run to work...

2009-11-12T16:56:00.004-06:00

I've re-added 3 Quarks Daily (my intellectual candy) to my RSS, and am already finding plenty to talk about. I had removed it about a year ago because I found it was an excellent way to waste time and feed my brain's endless hunger. But I've missed it too much, so I'm going to try this time to learn some self-control. For your entertainment, the initial spoils with my commentary:

This little girl almost makes me want to have children- but only if they speak fluent French, of course. In any case, her story is far more interesting and coherent than what passes for fiction currently.

Once upon a time... from Capucha on Vimeo.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go make eggrolls so I'll have something to eat for lunch. Don't go too far, however. I finally made a second batch of homebrew, and I'll tell you all about it in a day or so when I have the time.

Guy Fawkes Day

2009-11-05T06:12:00.002-06:00

Remember, remember, the 5th of November

The Gunpowder Treason and plot ;

I know of no reason

Why the Gunpowder Treason

Should ever be forgot.

Guy Fawkes, Guy Fawkes,
'Twas his intent.
To blow up the King and the Parliament.
Three score barrels of powder below.
Poor old England to overthrow.
By God's providence he was catch'd,
With a dark lantern and burning match

Holloa boys, Holloa boys, let the bells ring
Holloa boys, Holloa boys, God save the King!

Hip hip Hoorah !
Hip hip Hoorah !

A penny loaf to feed ol'Pope,
A farthing cheese to choke him.
A pint of beer to rinse it down,
A faggot of sticks to burn him.
Burn him in a tub of tar,'
Burn him like a blazing star.
Burn his body from his head,
Then we'll say: ol'Pope is dead.

Das Boot!

2009-11-02T21:36:00.003-06:00

This has me so proud you wouldn't even believe it. I know, I know it just looks like a green corduroy blob, but it is four pieces sewn together in the shape of a boot! The green corduroy because this is my template. I'm not figuring out how to make a boot with leather. Actually, I'll probably do this two or three more times before I make the real thing. This one is completely from scratch and only about two hours work. And not finished! But for the very beginning of a first attempt, I think we're moving in the right direction.

Sorry about the crappy pic. I tried it on all pinned up and paraded out to the husband on the back porch where he took a picture for me. In truth, he took two, but the other one had his finger in it. (He's so smart, but a real cave man sometimes!) In any case, that is my leg on my back porch in my pseudo bootish corduroy thing.

Don't worry, I won't be wearing ears...

2009-11-02T00:32:00.008-06:00

Have been muchos busy lately with OT, Halloween and Spoot's birthday... but all that is over now. With all this spare time (ha ha) I have taken on a new project: fashioning myself a costume for the Renaissance Festival this May. Spoot and I always go, rain or shine, and usually more than once. But never have we sported costumes like true junkies. This year we're going to change all that. At least I am. If he doesn't make up his mind about what he wants, I'm not going to make him anything, and I'll just keep all the awesomeness to myself.

To the right you can see my raw materials. What you can't see is the amazingness going on in my head, or my boots for that matter. I need a pair of knee-high brown leather boots for this (and for general use as well,) and in spite of the fact that all my searching has turned up is a few pairs of Dolche & Gabbana over

-the-knee way-too-expensive fur-lined absurdities, I am undeterred. My latest plan is to try to make my boots myself. When we were kids, Black Stallion and I had pairs of these that we completely wore out. They used to be in every fabric store, but I can't remember having seen them in the last ten years... But fear not! I will find them and use them as a template for my hand-crafted lace-up boots of awesome! Or I won't find them and I will wing it. Either way, custom boots are in the works for me!

More on this as it develops. However, don't hold your breath. I'm starting early because I anticipate this taking a while.

Ha Ha Hee Hee and Ho Ho

2009-10-24T10:18:00.003-05:00

If you're allergic to boobies...

2009-10-23T19:15:00.026-05:00

Don't look!!

I stumbled across some Victorian erotica yesterday and fell so madly in love. I love

black and white erotica anyway, but the vintage stuff (real or fake) is better still. The women have curves, adorable hair, and the backgrounds are incredible. The textiles, the furniture, the silk stockings... all the packaging is just perfect. It feels like a cut scene from The Man Who Laughs... Love it, love it, love it.

And a note on the lack of shaving. This is why we pussy connaisseurs call it "hair pie." Personally, I think the hairless kitty is just a little too pre-pubescent to be sexual. Practical, yes, but creepy all the same. (And high-maintenance, BTW.) So don't whine at me in the comments about being subjected to photos of women au naturel.

Here are some of the spoils from my initial foraging. Like I said, I just discovered this yesterday, so this is just the easy-to-find surface level stuff.

And this is outside of the general period of my taste, but I found it as well. And wow.

End Crisis

2009-10-18T08:23:00.004-05:00

Life is far closer to under control, incase you were worried. Everything isn't perfect (it never is really,) but the drama dial is no longer stuck at fever pitch. Thanks for your concern.

...to appreciate the sweet

2009-10-14T17:55:00.004-05:00

I've been having a pretty crumby week, as far as weeks go. This is primarily due to my grandmother's health having taken a sudden turn for the worse, and as a result, I am stressed and body is trying to contract a cold. In light of that, everything else pretty much sucks. So I woke up this morning feeling crumby and hauled myself out of my warm bed to get a shower and go to work. When I came back into the bedroom to get dressed, I smelled something unexpected and simply wonderful. There, on my nightstand, was a hot cup of vanilla coffee. While I was in the shower, my husband had brewed me up a cup of my special coffee and put it where I would see it while it was still hot. (I should mention here that he doesn't even like flavored coffee.) It doesn't cancel out the crumbiness entirely, but knowing that you married someone that loves you sure does make weeks like this more bearable.

Hungry Like the Wolf

2009-10-11T07:23:00.003-05:00

In bisexual news today, Pitsana has started smacking my ass at work. This is not as out of place as it sounds. Let me explain. I have mentioned before that my shift is almost entirely comprised of Asian women, but I don't think I've told you about the... what to call it? Fondling? Molestation? Feeling up? There really is no nice way to put it, and yes, it is exactly what I make it sound like: porn. The Asian women feel each other up frequently in the course of doing their jobs. For instance, if Pitsana were to walk by Paivanh, she would probably grab her ass. Sometimes its a surprise boob grab, or occasionally, a pussy poke. It is distracting, let me tell you. Of course this is all in the name of fun, and no one goes to HR. I mean, really, would you? Hot Asian women playing lesbian when you least expect it makes anyone's work day a little better.

Until about a month ago, I was quite happily excluded from the organized feelsky. Don't get me wrong, I love the feel of a woman as much as the next bi chick, but I do need to work at work. However, my exclusion (I think due to my open appreciation of the fairer sex) is drawing to an end. After three years, a few parties and a lot of recipe and food swapping, I guess they trust me enough now to invite me to play hands-on. And this creates awkward situations in my head.

"Such as?" you ask. Such as Pitsana smacking my ass and me very nearly saying, "Now grab it," and very definitely meaning it. We all know what its like to be ravenous, and I can handle hunger. But hunger and temptation? There's only so much a girl can take. Already I feel my resolve weakening. I was walking by the slightly bent over resident hot chick (who is also bi, I might add) and my hand started moving on its own into walk-by grab position. It took everything I had to reign in my rebellious digits. I'm sure I looked like Ash in Evil Dead 2. It hasn't devolved to the chainsaw level yet, but I don't have far to go.

And to make it worse I know the invitation is open. I just need to RSVP. But I hesitate and deliberate and torture myself because I have no faith that I can handle it. Which is pretty ridiculous, really. My job isn't that demanding. But then there's the fact that if I start playing, I make myself persona non nookie, and thereby kill the fantasy that I actually will someday get to at least make out with the resident hot chick. I don't know if I'm willing to give up hope yet. That's pathetic. And not really the whole story. The most compelling reason not to participate is my own fear of mingling my personal and work life. At first, I kept my sexuality relatively secret from general knowledge at work and kept myself distant from my coworkers. But gradually over time, I've started giving up on keeping secrets out of fear of what people will say. Joining in the organized grab ass is just about the last step away from being afraid of being odd. So really, what am I holding out for? Bah humbug on pining! So what if I turn nine shades of red? The worst they could accuse me of is true. I have nothing to lose. Mwahahahaha! Here we go!

2009-10-01T03:26:00.004-05:00

This is merely one of the perks of owning a pair of Vibram Five Fingers. Aside from regularly being stopped in public on account of your amazing footwear, you get visual cacophony in your own house.

My New Favorite Song

2009-09-05T10:24:00.004-05:00

"If I hadn't seen such riches, I could live with being poor..."

And my previous new favorite song:

Piazza, New York Catcher - Belle & Sebastian

Dream Girl Requirement #75

2009-08-22T20:04:00.004-05:00

She must not complain.

The other day at work I was mildly complaining and a coworker aired his personal theory that women's sole flaw is that they complain. Initially I disagreed with him, but upon contemplation I have changed my opinion. I mean, think about it. Take a woman- any woman and remove the complaining, whining and bitching. You are left with a beautiful creature who is now not only sensually pleasing, but good company as well. She may be lazy, but she doesn't whine about what she refuses to work for but wants anyway. She may be demanding, but she satisfies herself. Or, she may just be easily satisfied. In any case, you don't have to hear about it. What more could you want?

First Day of My Life

2009-08-20T07:42:00.003-05:00

Just found this in my music library. Kudos to whoever planted it there. And if that should happen to be Black Stallion, I will be duly impressed.

If you like Asian food...

2009-08-20T06:23:00.003-05:00

...get Asian friends!

I work with a crew of mostly Lao and Cambodians. This means that I hear Lao spoken about as often as I hear English (and can say a few words myself,) smell fish sauce or duck head soup or chicken feet or papaya salad in the break room more often than I smell pizza or hamburgers, and (here's the best part) they let me eat some too. They are glad to share with me and I crack them up because I love, love, love Asian food. They say, "Do you want some?" I say, "Sure! Thank you!" Take a bite and say, "Wow, this is really good/hot/fishy/etc. What is it?" So it is that I, with my openness to new foods, endlessly thrill them, and they continue to supply me with new things to try.

Today Pitsana came in with a few Wal-Mart bags full of gallon-size Ziplocs of these peppers. Usually one person will go shopping, buy a massive amount of something, then bring it all to work and divide it out with everyone interested. But these peppers weren't like anything I'd seen in a grocery store, so I asked her where she bought them. She said that her friend's mother grows them, and that these are the peppers they use in just about everything. Oh really? I mused to myself. She must have seen my face light up because at the end of the day, she gave me a handful and told me very seriously to only use one or two at a time. (It felt as much like a fairy tale as it sounded.) And now I have fresh magic peppers.

Also today, but in a completely different corner of the building, Emily gave me crab apples in homemade spicy sauce. I happened to be working by her when she gave one to the new (white) girl. New girl started making the most dramatic of faces and managed to say around a mouthful of crab apple, "Its so sour!" Emily then offered me some. I've never seen a crab apple before today, so I was very curious. I asked her, "How do you eat them?" She pulled out a tupperware full of chunky brown liquid and said, "You dip it in spicy sauce." Okay! I dipped the crab apple in the sauce and popped it in my mouth. It was first spicy, then sour, then a little sweet, then just sour and spicy with a nutty aftertaste. In short, it was unlike anything I've had and it was wonderful. Because I liked them so much, Emily gave me a little baggie already in the sauce. I'm going to save them so Spoot, my fellow food adventurer, can try them too.

Honestly, I dream of the day I live in a country where food I've never eaten before is more plentiful than pizza and hamburgers. I could happily eat rice noodles for the rest of my life and never again have Italian pasta. I only ask that it be spicy. It simply must be spicy. And of course there must be beer.

Frak Me

2009-08-10T17:51:00.009-05:00

I have entirely fallen off the proverbial wagon. I haven't worked out in over two weeks, and I spent the whole day (about 9-10 hours) yesterday watching Battlestar Galactica. Yes, it is that good and yes, I am that lazy. To my credit, my pants are all too big now, my stomach is significantly more flat and hard and I have no love handles to speak of. I also say "frak" far more often than I say "fuck" which is quite a bit. However, I have to hand it to Farscape for creating the coolest set of cuss words I've ever encountered. I still mutter "by the skin of your mivonks" under my breath when someone in my proximity begins tooting their own horn too much. But I digress.

During my Sedentary Sunday I realized that as fraking awesome as Starbuck is, I haven't been entirely fair to President Roslin. She is single-handedly fulfilling all of my (expressly forbidden) older woman fantasies. I want to be that older woman. When I am an older woman, of course. For now there's always Starbuck.

Which means more crunches. Ugh.

Dream Girl Requirement #304

2009-08-07T21:50:00.002-05:00

She must kick ass.

Allow me to elucidate the backstory of this revelation. Finally, after hearing for years what a fantastic movie it is, last night I watched The Shining. I could address the plot made ludicrous by the completely deus ex machina, but that's just to be expected from a Steven King story. I could rant about the score that made me want to either beat the television into a scattered pile of junk with my bare hands or cut my own ears off, but that's what made Stanley Kubrick the director he was. So I don't appreciate King or Kubrick. Let's just accept that as given and move on to the meat of my complaints.

I hate hate hate useless women. By "useless women" I mean the classic model of the damsel in distress. An example from The Shining: Jack finally loses it completely and is slowly coming up the stairs toward his wife. He's unarmed and she has the higher ground and a baseball bat. She's swinging the bat like she's not used to having arms at all, let alone holding a bat. Somehow she manages to whack his hand, and by sheer luck, his head. If he hadn't fallen down the stairs, all she would have accomplished was pissing him off. Now I can understand that she's panicked, confused, terrified and presumably in love with this man. However, I cannot understand how all of that overrides self-preservation and more importantly, maternal instinct. I don't expect every woman put into a bad situation to morph into Milla Jovovich and start slaying zombies like she was born with a machete in her hand, but I will accept no less from my dream girl.

Demise of The 'Dillo

2009-08-02T11:01:00.000-05:00

This is a memorial service for The Best Little 'Dillo In Texas. This little cup was my mother's and well I remember her drinking coffee from it when I was a little girl. She told me (since I was too young to remember the event) she picked it up somewhere in Texas because it was funny and cute. For many a year The 'Dillo served in my mother's kitchen until one day it was packed up with other dishes to make room for newer, matching dishes. I, the eldest child and therefore probable recipient of these chipped but nostalgic dishes, helped with the packing and babysat the boxes through several subsequent moves. At last, I moved out of my parents house and took the dishes I had watched over so carefully. In my teensy tiny apartment I unpacked The 'Dillo and all the other old dishes with all the pride and care of unwrapping fine china. In the years that followed, The 'Dillo was my faithful companion on sleepy, one-eyed, early early mornings and tired, paper-writing, late late nights. It has served me as well as I could ask from any coffee cup, and even occasionally sparked a humorous conversation with its cute painted quip and rotund lady armadillo. But today when I pulled The 'Dillo out of the cabinet and microwaved my cold coffee, I nearly threw the cup and its contents all over the floor when my fingers touched the scorching hot handle. I'm not sure how a cup of coffee could get so hot after a minute and a half in the microwave, but I am sad to report that after some testing with other dishes, the fault is in The 'Dillo, not the microwave. So today I am drinking the last toasty beverage that will be drank out of The 'Dillo. Let us have a moment of silence for the faithful coffee cup.

Songs I wish were written about me:

2009-07-28T11:57:00.000-05:00

Sitcom

2009-07-17T00:59:00.001-05:00

Sometimes life is so perfect its difficult to believe its not scripted. Case in point: the usual suspects and I were sitting in the breakroom the other day and Steve launched into one of his crazy stories. When he was but a boy somewhere in the vast midwest, there lived down the street from him a family of rednecks. One day these rednecks decided to finally answer the quintessential question of redneck-hood that plagues the minds of all rednecks everywhere: Which make of truck is better, Dodge or Ford? So they took two trucks of equal specs but opposing makes and hitched them together, rear bumper to rear bumper. Two rednecks then climbed into the trucks and at the same moment, hit the gas. As Steve told the story, there was the cauchophany of two laboring engines, but the trucks just spun their wheels until one of the transmissions gave out completely. We all laughed at the stupidity and waste of the experiment until Darrell, the resident hillbilly, said, "But which truck won?" And then we laughed harder.

Birthday Party Adventures

2009-07-14T12:02:00.000-05:00

I know I am the most unreliable and absentee blogger in all blogging history. I apologize, and appreciate your continued patience. You have to understand, man, I compose these beautiful impromptu passages of prose while I'm in the shower, on my bike, working, or doing whatever other repetitive, medatory tasks come my way during my day. Unfortunately, due to the nature of these tasks, I simply don't have my hands free to write. Aside from that, the train of thought seems to be fueled by the repetitive motion. If I was to pull my bike over and jot down a note, the rest of the thought would just dissipate like a dream when you aren't dreaming it anymore. So incase you were thinking of pulling the plug, don't! There is higher brain activity present.

As far as what's been happening recently, I wanted to go to the movies, and had the opportunity, but passed it up in favor of chilling with the husband. Actually, we both decided we'd rather just sit around and talk than go see the new Transformers movie. When did we get so old?

We did however, go to a birthday party. Me being me, the Token Bi Chick Disaster, an ordinary birthday party experience was metamorphasized into an adventure of Jumanji proportions. First, I directed my husband to the wrong party. I was only a block off, and the birthday girl was very sweet about us crashing her party, but all the same, the moonwalk in the backyard should have tipped me off. Whoops. At the correct birthday party, I managed to not only drop a beer on the driveway, I then also dropped a drunk chick on my foot. Sometimes it hurts to be this cool.

The beer dropping wasn't all that exciting, really. I had the bottle wrapped in a napkin because it was cold, and the napkin slipped. It did look however, like I just threw a bottle at my husband. >:) A few hours later, the drunk chick decided she didn't feel like wearing shoes anymore and some considerate soul noticed that we never swept the broken glass off the driveway. She had plopped down nearly on ground zero and was refusing to get up. I said I'd make her move, she said I couldn't, and then the machismo kicked in. I picked her up, completely forgetting that she was about twice my size, and more importantly, drunk, and would therefore be less than helpful in controlling her weight. When I lost control, she went down on top of me. :) Then I had to sit there with my leg pinned down until someone helped her up.

So now my right ankle is all shades of purple and red and I just whacked it on the leg of my desk. Will I ever stop?

Bikes, Brews and Cats

2009-07-05T03:23:00.000-05:00

I have not gone hiking yet, and since Spoot just bought a new bike, I doubt I will. Poo, poo. However, while we were at the bike place picking up Spoot's new toy, I found the Schwinn of my dreams. Let me first say that I am not a connoisseur of bicycles, but I know something awesome when I see it. Check this out! Oh its so beautiful! So nostalgic! And its a street bike!! Currently, I have a mountain bike, which when I was a kid and was riding on the road as little as possible was a good thing. But now, I don't venture much from the pavement. A smooth-riding, radio flyer red, fendered, two-wheeled wonder is exactly what I want. And it has a rack of awesomeness on the back which I'm sure I'll be rigging up a box onto so I can go grocery shopping on my bike. Can't wait! Can't wait!

On the subject of homebrewing, I have changed my opinion of my first batch. It must have aged while I was procratinating drinking it, because now it tastes pretty damn good. Some bottles are better than others which is odd, but on the whole it is smooth yet crisp, perfectly carbonated, and in general, supremely drinkable. I would be a liar if I said it was the finest beer I ever quaffed, but short of that, its quite alright.

Of the two cases it made, only seven bottles remain, so it is at last time to attempt another batch. This time I'm going to try my hand at part extract/part grain, hops, and non-dehydrated yeast. I've done an absurd amount of reading, and think I have some idea of what I'm doing. I suppose we'll find out. Oh, and because I'm actually using a recipe instead of a basic formula, this beer has a name: The Sun Has Left Us on Time" Steam Beer. Evidently, Thomas Edison wrote in his diary, "The sun has left us on time, am going to read from the Encyclopedia Britannica to steady my nerves and go to bed early. I will shut my eyes and imagine a terraced abyss, each terrace occupied by a beautiful maiden. To the first I will deliver my mind and they will pass it down, down to the uttermost depths of silence and oblivion." And that, ladies and gents, is what I want in a beer.

I've wanted for a while to write a movie review, but I haven't been to the theater since I don't remember when, and the only movies I've watched at home have been bad, bad, bad. Well, I enjoyed them, but I like bad cinema. So, unless you want to hear about Valley of the Dolls (I and II) or Bruce Campbell flicks, then I'm going to skip that chapter.

In other news, Tart is in heat again and again trying to get Gabe the eunich to lay her. Gabriel has no idea what she is after and alternates between trying to play and ignoring her completely as she humps his back. They've been living together for some years now and Gabe is very used to her periodic episodes of madness. She goes nuts and he patiently waits for her to return to her normal mode of behavior. This is all business as usual, but I still find endless amusment in the higly dignified Tart trying to teach Gabe how to fuck.

On Foot

2009-06-28T02:29:00.001-05:00

Four more days of work and I get five days off. What am I going to do with all that free time? I think I'll go hiking. I get into this automatonic rut when I get on a long stretch of work and almost forget entirely what I like to do. Life becomes this cycle of laundry, cooking, getting up in the morning, working, working out... the never-ending list of things that need to be done. And one continues on like Ivan Denisovich because it will not be this way forever, but one needs to survive the meantime to get to the enjoyable parts. And really, I enjoy cooking, I don't mind doing laundry, that is, I like it when my laundry is done, so there's a satisfaction in doing it for myself, and working out is not all bad, really. But I don't enjoy those things simply in themselves. Even knitting or reading become tedious after a while. But hiking feels so much more escapist; so much more like playing. So I think I will play this long weekend. I think I deserve it. Truly, that is my ideal day: going on foot to somewhere I've never been before. Oh I can't wait.

Working Out

2009-06-25T02:50:00.000-05:00

I am beginning to think that no amount of beating a pillow will not make it suddenly metamorphosize into a spring; it will only make the pillow feel abused.

I will perservere.

Giggling With Delight

2009-06-22T01:28:00.001-05:00

I asked my husband to update my avatar a little (check it out!!) and he just went nuts with the character sketches. I love them all, but this is my favorite.

[caption id="attachment_562" align="aligncenter" width="379" caption="If Marleenken played Starbuck..."][/caption]

I only have a second...

2009-06-22T00:53:00.000-05:00

...before I drop narcolepsy-style from exhaustion. Its been a hell of a... week? Month? I've lost all sense of time. Let me sum up the interim since last we spoke.

I tried the beer. It was sub-par. I was inconsolably despondent. So I took the beer to my dad who makes wine professionally to get an official opinion on the flavor in the hope that I was wrong about my assessment. (I am aware, though not wholly in control of my perfectionism.) Dad said the beer tasted fine. Upon second tasting, I had to agree. WHEE! The first batch wasn't a complete waste of time!! It wasn't the best alcoholic beverage that I've ever tasted, but it was carbonated, cold, not soured, malty, hoppy-ish, and (the best part) better than a Bud. I'm still quite pleased.

Its that time of the month at work again, so I'm working all the time. It'll be over after next week or so. And its lately gotten absurdly hot all of a sudden. My body is remembering how to sweat. Its not salt-stain hot yet, but it is sweat-dripping-in-your-eyes hot. I'm not complaining, really. I can deal with heat very well. I truly would rather be hot than cold.

So I was saying, I'm sweating my ass off at work, and it occurred to me that my job isn't as physically demanding as it once was. What I mean is, the job is the same, but I've grown strong enough again to endure ten hours of lifting. That and I quit smoking some months ago, and it is absurdly easier to breathe, which makes me want to test out my new lungs. I began to wonder what would happen if I actually tried to develop muscle? It was then that I decided to do something I have previously sworn I would NEVER do: I decided to start working out. (If you know me in person and are reading this, don't waste your breath telling me that I'm not fat and I don't need to work out, and blah blah blah. I know that. Just keep reading.) I really like being freakishly strong for my size. I also really like doing new things and get very frustrated when my size impedes doing anything. Strength is one way I've found of compensating for a small stature. So I've taken to riding my bike on the days that I work. I'm also planning on squats and crunches, but I haven't implemented the whole routine yet. The plan is to refine the shape of my finest asset, namely, my ass. I figure I wasn't graced with much in the way of boobs so I have to make the most of what I do have.

All of this brings me to my bike. My lovely purple bike is about fifteen years old. (It was a Christmas present when I was ten.) There's nothing grievously wrong with my bike, but I was thinking today that it needs a little updating. I am a little tired of the purple. I had this brilliant idea to repaint it, and started doing research into how to disassemble a bicycle. This led me to closely inspect my bike, and the more I inspected, the more obvious the lack of maintenance in the last fifteen years became. Whoops. My back wheel is slightly out of true, my brake wires probably need to be replaced, the front gear shift isn't working and the cable looks frayed, it needs new brake pads on the back, the chain desperately needs to be cleaned, etc, etc, etc. The lucky thing about all of this is that its cheap. However, it is a little labor intensive. And how am I to fix my bike when I should be riding it? I really wanted to have it all pretty for my long weekend in July by the sea when I'll be using it intensively. There simply aren't enough hours in the day to do everything yourself. Its frustrating. However, I am getting more efficient as I'm getting older. I suppose that's the effect of experience.

You may expect a follow-up with pictures about the bike repair adventure. But for now I have to sleep.

French Inhaling and Cherche la Femme

2009-06-01T12:09:00.001-05:00

I had a relapse in reality last night. After working six out of the last six days and knowing that I still have two days to go before I get a break, I wanted a brew and a smoke. So I sat down on my back porch with a frosty brown ale and lit a cigarette. 1st puff: This isn't quite as good as I remember. Let's try again. 2nd puff: No, this is nasty. In fact, this isn't what I want at all. So I passed the cigarette to my surprised husband to finish. And that is officially the end of that. I now know for sure, that what I miss about smoking is not the cigarettes. Glad I've got that out of my system.

Cigars however are another story. Actually, now that I think about it, the occasional nature of cigars fit my smoking schedule and style much better than the constancy of cigarettes. And they're just so yummy. Well, that settles that. I'm getting into cigars.

While we're on the subject of relapses, I feel I should bring up the other area where I'm lately finding myself waffling. I've been doing very well leaving women to be women outside of my bed or even my head. (Real women only. Starbuck doesn't count. ;)) Yes, I was doing well until I found a new temptation. And like all of my previous temptations, I work with her, which makes any pursuit of temptation completely out of the question. But wait, it gets better. We are entering the season when the bosses turn a blind eye to breaches in dress code as we all try to deal with the intense heat. Visions of tank tops plastered with sweat dance through my head. Oh, man. This is going to be a long summer.

Dreaming Ultimatum

2009-05-29T11:13:00.000-05:00

I dreamt last night that I was driving and lit a cigarette. And I smoked the whole thing. (Oh, and it was GOOD.) I reasoned that since no one knew, it didn't count as a relapse.

Then I woke up this morning feeling horribly guilty, but I couldn't remember what I had done. I interpret this dream to mean that I need a day off or I am either going to start smoking again, or drive away. Or both. So hear me, ye gods of labor!

First Impressions of First Batch (and such)

2009-05-27T01:29:00.001-05:00

I promised an update on the homebrewing, and I have admittedly failed to make good until now. And even now, I have to apologize because this is just a midway update. I am... well... disappointed with it so far, and that's done a number to my motivation, but let me get to that in a second.

To begin at the beginning, a funny story: The brewing/cooking (whatever) of the wort was going along rather normally (as far as I know since I've never done this before) until it came to a boil and I went to stir it. I plunged the spoon into the hot liquid and moved it slowly sideways (like you do) and inexplicably, the hot liquid exploded. No, I am not exaggerating. Out of nowhere, the wort reacted as though I had just thrown a large rock into the center of it: it spurted a hot, sticky mess all over me, my stove, my wall, the floor, etc, etc, etc. The best I can figure is that the bottom of the body of liquid was hotter than the top and when I stirred it in the slightest, I released the surface tension and allowed it to boil in one giant bubble. In any case, when my husband came back into the house from the back porch and saw me mopping up some mess of something, he was only mildly surprised and asked me what I had done this time. However, when I told him the story, he didn't believe me. He seems to have eventually come around with my consistent repetition of the exact same implausible sequence of events. So I implore you as well, "Believe me! It is true!"

After that, everything proceeded normally- that is to say, without major catastrophe. After a certain amount of days the fermentation was finished and I felt it was time to actually drink the test sample rather than just throw it down the drain. I felt it was far along enough in its embryonic development to be sacrificed, and perhaps I was expecting too much. Perhaps I was expecting veal, and was doomed to be disappointed by the warm, flat mouthful I did get. Even accounting for the unfavorable conditions of tasting (temperature, lack of carbonation) the flavor was off. Sure, it was malty, it was hoppy, but they weren't distinct flavors. It was all mish-mashed together. Something like a halty or a moppy beer-ish. Well, it was primarily malty, so I'd call it moppy. Yes, I have created a moppy beer.

It should be noted that I am a terrible beer snob, and I made this first batch entirely from extract. In all honesty, I wasn't expecting to perfect the technique in one go, but all the same, the results of this run are a little poopy.

As of now, I have not yet bottled the fermented beer. I'm hoping it can wait another couple days until I get some time that isn't taken up by work, family, auto mechanics, etc, etc, etc. And I admit, I am being a little bit lazy. It is hard to put effort into something you don't wholly endorse. However, as I procrastinate, I'm creating a mental list of people to whom I can pawn off this five gallons of primordial beer. So it's not entirely lost time, I rationalize.

Kimchi Finale (Or, Everything I wish I knew about kimchi before I started trying to make it myself)

2009-05-17T05:35:00.000-05:00

A few weeks ago I was at the Asian market picking up all my vegetables for a fresh batch of kimchi and the lady behind the counter asked me what I was planning to make. When I told her I was making kimchi, she was very impressed and confessed that she didn't even know how to make it. I was shocked, although I don't suppose I should have been. Persephone is a Korean living in Korea and even she doesn't make her own kimchi. So, for those of you who love kimchi and have a little time on the weekends, this is how its done (or at least how I do it) with pictures. And trust me, the homemade stuff is far, far better than anything you can buy.

First things first: my recipe is lifted almost directly from Eating Korean by Cecilia Hae-Jin Lee, a cookbook I highly recommend for those who like Korean food, or Asian food in general. I've made nearly everything in the book and its all been easy and ridiculously tasty, but I must confess I do have one complaint. The directions for making kimchi are a little vague for a first-time American kimchi chef. The process isn't complicated, but if you've never even seen it done, her description is confusing. My additions are in italics. So, here we go.

Traditional Napa Cabbage Kimchi

[caption id="attachment_506" align="aligncenter" width="468" caption="Clockwise from back left: fish oil, package of Korean chili powder, (cookbook in background,) jar of korean chili powder, sea salt, ground Thai chilies, bowl of soaking cabbage, empty bowl, daikan, green onions, garlic, ginger. On cutting board: mustard greens and Winona."][/caption]

Ingredients:

1 Cup plus 1 Tablespoon coarse sea salt or kosher salt, divided

water

2 heads Napa cabbage, cut lengthwise into quarters or 2-inch wedges, depending on size of cabbage

[caption id="attachment_484" align="alignleft" width="468" caption="Voila! One whole Napa cabbage and one quartered Napa cabbage. (And Winona.)"][/caption]

1 bulb garlic, cloves separated and peeled

1 (2-inch) piece of ginger root, peeled and sliced (the slicing is just for the benefit of your blender)

1/4 Cup fish sauce or Korean salted shrimp (I've never used salted shrimp as the husband is allergic to shellfish, so I can only vouch for the fish sauce.)

1 Asian radish (aka daikan), peeled and grated

1 bunch of green onions, cut into 1-inch lengths

[caption id="attachment_503" align="aligncenter" width="468" caption="The recipe says "1-inch lengths" of green onion, but I prefer about 1-cm lengths. There isn't any huge difference in consistency, but I like a little onion in every bite. It all comes down to personal preference. There's really no need to grate the daikan any more finely than this. I used to stress about it and cramp my arm and all that, but the shreds of daikan add a pleasant complexity to the flavor of the finished kimchi."][/caption]

1 bunch of mustard greens chopped into 1-inch pieces

1/2 Cup Korean chili powder

A few Tablespoons ground Thai pepper

[caption id="attachment_507" align="aligncenter" width="468" caption="On the left (from left to right) is a package of Korean chili powder, a jar of Korean chili powder, a jar of ground Thai peppers and whole Thai peppers. On the right is a close up (clockwise from left) of ground Thai pepper, whole Thai peppers, and Korean chili powder. Thai peppers are very hot and very flavorful. I use a few Tablespoons for a little extra heat in my kimchi."][/caption]

Directions:

Dissolve 1 Cup salt in 1/2 gallon water. Soak cabbage in the salt water for 3 to 4 hours. The leaves will become rubbery and easier to work with. Timing seems to be important in successful kimchi, so I recommend staying within the 3 to 4 hour soaking window.

About 3 hours later, in a large bowl, combine radish, green onions, mustard greens, chili powders, 1 Tablespoon salt. Don't worry about mixing yet, we'll get to that when everything is in the bowl.

Remove cabbage from water and rinse thoroughly. Drain cabbage in colander, squeezing as much water from the leaves as possible. Lay on kitchen towel to continue draining until you're ready for it.

Combine garlic, ginger and fish sauce or shrimp in food processor or blender until finely minced. I've saved this for last because fish sauce is seriously stinky. Its not to the level of durian fruit if you've ever smelled that, but its the next closest thing I can think of. However, don't let the formidable smell intimidate you. The magic of kimchi is in making this putrid-smelling stuff taste fantastic.

Add fish sauce goop to bowl of radish mixture. Toss gently but thoroughly. (If mixing with your hands, be sure to wear rubber gloves to avoid chili burn, especially with the added Thai pepper.)

[caption id="attachment_509" align="aligncenter" width="468" caption="Your stuffing should look something like this. Yum, yum! (Remember, you do not want to touch this with your bare hands! It will burn!!)"][/caption]

Take cabbage and stuff radish mixture between leaves, working from outside in, starting with the largest leaf to smallest. Do not overstuff, but make sure radish mixture adequately fills leaves. Divide cabbage among 4 (1-quart) jars or one 1-gallon jar, pressing down very firmly to remove any air bubbles. If using 1-quart jars, be sure to buy wide-mouth jars. You want to be able to get your hand inside the jar to really mash it down. A few bubbles are fine, but large air pockets can be problematic in the fermentation process.

[caption id="attachment_516" align="aligncenter" width="468" caption="This cabbage is actually a little overstuffed, which will become apparent when I try to fit it into the jar, but you get the idea. The stuffing process is very messy, so don't wear anything you don't want splotted with red stains."][/caption]

[caption id="attachment_515" align="aligncenter" width="468" caption="This is one seriously overstuffed cabbage. Whoops. If yours looks like this, just dig out some of the stuffing until you can get it to fit through the mouth of the ball jar."][/caption]

[caption id="attachment_517" align="aligncenter" width="468" caption="And repeat 7 more times. Its easiest to stuff all the cabbage segments and then pack the jars all at once."][/caption]

[caption id="attachment_518" align="aligncenter" width="468" caption="This is definitely the most physically demanding step. You have to carefully jam the cabbage into the jar. I just call my husband. :)"][/caption]

[caption id="attachment_519" align="aligncenter" width="468" caption="One quarter in!"][/caption]

[caption id="attachment_520" align="aligncenter" width="468" caption="Hulk smash!!"][/caption]

[caption id="attachment_521" align="aligncenter" width="468" caption="Two quarters in-ish! (And one goofy husband.) Note the puddle around the jar. The jar packing step tends to squirt."][/caption]

[caption id="attachment_522" align="aligncenter" width="468" caption="Voila! One jar of raw kimchi! Now, just do this three more times."][/caption]

[caption id="attachment_524" align="aligncenter" width="467" caption="And this is what the finished product should look like. Over the next three days, it won't change much visually other than getting a little more juicy. All the magic is in the flavor."][/caption]

Let sit 2-3 days in a cool place before serving. Do not exceed 3 days at room temperature! Kimchi will cease to be kimchi and will become kimchi-scented soup. That is to say, it becomes a very yucky mess and a complete waste of time. Once a day, you will need to "fart" your fermenting kimchi. Loosen the lids on the jars for a second to let the gasses escape. This will prevent leakage, explosion (its never happened to me, but I suppose it could,) or any other disaster. To serve, remove kimchi from jar and slice into 1-inch-length pieces. Refrigerate after opening three days.

Kimchi will be good enough to eat straight for up to about 3 weeks. After about 4 weeks, once the kimchi gets too fermented to eat by itself, use it to make hot pots, flatcakes, dumplings, or just plain fried rice. Actually, I like my kimchi extra-fermented, so I usually let it sit in the fridge for a week before I start eating it, and I definitely push the 4 week line.

[caption id="attachment_525" align="aligncenter" width="468" caption="My highly sophisticated fermentation tracking system."][/caption]

And there you have it! All the amazing secrets of kimchi! Now, go forth and produce awesome alcoholic vegetables

An Ecclectic Collection of Update Intel

2009-05-16T01:33:00.002-05:00

I was at work the other day (which is where I do most of my thinking) and I nailed down absolutely, and without a doubt the worst profession in the world: gynecology. Sure, its all pussy all day, every day (and who would say no to that?) but I imagine the percentage of attractive pussy you the gyno would encounter on an average day at work is about nil. Nobody goes to the doctor because they're well. Montie said that there would probably be good days and bad days. And I said that even the good days would be all look and no taste. So, dear readers, fear no more: there is now one less potential bisexual gynecologist in the world.

On a mildly more serious note, quitting smoking is for the birds. Especially when you have to hang out with people that continue to smoke in your presence. And the stupid thing about it is that I don't even really want a cigarette, but I do really want a cigar.

Which brings me to my third point: I've been watching the new (to me) Battlestar Gallactica, thank you Der Wolfanwalt, and Starbuck is the hottest thing I've seen since Aeryn Sun. And I don't dig blondes, so this is saying a lot. Of course, aside from smoking cigars, she generally kicks ass and wears wifebeaters almost as much as I do, so the blonde is a small flaw to forgive. ;)

In other news, I have been patiently collecting bottles, ordered the rest of my equipment and am finally ready to brew my first batch of beer. This weekend has been my deadline, and brewing is item number one on my agenda today. So you may anticipate an exhilarating new facet to this already riveting blog as I keep you abreast of my homebrewing adventures. And if homebrewing is anything like making kimchi, it will be an adventure. Honestly, I'm almost as excited aboout talking brewing with Der Wolfanwalt as I am about tasting my first batch. So stay tuned, good things are in the works!

PS: The new Star Trek movie is stinking AWESOME! Fan service, fan service, fan service! Love it, love it, love it! And that's all I'm saying. You'll just have to see it for yourselves.

A Note on Eggs

2009-04-19T15:07:00.000-05:00

The above photo is just one of the many reasons I love family owned grocery stores. The inexpensive variety of fresh produce and meats just waiting to be found in a tiny little shop is simply amazing. What you see here is an assortment of fresh eggs I just picked up at one of my favorite Asian markets. From the left to the right they are quail, duck, chicken (for scale,) and swan. The swan is a new one on me, and a little pricey ($5.99 ea.) but way too awesome to pass up.

However, be aware that you probably won't be offered a carton to carry your eggs home, so pack a towel or box or something to ensure they make it home safely. Also, make sure you are buying fresh eggs not fertalized and partially developed eggs. I saw a sign that read "baby ducks" over some duck eggs, and thought it was just cute. I thought nothing more of it until I was paying for the eggs, the check-out dude (who fortunately for me was fluent in English) told me there was a duck inside. It must have been all over my face that I was not intending to buy a "baby duck" because he quickly ran to excange my "ducks" for eggs. And truly, breaking open a duck egg and dumping a fetal fowl into the skillet would have totally thrown off my omlette. Oh, and undomesticated eggs have harder shells and a thicker membrane holding the juicy contents inside. Cracking a quail egg without getting shell in the white requires a little finesse and practice.

As far as taste, I find quail eggs to be the most similar to chicken eggs, but a little more savory. Duck eggs are more dense than chicken eggs, and hold together more firmly when cooked. Their structural integrity makes them wonderful for egg drop soup and the like. Supposedly, duck eggs are wonderful for baking, and rise beautifully, though I haven't tried baking with them yet. I don't know anything about swan eggs yet, but I'll probably do some research, decide I wasted my time researching and just experiment.

Now I remember why I don't drink...

2009-03-07T02:40:00.001-06:00

Because I woke up this morning with a lump the size of a goose egg on my head from ping-ponging down the hall from my bedroom to the toilet last night. I'm not a particularly graceful or coordinated person when I'm sober, and with the slightest amount of alcohol, I become... well, a ping-pong ball. Luckily for me it is on the side of my forehead that is concealed by the sweep of my bangs, but I felt pretty stupid when I discovered it this morning in any case.

Let me clarify my title lest you think me a liar. Strictly speaking, I drink every day. But one beer after work or when I'm watching a movie does not drinking make. As I explained to Montie when I was complaining about our lack of hanging out, there's a big difference between eating and going out to eat.

So now that I've gotten that out of my system, my life can go back to normal. Normal being working, sleeping and watching Farscape. (O00h, yeah... Just got the complete series, so now I, who have only seen into the second season can finally complete the show! I'm guiltlessly indulging myself in that department.) Well, my life will be going back to normal after this weekend, anyway. I'm going in a few hours to watch The Watchmen with Spoot, and frankly, I'm geeking out. AND I just talked to my dad and he's interested in borrowing the graphic novel from me before he sees the movie, so now I'm super geeking. More on the results later.

*edit* I just saw my reflection in the mirror and noticed a bruise on my shoulder that definitely wasn't there the last time I saw myself. It should be noted that this bruise is on the opposite shoulder from the cranial goose-egg. I told you: ping-pong!

Pornstar

2009-02-05T01:29:00.000-06:00

Did I just get a hit from the search "sailor pluto porn?" Oh, yes I did. I'm not sure if I feel dirty for being associated with someone that would search for "sailor pluto porn" or if I should just laugh at the fact that I got a hit at all, since I KNOW I'm not at the top of the list...

Maybe I should write about porn more often so as to attract more unsuspecting fools...

Going to bed now

2009-01-31T01:40:00.001-06:00

My life has been consumed by work. I knew it was coming, but still... I worked 63 hours this week. Well, actually, I'm going in today for the last five hours, but still...

Wow. I was going to temper the unabashed whining with some funny work stories (of which there have been plenty) but I really can't remember anything funny that happened. So in lieu of actual events, I will entertain you with strange dreams I've had about Montie. I make it a point to tell him these dreams when I have them simply because they are so ridiculous. I dreamt that Montie and I were at his house, or maybe at work, but in any case, we were hanging out and being goofy. All of a sudden, in the middle of conversation, Montie just busts out with this enormous fart and says "Man, that was a good one!" (I know, I know, all of this is pretty normal. Just hold on, here comes the weird part.) To which I reply, "You thought that was good? Let me show you how it's done!" Thus commences an epic farting contest.

Wow again. My attempts at salvaging this post metamorphasized into an extended fart joke. I have no idea how to segue into this, so please excuse the abrupt transition. Montie made a request the other day when he found out (again) that I have a blog. I say "again" because I told him what I was planning to do before I did it. He evidently thought that I was keeping some kind of journal or something, and didn't realize that his interactions with me were being exposed on the internet until he saw the site. He didn't care about the exposure much at all, it was just when he was reading his characterization that he got all upset. He didn't want to read the nice things I had to say about him, and was disappointed I didn't have any mean things posted. With as many mean things as I say to him on a daily basis, I can almost understand his confusion at my pleasantry. So, in honour of his request and the impending Superbowl, I relay to you this true story.

Last year for the Superbowl, the husband and I went to Darrell and Montie's beer and buffalo wing shindig. By the time we showed up, Montie was already pretty toasty and cooking the umpteenth batch of wings. The wings were delicious, the beer was beautiful, and Montie is about twice as funny when he's drunk as he is in his mere mortal state. We stayed in the kitchen the whole time blaring 50 Cent, hanging with Adolph and having too good a time to watch some stupid football game. There might have even been some shotgun firing in that visit... Wait, who am I kidding? The guns always come out when I'm at Montie and Darrel's. I have too much fun firing them, and the boys have too much fun watching me recoil and hit everything but the can. At long last, the evening was over. Montie ping-ponged his way down the hall to bed and I cleaned up the kitchen for him. We had packed up and were saying goodbye to Darrell in the kitchen when we heard Montie's door open. Everyone turned and looked at the door expecting some inebriated catastrophe and saw just that: Montie supported and wobbling, stripped down to his tightie whities. He had to pee. I found out the other day that he thought it had been hours since he'd gone to bed and everyone had gone home. In any case, he was completely undaunted by our bewildered presence, and strode down the hall scantily clad as he was to the bathroom. To his credit, he did have the decency to close the bathroom door.

And that's all I had to cover today. You all know that I'm not dead and the dark side of Montie has been peeped upon at the subject's request.

Same Old Lexx

2009-01-25T18:15:00.000-06:00

As previously mentioned, Lexx came for a visit. Since I know that two of my five regular readers know me personally, I feel I should relate last evening's antics. For those of you who don't have the pleasure of my real-world acquaintance, Lexx hasn't been drinking for some months, perhaps a year. He says he's dried up due to lack of good company, but Persephone doesn't drink and we all know what fun it is to hang out with a wasted boyfriend.

So last night we went out for sushi and the inevitable sake. Lexx cleaned off the third carafe remarking in surprise, "This doesn't have a kick at all!" And every person whose ever had a drink in their lives knows that always turns out so well. Persephone and I looked at each other across the table, and it was understood that the train wreck was coming. All of this happened before the next three carafes of sake mysteriously disappeared before my husband could get more than a cup of each. The one-man show continued at home with four high-gravity beers and a sort of Shakespeare ad-lib on my back porch.

Some twelve hours later, he is at last able to eat again, the sheets are in the dryer, and I am eagerly anticipating Persephone's promised posting of the pictures on Facebook. Upon waking up in the early, early A.M. inches away from a stinking, spewing boyfriend, she had the presence of mind to grab her camera. The woman is nothing short of brilliant.

Update

2009-01-24T00:42:00.001-06:00

I've left you guys out for a while, so here's a little of what's been happening. When last we spoke I had just lost my job and was looking forward (through the injured pride) to some free time. Well, all that's over. My wonderful supervisor pulled a few strings, slit a few throats, etc., and I have now returned to work. Actually, I've been back for a couple weeks which is why I haven't had time to update.

It has been called to my attention that I stopped talking about the kimchi after the "baby poop batch" as DerWolfanwalt so aptly named it. After that, which tasted fine-ish, though a little like dirt, we made a perfect, perfect batch. It was red, layered, spicy, crispy... all the things proper kimchi should be. In fact, it was so good, I forgot to take a picture of it. And I would remedy that for you, but we've eaten it all now. So just take my word on it- it was good. In any case, when we realized a few days ago that we were running low, we set out to make a new batch. By this time we have figured out that we like our kimchi extra spicy and super fermented. So we decided to add a day to the initial fermentation time so we would have more rotten cabbage faster. What ended up happening was that the cabbage fermented so fast that when my husband opened the bucket we beheld fresh kimchi soup. Well, actually it was more of a pocket of kimchi goop under a skin of normal-looking kimchi. (No pictures of this either, but believe me, it was pretty gross.) So the moral of the story is: the three day maximum fermentation time is in place for a reason. Three is not just some arbitrary number. A secondary moral might be: in cases of experimentation, have a backup. Yes, we ended up going to the Asian market and buying a few jars of their homemade stuff. Gotta have my kimchi, man.

In other news, Lexx is in town!! Actually, to be complete, Lexx and his simply adorable Korean girlfriend are in town. She needs a name and I have been waiting until I met her to give her a suitable handle, so let me do that now. Last night we were all talking about what Greek god we would be were we all immortal. My husband is Hephaestus, Lexx is Pan, and I... well, I flatly refused to be Medea, Hecate or all the other mean things they were suggesting. So, they were forced to think of something that actually suits me. Lexx suggested Artemis because I am fickle but not unjust in my retalliation, if only to my own mind. And I decided that Artemis was the best I was going to get, so Artemis it is. But the goddess suggested for Lexx's girlfriend seems to actually suit her. She is certainly the most beautiful woman in the world, and therefore, she is Persephone. And wait, there's some real meat to it as well: as Lexx said, she tries to do well by other people and usually ends up getting screwed in the process. So for now and forever more, Lexx's girlfriend shall be known as Persephone.

Aside from that, life has been largely normal... at least as normal as life gets in my corner of the world. Oh, Lewis did kick me in the knee, but that's not even that abnormal. I figure that my personality is so big it makes it okay for a six-foot something man to kick a five-foot two me. And I really mean that because either I'm right or he really did forget that I'm a girl.

Calling all cooks, chefs, bakers, and barbecuers even!

2009-01-08T12:20:00.000-06:00

Okay everyone, I've done a dumb thing and I need your help. Does anyone know what this herb is? I went to an international supermarket looking for an herb I'd never heard of and, here's the dumb part, never seen. I forgot to look it up before I left. In any case, I found myself standing in the middle of a produce section full of things I've never seen before all of which were unmarked. That is to say, every item had a clearly displayed price, but no name. Eventually, I narrowed the search down to two similar green herbs that fit the rough description I had. Instead of doing the smart thing and grabbing both, I took a guess. Actually, I had planned to ask the check-out dude what this mystery herb was, but when he went to ring it up, he got all excited. "Oh, there's just no substitute for this!" Those were his exact words. At which point I totally pussed out and didn't admit my ignorance. When I got home, I looked up the herb I'd been hunting and saw that I had guessed wrong. Whoops.

So here's the clues:

The leaves have no real smell until you crush them, then they release a light lemony scent. It reminds me of blueberry muffins, so I guess its more reminiscent of lemon peel than of a whole lemon.

The leaves are waxy but not particularly stiff. They feel something like a barberry leaf but a little softer. Not at all sticky like a mint leaf.

I purchased them in a primarily Asian market.

And that's all I know. I appreciate any help you guys can give me. Really, really.

Spilled Milk

2009-01-05T14:34:00.000-06:00

Lew said to go in today, so I did. I'm still a little confused about what happened after that, but the long and short of it is my supervisor didn't know about the lay-offs until the official notification until today, he's fighting to get me back but for the time being, I'm unemployed again. On the bright side, I know where I am now. On the dark side, however, I am unemployed.

I would like to take this moment to say that I fucking love my bosses. Those two crazy old men are the absolute best people to work for. I know that it makes no sense for me to be speaking in the present tense about my job and bosses, but I just don't believe that this thing is over yet.

In the interim, there's still wallpaper to be removed in the hallway, I spilled iodine all over the wall in the bathroom (and no, I don't want to explain how that happened,) I have a new iPod-friendly stereo thingie to install in the car, books that need to be read, curtains to be sewn for the living and dining room (at least,) and Lexx is visiting at the end of the month. And there we have it. I'm booked for the next month.

Really, the older and crazier I get, the more I agree with the Joker about the futility of scheming and the impotence of schemers. I suppose it was Dr. Sampo who first planted the idea in my head when at the tender age of eighteen I asked him for help and instead of simply refusing, he said, "You know what they say about the best made plans" and made an obliterating sweeping gesture with his hands. I don't mean to be defeatist, and I don't mean to be flippant but that's the way I see it.

Post New Year's & Ping

2009-01-04T12:25:00.000-06:00

I only have a second, but so you're at least somewhat up to date, I'll spend it with you. New Year's sucked, but you know that already. The day after New Year's day, Friday that is, I woke up freezing. I could hear the central heat running, but it didn't sound right. The current temperature on the thermostat read about 64°. And when I stuck my toe over the vent in the kitchen, I felt no reassuring warm air heating my frozen foot. We called the repair man, and to sum up, we've been without heat, and will continue to do without any climate control (outside of an open window) until Monday. Since then I've spent my time under various blankets knitting, doing dishes, and being generally lazy with my husband. Really its not so bad. Should you find yourself in the middle of winter without certain first-world amenities, I highly recommend hot tea and plenty of snuggling.

Currently, I'm hiding out in the living room as my husband decapitates the "Buddhist style" duck we bought from the Asian market. That's a story too. By Friday evening, I was tired of sitting around the house waiting for the repair man (in whose appearance I was rapidly losing faith) to arrive. So I did the only sensible thing one could do in such perilous times: I went to the Asian market. Yes, I bailed on my husband and cranked the heat in the car. Shame on me and all that. Anyway, I was poking through the meat freezer there ('cause you never know what you'll find) and below the giant cockroaches and beside the skewered eel were a flock of ducks. They looked like frozen chickens in Asian packaging- completely normal appearing to my American eyes except for the fact that they weren't chickens. I've never had duck before, so this was just awesome. I called the husband and we agreed that we should attempt to cook duck. It wasn't until I was holding a duck and turned it over in my hands to give the other side a cursory look before I put it in the basket that I realized that it still had its head. After seeing a two-gallon bag full of duck heads a few weeks ago, I wasn't as disturbed by the lifeless eyeballs staring at me as I could have been. All the same, I could hear my husband quacking "Aflac!" in my mind. It took quite a bit of self-control, but I managed not to shriek and throw the frozen duck as far from me as I could get it. As much as I didn't want to, I calmly put it in the basket (eyeballs down,) paid for it and took it home. I decided on the way home to call him Ping because for some reason, naming it makes me feel better about eating it. I suppose that since it has a head, it should also have a name.

Over the next few days we thawed Ping and hunted down duck recipes, eventually settling on one that didn't require hanging it by its neck to dry for four hours but still sounded tasty. At long last, Duck Day has arrived. But as the hour of Ping's emergence from his packaging neared, my inexplicably mounting anxiety forced me to admit that I was not ready to eat something with its head still attached. I'm not so keen on the feet, but more than that, I really don't want to know what happens when eyeballs get roasted for a few hours in a ginger-curry sauce. So I asked my husband to decapitate Ping and ran away. I have no idea what's happening in there, but I hope its going well because he's going to get no help from me.

New Year's Eve Day

2008-12-31T19:40:00.000-06:00

I'm not sure what to do with this but I feel I should tell someone, so here we go. I got up this afternoon to find a voicemail on my phone from the temp agency through which I am employed telling me that they are terminating my employment due to budgeting reasons. Not for any fault of mine did I lose my job, but because... of what? The Man? The Machine? Who do I blame? I'm not sure, but I've never been so insulted in my whole life. I could swallow the sea to wash down all this pride. Lew says to come in Monday anyway. And that's what I'm going to do and there's a certain amount of security in that- having a next step to take. But if I didn't know before, now I'm sure that I have no control over my own life. I exist at the mercy of a bunch of retards and bean counters.

I need a hug.

Eventful Life

2008-12-20T03:50:00.000-06:00

Borrowed from Darwin (via Der Wolfanwalt):

1. Started your own blog
2. Slept under the stars
3. Played in a band
4. Visited Hawaii
5. Watched a meteor shower (Mulitple times with my dad.)
6. Given more than you can afford to charity
7. Been to Disneyland (and Disneyworld)
8. Climbed a mountain
9. Held a praying mantis (Dad again.)
10. Sang a solo
11. Bungee jumped
12. Visited Paris
13. Watched a lightning storm at sea (Husband says it doesn't count if you're not on a boat, but I've seen lighting over the ocean and it was something to see. Dad and I were at an open-air seaside bar.)
14. Taught yourself an art from scratch
15. Adopted a child
16. Had food poisoning
17. Walked to the top of the Statue of Liberty
18. Grown your own vegetables
19. Seen the Mona Lisa in France
20. Slept on an overnight train
21. Had a pillow fight
22. Hitch hiked
23. Taken a sick day when you’re not ill (more than I'd like to admit)
24. Built a snow fort
25. Held a lamb
26. Gone skinny dipping
27. Run a Marathon
28. Ridden in a gondola in Venice
29. Seen a total eclipse
30. Watched a sunrise or sunset (or both.) (Both many times, and the best I've seen was in Kansas.)
31. Hit a home run
32. Been on a cruise
33. Seen Niagara Falls in person
34. Visited the birthplace of your ancestors
35. Seen an Amish community
36. Taught yourself a new language
37. Had enough money to be truly satisfied
38. Seen the Leaning Tower of Pisa in person
39. Gone rock climbing (indoors)
40. Seen Michelangelo’s David
41. Sung karaoke
42. Seen Old Faithful geyser erupt
43. Bought a stranger a meal at a restaurant
44. Visited Africa
45. Walked on a beach by moonlight
46. Been transported in an ambulance
47. Had your portrait painted
48. Gone deep sea fishing
49. Seen the Sistine Chapel in person
50. Been to the top of the Eiffel Tower in Paris
51. Gone scuba diving or snorkeling
52. Kissed in the rain
53. Played in the mud (BS and me!)
54. Gone to a drive-in theater
55. Been in a movie
56. Visited the Great Wall of China
57. Started a business
58. Taken a martial arts class
59. Visited Russia
60. Served at a soup kitchen
61. Sold Girl Scout Cookies (This one seems a little biased to me...)
62. Gone whale watching
63. Got flowers for no reason
64. Donated blood, platelets or plasma
66. Visited a Nazi Concentration Camp
67. Bounced a check
68. Flown in a helicopter
69. Saved a favorite childhood toy
70. Visited the Lincoln Memorial
71. Eaten Caviar
72. Pieced a quilt (I started it, but I guess I'll get back to it when I retire.)
73. Stood in Times Square
74. Toured the Everglades
75. Been fired from a job
76. Seen the Changing of the Guards in London
77. Broken a bone (But I have broken my nose and it is crooked to this day.)
78. Been on a speeding motorcycle
79. Seen the Grand Canyon in person
80. Published a book
81. Visited the Vatican
82. Bought a brand new car
83. Walked in Jerusalem
84. Had your picture in the newspaper
85. Read the entire Bible
86. Visited the White House
87. Killed and prepared an animal for eating
88. Had chickenpox
89. Saved someone’s life
90. Sat on a jury
91. Met someone famous
92. Joined a book club
93. Lost a loved one
94. Had a baby
95. Seen the Alamo in person
96. Swam in the Great Salt Lake
97. Been involved in a law suit
98. Owned a cell phone
99. Been stung by a bee (more times than I can count, though not recently)
100. Read an entire book in one day (again, more times than I can count, though not recently)

And its cold outside today.

2008-12-06T01:22:00.001-06:00

To be true to my tagline, what am I thinking about today? Well, I just found out a few hours ago that Adolf, Montie's dog, died on Thanksgiving. I feel halfway stupid for being so bothered by this old dog's passing, but Adolf was one cool dude. I mean, I've known for years that he was not long for this world, being half-blind, mostly deaf and tumor-riddled as he was, but he was such a fixture of Montie and Darrell's house. All the charm of their country home can be summed up in a very short list: alcohol, guns, poker, and having dinner with Adolf. At least for me that was what I enjoyed aside from just the company of my friends. But "dinner with Adolf"- let me explain. This dog did not eat dog food. I'm not really sure why Montie started feeding him off the table, but Adolf always ate what we were eating when we were eating it. And its not as though he just got scraps. Oh, no- the dog got his own plate. On many occasions, I've heard Montie say, as he bought a sandwich out of the vending machine, he had to get up early to cook something for the dog before he left for work.

And I know somewhere in that dark part of my mind that knows things that I don't want to think about that Montie has also said that when the dog dies, he's going back to California. I haven't brought it up and I don't want to, but I know all the same. So I'm thinking about that too.

I've had David Bowie's "Let's Dance" in my head just about all day. And I blame you, Lexx.

And check this out!!!

Too Tired For Clever Title

2008-12-05T01:30:00.001-06:00

So I'm back on the job. Well, back on a job. My job is not my job anymore. I'm somewhere inbetween useless noob and trained at this point in my first week, and I feel something like the victim of a stroke: I know I used to do these things, and I'm pretty sure I could do them again, but I just can't get everyone else to believe me. I'm whining, but I know full well that this is the price of pulling the trigger too soon, as Lewis put it.

Ah, Lewis. And Montie, and Darrell, and Paul, Syla, Alejandro, Kyle and everyone else. I really missed my friends. Lewis has been nothing but sweet to me. I know that man too well to not know when he's up to something, so I'm taking the kindness while its available. I suspect that soon I'll be up to my eyeballs in chaos with an angry old man trying to teach me how to direct the flow of the madness. I don't mean to imply that Lew isn't a kind teacher, but that we don't always understand each other. I don't know how it happens, but generally we're on much of the same wavelength but we nearly come to blows because we are both very violent people and perfectionists. Honestly, some days it feels like we're just speaking different dialects of the same language. Or it could all be my immature fault. Or he could just be an angry old man and not the wise old man I see.

And Montie. I really, really missed Montie. Like I miss other friends who have that have proven true although absent.

I'm beginning to think that my desertion, absence, and return served to show me what I value. I hope I've learned it anyway. I see it now, but whether I'll see it before I let myself make the same mistake again only time can tell.

For now its drug testing and patience. I am literally starting over, so the company wants to make sure that I didn't pick up a heroin habit during my vacation. You know me...

Return To The Real World

2008-12-01T10:46:00.000-06:00

At long last, the day of my return to the workforce is upon us. There are two possible outcomes from this sudden but expected turn of events: getting out of the house provides me with tons of new material, or, more likely, I'll never see you again, Dear Readers. If this is goodbye, know that you'll always be in my heart. No, no, don't cry. This is for the best, I promise.

Home

2008-11-22T07:00:00.001-06:00

I was sitting on my porch swing late last night, bundled up like a homeless eskimo, having a cigarette when I remembered a poem by Edgar Guest I'd read many many times in my youth. I realized, freezing on my front porch that my house has become my home. It started as someone else's home, but now, through the work and years and tears and laughter and sweat has become mine and I am loath to part with it.

I understand Flora now. I thought I understood her when she sold us the house, but now I've experienced what she meant. I see now why she practically gave us the house rather than selling it to some landlord for more profit. She had fifty some odd years on me, granted, but this place with its soul and my soul have melded in some way. I love this house. And you never really give up something you love. No matter how badly it hurts you, it may tear you apart even, but you can never really let go of something you have loved. It marks you. My house has marked me. It has become mine.

My husband doesn't feel this attachment. Maybe his home is somewhere else; maybe his heart is already tied. In consideration of him I could find a new home. I could rebuild myself somewhere else, but I've put so much of myself in this place- lived so much here that I would hate to give it up to someone else. In truth, I haven't lived somewhere that felt like home since I was a very small child in the farmhouse. I've had spaces that I've carved out someone else's home as mine, but I've never had the freedom and privacy and pride in my abode that I have now. Despite all that, I could rebuild the relationship between place and owner that is "home." I could start over somewhere else, but I know that once you give something up, it is never the same again except in your memory. The farmhouse with its blackberry bushes, sticky cherry trees, hay bales, thirteen treacherous steps to the second floor, with its creepy basement, our smokehouse playhouse and elm trees so big I believed Totoro might be my neighbor is now a beauty parlor/salon. TMC, my intellectual paradise, is slowly but steadily being twisted and perverted into a haven for fools. And my house? I know that this is the fate that awaits my home when I leave and that there is nothing I can do to change fate. Flora succeeded in finding someone to love her home as she did and thus postpone its eventual decline from love into the ordinary. I hope that I should be so lucky as well.

But we shall see. Things come, things go. This is not profound or original, it is and has always been the way of the world. So for the time being, I am content to have a home. Like love, or good friends a place to call home is not easy to find. The best I can do is enjoy it while I have it.

BTW

2008-11-20T06:07:00.000-06:00

The kimchi tastes great!

Haven't tried to grow the triops yet...

I did watch Secretary some time ago, and have been thinking since. I'm thinking I may have been wrong in my extreme opinion of S&M, but I can't make it all fit yet. That is to say, I'd like to change my beliefs and be accommodating, but I can't just go all wishy-washy because I want to be nice. So I'm still thinking.

I'll keep you posted on any further developments.

New Blogger In the Family

2008-11-20T05:55:00.001-06:00

Spoot has a blog!! He's brand-new at this blogging thing but he's also scary intelligent, so I'm interested to see where this goes. I'm sure he would appreciate any advice from you experienced bloggers you would deign to give him. And as someone once said about me, I'm pretty sure that anything that comes out of his head will be worth the read.

I have no words of wisdom.

2008-11-18T19:17:00.002-06:00

Perhaps of late I've been letting you down, Dear Readers. Well, not "perhaps." To be honest, I have been rather lax in my end of the bargain. That is to say, I haven't written anything of substance for a long, long time.

Allow me to make excuses. My brain is absolutely empty. What I mean is, my brain is chock to the brim with me. Full to bursting with me, me, me. Take my word, its boring as all hell in here. My solution? Read voraciously until I find something else with which to fill my head. See, now you're in on a secret! I don't read all the time because I like it, or because all my good friends are miles away, or its more satisfying that watching TV, or I'm more inclined to pass the time sitting on my ass than doing something. Oh, no. Its none of that. Its far more simple: all the smart kids read all the time, so if I do it too then one day I'll emerge out of this stupid cocoon a brainy butterfly.

Because, as the prophet says, "You gotta have goals."

Its not news, its the soapbox!

2008-11-18T18:59:00.000-06:00

Stumbled across something the other day that, frankly, appalled me.

Katy Perry said that Lily Allen and Amy Winehouse "introduced America to great music." To which I reply, "Just because you haven't been paying attention doesn't mean it hasn't been happening." See Fiona Apple, Aimee Mann, Tori Amos, Jewel, etc. And they're all home-grown too!

Of course, my reply assumes that Katy is referring only to female singer-songwriters as "great music" and cites only what I could prattle off the top of my head. It is by no means an inclusive list of all "great music" before Lily Allen and Amy Winehouse.

This concludes my soapboxing for the week.

The Birth of Experimental Kimchi

2008-11-14T16:33:00.000-06:00

No, Dear Readers, I am not proudly displaying four jars of chunky baby poop. This is my second attempt at kimchi. Incase you don't know, kimchi is fantastic, amazing, traditional Korean fermented cabbage. It probably should look something more like this picture to the right. Its green because we, we being my husband and I, blended things that weren't meant to be blended, but I liked the consistancy of the blended half of the last batch. So basically what we've done is created something inbetween "traditional napa kimchi" and "quick kimchi." I shall call it "experimental kimchi!" Pretty yummy, I hope.

Since I've made reference twice now to the previous kimchi attempt I suppose I should explain exactly what happened. Teegan and I had the recipe, I spent the week hunting all over town for the ingredients, and when Kimchi Making Day was upon us, we set to the chopping and grating and slicing and packing and labor of kimchi. Hours later, we washed our chile-burning hands in a futile attempt to make the pain stop. Oh well. Our hands were red and swollen and felt like they were on fire, but what did we care? We had kimchi! Kimchi wrought by these mauled hands of ours, no less! There was much rejoicing.

The rejoicing continued for the next three days as we stared at the fermenting jars on the kitchen counter, licking our lips but waiting patiently until the time was right to feast. At long last, Kimchi Eating Day arrived and we popped open a jar and shoved heaping forkfulls into our mouths. Shitfire damn! Was that hot!! Little did we know that the essential peppers I had hunted down so exaustively and found so triumphantly were the wrong peppers. The flavor was exquisite and perfect for about half a second until the heart-stopping, cranium-igniting pepper worked its magic on our poor tastebuds. Our hearts were broken.

But someone had to eat it. So we took it to the hardiest, most spice-impervious people we know: the Koreans that run my favorite Japanese resturaunt. We had told them when we decided to make kimchi and they laughed at us. Stupid Americans trying to make kimchi and all that. So when Teegan and I came in with a ball jar of death for them to sample, they laughed at us again when we told them it was too hot. "Its not even red!" they said. And we stood there and watched, poker-faced as they shoveled heaping chopstick loads into their smirking faces. And we stood there and laughed as they panted, fanned themselves, gasped and nearly fell over. When eventually one of them could speak, she asked me what in the world did I put in this? She said it tasted right, "Its kimchi," she said, "but its too hot." I explained the problems I had finding the necessary pepper, and she said the only place to get it was the city. She showed me a 10 pound bag of what I was looking for, which was helpful, but I was still discouraged. Asian markets are no fun to find, but an asian market in a city I don't know is just hopeless.

But this round, we got smart. Instead of driving into the city and hunting around blindly for some Korean market (because directions in Engrish are a joke), we bought some pepper off the resturaunt. I'm sure this is illegal by some ridiculous law, but if I have kimchi, little do I care. I won't tell if you don't tell.

Why I Don't Save Incomplete Projects

2008-11-13T13:04:00.000-06:00

Okay, this is funny. I finished my post and was doing some administrative stuff when I found an draft I had saved. I didn't remember saving any drafts so I opened it up and read: Well, Teegan is making me look like a liar, so I figured I'd better pick up the slack seeing as it is my blog and all. That was it. The entire draft. I guess I didn't have anything else to say.

Now this makes me happy!

2008-11-13T12:47:00.000-06:00

Yes, this is the menu board that hangs in my kitchen. I suppose that deserves a little explaining. Since Teegan moved in, we have two accomplished chefs in the house and three skinny people who love to eat like fat kids. So to manage the masticating mayhem, we instituted themed weeks. We've had Italian week, Japanese week, escarole soup week, chili week, and so on. This week was chicken week as you can see, and though it was simply delicious, I'm waiting with bated breath for next week. Pork week was going to be glorious: gyoza and baby back ribs for all! But venison week!!?? When it comes to meat, you can't top venison. Enough said.

No, not enough said. I'm gonna have deer jerky, deer sausage, deer bar-b-que, deer steaks, deer for breakfast, deer for a midnight snack... I'm starting to feel like Bubba with his shrimp here...

So three cheers to Teegan's dad for bringing home the 8-point deliciousness!! Three cheers for Teegan for getting up at the ass-crack of dawn to help him drag it into the truck and to the slaughterhouse!! And hell, three cheers for the slaughterhouse!!

Its personal and you probably don't want to know anyway.

2008-11-11T06:08:00.000-06:00

Its been a long time since I've said anything meaningful, and it will probably be another long time before you hear anything meaningful from me again. However, you need not worry. I haven't forgotten how to think. Rather, my thoughts have been on a very personal slant lately. I realize that you have heard very little about my recent mental acrobatics and my visits have been ranging from sparatic to nigh nonexistant, and, to be honest, that's because, Dear Readers, you just aren't as important to me as me. You know I hate to damage your sensitive feelings, but I need to ensure periodically that you understand the level of commitment in this relationship. That is to say, there is no commitment in this relationship and I don't want you to harbour delusions and melodramatic visions of me losing sleep and slaving for days with squinty bloodshot eyes and carpel tunnel hands to produce what you see here. My absence is not due to perfectionism and hard work for your benefit. Oh, no no. I'm not here simply because I'd rather be somewhere else. So what you may take from this paragraph is: 1. If you like it, I'm just that damned good; and 2. If you don't, I don't care. I'm not in sales. By the way, I think that's why, Faithful Reader, this relationship works. If we were lovers, or friends even, we'd have to put some work into this. But as we are aquaintances, we are both free to come and go as we please. The freedom to act without concerning oneself with trampling on another's feelings is a rare commodity in this world, and this is what I give to you.

Now that we've all established where we stand and are evidently satisfied with it (or you wouldn't still be reading,) I'll fill you in, in no specific terms, on what's been happening in my niche of this wide, wide world. There's been a crisis and a recovery, and bigger crisis and a smaller recovery, and a creshendo to the breaking point and a big old slice of humble pie devoured. And that's where I sit: gritting my teeth to bear the chalky, bitter, bitter aftertaste of humble pie. We all fuck up. Its just been my turn lately.

On to the specific stuff: I'm taking my job back. Well, taking implies that it was offered and I accepted. This is more like my boss is meeting me halfway and letting me have my job back: a good and bad thing. Obviously, its wonderful that he's allowing me back, but as always, there are a few strings attached. I won't be walking back into my pay or benefits or position even. I have to start over. And if my suspicions are correct, I'm going to be not just starting from zero, but doing a little bit of pennance before I even get to zero. I have to prove myself to be better than when I left. As much as I expect it, I'm not vain or naive enough to think that it won't kick my ass. I had to kill myself to get my position the first time, but now I'm physically out of shape and the prodigal child. Honestly, I don't think I'll ever be called by my christian name at work again. Since Montie came up with that stupid derrogatory nickname for me and Lewis adopted it, there's been no turning back.

So you can expect that when I start work you won't be seeing me. At least for a while I'll be doing little else but working and sleeping. But when I come back I'll have stories, I promise.

On the flipside, its wonderful to be wanted. For the last six months I've missed my job and my coworkers and I've done everything I could to shove it from my mind, but I can't deny my glee at returning to hell. Getting some distance on work and my relationships there has given me some perspective as well. I'm not saying I know everything, or even as much as some people, but I know more than I did six months ago. And for that reason, this go around should be easier. Hell, everything is easier without a chip on your shoulder.

Bring on the torture! Bring the pennance! I've been bored anyway.

Probably should have done this a long time ago...

2008-11-10T12:13:00.000-06:00

All I'm going to say is, one of these doofuses is my brother. And the other one may as well be my brother too. But I've never talked about him, so you get no clues on his end. Now you get to infer from your image of me and what I've said about Black Stallion (see I'm helping you!!) to whom I am biologically related.

Exodus And Heartbreak (An Exerpt From My Journal)

2008-11-06T09:10:00.000-06:00

I have left academia. To my mind, permanently. It was an inconstant and high-maintenance friend at best, and I can't say I'm too sorry to be rid of it. I never felt that I conquered or understood it even. The circle that developed around its cold light I never belonged to. And maybe I have something interesting to say because of that, but then again, maybe no one wants to hear that. Maybe I'm still too bitter about losing grip on something I fancied I did well. Academia was always my corner in life. It was what I did better than anyone ever at all. TMC taught me through bludgeoning and violence the fallacy of my vanity. Up to that point, I was just a big fish in a very small, inbred pond. And that reality broke me a little. The wounds are just now approaching something close to healing, but even now, there's much hurt underneath.

When F sent me my rejection letter, one line above all others eviscerated me and left me sliding in my own blood, unable to stand: "My general opinion of this story is that it is not bad, and pretty close to being the sort of thing I would expect to find in a typical literary magazine. However, to put that judgment into context you should consider that I take the standards of most literary magazines to be far from exacting." I always thought that I was part of that echelon of intellectual: the astronauts of the mind. And my submission to him was my last hope at having something confirm my floundering faith in myself. But there was no confirmation to be had. He tore years of my work apart without really seeming to notice just how much work he was decimating. Maybe it wouldn't have hurt so badly if it had been a quick sketch. But this was no sketch. This was my masterpiece, and now it was in shambles at my feet. Rudyard Kipling comes to mind now. And I know I need to stoop to rebuild my life with my worn out tools, but all I've done is whimper and procrastinate.

Where do I begin? The whole work is about belonging to something, but I don't belong to that. Maybe that's the essential problem. The core is false. Of course it never rang true, it was the author grasping at something that was never there. But how do I express that much hurt and that much desire without being pathetic? How did John Knowles do it in A Separate Peace? As difficult as my original direction was, the truth is so much harder.

The truth. That hurts. And maybe I'm still too close to it to see it truly. Maybe I'm still too emotional. Its been about five years now. Some days it seems longer ago, some days it feels like it isn't really over yet. Those days were simultaneously the happiest and most painful days of my life. I don't think anything could be so intense again; so bitter and so sweet. And after all of it, I failed. And now I understand why I hate going back there so much. That place symbolizes everything I love and hate about myself. It is undeniably true, undeniably poignant, but no one really wants to see themselves. Not really. Not even I. For as much as I talk about being better, elite, Aristocratic, etc, that place chops me off at the knees. I'm not just a person, I'm sub-par. And that scares me more than death, and hurts me more than betrayal. Maybe that's not fair to say. It is a betrayal. That place makes me see I've gone back on my promises to myself. I told myself I could get out. I could survive on my own away from the maddening crowd, but standing on that campus, I can't believe myself any more. All of my deep, dark lies that provide the nourishment for the roots of my soul come to light, and I have no choice but to see the sickly, moulded base that I've built myself on. And we all know what Hendrix said about castles made of sand. So what do I do? I know that my greatness is a sham. What am I left with?

Perhaps this is why I've become the chameleon in recent years. Perhaps this is why I can't sleep sometimes. Surely this is why I smoke. I don't need to see it everyday to know that my entire existence- everything I hold dear is built on nothing.

This must be what atheism feels like.

Do not open until... Well, nevermind

2008-11-02T17:19:00.001-06:00

My husband cannot keep a secret to save his life. This insanity you see above this text you are currently reading was going to be my Christmas present. It was in the house all of two weeks. I'm not really sure how I feel about growing dinosaurs in my living room... something like Jurassic Park comes to mind... But they do have three eyes, and that's pretty cool with me.

Yes, I have been absent for a long, long time, and, as usual, I offer no apology. Let's see, during that time... I finished sewing Teegan's and my Halloween costumes (aren't we just the cutest can can girls!); goofing off with a friend, which is a story in itself that hopefully Teegan will get around to telling you if she ever posts. We drew on the sidewalk and other such silliness, but it all paled in comparison to the Halloween Hootenanny. Unfortunately, my friends and Hissori have all the pictures of the costumed extravaganza, so I can't illustrate my claims at this point. Maybe I'll post on it and maybe I won't. It seems to me that the more I indulge my real life, the less of a cyber life I have. Honestly, I can't complain.

Oh, but I will try to post on the dinosaurs as soon as I get them growing. That one's too cool to keep to myself.

No movie, just quizzes for over an hour...

2008-10-16T14:22:00.000-05:00

Your result for The Which Ancient Language Are You Test...

Akkadian

You scored

You are Akkadian, a blend of the incomprehensible symbols of the Sumerians with the unwritable sounds of the early Semitic peoples. However, the writing just doesn't suit the words and doesn't represent everything needed, so you end up a schizoid mess. Invented in Babylon, you're probably to blame for that tower story. However, crazy as you are, you're much loved and appreciated, and remain actively in use by records keepers long after schools have switched to other languages.

Take The Which Ancient Language Are You Test at HelloQuizzy

Your result for The Princess Bride trivia Test...

Westley

Inconceivable! You scored ###!

You live it, you love it, you lost track long ago of how many times you have seen it. You have been known to wish someone luck by hollering "have fun storming the castle!" You scoff at people who cannot recite the entire 'battle of wits.' You are a true fan.
Thank you. Its people like you that give me hope for humanity.

Take The Princess Bride trivia Test at HelloQuizzy

Your result for What Your Taste in Art Says About You Test...

Simple, Progressive, and Sensual

27 Ukiyo-e, 3 Islamic, 14 Impressionist, -28 Cubist, -32 Abstract and 18 Renaissance!

Ukiyo-e (浮世絵, Ukiyo-e), "pictures of the floating world", is a genre of Japaneseand paintings produced between the 17th and the 20th centuries. it mostly featured landscapes, historic tales, theatre, and pleasure. Ukiyo is a rather impetuous urban culture that has bloomed in popularity. Although the Japanese were more strict and had many prohibitions it did not affect the rising merchant class and therefore became a floating art form that did not bind itself to the normal ideals of society.

People that chose Ukiyo-e art tend to be more simplistic yet elegant. They don't care much about new style but are comfortable in creating their own. They like the idea of living for the moment and enjoy giving and receiving pleasure. They may be more agreeable than other people and do not like to argue. They do not mind following traditions but are not afraid to move forward to experience other ideas in life. They tend to enjoy nature and the outdoors. They do not mind being more adventurous in their sexual experiences. They enjoy being popular and like being noticed. They have their own unique style of dress and of presenting themselves. They may also tend to be more business oriented or at the very least interested in money making adventures. They might make good entrepreneurs. They are progressive and adaptable.

Take What Your Taste in Art Says About You Test at HelloQuizzy

Your result for In Depth Comicbook Artist Test...

Professional Comic Artist!

80 expertise!

Hey! You scored 80 expertise! Brilliant! You know a little too much about the cartooning artform. You really should get out more, maybe date! You must love comics, and if not as an artist, you could do well as a comicbook editor perhaps. Consider film, there's money there - similar skillsets.

Take In Depth Comicbook Artist Test at HelloQuizzy

Droopy Poopy

2008-10-16T13:02:00.000-05:00

What a poopy day. Its been dreary all day, and finally in the last hour or so its decided to rain. But now its coldish and I don't want to turn the heat on so I'm sitting at my computer with my sweater and scarf on wishing I could type in gloves. I'm a dum-dum, I know.

Husband's gone to work, Teegan's gone on a non-date with some dude that might think its a date and I'm left at home with no car and nowhere to go if I did have a car. Well, that's a lie. If I had a car I'd be dressing up in my inspector coat and stopping by the halloween shop to pick up a pair of those glasses with the fake nose on the way to the coffeeshop so I could sneak a peak of non-date dude. I'm not a stalker, but married chicks like gourmet coffee too and it would make Teegan laugh. But alas, no car so no bad disguise and no sneaking.

As far as entertaining myself, H. P. Lovecraft just isn't doing it for me. Maybe that's part of the cause of my malaise. Because, really, there's nothing more disappointing than a mediocre book. Maybe I'll watch that new (to me) Humphrey Bogart and Peter Lorre movie I picked up. Good old Humph always makes me feel better. Hopefully it'll be raining in the movie so I won't notice the weather here.

Heads Up

2008-10-05T09:17:00.000-05:00

Do not let my bold and daring title put you off! Change is in the air, but we at Token Bi Chick; okay, its only me right now, but all the same; we are committed to continuing to deliver only the highest quality of ecclectic, humorous, insightful, ridiculous, and bisexual of posts. Therefore it is with great pride that I announce my first collaborator. Teegan has expressed a desire to blog, and she and I are so often in sync, it only seemed right to invite her into my loony little corner of the web. The husband and I are currently hard at work creating for her an account and avatar while she is hard at (real) work making money. Her first post should be coming soon. Consider yourselves forwarned.

Call me Arkansake!

2008-10-05T03:53:00.000-05:00

I know I've been away for a while, but I just don't have anything to say. Teegan and I have been hanging out a lot and the adventures have been plentiful. We made curry of death (death curry for short,) went on a mini road trip into the middle of nowhere, ate amazing hamburgers at a greasy spoon, attempted to make kimchi, planned our Halloween costumes, watched really bad hentai, and hung out with her dad. It was that last adventure that earned me my new name. Her dad took us out to sushi, and we just hit it off. I mean, the guy dropped off a twelve pack of Blue Moon and oranges when he picked us up. Teegan and I had just been to the greasy spoon a few hours before and were still absolutely stuffed. But I've never been one to turn down alcohol, so that was how I ended up talking about politics, the economy and music, drinking beer and sake, but not eating anything. I had a great time, but when I stood up to leave, I was way more intoxicated than I would have chosen to be around someone's parent. Here I am trying to make a good impression and I'm drunk. I can hold my liquor just fine but I guess I was having so much fun I forgot that I wasn't eating too. Anyway, I directed him home okay, and other than a little "surfing" as Teegan called it when I got out of the truck and stepped on a log, I think I handled myself alright. Car rides always make me sick, but car ride + beer + sake + greasy spoon + kimchi was way too much. So I did the only thing I could do in a bad situation: I went to bed. The next day, Teegan went to go see her dad, and when I called her, he yelled "Is that Arkansake?" I was suprised that he remembered that I'm from Arkansas, and even more suprised that he didn't think that I made a total fool of myself. So I am now in good with one of the coolest dads in the world, and renamed something I actually like.

Well, poop.

2008-09-30T07:12:00.000-05:00

I had an absolutely hilarious experience last weekend, but since I've told the story two or three times and it happened on Saturday, I can't get it to come out right now. It always seems to me that you have to choose between living your life or writing about it. I'm not complaining about having a life, but I'd like to be able to experience things and produce things at the same time. Maybe this is what Dr. Sampo meant when he said that young people shouldn't be teachers. Not that old people have nothing better to do, but that it's impossible to be accumulating experience and imparting it to others simultaneously. Youth is irritating.

What a day it has been, what a rare mood I'm in...

2008-09-26T11:22:00.000-05:00

I don't usually regale my blog audience with the minutiae of my daily life, but this day has some markers in it. I actually got enough sleep, mowed the lawn without being devoured or carried off by mosquitoes, took a shower and the fun began. With plenty of time to do everything necessary, I perused a bookstore. I didn't have to go in with a synchronized watch on a specific and desperate mission, I got to poke around. In consequence, I found some great stuff, but the crown jewel among them was an authentic Korean cookbook with an entire chapter devoted to kimchi! I love kimchi like I love beans and cornbread and strawberry shortcake. Its just one of those foods that warms my soul. But since we haven't been going to our usual Japanese restaurant run by Koreans, no kimchi for me. But now all I need are some Ball jars and some Napa cabbage (among other relatively ordinary things) and I can make kimchi for the whole family. I just can't stand it!

And if that wasn't good enough, I came home, made pizza, had a couple slices and as I was popping my second beer after a busy day, my phone rang. I didn't recognize the number, but I answer all calls that I don't recognize now in the hope that its someone who wants to look at the house. And after fifty heartbreaking wrong numbers, we have our first showing this Sunday. Let me tell you, I'm about to piss myself with joy. Now I know that the likelihood of the first person looking at the house actually purchasing it is very, very slim, but it sure makes me feel better that someone is looking at it.

<contented sigh> I think I'm going to go revel in a day well spent and read some more with this lucky beer.

"Even Cowgirls Get the Blues" Part 2

2008-09-25T09:50:00.001-05:00

I've finished the book now and... well, I'm disappointed. Maybe I missed something. Or maybe I really just should have read it during my anarchy/Ayn Rand period (read: high school.) I impressed myself with the amount of cultural references to the early 70's that I was familiar with, but depressed myself with the amount that I didn't get. But to the point.

How did Robbins answer the substantial questions he put before himself? Lets begin at the beginning: what do you make of freedom? Freedom is more important than happiness, without a doubt. And if you seek to change the world, change yourself. Set an example. That's all you can do. Okay. That's old, but true enough. But what ought a free woman do? Whatever she bloody well pleases. Well, yes but... What do you want from me? This is a novel, not a self-help book! I'm not here to make you feel better about yourself! You paid for entertainment and I delivered! Okay, okay! Fair enough. But what is deformity? There is no such thing. And you know what, after your last response, I'm just going to leave it at that.

Obvious (and weak) answers to philosophical questions aside, the real value of the book lies in the prose, and the little nuggets that simply litter the novel. Its like the church Easter egg hunt: the eggs aren't even hidden, you just have to pick them up. Or maybe I should say its like a pasture: the shit's there, you just have to watch your step.

"Even Cowgirls Get the Blues"

2008-09-24T07:56:00.001-05:00

by Tom Robbins

I've been reading this book for some time now, since about July, I guess, and I think I like it. Its been an off and on affair between this book and I, punctuated by flings with various comics, but now I find myself halfway through and devouring it with a fervor it had not previously warranted.

This is a rare thing for me to give a book half of itself to prove its worthiness to me. I'm not excessively impatient, not at all. I'll give a promising book a few chapters if it seems to be getting at something, but that's ususally the cut off. Often enough, if I put it down after that, its because of some admitted fault of mine, usually summed up with the phrase "it's good, but I don't like it." But I have excessively little patience for those books that grab me in the first few pages and then drop me in the second chapter. Don't make promises you can't keep. If you're paced like a Tolstoy don't start out like an Asimov- its just disappointing.

And actually, Robbins nearly commited this pet peeve sin, save one crucial exception: he dropped little breadcrumby hints in the beginning. And I, being the literary crow that I am, promptly gobbled them up and went hunting for more. Now I wish I could go back and see them again, or at least that I had paid more attention. (As you can see by my crazy post-it system, I'm paying attention now.) Of course I could always re-read it, but I've done all the work getting to know the complex characters and am now engrossed in the story.

But the book itself- what does it taste like? Well, Robbins has created characters that are something like people, but a little too Dr. Strangelove to be all that serious. And he writes then with this perfect insane sanity. The parallels he draws are ludicrous, but in some way beautiful. Furthermore, the boy knows his psychobabble, but beyond that, he knows psychology qua people, and he seems to know the difference. As far as pacing, it reads like, bear with me here, a Kurasawa film. Yes, I'm mixing genres, but that's something of what it reminds me of. It's very irritating at first. Sure, its cute to be talking about amoebae in a kind of idealist logic at the very opening of the novel, but the constant non-temporal cutaways to the cowgirls quickly became grating. But I also found the constant retelling of the same story in Rashoman grating the first time I saw it. Would I put Robbins in the same artistic tier as Kurosawa? Well, not so much. Of course its also premature to judge, as I'm only halfway through my first encounter with Robbins, and I've seen (I don't want to count) quite a few Kurosawa films, and other period films made contemporaneously. But the book seems to be shifting into a more linear order and picking up speed. Which is a good thing, because I'm not sure how much longer I can continue to read on promise of goodness alone.

I suppose all I'm getting at here is that all of a sudden, my reason to continue reading this book shifted. I was plodding along for the interesting and elusive allusions, and the comical comparisons, but now I find myself understanding that all of this seemingly disjointed material is aligning itself into patterns and meaning like iron shavings around the poles of a magnet. And then I start wondering how Robbins is going to answer these questions he's laid out within the path of the novel. I understand that how the characters feel and how the author feels are not always the same thing (obviously!), but I also know that the author is god. As such, the novel he writes is created in his image, to a greater or lesser degree. And I further know that when you try to say something revealing about someone else (even if they aren't a real person), you more often that not say something even more revealing about yourself. So, how is Robbins going to answer the question of freedom? Yes, it is a state within us, we've come that far, but what do we do with it? If freedom is more important than happiness, what does that mean for us? What indeed ought a free man do? And really, lets ask the question that's at stake here, what ought a free woman do? What is her place within society? Within herself? More superficially and yet not, what is deformity? I like where he is now, but it all hinges on the ending.

Insanity Has Its Benefits

2008-09-22T20:24:00.000-05:00

I just had the hugest epiphany in the world: Megan Fox looks like Bettie Page! I love it!

Cast of Characters

2008-09-22T15:23:00.018-05:00

At long last, I need one too. I could really go on and on about these people, but I'll try to be succinct. So here we go.

Marleenken: Me! The token bi chick! I'm the firstborn of my clan, an intellectual (not so much academic), and a self-proclaimed dude-chick.
Husband: He is obviously, the man I married. He's simply called Husband, or Hubby on occasion, because I couldn't think of something clever to rename him. His parents did a pretty good job. As far as his relation to me, we're happily married, and this year we've been together for a fourth of my life. He's kind of like my left leg, and I suppose I could have called him that, but I do try to be a little respectful.
Der Wolfanwalt: A very close friend and cohort of mine. Met him at the same college I met my husband.
Lexx or Lexxy: Another close friend from college. He's currently being a poopface and living it up overseas, so I don't get to talk to him too often. We used to call him the human cartoon, but now he's too old, so he's just a goofy-looking dirty-minded twentysomething. My kind of people. The name is a nickname he picked up when he shaved his head: Lexx Luthor.
Persephone: Lexx's adorable Korean girlfriend.
Blue: Yet another close friend from college and maid of honor at my wedding. She cut her hair super short when I shaved my head around Easter of our freshman year. I taught her how to drink, then I taught her how to smoke, and she has since perfected both skills far beyond my ability. We all call her Blue because she dyed her hair blue. At the point in time that we all met, there was another student that had the same first name, and the blue hair just suited Blue so well the name stuck even after the color had long since washed out. She with her specially redyed hair was the "something blue" at my wedding. She's good at disappearing at will, so her part in this blog may be slight, but she's important to me.
Montie: My favorite work buddy in the entire world. He's had me falling over laughing more times than I can count. He's also a favorite drinking buddy. I've gotten completely hammered with him more times than I can remember. In short, he's a fucking character. Tough guy exterior, but soulful when you least expect it. During the years we've worked and played together, he became something like a brother to me. He and the next guy here, share their own category. I could have put them together, but they deserve their own bullets.
Darrell: My favorite hillbilly. Enough said.
Lewis or Lew: My boss, but our relationship is much more complex than just that. In short, he's a gruff old man who knows everything. He taught me how to work, how to lead and how to get respect. I admire him as I admire my father.
Teegan: I talk about meeting her here, but since then, we've become friends. She's the artistic, firebird-driving, fellow dude-chick. You just don't find too many dude-chicks out there.
Jillian or Jill: I met her at the same time I met Teegan. She's the youngest of all of us, but she's a trip.
Black Stallion: I've been calling him "my idiot younger brother" or "my partner in crime" or "my twenty one year old brother," and its just getting old. So he is henceforth Black Stallion, or some fairly obvious derivative (BS, Stallion.) Now I didn't just come up with this one, it came out of his youthful head many years ago. He frequently went through stages when we were kids whereupon he would refuse to answer to anything but "Black Stallion." I, being the eldest, tried to explain to him the fool he was making of himself, but to no avail. So now, years later, he gets his wish. (BWAHAHAHAHAHA!!)
Spoot: Previously called "my little brother" or more often, "my kid brother," he's the youngest of the three of us, and the only one still living at home. He's also the most intelligent, and very mature for his age. We spend a lot of time together just chilling. He will henceforth be called by my real life nickname for him.
the prophet: Dennis Leary. (I'm going to stop linking to U-Tube every time I mention him now.)
Sachiel: The eldest and indisputably most insane of my cats. He lives outside due to excessively bad behavior. For instance, he will fake illnesses or injury to get attention, indiscriminately hiss, bite, or scratch anything should the mood strike him (and he is very moody,) he pretends he doesn't know the meaning of the word "no," etc, etc, etc. This cat is so bad (and so smart) he knows that when I say "little shit" I am referring to him and he's in trouble.
Gabriel: A prince among cats! Gabe is the best feline friend a human could ever want. Sometimes he gets a little clingy, but he's sweet, patient, perceptive and more than happy to be part of the family. Aside from the miniblinds, and occasionally the shower curtain, I can't complain about him destroying things as clawed cats are wont to do. Well, I can complain about the shower curtain (he plays with it,) but the miniblinds just aren't meant to be walked through multiple times a day, so despite his best efforts to be careful, he inadvertently breaks himself a little cat window in one corner of every miniblinded window.
Miss Tart: Her name was just Tart, but she has earned the honorary title in her maturity. Actually, it started as a joke from me to her that she took seriously. I would call her Miss Tart when I thought she was being particularly pretentious, and perhaps in return for my mockery, she now refuses to answer to anything but her full name. She is, to her credit, a very dignified and very polite cat. She is also a very small cat. However, I challenge anyone to make her do anything she doesn't want to do.
Miho: I have mentioned around the blog that Miho is the "whiney girlfriend" personality type of cats, and that is my official position. She was tolerable until she climbed out the bathroom window and got herself knocked up. Throughout the duration of her pregnancy, birthing, nursing, white trash motherhood, subsequent spaying-- until her expulsion from the house, she was as intolerable as nails on a chalkboard. Both her human and feline roommates were profoundly relieved when at last she was kicked out. I kid you not, Tart and Gabe did not seem to miss her and were visibly more at ease when she was finally permanently outside.
Tabris: Tabris is a wildcat, no bones about it. He is not domesticated, we did not adopt him, and we do not in any way claim or own him. He is his own cat. I don't know where he came from, really, he just showed up on our back porch in the beginning of summer a half-starved grey kitten. He was obviously starving, but so afraid of people, he would run away if he thought you were so much as looking at him. So my husband and I pretended to ignore him so he could eat. Over time, we've become friends and he definitely likes having his head scratched, but its not wholly uncommon for him to be gone for a few days at at time. He's a smallish cat, but he'll fight anything. And judging by his body language when he comes home all freshly cut up, he usually wins.
Winona: My very nice chef's knife, of which I am very proud.

Bisexuality Rearing Its Ugly Head

2008-09-21T20:26:00.001-05:00

I had a wonderful evening yesterday. The husband and I had some friends over to celebrate the sprouting of a friend's proverbial balls. (If you've never attended a Ball-Sprouting Party, its kind of like a graduation party. Everyone should have one at least once.) Aside from the reason for the celebration, it was a bit of a big deal since there aren't too many people I'm willing to invite into my house. I'll go out with people for a long time before I'll trust them enough to let them invade my space. The chicks we had over last night I've talked about before, and we've met up a few times since then, but it was still a big step to have them over. It came out that the artistic, firebird-driving chick shares my neurosis about space. She doesn't use other people's bathrooms or let them use hers unless they're real friends. The guest of honor and my husband thought we were nuts, but it mattered enormously to us. Last night we became real friends.

In light of our official friendship, I am giving these characters names. Artistic, firebird-driving chick is now Teegan, and the guest of honor is henceforth Jillian or Jill. These names have nothing to do with their actual names, and were chosen for my own reasons. Frankly, I'm just tired of having to come up with epithets every time I want to write about them.

So during the course of the twelve hour evening, I actually had a chance to talk to Teegan. It started with art, and then moved to music, and then to lit, and from there to life. I don't even remember the last time I met someone that seemed to engage the world from the same angle I do, and then actually lived up to my first impression of them. So so often people seem intelligent, solid and funny, but turn out to just be halfway there. But the more I talk to her, the more I like her. Really, really like her.

And normally I would be freaking out right now, but I'm just enjoying this too much. I have a friend whose company I thoroughly enjoy. We talked for hours, and she actually listened to what I said. She didn't just sit there formulating something to say, she listened and then had something to say as well. God, it was so satisfying. So I don't care how this turns out, but I want her around.

I suppose I should mention that she's not exactly straight, and some subtle comments were made last night... So all things are possible. Sure I'm moving far far away at some point in the near future, my relationships with women always turn out terribly, and blah blah blah, but these are all things that I'm not worrying about right now. I did say that I'm not freaking out, which is true, but my unconscious is sure having a heyday with this. I couldn't sleep for dreaming last night. Little do I care. Everything I have control over is under control. And at this very premature stage, that's all I can do.

Comic Books & Movies

2008-09-19T21:26:00.000-05:00

After I finished making dinner and devouring the fruits of my labours, I sat down with Batman: Hush. And like all good intellectuals, I began with the introduction. Jeph Loeb is a fantastic writer of comic books, but his skill at introducing was falling short of my expectation until about halfway through when he hit on why I absolutely love comic books:

...[M]y friends, no matter how good a comic book story is, it is still a visual medium. We don't write short stories, or novels, or poetry for that matter. We write stories that someone has to draw. And if you find yourself stuck with the unlucky reality of having someone else draw your story that doesn't suit what you've got in your head, it's a little like trying to listen to a song you wrote for a piano played on a tuba. Its your song all right, it just doesn't sound ...well... "Just right."

That right there is the beautiful thing about reading, for example, Frank Miller's work. Miller all by himself is nothing short of awesome (e.g. Sin City,) but Miller and Lynn Varley has a whole other element to it (e.g. 300, Batman: The Dark Night Returns (inked by Klaus Janson,) Ronin.) Miller alone is not superior to Miller's collaborations, or vice versa; they're just deliciously different. When Miller and Varley collaborate, you can smell the Miller a mile away, but at the same time there's an accompaniment that's not quite part of the Miller but harmonizes beautifully with him.

To be able to read and thoroughly enjoy a comic book, that same sort of harmony must be present between the reader's mind and the art and the words. One forms a relationship with the writer and artist in a way I would argue that one doesn't when reading a novel. In a novel, or short story, or a poem, the author describes what they see or think or feel, and leaves the reader to interpret their words. But in a comic book, not only the words to be interpreted are given, but also an illustration of the author's vision- not unlike daily conversation. And as clearly as one knows a few minutes into a conversation whether or not communication is possible or likely, five or ten panels into a comic book one either wants to keep reading or throw the book. In either situation there are often benefits to holding out to the end of the exchange, but the point remains that you know early on if you're on the same wavelength.

The relatively recent explosion of comic book movies is just an extension of this facet of the comic book genre that I love so well. Comic books, many of them, just beg to be movies, but just as the artist and writer have to fit together, so do the book and director. But they shouldn't fit too well.

Let me explain: Both recent Batman movies are exemplar examples of what should be done when making a comic book into a movie, whereas 300 fell a little short. If one knew the source material walking into 300, the movie was just spectacular. In making that movie, the book was almost literally made to walk and talk and fight. It was like a pop-up book. Obviously more articulate than that, but you get my drift. Batman, however, took the books and spliced them, altered chapters, dropped chunks, added new plot but always remained true to the characters, and the feeling of the original work. I had read the books (obsessively) in preparation, so I knew what was going to happen, but I couldn't wait to see how.

Granted, Batman is a far larger volume of work to be drawing from, and maybe in that respect I'm being unfair in comparing it to 300, which is just one book. However, as much as I enjoy 300, and regardless of the fact that I bought the movie, it is what it is, and that is a translation, not an adaptation. Some works need only be translated, but I find a well done adaptation far more impressive. V for Vendetta, for example is a very well done adaptation. The comic was written by Alan Moore, a brilliant man, no doubt, but the emphasis of his work is placed more on the "book" than on the "comic." Attempting to directly translate V would be something like making a word-for-word movie of Moby Dick. (If it exists already, don't tell me, I don't want to know.) The comic is brilliant, and the movie is brilliant, each in its own medium.

All of this is what fuels my reservations about the upcoming Watchmen movie. Zach Snyder, the director of 300, is directing Watchmen now. If you're not aware, The Watchmen is another comic by Alan Moore. I have seen the previews so I know there is hope, but I'm disinclined to trust people I don't know personally, especially with regard to art. Don't get me wrong, I'm waiting with baited breath for Watchmen to come out, but I'm also crossing my fingers.

In honor of National Talk Like a Pirate Day

2008-09-19T02:33:00.000-05:00

Hardey-har-har!!

(Sorry about the commercials. This is the only place I could find it.)

All Cats Are Insane

2008-09-18T16:33:00.000-05:00

This is what happens when I clean the bathmat. I just put it down an hour ago.

Alternate Titles For The New Cohen Bros. Movie

2008-09-18T01:57:00.000-05:00

Burn Before Reading

Burn Without Reading

Burn While Reading

Burn In Hell!

Burn It All!

Burning Down The House

Burn Me

Burn Now

Flame On!

Got A Light?

I'm On Fire!

Whoops

Playing With Fire

Rant on Credit

2008-09-17T22:42:00.000-05:00

I've been having nightmares that a perfect deal on the house fell through because of some stupid insignificant little detail. For instance, last night it was because of the tape residue on the bottom of the stove. Yes, bottom of the stove. Before that, the buyer decided they didn't like the house because the bathroom wasn't spotless. I think there was a tuft of cat hair in the corner. Ludicrous, I know.

But still no offers on the house. Other than a friend of ours, no showings either. I'm questioning my own competence (which is fairly obvious from the above paragraph,) but this is simply a ridiculous situation to be in. I am never buying another house again without putting at least half down. And I want a fifteen year mortgage at most. As much as I preach about spending money that one doesn't have, here I go not following my own advice. Stupid, stupid girl.

And what really pisses me off is that buying a house is generally viewed as an achievement. A symbol of status, of sorts. That's just ridiculous. So you got approved for a loan! Whoo-hoo! Aren't you just the cat's meow! All that means is that people who don't know anything about you think that you're statistically unlikely to lose their money. It has nothing to do with trust, unlike a loan from your parents or a friend, its all statistics. Where's the achievement in that?

And sure, if all you ever want is to live in one place for the next thirty years you'll be fine. Well, sort of. It used to be that in order to buy a house, you had to put some 20-30% down, but now, thanks to Fannie Mae and Frankie so-and-so, no down payment is required. So lets say that you buy a house for $100,000. (Which, where I am is a decent house.) In thirty years at 6% interest (which is average-ish depending on which type of loan you get) you'll end up paying back $574,349. A considerable amount more than you borrowed in the first place. But let's be realistic. Most people don't live in the same house for thirty years, so lets say, you bought it, but five years later you'd like to move out. Using the same formula, in five years, you will have paid $33,822 in interest alone. Compound interest is a bitch, ain't it? (You can check my figures here and here.)

But the followers of the real-estate god argue that should you wish to sell you'll make money back. And it is true that in five years you would have some equity built up, but not $30,000 by any stretch of the imagination. Aside from considering the interest paid in calculating one's profit, one should include the cost of repairs, maintenance, additions, and whatever extraneous money has been put into the house. I'm not talking about buying a fix-up job, either. I'm talking about the lawnmower you had to buy, the dishwasher that broke, or heaven help us, the new roof that your insurance weasled out of. The payoff amount you get from the bank only covers what you still owe them, it does not address anything you've done to make the house "sellable," or how much you've already paid that they simply pocket.

It is true that all the interest paid on a mortgage (up to $1 million per couple, or $500,000 for singles) can be deducted from one's federal income tax. And that does help... sort of. Its not like you get that money back, it just gets shaved off your taxable income. You still had to make the money to pay the interest in the first place. And your property is still taxed based on its appraised value at a rate varying between 0.31% to 1.82% depending on which state your property is in. Granted, that rate is nowhere near the rate of the interest on your loan, but it is money that you never see again.

Oh, and I forgot- obviously, your profit depends on the market. Things aren't so hot right now in the real-estate realm. Yes, I did say "right now" meaning that one could be patient and wait it out, but I'm only being optimistic. I can't predict the future. But in the case that this is the dawning of a serious depression 1930's style, everyone "owning" something on credit is in some serious shit. I'm not preaching doomsday, but in the sunshine of an economic boom, no one wants to talk about the eventual backslide.

I'm not trying to demonize banks and lending institutions, this is their business. I'm not saying that no one should own their own property, but I am attempting to point out the absurdity of spending money that you don't have.

I'm sure that other people have thought about this and said it before me, and I wish it was they who advised me a few years ago. Oh well. This is growing up.

A Bad Omen

2008-09-17T16:53:00.000-05:00

This makes me feel real good. As if the writing wasn't on the wall already... All I need is for this stupid company to hold on long enough for me to sell the house and get a reference out of it. Let's all hope together, and maybe they'll stop running themselves into the ground for a minute. Ha ha.

Pipe Dreams and Coffee

2008-09-15T13:47:00.001-05:00

I woke up late today, and as I was having my fresh coffee in my study (in solitude), the fantasy wheels started turning. My husband and I have talked frequently about the house that we will someday construct (I suppose this is colloquially called a dream house), and particularly our study. This thing will have to be custom built, even though I'm not so hung up on secret passages as some people I know. Perhaps this is because I know that should I want to go sneaking around I can always go play at his house.

We've pretty much decided that our study will be some sort of library/study/theater combination in order to make the most of the enormous amount of space that our books require. Granted, our collection is not quite so expansive now, but then again, I can only say this with a straight face because they're all in boxes. And, to be honest, these boxes form a three foot wall the entire length of the living room wall... So the giant library is justified. It's definitely going to be two stories, but the bottom story is going to be underground to keep it from being too dominating. (Yes, I stole that idea.) So one would enter on the top floor.

The libraries here are just beautiful in the way that Meagan Fox is beautiful. You beat off to it, but at the same time you recognize that its something you'll just never have. So I appeal to my envy of Thomas Hardy for consolation. This is something far more attainable. Actually, what I have now is not too far off. Just about twice that size with a little less blood on the walls. And a partner desk would be nice.

But where do we put this marvel of a residence? I'm resigned to the fact that once I move out of the south I'm never coming back, but all the same...

At least, it had better be someplace with some privacy due to my overdeveloped idea of lawn decorations.

Fantasy over. Time to go clean the bathroom.